Friday, August 31, 2007
One of the notable shops is a Greek Takeaway. They sell Battered Savs, a sausage in fish batter. Dim Sims which bare no resemblence to their Chinese cousins. Scallops - potato slivers in batter and Prawn Cutlets. Hamburgers with 'the lot' which are not complee without beetroot. Their piece de resistance - fish 'n chips. Real potato chips chiselled from real potatoes, BBQ chicken with the best Coleslaw and Gravy you' ve ever tasted and the best shark in batter.
I dropped into the grubby Welcome Mart today and bought peppercorns but the smell from that Takeaway Store . . . about 11 people were queued outside slowly walking toward their cars with newspaper wrapped packages of savoury smelling fish and chips. I resisted and now have to settle for vegemite on toast for Friday night nibbly bits, I'm mightily pissed. It took me back to day trips to eat at Harry Ramsden's. Now that's a memory from the vault. I wish we had a Doyles in Kellyville. I want fish cocktails and chips with BBQ and Tartare sauce, a butty, vinegar and a cuppa tea.! I have to go, my toast is burning and my champagne is getting flat. (as if!)
A guy at work confessed (and yes he is Irish) that he once stood on a station platform and asked the conductor what time the 12:30 train was due. The words had left his mouth before he realised how stupid it sounded. (In his defense, it was 12:40 at the time but it just sounded so blonde!)
ClareBear came home extremely hungover on Thursday morning after a blokes night with Queen Bea, had a quick shower, changed for work then scrambled around trying to find her car keys. Again, the blonde moment “Where did you lose them?” sprouted from my idiotic mouth, long before I engaged my brain. Obviously if she knew where she’d lost them they would be found. They were recovered still sitting in the ignition.
I once phoned a friend on their landline and asked them “Where are you now?”. Automatic response from using my mobile too much.
It’s Friday . . . gimme a break! Does emerging grey count as blonde?
Thursday, August 30, 2007
All this fuss for the man who said
"I'm the commander — see, I don't need to explain — I do not need to explain why I say things. That's the interesting thing about being president."
"I saw a poll that said the right track/wrong track in Iraq was better than here in America. It's pretty darn strong. I mean, the people see a better future."
"I'm also not very analytical. You know I don't spend a lot of time thinking about myself, about why I do things."
"Iraq is a very important part of securing the homeland, and it's a very important part of helping change the Middle East into a part of the world that will not serve as a threat to the civilized world, to people like -- or to the developed world, to people like -- in the United States."
"The solution to Iraq -- an Iraq that can govern itself, sustain itself and defend itself -- is more than a military mission. Precisely the reason why I sent more troops into Baghdad."
Any luck he’ll catch Horse Flu while he’s here and drop dead!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
We started chatting along with problem solving. Then sending funny emails. Then every Friday I had to do a backup which rendered all software on my PC useless other than MSN. He was on the Helldesk and we began chatting. We share a love of Star Wars, Blues Brothers, Clerks and I had to set him straight on a couple of occasions on Metallica. We have a lot of differences. He's a geek. Totally. Has his own web server, chats with fellow ancient Mercedes owners, is or was a World of Warcraft gamer . . makes multi-layered jelly with pineapple chunks. But for some obscure reasons we became the first . . yes the very first . . online friends - from my side anyway! Long before blogging or Skype or Facebook.
Last year, he was working in Sydney training other geeks and made the brave move of coming over for dinner to meet. He's lovely. After the first uncomfortable hug and 'would you like a beer' we sat for hours, drinking, talking, eating prawns. He showed off his camera and expounded his love of KISS and Sci-Fi. He asked the hard emotional questions and by the time his taxi came, the night had seemed all too short.
He's going through some tough times with family illness but tonight, the night of a spectacular lunar eclipse, I spoke to him, and the girl that loves him and we had a really nice time negotiating through MSN, Skype and finally a call between quick sojourns outside to look at the tangerine coloured moon.
Yep it was ecliptical in more ways than one. I really, really like this kid. We've kept in touch over 3 years now that's longeivity for a 25 year old. He's somber, unemotional, technical, brave, sometimes dark, often jovial in a geeky kind of way but when there's a crisis of family, love, work, he talks to me. He's a good boy. Good morals, well educated, sweet and he has a lovely girlfriend who I also 'met' via licensing of industry software but spoke to for the first time tonight. Chris, you are special and I'm very lucky to have met you. I wish you well and you're in for some rough times ahead. I hope I can be the friend you have when you're not having a friend and that we can meet up again occasionally because you have something endearing about you and we share an affection for Star Wars, even in Lego form (although I can't claim to being the constructor of Darth Vader, that honour goes to Drummer Boy), Mac computers, cats and getting pissed! He's a talented photographer, she's a fabulous portraitist (althoug I suspect she doesn't really know how good she is) and thankfully, they live in Melbourne so occasional meetings are not off the cards. Good luck to you kiddos and keep in touch. It has been my pleasure to have 'met' you both. And you know, for a moment, it was really nice to know that you were looking at the same orange eclipse as me! Far away as we are, this weird event connected us. (Ok I'm going to collapse in a romantic pool of green cheese right now)
I mentioned the poo situation to him (via email since it’s winter and due to sport there are no conversations between us beyond “G’day” as we pass each other in the carport).
Little wonder then that he doesn’t seem to notice a disaster about to happen. I on the other hand, notice everything due to my Saturday maintenance duties.
There is a pump in this tank that ensures its foul contents are pumped into a rather sophisticated environmentally-sound, treatment system. The ‘grey’ water it finally filters and produces is then sprinkled on the front lawn. It’s obvious his pump is not working.
So this morning, I get a panicked phone call . . it’s ‘urgent’ says our receptionist:
BB: “Where does this septic pump to?”
Me: “Into the Envirocyle”
BB: “No it doesn’t, I have Paul the Envirocycle man with me and he says there’s only one inlet”
Me: That’s because there’s a junction for the pipes underneath the driveway where your waste joins mine in a happy marriage and honeymoon towards bacterial cleansing and grey-water recycling.”
BB: *disbelieving tone* “Who did your plumbing when you built the house”
BB: “Well that explains it. He did a dodgy job and now there’s sewage pumping God knows where!”
Me: “Yes we do know where . . into the envirocycle . . .”
BB” Can’t be Paul says there’s only one inlet pipe. Where does the septic pump to? *we have come full circle without resolution*
See where I’m going with this . . . he took the word of Paul the EnviroMan (who I have known for many, many years). He checks aeration and chlorine. Paul is a nice man. He has a little kit of water testing thingamies and puts clean chlorine blocks in the appropriate cells. He checks water turbidity and the aerator then leaves me a nice little report and a bill for $75 – he is not a Poomaster or a Plumber, he doesn't even clean greastraps and septic tanks. I was there when the pipes were laid. I know exactly where his waste is going when there’s a normally functioning pump!
