Healthy Tadpoles

I was listening to TripleJ on the way to work this morning and heard that pregnant women bearing male foetuses (or is it foetii) who eat a lot of red meat run the risk of their sons being infertile. This got me thinking about infertility - it is Friday after all and the mind tends to wander around lunchtime - so I wondered and found some very interesting information on how to preserve/maintain male fertility. (All in the name of Newsletter Research of course because I'm hard at it - work that is!) So c'mon boys do your bit for the planet and give the girls a rest from calendar watching, taking temperatures, waving their legs in the air for 15 minutes after sex or suffering the indignity of IVF . . get those tadpoles swimming . . . here are some practical guidelines on maintaining your potency.

Don't have intercourse more than three times a week. More frequent intercourse may reduce the number of viable sperm in the semen. (I can see that working)

Time intercourse to coincide with ovulation, which usually occurs midway between menstrual periods. (That's once a month fellas!)

After intercourse, spend ten to fifteen minutes quietly in each other's arms before getting up. (No problem, he'll fall asleep straight away)

Exercise regularly but moderately (no, sex is not moderate exercise). Maintaining a high level of physical fitness increases the possibility of conception.

Avoid excessive consumption of alcohol (Nooooooooo!)

Try to eliminate the stress in your life as much as possible. (hari krishna, hare hare, krishna krishna . . ohm maddy paddy ohm)

Don't smoke (the sex had better be good, no durries or beer!)

Stay cool: A man should not wear underwear that holds his testicles close to his body. Sperm require cool temperatures to remain active. Avoid hot baths, hot tubs, jacuzzis, saunas, and steam baths. These indulgences may reduce stress and create a sensual mood, but they can also reduce your ability to impregnate your partner. (So if you made it in the jacuzzi, it's all over red rover!)

Do not take any drugs except those prescribed by your physician. (Drugs are bad for you. Mkay)

Do not consume animal fats, fried foods, sugar, or junk foods. Do eat pumpkin seeds, bee pollen, or royal jelly. (No of course! Go for something that comes out of a bee's bottom!)

Eating, half a dozen oysters, lean red meat, and crab may help. They all contain a high level of zinc, which is essential for motility and production of sperm. (Well at least you can eat well even if you have given up durries and beer and your beloved budgie smugglers)

Strict adherence to a gluten-free diet has enabled some previously sterile men to become fathers. (I take back what I said about the food, rice cakes and semolina?)

Good luck you father's to be . . .

I Thrive on Recognition

Recognition . . I love it! Rare but very flattering. Yeay. Someone across the Tasman is interested in the unintellectual ramblings of a hormonal grumpkin in Oz. Now I feel super spesh after being linked to NZPubcast. But don't tell anyone, their subscriptions are getting so popular that they'll have to start paying for their server space and that would mean dipping into valuable beer cash (or is that cache). It's an exclusive club and despite offending one of its main contenders this week (sorry Dodge) they've kept me up there. It's great to feel wanted but now I have to lift the humour level, become slightly intellectual and God forbid, start drinking beer!

I think not . . got a nice bottle of Bolly off the boss for running a good Seminar this week . . .much more to my taste and another piece of recognition . . c'mon cloud nine!

Musically Speaking

I'd forgotten how fabulous Jeff Buckley's prophetic Last Goodbye was until I heard it again at lunchtime today . . .I'm also partial to The Block Party fab English Band with something new to offer and I wish someone hadn't nicked my Groove Armada Love Box . . . really!

Yarpy Real Estate Agents

Despite ClareBear's protestations that I make assumptions and am a racist - might have had something to do with me discouraging her from dating a Tanzanian man she met in a nightclub on Saturday night . . . I do generally have a problem with white South Africans. Whilst I work with one who's quite nice and funny . . . he's definitely got the white supremecist thing going and hasn't lived there for 27 years! Then there's TheBoss's friend Yarpy who has met me on several occasions but was so drunk by the end of each, he reintroduces himself every time he meets me .

But the current irritation comes as a combination of a dyed-in-the wool South African Real Estate Agent. So put that white supremecist, 'I can't make it in my fucked up country so I've come to make lots of money in yours' atttitude with hard sell real estate training and you have an asshole of gargantuan proportions with none other than a hyphenated name (always thought that was pretentious and non committal too - either keep your own name or change it . . it's like being bi-sexual - make up your mind). Anyway he knows we're for sale and keeps telling me that he wants to represent us then in the next breath tells us how shit the block is:

Too many trees (Yes, we like hugging them)
Watercourse (What? in this drought)
Not enough bathrooms (Does the word 'demolition' mean anything to you?)
Asking too much (think of the commission asshole)

Despite deriding our property and asking price, he's still interested. Now he has a buyer who wants 16 blocks - 80 acres - on our side of the street . . .but will only share if we sign an Agent's agreement . . . I don't think so you right wing, fascist, money grubbing, real estate agent - show me the money Yarpie, show me the money!

Gentle Persuasion

It's taken a long time, but I think I've nailed it. You can get a man do to exactly what you want him to do if you make him think it's his idea in the first place. This is an art ladies, it's taken me a long time to perfect and I still don't like the lack of recognition I get for initiatives - because everyone thinks they belong to 'him' - but that aside, at least I get my way eventually . . .the beauty of it is that they don't even know they're being persuaded It's gold.

Gunna Baino

Well it's cool, breezy, I've cleaned the house, put out the washing and now I have absolutely no excuse not to clean the interior of my filthy car other than . . .it was supposed to be my birthday present from DrummerBoy in October! I should get on with it, I'm gunna clean my car, I'm gunner blow the leaves, I'm gunna weed the garden then I'm gunna crack open a bottle and watch Sunday Arts . . .actually there's only one of these that I'm really gunna do.

TGIF

Went to a good show last night. Richard Glover is an ABC radio personality who has a drive time radio show. I haven't listened to it for a while as I only live about 20 minutes from work and tend to listen to TripleJ these days, it's not a long enough trip to get into heavy 'issues' on talkback. Anyway, he has a segment on Friday afternoons called Thank God It's Friday - where he invites a load of 'personalities' and usually of the comedic kind to comment on issues that have arisen over the week. So . . .now he's reproduced it on stage.

Other celebrities on the panel included hilarious expat American Tommy Dean, Mikey 'I had more talent when I was fat' Robbins, Jean Kitson - satirist and comedian and Anthony Ackroyd the self-deprecating Tasmanian. It was great, and cheap! $32 well spent! Well it will be when I pay Thommo for the tickets!

Very funny apart from two small things which often persist in comedy 'shows' of this kind . . and I don't understand why. One is the need to get the audience to participate in a usually lame and mildly satirical song, the other is the customary musical interlude by some Australian burlesque has been - in this case the poor old Toni Lamond . . . this age old entertainer's main claim to fame is that she's Helen Reddy's sister - you know "I am woman hear me roar". Her much older sister. . . she should have come on in her dressing gown and slippers . . .now that would have been funny.

Election Problems

Yep, viagra aint gonna help this one . . . no cialis ingestion will help me here . . . it's our State Election in NSW on Saturday and I haven't a clue who to vote for. I'm socialist by nature so the current Labour Government seems OK except they're driving the state into debt with poor policies and lousy spending practices and because Australia has a wholly labour state government and a Liberal federal, the meeting of the minds is damn near impossible, even on bi-partisan issues such as water management. Or there's the liberals . . .mmm don't go there but maybe it's time for a change . . .there's the Outdoor Recreation Representatives who like four wheel driving, shooting, riding in national parks, fishing in protected areas etc. Or, there's the No State Parties Party who are trying to abolish local government altogether and centralise control in Canberra. This spurred me to check exactly who was registered:

The usual suspects
Australian Democrats
Australian Labor Party
Australian Liberals
Australian Nationals

The less well-known
Australians against Further Immigration - because we know the .28% Lebanese community are all terrorists and the Chinese are taking over our selective schools

Christian Democratic Party - because atheists aren't very democratic. God's law rules and gay people are bad mkay

Horse Rider's Party - I like that one but I haven't actually ridden a horse for 4 years . . .and their poo makes a mess of national park habitat apparently - not half as bad as wombat holes!

One Nation - yeay, I can convert that old white sheet into a sexy pointy KKK Hat - Ploise exploine

The Fishing Party - because fish is good for you - even the little teeny weeny ones and the really, really rare ones

The Shooters Party - because guns don't kill people, people do

Save our Suburbs - another bunch of extremist right wing let's-put-a-fence-up and start a vigilante group to keep the delinquents out ratbags

Socialist Alliance - now we're talkin' - free public transport - staged withdrawal from Iraq - up for controlling climate change - I'm beginning to like this bunch even though they don't have a snowflakes chance in Hell of getting a candidate up . . .

Then again, I live in a blue ribbon liberal electorate controlled by raving pentacostals so my vote just cancel's out one of those right wing ratbags attempt to gain power . . . ha ha . . wouldn't you know it, they haven't got enough funds to re-register their party!

Now I'm decisive and empowered . . . I don't think the Socialist Alliance would have been represented at my Liberal dominated polling booth . . . and I'm damn sure they wouldn't have a "How to Vote" card so I'd have been stuffed anyway.

Simple Pleasures

Billecart Salmon Champagne

Clare and Adam

Tickling a dog first thing in the morning

Cup of tea first thing in the morning

Rain on the roof

King Island Brie

Lost, Top Gear and Iron Chef

Beautiful bed linen

Girlfests

There will be more . . . I'm trying to adopt a positive frame of mind . . .

That Certain Time of the Month

I'm not so fragile today. The problem with being pre menopausal is that everyone puts your gripes and bad temper down to hormones or pms . . . not any more you shitkickers . . . hrt is doing its stuff! I'm just a cranky, bad tempered, prima donna and proud of it!

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

So you've worked at your current place of work for six years . . . been instrumental in establishing their policies, procedures, marketing materials, human resource management, mentoring, refits, database integrations, costing services, service level agreements with clients, liaison with manufacturers and suppliers and all the manifestations of running a small office as well as maintaining their website, doing all their marketing, writing a newsletter and managing three staff members.

Then . . one day . . .the Partners ask during a performance review (which I designed by the way)"Where do you see yourself in five years time . . .?"

OK given that I'm 50, hanging onto a property that should render about 21 700 sq metre blocks and a close to $2 million in my pocket - if I'm patient . . . I said that I'd like to get rid of my Practice Management responsibilities and work part time doing marketing. Well that's the last time I tell the truth at work. I meant in five years time you nit wits . . . not right now!

You'd think I'd have learned by now. So my Practice Management responsibilities are being pared away and given to another member of staff who is very capable but simply not as experienced and time poor and there's every likelihood that she'll leave within the next 3 years to start a family.

The insult does not end there . . . another body is to move into the 'quadrangle' the hub of the workplace where I can hear and see all, resolve issues and keep my finger on the pulse. As a result, the new body is to have my position - my lovely workstation. I 'm relegated to a corner with some partitioning, away from my administrative colleagues so as not to 'influence' them and to allow them to blossom without my influence . . . I am pushed from the hub that's kept me so well informed over the past 2 years and allowed me to be an employee/employer advocate. I'm dragged so far away from this little hub that there's no way I will know what's going on day to day . . . I can't see anyone and I can't hear anyone . . . perhaps I'm not meant to. I have a quiet wish that it all goes to hell without my influence and control but I don't think so.

All this I can take, the rejection, being shot off into a corner, losing 30% of my responsibilities but . . . I will not sit at a second-hand table without a proper keyboard shelf or drawers. That my dears was my 'best friend's' suggestion this morning when I asked for a new workstation . . . she thinks I am a monster for demanding that I will not be relegated into the corner on someone elses hand-me-down . . . especilly when a part-timer gets my lovely position and my lovely workstation.

After chucking a major wobbly . . I think I have at least preserved my desk and my sanity. I will retain my lovely workstation so that I don't lose face in front of everyone who will surely think that I'm on the way out the door if I'm caught working at a second hand table that used to house a guillotine and franking machine! Was I wrong to protest? Well I don't think so, it's not about the desk, it's about respect and sending a clear message to everyone that even though I'm out of sight and mind, I am still important, highly paid and highly valued.