So, I hung up with the shits and went back to work and left the two of them cogitating and prognosticating on how so much poo could easily traverse a 100mm diameter pipe. I don’t know how thick his cables are but mine would certainly have no trouble reaching their destination!
What really gets me is how can you not ‘notice’ poo and wee and washing water trickling down your garden? How can you not notice that there is water seeping through the brickwork outside your kitchen until finally the hose on the dishwasher snaps and all hell breaks loose? How can you not notice that your dog is deaf until one day your niece backs over him because he can’t hear the oncoming car?
Is it a boy thing? Like not being able to find matching socks or your favourite jumper despite the fact that both are staring you in the face?
Monday, August 27, 2007
Time at War
Far From Here
Bless their little rockin' socks.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Then there are the 'craft' markets. These vary widely in the quality of their goods. You can buy everything from fantastic quality wooden toys (that children incidentally never like to play with) down to those awful floral handtowells with crocheted edges, or toilet roll and tissue box covers. I'm not a fan of these as much of their merchandise is either over priced because it's 'hand made' or simply so gauche that you wouldn't be seen dead sitting on a loo with a pale green knitted toilet seat cover and matching mat.
Then there's the carnival of carnies. The mother of them all. The copycat King . . .the large permanent rented-stall and undercover markets. In Sydney we have three. Paddies at Flemington which during the week is a genuine wholesale market and great for flowers and veg but during the weekend it turns into one of those copycat T shirt, mobile phone cover, tiger rugged, cheap perfume 'what the hell is that toy' and 'who the fuck would use one of those' markets. There's another Paddies in the city, same vein but has a direct factory outlet above it which is great value if you're a size 8 and don't mind last year's fashion. Then there's our closest. Parklea Market.
Just around the corner, on the site of an old drive-in movie theatre looms this enormous white colourbond building. Around the perimeter is carpark and within, the most amazing (not in a good way) conglomeration of rip offs and bric-a-brac. In this den of eniquity you can have a Chinese massage if you don't mind being a tad public (16 at a time). You can have your Tarot or fortune read . . . Eat the worst of junk food, fill the kids with fairy floss and barter with Chinese and Arabic store holders who smell as if their entire diet comprised garlic cloves.
It's frequented by the choicest of Sydney's West and here my snoberry kicks in. The working class, Tongans and Maori, Lebanese and the Caucasian poor. The thing is, these people aren't wealthy, far from it, but they spend so much money on frippery and lounge around the foul smelling place eating dagwood dogs and kebabs. Again, the fruit and veg is cheap, fresh and good quality but any place that has pets and cheese in the same aisle?
Happy children wonder out of the darkness with pink twirly things and glo-sticks or barking clockwork puppies on wheels when they could probably do with a few new books or a little tutoring in maths
So how did I find myself there? . . .I went with ClareBear because there's a guy who has a stall who does laser and vinyl prints on T shirts and she wants a one-off as a thank you to her soccer coach. It's close and cheap but man what an experience. Although I'm slamming it here, it is a good place to buy say, cane laundry baskets, essential oils and incense or pet supplies but I want to know who buys:
- Large synthetic rugs with pictures of Elvis on them
- Yoda bongs
- Copycat perfume
- Rubber breasts with silicone filling (I kid you not!)
- Chinese lace tablecloths
- Plastic clogs
- Replica African artifacts (plaster Giraffe and Elephant legs and Tutenkhamun heads)
- A plaster wall hanging of the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist
- Bright pink and blue mother of pearl door streamers
- Dream catchers (made in China of course)
Saturday, August 25, 2007
There seems to be a plethora of underwear ads on tv at the moment. Maybe 'cos the weather's getting steamier here and the gear is coming off. What hit me most besides the fabulously muscled young men posing in Holeproof underdaks is the 'science' behind knickers and bras.
There are men's boxers which are smell resistant, fitted trunks that move with you due to some new elastane technology. Of course we ladies have been aware of 'no knickers' seamless jobs and the push up bra for years. I just had this image of white coated lab rats discussing the next technological improvement to undewear. I know DrummerBoy would like a pair of boxers that keep his ganoolies in one place (judging by the amount of readjustment they seem to suffer). ClareBear would like a bra that gives her cleavage without the padding and I'd like one that keeps them off my knees.
There's now underwear that monitors your heart and edible underwear for cosmonauts so they can 'eat their shorts' in space, there's self-cleaning undies that can go a week without washing and sustainable underwear made from, wait for it, pine clippings!
Calvin Klein and other manufacturers have advanced the science of underwear technology with the use of microfibers for moisture management and cooling. We all know what happens when your bollocks overheat! And one enterprising Masters student has invented underwear with 'intimate controllers' so that she can play electronic games in her undies! Intimate Controllers is a set of sensors embedded in underwear that direct the action on a video game. Rather than sit separately on the couch and jam fingers against small plastic buttons, players touch each other to control the game
Now before you make assumptions that I'm totally perverted (I'm not, the thought just struck me while I was making my second cup of tea), despite the science behind what lies beneath the powers that be still can't invent a pair of knickers that fit so well, you don't have to tweak them every time you stand up! There, I think that's enough said on the subject.
Friday, August 24, 2007
We caught the same bus so I used to trail behind her even though we disembarked from the same stop. She wasn’t cool. (neither was I but I was a ‘try-hard’). Eventually, this pilgrimage up
We went to uni together, we married two friends, we lived within 500metres of each other, we had our children within 12 weeks of each other . . .we played together, travelled together, danced together . . .I was her bridesmaid, she was mine . . . we attended funerals together.