So from early April I will be totally disarmed, I will be the one in the corner, near the front door that doesnt' know what's going on and is constantly mistaken for the receptionist due to my location . . . I do hope real estate picks up soon . . .or that Thommo gets a shot of empathy and realises what it's really like to be an employee rather than an owner. Walk a mile in my shoes babe . . .It sux feeling insecure, financially vulnerable, wondering if you're really valued or just an encumbant that's too hard to fire. Ah . . .this used to be such a lovely place to work but too much change, too little planning and not a lot of empathy has done me in.

I am happy because . . . .

• It's Friday
• I went out for dinner last night with ClareBear and DrummerBoy and had oysters and veal with prawns, asparagus and bearnaise sauce
• My kids are the greatest things on the planet
• I'm going out for dinner tonight with Thommo, The Merry Widow and Struth Ruth and will be given plenty of dirty jokes
• The Princess isn't limping much this morning
• I get to lie-in tomorrow (wishful thinking but I dare to go there)
• The grass is mown

All is well in the world . . .

Armchair Radical

I have become an armchair radical, not something I'm proud of but I'm just looking for the right vehicle to become involved. I could train my princess to be a companion pet and keep little children and the elderly happy or clean up Australia once a year or join a tree planting group but I want to make more of a contribution.

I'm outraged by Guantanamo Bay and the treatment particularly of David Hicks. Five years imprisoned and only now does he face a kangaroo court and bogus charges when prisoners from other governments have been transferred home and many set free. I watched SBS our multicultural channel last night an the injustices received by an Al Jazeera journalist, detained for 2 years, deprived of liberty, food, comfort and his beloved Koran which was unjudiciously flushed down the toilet in front of his eyes. Hey, I work with a bunch of radical Christians that would declare open war if someone did that to their bible or peeled their bloody fish decal off their car. How does a middle class, widow, mother of two and woman of modest means get involved in something more than feeling powerless to do anything. I lobby via the internet, I'm a chronic letter writer but feel that I'm really nothing much more than an armchair radical with a load of strong opinions and a bucket of good intentions. I am a prime example of good people standing by while bad things happen . . . any suggestions?

Bring on the Ice Age . . .

I'm officially over summer . . .March is here with a vengeance and el ninio has long gone. It's hot, sticky, wet . . . some might find it erotic but I think it sucks. I long for a long, loose sweater and sheepskin slippers, an outside bonfire, my Nepalese hat to keep my ears warm and an extra doona at night. I hate the humidity, it renders me useless after about 2.00pm . . . all I can do is dip and dry, drink icy drinks, more dip and dry . . .can't function, can't cook, can't move. New Zealand is looking very attractive to me at the moment!

Better late than . . .

This weekend is hotter than hell and the air is heavy with humidity. I can't walk out to the washing line without breaking into a sweat. Needless to say, there's nothing on . . . absolutely nothing. I've tried watching an old Stuart Whitman war movie, listening to Songs of Praise in Welsh and watching Anthony Calea's abyssmal attempt to sing Bridge over Troubled Waters. I'm not really keen on Chinese news and frankly, Asia Today is not doing it for me.

Here on my lonesome as usual on a Sunday. ClareBear is recovering from a big night at Mardis Gras somewhere else. DrummerBoy has gone to work with a hangover - damn that Yaegermeister and Red Bull . . .so it's me and me dawg waiting for the Sunday Arts show to start and sharing my computer space with a lacklustre labrador, three large eastern skinks and a couple of bull ants! Yep, they're everywhere the fuckers - my thongs haven't worked so hard in a long time. Must be the rain bringing the bastards in. Don't know if you've ever been bitten by one but they hurt - big time.

Anyway, nothing happening this weekend so I'll recap on last. Sunday was the quarterly reunion of old work colleagues and new friends Overall, Yummy Mummy, BikerGirl and myself. My turn to host the lunch. We caught up on Overall's recent trip to the US and all agreed that New Yorkers are arrogant and rude whilst the rest of America seems pretty sweet (unlike the ugly tourists you encounter overseas.) We decided that time out was the best way to discipline a clingy four year old and that at long last, Biker Girl's love life is springboarding into a whole new dimension. Food? Carpaccio of beef with mesclun salad and horseradish and seared tuna with pesto and caesar salad and a yummy lychee and blueberry fruit salad with a delicious dollup.

I love these girls. We're all so different but have a great time. Any lunch that last for six hours is a good one in my book. Just a shame that BikerGirl got knocked off her bike at the traffic lights on the way home . . .she's OK but I think the prospect of getting a car for these long haul trips is starting to appeal. Thanks babes, it was a blast. See you in the winter.

Work is Like Pimple Popping

It's all action at work today. Themostannoyingparaplannerontheplanet has finally managed to ruffle the feathers of our lovely highly technical, precision minded, good-humoured, Polish born Argentinian super ParaPlanner . . . . their relationship has been festering (as has her relationship with many other members of staff) over the past 3 months . . .Funny isn't it, some people come into the workforce and settle right in, others immediately try to change everything. They're little irritations beneath the skin that start out a little sore, then become downright irritating before the bubble bursts and the pressure is relieved.

It's been three years of persistent change at work and now we're ready to implement all our fab databases, CRM's, processes, procedures and policies and in comes this irritation . . . upsets the most placid and in my mind proficient ParaPlanner on the planet and just about all the administrative staff . . . so today was massaging egos day for me but I came out a winner . . . fisticuffs averted . . . and hairs on the backs of necks also smoothed . . .I think things have come to a head, naturally ruptured and now we just need time to heal . . .

Don't Joop

Men . . I have an incredibly acute sense of smell and taste and I'm telling you . . .Joop is the worst male fragrance in the UNIVERSE . . . don't Joop, it smells like cheap female cologne with man sweat mixed in. Absolutely, abusive . . disgusting . . offputting . . . I can't stress this strongly enough . . . don't JOOP! (You can however, Jean Paul Gautier all you like . . .)