She is so different to me. Physically, she’s tall and thin, straight hair, straight teeth. I’m tall and tubby with masses of mad curls that refuse to be tamed. She’s conservative in her politics and taste. I’m a ratbag liberal and don’t care what I look like. She’s a diplomat and smiles through a crisis. I call a spade a fucking shovel can argue the leg off a chair. She likes Sting and Eric Clapton, George Benson and Van Morrison. I like Gautier and Bloc Party, Led Zeppelin and Frank Zappa. She drinks Red, I drink White. She’s frugal with her money, I’m a spendthrift. She is an avid reader and never writes, I’ll write my socks off but rarely read. She has an eye for figures and detail – I sweep my broad brushstrokes across everything I do and stuff the spelling mistakes. She keeps in touch, I’m incredible at not returning that phone call. I guess we’re proof that opposites attract either that or the things we agree upon are what bind us:
- We both have a caring nature
- We are both highly principled
- We are both environmentalists
- We share and value a good education
- We had a loving upbringing that has imprinted on our psyche
- We are insistent on courtesy and treating others as we like to be treated
- We have a good sense of humour
- We have felt and can give great love
- We are always there for each other
- We both have difficult brothers
- We like Hawks Nest Thai Green Curry Pies and Chocolate Paddle Pops
She introduced me to Ray and many of my closest friends. She’s stuck by me through desperation and joy and all the places in between despite not really understanding where I’m coming from much of the time (it’s hard to empathise when your life is perfection) but she’s been my single best friend, my confidant, my rock, my whipping girl, my mentor, my sister, my consoler and my confessor. I love her very much and she forgives my lack of focus on the ‘ceremony’ of Birthdays. As usual I forgot to buy her a birthday card . . .she will not forget to by me one when my turn comes . . . I did buy her lunch!
Thursday, August 23, 2007
What really struck me was the attitudinal dependency of the entire office upon this ubiquitous and fragile medium, without which all life as we know it ceases to exist apparently. To add insult to injury, this dodgy connection was somehow attributable to me as the IT Guru (their name not mine). Since the departure of our full time IT Administrator, who our powers that be did not see fit to replace, I have become the whipping girl for all things malfunctioning that relate remotely to Information Technology. And I work for people who think that fax machines and printer drums are also information technology. In fact one thinks that Excel is something only a Network Administrator can fathom – hence his adoration of our Excel specialist who is the biggest wanker on the face of the planet but that’s another story.
Ok a few of the banalities I’ve had to put up with:
“The internet doesn’t work . . .”
No kidding, I just sent you an internal email saying that you fucking rocket scientist
“I can’t save this document in COIN . . .”
Really, that’s because you don’t have editing permission you shit-kicker
“I can’t login to the boardroom computer . . . “
Locked ourself out again have we due to a forgotten password, then abused the receptionist and the IT misfit as if it’s their fault you forgetful fool
“My VPN doesn’t work” That’s because you’re on your work computer, not logging in remotely
“Will you email me when the server’s back up please” – umm . . . You’ll have logged out so that I can restart the server so you won’t be able to read my email.
We knew we’d be reconnected at some stage during the day but the response of “Oh can we get an early mark” or “well what are we supposed to do now?” And from the principals of the company “Just how long is this going to take . . .” like I can somehow 'will' the World Wide Web to perform on cue. One principal even questionned the suitability of our IT Outsourcer because he didn’t lob on-site the minute I called him about what is probably an external ISP issue.
Crispy, TheBenchwarmer, Brianf – I wouldn’t have your IT client liaison jobs for quids. Clients are thankless, stupid and have unrealistic expectations of the abilities of IT problem solvers . . . you are all saints in my book!
And another thing . . what is it about some person, and we all know who he is, taking the last clean spoon and not washing it!
Oh and on a completely different note, Brianf has a birthday today (23rd August). So go visit and wish him well. He doesn’t post much these days because being your typical male, multi-tasking isn’t his strong point and he's too busy eating veal and conning chefs out of their skilets. Plus his rather demanding job sees him travelling during the week and gives him the perfect excuse to be a lazy ass. Happy b’day Bri. Have a blast!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Today I had lunch with TheBenchwarmer. So named because sometimes he feels he meets women, gives them his best and then they move on to share their new found knowledge and experience with someone else . . . he’s back on the bench.
And I don’t know why because he’s a great guy and a good catch for the right girl. He’s socially active, well travelled, popular. He’s intense, impulsive, romantic a little smothering. Delightful, intelligent, chatty, well read, nice looking, well groomed, cuddly, spontaneous, generous, loyal, independent, financially viable . . . so where’s Mrs Right for my big warm teddy bear? His latest fling (although he’d call it obsessive love) has just come to a sad and sorry end.
It’s hard for single men no matter what their age. Making the first move and maintaining the momentum with women is no mean feat. Rejection is terrifying and a rude rebuttal absolutely soul-crushing and that’s before they meet the family and have their language and manners scrutinised by 'she who must be obeyed'. It’s no wonder so many singles are resorting to chat rooms or speed dating for initial introductions. They’re painless by comparison
Picking up isn’t easy but boys, here’s a hot tip. Just hang off a bar or in a coffee shop, make eye contact, pass a little smile and if she’s interested, let her come over and talk to you. When she does (and she will if you're patient) don’t use cheesey chat lines, show genuine interest and match her mood (don’t giggle when she’s telling you her dog died). This technique works for ClareBear and Queen Bea all the time – both agree their most successful dates are men they’ve actually approached after ‘reading the signs’. You don’t have to embarrass yourself, ask anyone to wiggle with you on the dance floor, buy them expensive drinks. Just sit, look nice, smell nice and smile. Easy peasy. Now let me know your results. Ok so you’ve got that nailed . . .
Keeping it going isn’t that easy either. You have to maintain all the flattery, lavish affection, attention, money and not necessarily asking for anything in return but hope it might come, then – Just when you thought it's all going really well – the best mate moves in or she decides that it’s not quite the relationship she wanted or she’s not ready to get serious or she’s still a little in love with her ex . . .
But once you’ve got a good one, just think about what women want. They want to be happy – just like you but have a different way of showing it. If you learn their language, listen when you’d rather speak, hug instead of just walking away, tell the truth till it hurts, be a man she can depend on and love her like you love yourself. You’ll no longer ask what women want, they’ll be asking you what you want and give it to you. So, you want to know what a woman wants? It’s not difficult all you have to do is to be:
A friend, a companion, a lover, a brother, a father, a sister, a master, a chef, an electrician, a carpenter, a plumber, a carpenter, a mechanic, a decorator, a stylist, a psychologist, a gynecologist, an exterminater, a good listener, an organiser, clean, sympathetic, athletic, warm, humerous, attentive, creative, tender, strong, understanding, tolerant, prudent, ambitious, capable, courageous, dependable, passionate, complementary, up for retail therapy, honest, rich, unstressed, faithful, attentive and remember birthdays and anniversaries.
Making men happier is even easier:
Give him a little ‘alone’ time, don’t nag, provide regular sex, feed him well and let him have the remote control. (Personally I prefer a dog, they don't drink your beer or generate any washing.)
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
But at the moment I began to wonder what to post today, the airwaves were wafting with the soft sobs of Lasting Love Dedications or the Sing us a Sloppy Song sessions. The lurve oozing from our little boom box is sparking a finger down the throat gesture at the moment.
I actually had a quick browse on the internet during my lunch hour and found some worst songs of all time, not perhaps the worst but the most annoying or the ones that stay in your head. Sorry if I trigger an unforgettable moment!
MacArthur Park - Richard Harris
I've Never Been To Me - Charlene
Lovin' You - Minnie Riperton
Seasons In The Sun - Terry Jacks
Muskrat Love - Captain and Tenille
You Must Love Me - Madonna
Sometimes When We Touch - Dan Hill
I Am - Said - Neil Diamond
Ebony and Ivory - Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder
Afternoon Delight - Starland Vocal Band (although it was rescued by Will Ferrell in that movie)
Feelings - Morris Albert
Honey - Bobby Goldsboro
Achy Breaky Heart - Billy Ray Cyrus
Disco Duck - Rick Dees
A Horse With No Name - America
My Humps - Black Eyed Peas
Morning Train (9 to 5) - Sheena Easton
You Light Up My Life - Debbie Boone (OSCAR WINNING SONG)
Boogie Oogie Oogie - A Taste of Honey
Shannon - Henry Gross
In the Year 2525 (Exordium and Terminus) - Zager and Evans
I Can't Dance - Genesis
The Candy Man - Sammy Davis jr
Unfaithful - Rihanna
Grillz - Nelly, featuring Paul Wall, Ali & Gipp
Having My Baby - Paul Anka
Ma Belle Amie - The Tee Set
Do That To Me One More Time - Captain and Tenille
Brand New Key - Melanie
Catch My Disease - Ben Lee
Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast - Wayne Newton
I'm A Girl, Not Yet a Woman - Britney Spears
Yes! We Have No Bananas - Billy Jones
Ode To Billie Joe - Bobbi Gentry
Peaches - The Presidents of the United States
Alone Again (Naturally) - Gilbert O'Sullivan
These Boots Are Made For Walking - Jessica Simpson
Escape (The Pina Colada Song) - Rupert Holmes
Can I Touch You... There? - Michael Bolton
Midnight At The Oasis - Maria Muldaur
(Everything I Do) I Do It For You - Bryan Adams
Oh Babe, What Would You Say? - Hurricane Smith
Ring The Alarm - Beyonce
I Am Woman - Helen Reddy
The Only Thing That Looks Good On Me Is You - Bryan Adams (Wow he's got two in the list)
I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston
I Write The Songs - Barry Manilow
Lady In Red - Chris DeBurgh
Ring The Alarm - Beyonce
You got more?
And just for you, a parody of the song voted in a recent poll as THE MOST IRRITATING EVER - :
Monday, August 20, 2007
There are a plethora of “I’m lonely tonight, look at my sexy pictures” emails, Cialis and Viagra advertisements, University Degrees without studying, economic opportunities that are just too good to be true - but it’s the penis enlargement ones that really make me laugh. Not for their claims and most certainly not because I’m impressed by a big dick unless he's a tall, tanned, boofy bloke called Richard.
No, what really impresses me is the way they try to ‘target’ the nationality of their audience. The sincere attempt to corner the demographic in various international markets. I’m sure they’re using Babel or something to translate. We end up with this hilarious combination:
For the prim:
Womens always laughed at me and even gentlemans did in the urban WC! Well, now I laugh at them, because I took Megadik for 4 months and now my phallus is excessively best than civil market
For the Americans:
Dames always whizgiggled at me and even youths did in the not private toilet! Well, now I shriek at them, because I took Megadik for 4 months and now my putz is dreadfully longer than national go shopping
Now if I had to write one for the Aussies it would be:
Sheilas used to piss themselves when they saw my poor excuse for a love muscle, even the pooftas in the loos wet themselves laughing. Now I can stick it right up 'em cos I took Megadik for 5 months and me schlongs such a doozie, I have t' strap it t' me inside leg with me bulwhip.
I didn’t realise that so many women were in the habit giggling at their teensy weensy members. I think it would be quite a prank for a hens night bunch to go hanging around the 'gents' poking fun and laughing at at wee willies.
So if the mood takes you, and the opportunity presents itself . . . . have your giggle then remind the poor sods with the diminutive pricks that there is a way to make their phallus "excessively best than civil!"
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Hundreds of people posed naked on Switzerland's shrinking Aletsch glacier today for US photographer Spencer Tunick as part of a Greenpeace campaign to raise awareness of global warming. Cripple nipple city and shrinkage central I suppose.
Tunick, perched on a ladder and using a megaphone, ("get yer knickers off!") directed nearly 600 volunteers *ugly exhibitionists* from all over Europe and photographed them on the glacier, which is the largest in the Alps. Later he took pictures of them standing in groups on the mass of ice and lying down. (God forbid . . don't ask what they were doing whilst prone on the ice - making ice angels?) Camera crews were staged at five different points on the glacier to take photographs (perverts). Glaciers are sensitive to climate change and have been receding since the start of the industrial age but the pace of shrinkage has accelerated in recent years (that wasn't the only shrinkage in evidence).
Now pardon me but, the average human body temperature is 98.6 and probably half of these people are inflicted with the flu and probably running about 100 degrees. That to me adds up to roughly 6000 degrees of human buttocks and jugs warming the surface of an otherwise pristine glacier. Probably causing over 10 years worth of melt and leaving barefoot prints down to about six inches in the ice.
The environmental group Greenpeace, which organised the shoot, said the aim was to "establish a symbolic relationship between the vulnerability of the melting glacier and the human body". (Or to help promote the photographer who is renown for shooting nudes all over the world to promote a well known brand of sunglasses)
Greenpeace just quietly have lost the plot. I'm a member of the Australian Conservation Foundation which has a peacful activist and proactive way of dealing with environmental issues. We don't go ramming Japanese whalers or taking sensational photos or throwing animal blood at fur wearers - even though we don't endorse any of these practices. We plant trees, run school educational programs, we lobby government, assist in research, sponsor university grants, attend the whaling commission, and enhance awareness and encourage a sustainable lifestyle without these dramatic and stupid theatrics.
The Aletsch descends around the south side of the Jungfrau mountain in the Upper Rhone Valley. Alpine glaciers have lost about one-third of their length and half their volume over the past 150 years. Well this one has just lost a third of it's volume thanks to the basking of warm buttocks, none of which were particularly attractive to my mind. If you want to photograph 600 people in the bollocks, do it for a sunglasses promotion in Coles car park or for the sake of art but keep their butts of the pristine ice flows. Leave nothing but footprints - made with sustainable spikes - and take nothing but photographs - preferably with your kit on! Where do you think these 600 people pee'd during the 10 hour shoot? I don't even want to think about where they took a dump!
Certainly nobody peed in their pockets!