Geography Geek

I played with Google Earth for a while, much fun, especially when ClareBear was travelling I could even see the hostels she was staying in - especially in Italy but now I've got Google Maps. Brilliant and you can overlay the satellite image . . .I'm becoming a geography geek . . .

Tell Her She's Dreamin'

As you may or may not know, the QM2 and the QE2 will both be in Sydney today, passing literally as ships in the night and what a furor they've caused. A flotilla of yachts escorted them in, the public have lined the foreshore for a perve and some were even lucky enough to get on board to meet friends and crew.

I'm researching our Autumn Newsletter for work and inspired by these two big queens, thought I'd do something about journeys - literal, personal, financial . . so whilst I've been researching the nature of journeys I've also been envying the Balmoral Suite aboard the QE2 and indulging my travel fantasies - rich for someone who hasn't even got a current passport. Still . . . Maybe I'd be better cruising the second time round . . .the first time was when I emigrated to Australia as an 11 year old and spent four days spewing into the Bay of Biscay before we reached the relative calm of the Canary Islands . . .Ive never been game to cruise since.

I've also been checking the itineraries available through US agents R Crusoe and Son who arrange for bizarre private flights and off-the-beaten path luxury tours to the wonders of the world such as Machu Pichu, Easter Island, Cambodia, Luxor and more all aboard your private jet and staying at the world's most exclusive hotels.

Then there's the ultimate holiday, one where the journey is everything. Richard Branson's
Virgin Galactic flight in 2009! Seriously watch the movie it's surreal What a blast!

So, at what cost? 250,000 for the Balmoral Room and an 80 day all inclusive trip (plus I'd be a non-resident after that time and wouldn't have to pay any tax). About the same for a blast into space for 20 minutes on Mr Branson's rocket ship . . .and a little less to find out about the wonders of the world on a R Crusoe Private Journey, my own private jet and posh hotels . . . Oh I wish they'd take Monopoly money . . .

Feelin' Alright

I feel a lot better today, suicidal tendancies have gone and I'm feeling more 'balanced'. I think I was destined to work. It annoys me but it's the best distraction . . . gives me a sense of worth, pays pretty well and I don't mind the people I work with . . . DrummerBoy came home from motocross without a bruise that's always a good thing . . . ClareBear had a call from Horrie who is horribly confused about his feelings but hey . . . he's a good snog . . and I got over being bummed about not being invited to Tropfest by watching Australia You've Got Talent . . .how far the mighty have fallen . . .

Buy me!

We sit in Sydney's northwest hills district. We've geen gazetted fror 21 700sqm blocks, it's desirable, close to the city, public transport, clean air, clean suburban living so why won't anyone buy us. We have a modest price on the house and it's been 19 years since I've lived alone i.e. without a relative in the house next door. I'm ready to move on but the only options are:

1. Sell now at market value and lose the lovely relationship I have with my younger brother and his family who will lose out financially on their investment in the place if we sell at today's rates
2. Hang on and live in stasis with no money for holidays, dinner out, theatre, concerts, 21st birthdays, shit even my 50th went without aplomb
3. Suicide which will pay for my mortgage debt and leave some for the kids . . .I'm not afraid of dying just the way it happens . .

I'm sounding morose now but I'm clutching at straws, knowing that nobody of influence reads this shit. I need to move on but don't want to upset my family. I love my brother and sister-in-law and my sister and brother-in-law but maybe it's time to think about myself. BabySis is on the verge of selling their dream block because their mortgage is too high and cappucino and dinner out twice a week is too much - sacrifice isn't her strong point, nor should it be.

BabyBro who never reads this blog has invested in the property both financially and emotionally and is looking for a return but bless him, is covering our mortage repayments on a love agreement . . . I admire his trust and I won't let you down bro . . .believe me just pay your bit back and I'll cover the rest. . .I just want to cut and run . . .but with my family intact and all this exacerbated by not being invited to Tropfest. . . .sorry dear readers but I am at my pathetic worst. I'm off for a little cry now and I'll feel much better.

Blurred lines

Ok today was chill, quiet Sunday, couple of videos - there would have been swimming but we let the pool go green - big rain, high temps and the chlorine couldn't keep up. It's also Tropfest, free event in the Domain. Clare has packed her beer and cheese and disappeared. When you have small children, you include them in everything you do . . beach, holidays, free events, even put up with Play School Concerts. Hell, I've been the drummy mummy before DrumerBoy could drive, chauffering drums to various locations around Sydney for under 18 gigs. The netball noodle sitting all day at gala events celebrating possibly the most boring game on the planet. I really would have liked to gone to Tropfest but didn't think anyone would want to go with me - my friends do not share my love of film and music - too busy playing tennis, installing drip irrigation or admiring each other's golf handicap. I was actually, too lazy to canvass friends my own age but at 15:00 today, the call went out to Clare . . it's on, we're in the city, come for Tropfest . . .I really, really wanted to go but being the Parental Unit decided it would be wrong for me to suggest I tag along and the invitation was not forthcoming. We're not talking about a big night out, infringing on dating privacy, just a picnic in the Domain, a glass of champagne and a look at Australia's best short films . . I'm really sad. I hate being the responsible adult . . .I hate being the parental unit, the one left behind but I don't know why . . .cutting the apron strings is painful . . .

Team Cuisine

Last week's post re Richard Branson had me thinking I'd like to have a chat with him over a char grilled sausage . . .or maybe a steak, or fillet of chicken . . .perhaps a whole trout . . .ooops I digress. So it got me thinking, who would I invite to dinner if I had the option of 10 guests from anywhere in the world:

Richard Branson of course . . .(and he's prolly the only one that would actually come)
David Attenborough . . .love his docos but want to know about his wife and family - he must have them
Jamie Oliver . . well someone's gotta cook while I immerse myself in conversation
Keysar Trad . . .I want to know why he's the spin doctor for mad muftis
Al Gore . . .is An Inconvenient Truth true or the beginnings of an election lobby for the Presidential nomination (I thought he was unlucky the last time)
Johnny Dodge and Shifty Rob because I think the conversation would be lively and if I didn't like what they had to say, I could pretend I didn't understand their accents
John Howard . . . so I could vent my disatisfactioin at the red tape of government and his idiotic conception of global warming
David Suzuki . . definitely and environmental bent here but I want to know why farmed Atlantic Salmon is bad for the environment (it's always about the food)
Ken Kenichi . . . Iron chef Chinese so that he can learn how to prepare food from Jamie so that it doesn't suffer and perhaps let the Japanese know that Horse, Whale, Beche de Mer and Sea Urchin roe are not for human consumption (plus he'd be handy and entertaining if we wanted Teppanyaki - Japanese food fight over a BBQ plate)
Billy Connolly . . . we'll need some light relief after all the environmentalism and politics and he'd ensure it wouldn't be an early night . . .

Wow . . that's 10 already . . . might have to have another BBQ with the lads (interestingly no women in this collection, there must be some interesting females out there I just can't think of any . . . any suggestions?). Actually I'm rethinking John Howard . . .he's a downer!

Ah the best thing . . .

. . . about Iron Chef . . .the music - theme from Backdraft, it's really emotive and I think I want it to be played at my funeral . .

Vegetarian Wannabe

Because I'm a lonely and pathetic acoholic widow, I spend Saturday night entertaining myself with a bottle of bubbly and Iron Chef. A Japanese cooking show with crapply dubbed American accents and the wierdest of ingredients but tonight? Eeeeuuuuw factor kicked in. Large Octopus, live, slaughtered before us and crayfish boiled to the point where their limbs were twitching as the water's heat was elevated. Am I wrong in thinking that apart from the Vietnamese and Cambodian taste for puppies (so much more emotive than 'dogs') is usurped only by the Japanese appetite for the strange . . . now this is where the dichotomy (word of the week) kicks in. I love a a rare Black Angus steak, I'm a devotee of seafood but to watch it brutalised on a Japanese cooking show certainly brings me to the brink of vegitarianism until I think about the fabulous flavour of mung beans and lentils, the superlative taste of bhuga wheat and the fantastic texture of tofu . . . I so wannabe a vegetarian . . .every fibre tells me it's the right thing to do but . . . .the aroma of a BBQ, seafood risotto (which I had for dinner tonight) and the pervasive waft of a Sunday roast forbid it, I'm not even going to get into Bacon and Eggs Benedict as a hangover cure. I am you see a hypocrite. I love my meat as long as I don't have to slaughter it, scale it, pluck it, fillet it . . .oh my what a dilemma . . .now where's my Moosewood Cookery book . . . one good thing that came out of America.

Shrove Tuesday

So 20 February is Shrove Tuesday. Pancakes for the Brits is definitely on the menu. Originally, it was a Scottish tradition to use up the leavened flour, eggs and other incredients before the commencement of lent fasting. And now, the fine art of pancake making is now worldwide because they taste so damn nice . . .and if I can remember the recipe, I might just crank out a few pancakes next Tuesday. They are one of the few cuisine items to which ClareBear actually does justice.

Decisions, decisions . . . pikelet type Scottish pancakes with butter and syrup?
Large and fluffy McDonalds style buckwheat flapjacks with maple syrup and whipped butter? Flat French crepes with lemon and sugar or something altogether more exotic?
Savoury perhaps? Chocolate filled? Fruity . . .

Yep, its the crepe . . . ultimately versatile, foldable in a number of shapes, sweet or savoury, simple and saucy - pronounced "crap" if in France . . .(you sort of have to say it in the French gutteral tradition and make sure the 'r' forms in your throat) I don't give a crap about religious traditions but you have to admit, the humble pancake is an extremely versatile food . . . have a go you mugs (at the actual thing, not the pronunciation) and try to flip it without it sticking to the ceiling.

Tim Tams are EVIL!

. . . someone just brought some into work. I usually get my chocky fix from the MS Charity chocolates on reception - sweet enough to do the trick but small enough to soothe the conscience. However, this morning, I knew Tim Tams were evil because I could feel the muffin bulge just looking at them . . . these were especially evil . . .dark chocolate coated caramel and marshmallow centres . . . smores with a chocolate coating . . .OMG . . . better than sex! I have to have one, even if they were brought in by Themostannoyingparaplannerontheplanet

On the Scale of Things - I'm Somewhere Between the Dentist and a Hair Cut

I am not happy Jan . . . I have been relegated below haircuts, dentist appointments and workload and dogged for my regular Friday chardy lunch. I actually map out my day, allocate my time, work late if necessary to ensure that Thommo and I enjoy a leisurely lunch on Friday's, the only time we actually talk to each other without involving email. It's not a L-o-n-g lunch but we don't rush back when the hour's up unless we have to.

But no . . . Since January, we have had ONE lunch thanks to her skiing in Japan and last week, she attended a convention - junket I call it - and dogged me but that was OK cos I went out with Earth Mother, Butterfly Girl, Char and Themostannoyingparraplannerontheplannet, then this week . . . Thommo has to leave early to make herself beautiful for another junket dinner appointment. Next week it will be the hairdresser, the week after that the dentist . . . why do I bother . . . she's lucky I love her otherwise I'd be on the market for a new best friend who wants to have lunch and who can fit me into her schedule slightly above the next hair doo . . . am I bitter? mmm . . . I think so.

Happy Valentine's Day

Bugger, another year goes by and I haven't got a Valentine not even a crush! I'm giving up hope on myself so all the best to the rest of you. I hope you get lots of chocolate, overpriced roses that only last 2 days and fine french champagne of course, my favourite either Verve Cliquot or Billiecart Salmon if your asking.

Ah well . . . ButterflyGirl's going to lunch, Char gets a romantic dinner and a bear hug from the Truckie, Arky probably gets a glass thrown at him for buying something inappropriate or not sourcing white tulips, Stan will no doubt get lots of kisses and hugs from the insta-family . . . even Stresssany and BabyBro will extend their 25th Anniversary and I'm damn sure Babysis will insist on Jewellery . . . she'll buy it herself! And, my romantic little DrummerBoy will be taking the Fringelet to dinner.

So, that leaves ClareBear and I . . . sadly single but together this Valentine's Day.