Saturday, August 18, 2007
The last time I saw her was at the Piazza in Castle Hill about 4 years ago. Thommo and I were having lunch and in strolled Max. Looking the same as she had in year 12, now a Vice Principal at a local selective high school and doing really well. She's now 50 with an 18 year old and a 13 year old . . . last week another distant school friend called me and told me that Max's partner had mysteriously died in Peru! This particular person was more on a fishing trip than acting out of concern, hoping I could solve the mystery of how he died. She's recently 'found God' and turned into an evangelical do gooder and inevitable busy body and serial gossip. I shan't call her with the truth.
He was a bit of an adventurer. Often took students into the wild and woolly parts of the universe. Alternative - he mowed the lawn in a Samoan skirt and cooked the best Sri Lankan Lamb I've ever tasted. I met him only twice over the past 18 years - a solitary partner who made himself scarce when the girls got going. Sadly, I haven't seen Max since that lunch despite promises to keep in touch. Today, I had to face the music and call her. I felt like a fairweather friend, calling her after all this time just because Olaf had passed. His body is still in Peru and she has the awful task of arranging for his return to Australia - dealing with immigration - the behemoth of beaurocracy that it is as well as dealing with a prolonged grief between his death and the kind of closure that is offered by a funeral. Apparently, there was a gas leak from his tent lamp and this otherwise healthy 55 year old, died in his sleep in the wilds of the Andes. What do you say? How do you soothe someone who has to cope with the death of a partner AND bring his body home. Grief is something I can helpwith but this!
I've experienced loss before and I know that the well-meaning wishes of friends and acquaintances are genuine but I just felt so awful contacting her after all this time . . . at this time. I wish I was just inviting her to lunch or having a friendly catch up. She was grateful I think and when the dust settles, the funeral's over, I'll contact her again. When tragedy strikes, there are many people around to bolster your spirits but 12 months down the track . . . it's a different story. Not that people don't care, they do, but life goes on and there's no time for maudlin over the past. I really appreciate those friends who have stuck by me even though I've been a widow for many, many years . . . but the fair-weather ones . . .the ones that bring loads of support and food to your house between the death and the funeral as if you're incapable of making beans on toast . . . the ones that offer to babysit so you can have some free time (Free time . . you need that like a hole in the head!). The ones who buy the most expensive flowers or pretend to be genuinely concerned, the ones that reminisce about the last 2 years they knew your dear departed. . . they seem to fade into the distance. It's too hard to have 7 people for dinner or a theatre booking for 13 . . that odd number really causes them angst. I'm not saying they don't care because I don't know. But I'm not going to be like that. 12 months down the track, Max will need friends and I'll be there for her but for now . . . she's got enough support. It was one of the most difficult phone calls I've made in ages but I think it was appreciated and it brought this old battle axe to tears but hopefully will lead to a rekindling of a friendship that goes way back to creature features on Saturday night, smoking a joint and eating left over KFC chicken wings. Trips to her family farm in the country and rounding cows up on motor bikes. Languid holidays at Crescent Head where the object of the game was to pash some handsome surfer. Trips to Canberra to visit a mutual friend and welcomes home after long holidays away . . . we have history and hopefully that will be enough to keep her going when the hullaballo dies down. Love you Max. I know you don't read this but I know where you are right now and I wouldn't want to be there again for all the tea in China.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Excuse me while I get all JD:
Can make it rain
The way the beach is kissed by the sea
Can make it rain
Like the sweat of lovers
Laying in the fields.
Love, Reign o'er me
Love, Reign o'er me, rain on me
Can bring the rain
That makes you yearn to the sky
Can bring the rain
That falls like tears from on high
Love Reign O'er me
On the dry and dusty road
The nights we spend apart alone
I need to get back home to cool cool rain
I can't sleep and I lay and I think
The night is hot and black as ink
Oh God, I need a drink of cool cool rain
It is also an opportunity for world leaders in the region to pop over for a nice little holiday in the first week of spring and stay in a five star hotel overlooking the harbour, gorge on our wonderful seafood and tropical fruits, slosh down a few of our best Hunter Valley and Margaret River wines and wear silly clothes given to them by the Australian Government such as Akubra hats and Drizabone’s . . .we all wear them didn’t you know? . . .That is when we’re not donning ochre dots on our chests and dancing around with a spear in hand weaing a red lap-lap and emulating the movement of a kangaroo!
The APEC Australia 2007 year culminates in the Sydney CBD on 8-9 September with the APEC Economic Leaders Meeting (AELM), bringing together the leaders of all major regional economies as well as thousands of delegates, support personnel and the international media, and is one of the most important annual meetings of world leaders. And guess who's decided to pop in a few days early . . .your favourite clown – and mine: George Dubya . . . So you say . . just another bunch of stuffed shirts. Maybe, but I’ve spoken before about
No Demonstration permits have been granted, which will allow police to arrest anyone looking remotely like a ‘crowd’ and detain them for as long as they want under anti-terror legislation
Traffic routes have been diverted away from the Opera House, Circular Quay and the Botanical Gardens. If you live in luxurious CBD apartments, you will have to carry photo ID to get into your own flat!
Barricades up to 10 feet on concrete bollards have been erected along Circular Quay, the Opera House Corso and half the Botanical Gardens
BlackHawk Helicopters, fully armed are on deployment all around the harbour
4 Police Helicopters, normally unarmed have been armed and are at the ready
More than 4,000 troops, police, federal agents and private security guards will be deployed in the city centre to guard leaders including US President George W. Bush, Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe and
's President Hu Jintao. (I think we pulled some back from China cos we don’t have 4,000 troops in the whole defence force.) Iraq
Interestingly, only a fortnight ago, all the Heads of Army in the universe gathered in Ah well. One good thing comes of all this silliness - Friday September 7 is a public holiday for people living within 25kms of the CBD - suck eggs Canberra! Yeay for me – we’ll have a barbie!
Interestingly, only a fortnight ago, all the Heads of Army in the universe gathered in
Ah well. One good thing comes of all this silliness - Friday September 7 is a public holiday for people living within 25kms of the CBD - suck eggs Canberra!
Yeay for me – we’ll have a barbie!
Thursday, August 16, 2007
It’s really important to get your affairs in order while you’re alive and kicking, sane and sanguine. My father was so drowsy and disorientated in the later stages of his cancer that he could barely stay awake and my close friend Pauly who’s brain tumour turned off all powers of communication could not be understood. Now another friend, who’s partner has passed whilst on holiday in South America, is trying to get his affairs in order. This is often made impossible by lack of communication or organisation. These three events have left a legacy comprising a mish mash of papers, total confusion, hurried bank withdrawals, surprise discoveries of companies and assets. It’s a heartbreaking shamozzle blundering through and trying to sort their affairs all whilst in a state of heightened emotion and stress.