Perhaps we'll go pub crawling and ask single men to marry us . . . who knows, we might get lucky

Here are some thoughts for lovers young and old on this romantic day . . .

• If love is blind, then why is lingerie so popular?
• Falling in love is so hard on the knees (Stephen Tyler)
• Love is a grave mental disease (Plato)
• Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs (Shakespeare)
• Never go to bed mad . . . stay up and fight! (Phyllis Diller)
• Love is like war . . .easy to begin but hard to end!
• Love has the power of making you believe what you would normally treat with the deepest suspicion
• It is not uncommon for slight acquaintances to get married, but a couple really have to know each other to get divorced
• I love being married, it's so nice to finally find someone special who you can annoy your whole life (Rita Rudner)
• Women like me because I make them laugh and what is an orgasm other than laughter of the loins (Mickey Rooney)
• Marriage is a fine institution - but I'm not ready for an institution (Mae West) . . . .
  

and finally, my few words of wisdom:

There is your first love, your great love and your last love . . . wherever the latter is, he'd better hurry up, I'm not gettin' any younger!

Silent Treatment

I already have one boss who refuses to speak to me unless spoken too, simply because he's rude and we've all come to accept that its just the way he is. He does all his communicating via email (and copies everyone especially when a mistake has been made). Unless I actually knock on his door and broach a subject, I doubt he would ever speak to me. I have another boss with whom I have always had an excellent relationship but lately . . . it's the silent treatment. Not because we've had a falling out . . . more that he trusts me to get on with things and he's also a one job at a time man so being absorbed with clients doesn't permit his brain to extend to any other task. I think men are like horses and spend 75% of their brain capacity on one task and the rest on normal body functioning (Horses spend 75% of their brain capacity on using their legs by the way)

As an experiment, I resolved at the beginning of the week not to speak directly to either these august leaders - just to see how long it would be before a conversation emerged . . . well it's Wednesday . . . nothing, nada, zip . . . not a good morning, not a goodbye, not a single spoken word. And the point of the exercise? Absolutely none other than to prove 'a' point. Care factor zero on both sides I guess.

Green with . . . skeptisim

Richard Branson has already committed profits from Virgin Airlines to combat global warming and has now offered an enormous reward of $32 million, along with the full endorsement of eminent Australian environmentalist Tim Flannery (Australian of the Year) and others for someone to invent a way of removing carbon dioxide from the earth's atmosphere. Whilst wild in its optimism, this is one way of flauting John Howard (Il Diablo's best mate) and his idiotic assumption that the jury is still out on global warming. OK . . selling resources to the world's developing nations - namely China and India (and if I get another call from India trying to sell me a better mobile phone deal I'm going to fly over there and burst into a call centre to garotte their manager) is why our stock market is soaring and the resources boom fattening the bank accounts of those who can afford to invest. (I'm sounding rather intelligent for someone who's just opened their second bottle). Anyway, what do you think of Richard Branson? This is the man who guards Virgin's brand as closely as MacDonalds guard their own. He turns up on Rove Live (Aussie variety show) in someone's back yard and gets tossed into their pool, like the guy next door - I guess proving he's a man of the people - he shows up at the graduation of every Virgin flight attendant ( Few bosses really give a shit about anyone's achievements, work or otherwise). Then he has a reality TV show where contestants face a Donald Trumpish humiliation in order to secure a job in the Virgin conglomerate - even to the point where he makes them walk a tightrope between two airborne hot air ballons! He's an anachronism. Is he serious? Seems to be . . . maybe he has the formula right for this generation - the common touch. He's conquered TV, airlines, Credit Cards - embraced commercialism, remained true to the cause and still portrays this grounded persona despite his wealth and accolades. His latest innovation, Virgin Galactic will have us flying into space and in Australia his sponsored Rock Festival "V Festival" takes off later this month which many promotors feel may threaten the lively rock festival season because he can afford to draw the big acts. So what to make of this self-made multi-billionaire . . . smart businessman, ecologist, entrepreneur, man of the masses, social commentator . . . for me, the jury's out . . . but anyone willing to put up that kind of dosh
for a CO2 eating solution? Well it's gotta be a win win . . . he is one of the 10 people I'd like to invite to dinner.

Sweet Young Things

There's nothing I like more than that 'gathering' moment when the kids friends drop in, have a starter beer and a shot and sit in my living room gasbagging for 20 minutes before the big night. Last night, four strapping young 20 somethings, all dressed to attract, gelled and dreadlocked, giggly and pumped . . .stayed just long enough for a chat and a joke then off . . .ah the serenity. I think I wasted a lot of my youth by being in serious relationships . . . these guys know how to have fun without being incumbered . . . (although DrummerBoy the ride home in a paddy wagon probably wasn't necessary!)

Porn Stars

One of my supervisory tasks is to make sure that boffin is checking the spam filter for legitimate emails . . . however, because he lets the inbox fill before checking, I occasionally run through it myself. This morning it struck me that if you wanted a porn name, you could abandon the usual formula - name of the first pet you owned and the first street you lived in (sadly mine is Buster Irwin - not very appropriate for a girl!) and just nick a few from the spammers: Ophellia Newton, Nathan Jason, Paige Billie, Edgar Merritt or Devon Anderson to name a few . . . so if you feel the need for a nom de plume, just put a comment in the box below and I'll oblige . . . warning to pet owners, buy a pet that's the same sex as you if you're up for a porn name!

Here's a few to get you going:

• Lily Fairway
• Brenna Faulkland
• Buster Irwin
• Nelson Eden
• Toby Dural-Downs
• Lawrence Pinus
• Chippy Pinus (that's a cracker)
• Slugger Casuarina

Scentsitive Issue

One of my colleagues has just walked into the office and the trail of garlic breath is hanging heavily in the air, it's only 8:30 how can I subtly coax him to have a mint! It's oppressive

Manners

Ok I've had a few champers this arvo and I've been grounded (no car) so I've had a bit of time to mull over some stuff. I'm very, very, pissed off at men who can't break up gracefully. OK Horrie is a 4 week 'interest' but choofs off to Tassie to play cricket - well actually to sit on the sideline because he wasn't selected on the team, got ill and has obviously quickly got over the short tryst with ClareBare. Fine . . shit happens . . and fortunately, she's not in too deep but beginning to question what she's doing wrong. So why doesn't he call her and just say "great while it happened, not for me, no chemistry . . .can't do it". No, the shit-kicker decides to just go incommunicado. Doesn't answer messages, doesn't return calls. Arrogant and rude . . .Mother's out there, think about how you would like your kids to be dumped . . msg, msn or just a phone call to say, nice while it lasted but I'm no longer interested. And men . . . get some backbone you lilly livered milk sops . . . face up to the decision and stop thinking that if you just cut off contact it will all go away . . .sadly - it will, but it makes you the spineless pricks you are . . .at least give the girl an opportunity to understand why. OK venom vented. I'm going to bed now and feeling very happy about being single and unincumbered. You're good for sex, taking out the rubbish and not much more . . .here's you're chance to prove me wrong! Anyone up for the challenge?

I will probably remove this when I calm down.

The Cruelest Awakening

BabyBro's 25th wedding anniversary lunch went on well into the night. They were still kicking on at 10:30 at which time I realised standing was not possible without shifting weight from one leg to another or leaning on a verandah post. I can't remember what shit I was talking but pretty sure sense had been thrown out the window. The problem was hardly any food, little nibbly bits from 2.00 onwards and loads of Trilogy sparkling so that, combined with a farkin hot day saw me macerated by 7.00. For the first time in a long time, I crashed fully clothed and didn't stir until the cruelest of awakenings . . .the dickhead's up early smashing cans and bottles into the recycle wheelie bin at 8:30 in the morning! Gawd, I wasn't the only one nursing a hangover, there were three bodies in my loungeroom and DrummerBoy trying to get a good night's kip . . . I'm really glad now that I didn't buy them a present . . .wait till next Saturday, the blower gets cranked up at 8 in the morning . . .two can play at that game!

It's a Lonely Time

For some reason, I have an inability to sleep beyond 6.00am . . . five or six hours a night and I'm done. Whether it has something to do with ThePrincess shafting me from my side of the bed by squeezing into the spare 20cm of mattress available or whether I'm just a light sleeper and the morning chorus acts as an alarm I don't know but here I am, as always, 7.00 on a Saturday morning watching black women's bottom's wiggling on rage as an alternative to Barney or a bunch of kids anime style cartoons and Chinese news on SBS . . I've had my requisite 2 cups of tea and 2 cigarettes and am now bored shitless as the sun shimmers through the gum trees, the lorikeets do their best to wake the dead and the dogs come trotting back from their early morning adventures. The garden looks gorgeous in this early morning light and betrays how dry the ground really is, things are dewey and golden - gawd listen to me wax lyrical. But it's too early to get out the vacuum (Saturday morning is cleaning time), too quiet to bash the bottles into the recycle bin and crank up the washing machine so what do I do . . .sit alone, download some free gantt chart software, checkout whether there are any interesting podcasts, look at my photos and wait for the day to start . . .it's a lonely and reflective time . . .OK, I've had enough now, back to the Pussycat Dolls and Justin Timberlake on Rage . . .maybe Totally Wild will be on soon . .

Hug, Kiss or Shake?

Well finally, after quite a few years of chatting online, I get to meet Arky. He gets his act together and by 4.00pm on Thursday 1st February, we have a plan. A colleague will drop him at my house at 6:30 ish and we'll meet for the first time, have a few drinks and see if it's worth maintaining contact then whack him in a cab back to his hotel.

So why was I so nervous? Do I greet with a handshake, go the full hug or the polite European cheek kiss? The bastard was late and I was stewing for 40 minutes about the greeting . . . nothing else - just how would I react. I needn't have worried, he felt the same but he's lovely. Went the hug, took the wine (which I should have given back to you when you left by the way but forgot) and had a lovely evening. He's just as I expected, shortish, cute, quiet, arrogant, educated, knowledgeable, pedantic, honest, probing (in a questioning kind of way) but utterly comfortable to be with. We covered everything from colloquial names for glasses of beer to drug use, being at school, photography, relationships and the quality of the oysters. And I was worried there would be silent gaps - I needn't have. Nice one Arky, it was exceptional to meet you. And thanks ClareBear for cleaning up, you're a gem. Next time come for a little longer, bring the same weather with you (it's raining), bring the girlf and all the nerves will have gawn.

Now, do I have the courage to meet Oirsh?

Nerve Wracking

I'm very excited. My e-friend Arkenstone is in Sydney for a couple of days and has found time to get together tonight to meet me for the first time. This is very nerve wracking because he's very young and I'm an old hag and I don't want to be boring or disappointing. We have much fun on the ether and it would be very disappointing if he turns out to be a dull nerd and I'm nothing more than a fat housewife (well housewidow or something . . .). I've covered my bases by inviting ClareBear, DrummerBoy and the BenchWarmer for drinks later on . . . am I a pessimist or just good at contingency planning . . .more tomorrow . . . and yes, old people get butterflies .

Aww Bless. . .

Bless them . . . BenchWarmer, Oirsh and Arkenstone . . . my three fave geeks. I sent them a link to a very specific clothing, site only to have all of them confess that they either already have at least 3 shirts (and other geeky accessories from coffee mugs to cuff-links) from an equally geeky site or that they've simply gotta have one. Gotta lovem!

Top Gear

I know girls aren't supposed to like cars and boy toys like that but I just have to say that my favourite show on TV at the moment (maybe because of the crap summer programming) is a car show. Top Gear on SBS Monday night at 7.30pm. Humour, flash cars, celebrity racers, fantastic locations and the Stig. What more could a girl ask for. Now I can pretend my 14 year old Accord is in fact a Pagani Zonda . . . veroooooooooom!

Say What You Mean!

I've always been strong on the communication thing. If you can't make a date, are not feeling well, have something that needs to be discussed - then discuss it. Honesty is the best policy, bring it out into the open. But there's something about most men that distracts them from very basic levels of communication.