After three family deaths and as the Executor of 2 wills, I now know what I’m doing . . . I don’t want my family to go through this. So, I have my affairs in order and feel comfort in the fact that should I be hit by a bus crossing that bloody zebra crossing outside work (for that is surely the way I will go, splattered all over some four wheel drive windscreen and decorating their bull bar with my innards), I want to know that my beneficiaries, don’t have to go to such extraordinary, upsetting lengths to settle my affairs.
Get a Will . . I am surrounded by clients who think they’re not ‘worth’ anything. Then you ask if they own their own home and what assets they might have . . .they’re worth about $800,000! Now that’s why you need to make a will. Otherwise most will go in tax and it’s upto the public trustee as to how much goes to your beneficiaries. Plus it’s out of contention for months while probate goes through. Even if you’re a youngling with a bit in the bank GET A WILL (now confess . . .who doesn’t have one!)
Add a Power of Enduring Guardianship/Power of Attorney – this enables your nominee to act in your place if you are incapacitated or to make decisions about your medical care. Rules are different in different states and countries so you need a solicitor to do this. You want someone you trust to turn off your life support, not some doctor who needs the bed for another patient.
Note down all your assets and liabilities including location of statements, share transfers, holdings, bank accounts, pin numbers . . . when you die, your assets are generally frozen. You can only access funds to pay for funerals/wakes. Obviously keep this in a very private place, telling only someone you trust with your life.
Centrally file all your necessary papers and let someone you trust know where they are - These might include:
- Bank Statements
- Credit Card Statements
- Loan documents
- Insurance Policies
- Title Deeds/Birth Certificates/Citizenship Papers/Passports
- Wills/POA/Testamentary Trust docs
- Car Registration, Cheque books and tax return statements
Allocate any special treasures. My Grandmother had a darling bracelet that all the girls in the family wore as a wedding bracelet. It’s now in the possession of HippyBro who is childless and already married . . . what the? My mother’s gold charm bracelet which also had a few charms I’d bought on my travels was given to my sister in law! For fucks sake I bet she doesn’t even know where it is. My mother in a moment of madness or without consulting anyone, divvied up said possessions. I scored two wedding rings and her engagement ring which didn’t have any sentimental value to me . . .and buckleys of fitting my rather square Celtic mitts. if only she’d asked, I would have loved the “Love Knot” bracelet and the Swiss Chalet charm. Similary, I have made it clear to my mother-in-law that I do not want the chiming clock promised to my first born!
Make your wishes clear. Talk about cremation, burial, being scattered or plonked in a plot. Leave a list of people you would like to be notified of your departure. Although bad news travels fast, they’ll know soon enough. Me, I’m for the oven and recycling on the rose bed!
Now I’m serious folks. . . I see it ALL the time. Get your affairs in order and make life easy for those you leave behind . . . you’ll be feeling no pain but they’ll be shovelling shit from here to eternity!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I remember Grandad talking about 'poking' and confusion on Facebook but others have told me it's "My Space" for grown-ups - well I haven't seen ANY evidence of that. I’m really not sure about all this food fighting, hugging, working out how much alike you are and everyone poking each other, either! If I want a poke, I’ll ask for it. And if someone throws something at me I want the satisfaction of a splattery-splodgy sound. As for a virtual drink or a piece of virtual cake – what’s the point in that! It's as satisfying as a virtual hug! Gimme the real thing any time!
Plus, when am I going to have time to ‘live’. I can’t possibly indulge all these online obsessions working full time and managing a five acre property, spending time with my poppets, looking after animals, cleaning, washing, socialising . . . not to mention the need to face up to the camera and post a picture . . . OMG . . .that's going to take ages given the amount of spackfiller and vaseline required for a soft focus!
Within seconds, I’ve got three friends and am being encouraged to add more - which is very nice but now there’s pressure to decide upon which application to use when speaking to them. I already have quite a few virtual and real friends with whom I Blog, Skype and Email surely throwing cake at them and poking them on a daily basis is a bit of overkill . . . plus, their sites are far more sophisticated than mine so I'm under pressure to make it look pretty and I haven’t got a clue. ClareBear . . . Help!
Mission for tonight: Explore, expand and expunge if it turns out to be a crock.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
We Aussies, now that we are living no longer on the sheep’s back but on the resources boom and flogging the world substances such as yellowcake, tin, bauxite, iron, coal and gas, feel vindicated in transference and slagging the Kiwis big time about their sheepish bad habits.
You’ve heard the jokes:
- How do New Zealanders find sheep in the long grass . . . “Very enjoyable thank you eh?”.
- Why does New Zealand have some of the fastest race horses in the world? Because the horses have seen what they do with their sheep
- An Aussie journalist was in New Zealand doing stories where he saw a Kiwi farmer doing unnatural things with a sheep. He approached the Kiwi and firstly asked, "What sort of sheep is that?" He scribbled down the farmer's reply - "a Merino". The next question was, "Do you shear them?" The farmer replied hastily, "No! Go and find yer own!"
(I think only Kiwi's and Yarpies will get that one!)
Well we know that the Kiwi’s get a bit pissed off with these jokes (many of which were first levelled at Australia before anyone realised that the land of the Long White Cloud had a sense of humour – or indeed sheep) In fact they’re probably just puzzled as to why some Aussie would put a jumbuck in his tucker bag, when with a raised eyebrow and some sweet talk it could be coaxed into a sleeping bag!
Sheep jokes aside, the New Zealanders have taken the joke to a new level with a slash, gore-fest of a little movie called Black Sheep that’s taking the antipodes by storm. Sheep have exacted their sweet revenge via celluloid. Sheep shaggers – sheep baggers beware! An experiment in genetic engineering turns harmless sheep into blood-thirsty killers that terrorize a rural town in New Zealand.
This is a fun-filled ridiculous out-of-control blood-soaked ride where bitten humans are transformed into Weresheep. There are no rules set in the film and there’s nothing to take seriously. The goal is to have you sit back, relax and have one hell of a good time.
I told you I had a silly day. This just tickled my fancy.
And in the event you’re reading this Stan . . . you really should give me a call!
Monday, August 13, 2007
Next week, it all gets taken out and a permanent filling inserted and a bit of bleach to whiten me and brighten me. Then a couple of nice porcelain veneers on three other teeth and I’ll look like an American! Then I won’t need (nor will I be able to afford) anything else for Christmas!
Sorry, this post is self-absorbed and all about me yet again but I’m feeling very brave about having my roots pulled. And, might I add deeply ripped off by our Dental health system. I pay a load for Medical, Hospital and Dental cover. Have never been in hospital other than to have babies, don’t need Chiro, Physio, Accupungture or a new pair of running shoes - I need good dental care!
Now children, look after your teeth, brush twice a day, floss after every meal and use a mouthwash in the evening (but don’t spit it down the sink if you have an Envirocycle or Septic Tank system because it kills the 'good' bacteria). See your dentist every 12 months for a checkup clean and scale and you might then be able to avoid spending thousands of dollars on root canal therapy and DaVinci veneers!
Did I say root enough in this post?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Now by rights, I should have had a permit to burn 'flammable refuse' but this year I didn't bother. Apparently the rules have changed and any burn is now controlled by NSW fire brigade (Real firemen with bigger trucks and more flashy lights) not the Rural Fire Service. Such is the encroachment of the burbs on our little haven.
Unlike the firemen which appear in those calendars, two were young and handsome, the third, a big frosty fella who took the dim view. Obviously a quiet night at Kellyville Fire Station. So, I stood there for 20 minutes as the 'responsible' adult (Shit we were all adults, there wasn't a person under 20 in sight) and copped a hammering from Fireman Sam about putting house fires out and there being no signs of a fire hazard around the place. How he could see in the dark still amazes me as the fire was by now a steaming heap of blackness and there's no fire hazard material around the place because we just sent it to hell and back on the fucking bonfire! Patronising shite.
Anyway, it all ended well. The remaining embers were doused, the girls had their photos taken with the two handsome ones and I went to bed angry at my friggin neighbours.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
It all started innocently enough. Three girls, came for tea. Coogee Girl, Queen Bea and ClareBear. Pretzel Coated Chicken Schnitzel and salad was created by DrummerBoy and the Fringelet, followed by Chocolate Lava pudding and all I had to do was wash up. The idea, have a few bevvys before descending on The Mean Fiddler for a big night out. Three bottles of Champagne and half a bottle of vodka later between the three of them (they are all 23 after all) the giggling girties were picked up by the Clone and ferried off to eat men for dessert.
I settled into attempting to build a wordpress blog which I may or may not move to depending upon whether I can 'get it' over the weekend and retired at about 11:30. Such is the excitement of my Friday nights!
At 1:10 get a message from ClareBear - Coogee girl has gone missing with all their purses and ID. ClareBear of course has left her phone charging on the windowsill and is borrowing Clone's. Fair nuf. I call Coogee girl on Clare's phone at home and a man answers . . . she eventually gets on the phone and is decidedly messy. "Clare's trying to find you, go back into the Fiddler and connect with her." Coogee girl is far from home and has connected with someone after spewing on her new black boots. She's outside getting some fresh air. Fifteen minutes later, another message - Coogee Girl has still not made her presence known. I'm back on the phone bog eyed and getting a bit cranky at this stage . . . man answers . . .Coogee Girl is now in someone's car . . . still messy. "Get back into the Fiddler, you're an idiot getting into someone's car when you don't even know them. ClareBear's waiting by the front door." This went on for about 45 minutes, toing and froing with ClareBear and Coogee Girl using me as an intemediary to try to connect with each other when they're both at the same bloody venue. It's a pub not a small country! Clare messaging me,me messaging Coogee girl . . .By this morning it all became clear.
Coogee Girl had fast tracked her vodka, got sick, met a bloke, had a spew, got really messy and got in his car and was about to willingly go home not realising that Dad was the designated driver! Dad, naturally thinking she's a slurry, threw her out of the car and escorted her back to the Fiddler. Young man got a clip around the ear and was taken home by Dad. Young man calls next morning - it's on, they're connecting up next week. Fine first impression that must have made!
Queen Bea was having a lovely time, dancing with randoms and pashing a black man. Messy but in control
ClareBear's found a 30 year old martial arts expert who likes wakeboarding and has a tattoo of a dragon on his back and Japanese symbols on his arm. Turns out he speaks Japanese too and so the bonding begins with a little tongue bushido.
The Clone (designated driver) decides she's going to leave her car at the Fiddler and go home with her new best friend and leaves the remaining pisspots to fend for themselves.
Scenario: Three drunken party pashers falling down the front steps, men hanging off them and one with spew on her boots wondering how they're going to get home. A cab isn't an option because two of them are tight arses saving for the world trip of a lifetime. And after being woken up to be the go-between, there's no way I'm going to rescue their slurry asses. Enter TheAthlete, lovely friend of Adam's who is stone cold sober makes a special trip to pick them up, drops them home then goes back to bed! (He's secretely in love with Queen Bea).
This morning it's all hits and giggles. All three are blissfully unaware of the possible danger in their actions and whilst downing copious amounts of hangover cure (red cordial) and eating greasy Macdonalds breakfasts relive the night that was.
Coogee Girl is very apologetic for keeping me up in to the wee small hours but doesn't seem contrite about getting into strange man's car in a state of total inebriation. She's a sweet kid but boy, bound in cotton wool. Queen Bea has not only pashed the black man and given him her number (probably a Sudanese trolley boy) but also found another to tongue wrestle with before departing and now has a crush on the Athlete but couldn't do anything about it last night due to her dire need for a sausage roll at 2am - something about grease lining the stomach. Very good look NOT! So he dropped her without so much as a peck on the cheek! (He'll be here tonight so we'll see how she fares then)
ClareBear is rung by the 30 year old tatooed-kung-fu-wakeboarder at 11.00am on the dot as promised. He's going to help his granny in the garden but he'll call later. "Awwwwws" all round.
Sometimes, having your children and their friends confide their escapades to you is well . . . frankly too much information. I've been on sexual overload this week with fully fledged explanations of terms such as party pashers, bullets, turkey slapping and tea bagging . . and found out that my son no longer uses condoms since his relationship is 'serious'.
Just how much can a koala bear?
Friday, August 10, 2007
K8 is playing games again and at 6:53am I think I've got her drift. An excuse to regurgitate an old post long before anyone knew you/I existed. It's not my best effort but definitely my first. Here's the gist . . .
1. Go choose one post which you would like to use as an example of your under-appreciated genius, and link it.
2. Link to the person who last suggested the ‘best shot’ idea.
3. Suggest the idea to others, then make sure you read, and comment on their regurgitated posts.
C'mon you background lurkers, be brave and leave a comment.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Oh the drama . . it’s all too hard, the highs and lows, the ups and downs, I just want to have a big sulk, sweep the back of my satin gloved hand across my face and exit in a dramatic fashion . . . an scream and scream until I'm blue . . . so, are you a drama queen?
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
I didn’t ‘mean’ to shop, I literally have to walk through one of our nicest department stores across the road from where I work to get to the bank or food court to buy my lunch. Normally this is an event free exercise with me smiling at the security guard at the in and out doors and never stopping to 'smell the roses'.
It all started whilst walking through the cosmetic department and a brief thought that I might be able to replace a nice Estee Lauder transluscent lipstick that I received in my special vanity case for my birthday last year. Sadly it was a limited release and its equivalent was a mighty $44. (Sheeet yeah? That’s a lot for a bit of whale grease and food colouring.) Still, knowing I had a smidgen left from my tax rebate, I thought I’d spoil myself.
Shop Assistant: “If you purchase just $60 worth of Estee Lauder, we can offer you this fabulous presentation pack with a lipstick, some powdery stuff to make you look like Bette Davis in “Whatever Happened to Mary Jane”, some sticky black goo to give you eyelashes like Janet Jackson and magic crème for those wrinkly eyes PLUS a cleanser and moisturiser that will even out your broken capilliaries and make you look like Natalie Imbruglia in thirty seconds . . .”
*I resisted the temptation to thump the little dolly- I haven't got wrinkly eyes or red capilliaries!*
Me: “Ooooh . . well I could do with a new foundation because the eight, half-used ones I already have aren’t the right colour and make me look pasty so I use my $5.00 tinted Ponds moisturiser instead, maybe I could splash out a little.”
So I gets the girl to choose a nice light, moisturising foundation that will make me look like Liz Hurley at a red carpet event and qualify for the ‘special offer’. Yeay! Only spent $110 and got $65 worth of freebies and a new make-up purse which I didn’t need.
Not content with being sucked in at the cosmetic counter there was a big red sign screaming at me . . .it was quite insistant "Oi YOU, yes YOU, I'm talking to YOU - come over here . . . look what’s on special and it’s not in the ‘women’s’ section” (that of course is a euphemism for clothing for the more womanly figure where I refuse to shop because I just can’t wear purple psychodellic swirls) . . .”
The sign pointed firmly and decidedly at a rather nice brown sweater, fine knit, thigh length with pretty fluted sleeves and showing just enough cleavage to be a little alluring . . .” I squealed a little squeal of delight "Oooh, here I goes again - That’s noice.” Only $44.95 so I went for broke and bought two one in a pretty Donkey Brown and the other in a muted Sage Green. Both will go well with my new lippy. Damn that naughty sign tempting me to the dark side. It was hanging quietly now waiting for the next sucker to glance its way.
The last straw was the relocation of the jeans section to just near my departure point. I was so close to gettting a sandwich, to making a break for it, to smiling at the security guard as usual on my way through when another huge “Take it OFF, Take it All OFF” sign swayed, seductively and beckoned me with an up turned index finger. “C’mon sexy” it said, “you know you want to!"
"Ok, just a quickie" . . . says I mainly because I was absolutely positive there’d be nothing there to fit my womanly form. These departments are usually for the youngsters, mostly sizes that Kate Moss would have trouble getting into. Whell hush my mouth and be still my beating heart! It was meant to be, it was written in the stars . . . a pair of really nice dark blue/black straight leg jeans with my name and $20 written all over them (now that is an unheard of price for jeans here which usually retail around the $150 mark.)
So, yesterday, in the space of 15 minutes, I managed to spend: $222. Thank god I don’t like shopping, imagine the damage I could do in half an hour!
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
A recent book published outlines all the things that really annoy us. You know men leaving the toilet seat up, burnt toast crumbs in the butter, dishes left in the sink, milk bottle left out on the bench, the bed unmade, grinding teeth, women using his razor to shave their legs. I’m sure we’ve all got our lists and we should revisit them another time.
But today, I’m feeling pretty happy and thought I’d focus on the positive. It’s not super news and it’s not sensational so probably will bore you to bits but I thought I’d post on things/attributes I really like in people and also things that I really like after all, this is all about me right?
Qualities that I really love in others include:
- Demonstrabe and genuine interest
- Consistency with just the odd surprise thrown in
- An ability to follow through
- Total honesty and most importantly . . .
I’ve always subscribed to the ‘treat others as you would be treated’ dictum and think it’s a pretty fair way to approach the human race. If anything, it’s one of the creeds I live by the most. I’m hopeful that I treat others, both real and virtual with the same qualities listed above regardless of their sex, age, location or funny little quirks.
And on another note . . . because I have a number of youngling friends real and virtual, I want to set the record straight - my age does not define me darlings any more than youth is wasted on each of you . . .
The Benchwarmer (Age 22) “You’re a cranky ol mama with something interesting to say and stop looking at me with those disapproving eyes!”
(I am not cranky! I’m Grumpy there’s a very subtle difference)
Kahlerisms (Age 25) “You’re one of my favourite old people”.
Fwoooaaaarrrr, Heh, Meh, :P - at least I'm active on my blog!
Daz (Age 19): “I can’t believe I’m talking to someone who’s 50 . . . ”
Aww . . c’mon kid . . . close your eyes I sound like I'm 20
Ocky (Age 21) “Oooh Helen, you’d get on so well with my girlfriend’s mother, she’s a whacky old bird too”
Thank you Dan, I feel so much better knowing I'm part of a madwomen's circle.
DrummerBoy (Age 20) “You’re driving like a geriatric doing 40 in a 70 zone!” . .
I am not, I'm just on auto pilot, it's usually peakhour when I drive down this street . . .
So here goes, next time you think of us mature ladies as over-the-hill, think about what we have to offer
- We won't wake you in the middle of the night and askwhat you're thinking?
- We won't put pressure on you to marry us and start a family
- If we don't want to watch the footy, we'll find something else to do that's more interesting
- We don't yell anymore, we've worked out more sinister ways of getting our own back. Of course, if you deserve a repremand, we'll deny priviledges and shoot you if we can get away with it
- We are more generous with praise often undeserved because we know what it's like to be unappreciated
- We are psychic and know what you've been up to whether it's a quick one at the pub or a serious affair.
- We have endless patience with the sad, the lonely, the lovelorn, the boring and the demented . . . especially those of us who have raised children!
- Once you get past a wrinkle or two and the fact that everything is heading south, we're more sexy and far more experienced than our younger counterparts.
- We're forthright and honest whether you like it or not, we'll tell you when you're being a jerk so you will always know where you stand.
- We don't get embarrassed standing next to you if you look like a bucket of smashed crabs - we can see beyond the exterior
Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. The world is full of paunchy relics making fools of themselves with some 22-year old. They're the sort that say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" But my sweet things, the worm is turning . . . these days we old battleaxes are realising that it's not worth buying the entire piggy just to get a little sausage!
Go the olds!
(I'm not quite that old yet mind you)