I have a friend who's coming to Sydney this week. Announces that he'd like to catch up and I get all excited, then nothing. The last quick MSN communctation was "I'll get back to you this afternoon . . " that was 4 days ago so what am I to make of this. He's changed his mind, he's not coming, he doesn't care enough to respond in the affirmative or the negative? No, I suspect he's simply distracted - something came up or it's just too hard to organise things.

Then there's Horrie, ClareBear's new interest. Feeling throaty and unwell on Tuesday and Wednesday and sends her a quick message saying he's not good and resting up before a big game in Tas on 29th. Fair enough. She goes to the Big Day Out on Thursday - messages that she misses him - nothing. She goes away for the weekend while he prepares for a major sporting event but is out of range so no communication over the long weekend - OK that can't be helped but by Sunday, she's back in Sydney and still nothing . . . is he dropping her unceremoniously through his lack of communication, this is very contrary to what he's telling her when they're together. Does the coach have a no phones on tour philosophy? or maybe he's just an uber focussed elite sportsman. Who knows . . . then finally, after messages and unanswered calls, he tell her he's sorry, he's been in hospital in Tassie and hasn't had the chance to let her know. Really? Even Shane Warne managed to msg everywoman and her dog during numerous Ashes tours.

The effect of this mucking around leads us of the female gender, wondering what the hell is going on? Are we high maintenance because we want to know detail or maintain contact? Are we demanding bitches because we think that replying to an email or message or phone call is the polite thing to do? I think not baby puppies.

I don't believe it's that these and numerous other guys don't care, I just think the power of distraction is huge and they have absolutely no idea the effect it has on those around them. Is it selfishness or lack of opportunity? Nup, simply a different operating system. They're hard wired to play games, remain mysterious, reject commitment of any kind - very unsatisfying chaps! If you can't follow through then shut up. Don't build expectations then just fizzle. We can put up with all sorts of silliness but not being direct, sending mixed messages and communicating poorly in the words of Winston Churchill "is something up with which we shall not put."

Incident Free

Well it was an incident free weekend. ClareBear went to Seal Rocks camping, Adam enjoyed a few days housesitting for BabySis and I was left largely to my own devices, plonking around in the garden (with thorn scratches to prove it) and playing with my dawg who's leg is healing OK just a bit of ligament soreness - thanks for asking. NaughtyNeph, despite instructions from his father did bring a bunch home at 4:30 in the morning after the Big Day Out but they didn't wake me so mum's the word. ClareBear heard them as she was leaving for the coast. He's wicked but lovable . . .and I didn't have to be the Aunty from Hell.

This is the Week that Is

Now wouldn't you know it . . .BabySis, ThePlummer, MaddieMoo and NaughtyNeph have all gone up to Hawks Nest on the north Central Coast for a week's R & R. It all seemed so perfect, the kids could take turns house-sitting and feeding the dogs and horses, I could spend the whole week with myself (no washing, washing-up, tidying-up) and everyone could enjoy a few days of independence.

Not to be, DrummerBoy has broken his car . . and I mean broken it - the crank shaft has cranked and a new engine is required. All in the same week that we have to:

Take The Princess to the vet at 8.00am on Thursday for x-rays (or radiographs as they call them) then pick her up in the afternoon

Feed 2 horses, 2 dawgs every day and put the bins out at Babysis' place on Thursday too

Deal with Clare starting her first job and having to be in North Ryde by 8:30

Cope with one of the busiest week's at my work in a long time

Fit in with DrummerBoy's landscaping starts at 6:30 in the morning.

So far the car shuffle has worked OK with ClareBear dropping me off in the morning and DrummerBoy picking me up in the evening. Thankfully for the Big Day Out tomorrow I will have a car all day (whackadoo). The repair looks like it might take a couple of weeks . . . oh my poor little Honda . . .

Then, BabyBro and Stressany schlooped off to watch the Australian Open in Melbourne and have read the riot act to JimmyD - no gatherings, no friends, no nothing while they're away. There's a big celebration for their 25th Wedding Anniversary on the 3rd of Feb and the house has been duly refurbished, repainted, dry-cleaned and deodorised in preparation for the event. Cobblestones have been pressure hozed and eves slopped with reliable if not boring Mission Brown . . . even the pool room has had a ceiling paint and carpet clean - so even the sniff of a languishing hang-over or a bed-sharing tryst and he'll be toast. I've been nominated as the neighbour from Hell and asked to keep an eye on him until next Wednesday . . . just call me foo!

And to top it off, my lovely e-friend Arkenstone has a Saturday night free in Sydney on Feb 3 and I can't meet him . . . hopefully we'll find a window of opportunity to finally eyeball each other and celebrate 2 years of online friendship between an old fart and a young geek. I'm so looking forward to meeting him but at this stage and with my luck . . . who knows.

No News is . . . well . . . No News

Well, the blog has been ignored for some days . . . a symptom of the exhausting heat we had last weekend which saw me lob at my sister's place and languish watching Lemony Snikketts Series of Unfortunate Events because she has aircon . . .note to self . . .aircon is more important than dental care.

The blog has also been ignored due to a completely lacklustre week in terms of events apart from ClareBear achieving her first full time position as a qualified Graphic Designer with Australian Radio Network. She loves it, nice studio, great people and a prestigious account to boot. Mainly graphics for competitions and events which are uploaded to their many and varied websites but some printed stuff as well. Congrats darling . . you did good to survive UNSW.

Tomorrow ThePrincess goes back for her followup xray and I don't think the news is gonna be good. She's not putting weight on the leg after 10 weeks and should really be almost ready to let off the lead. All because of a 30 minute mad race around the verandah one morning when I was caught off-guard. I'm hoping it's the vet's fault for mis-measuring the pins in her metal joint and maybe one's come loose and he can fix it - for free of course. If not, it could be another month in the sin bin poor puppy . . . and it's providing me with the perfect excuse not to walk in the mornings . . .What? Take a walk without a dawg . . . it's just not done.

It Skinks . . .

I don't understand why under my couch and the router at my PC are the favourite haunts of two 26cm Eastern Skinks. Whilst they're very pretty, shiny lizards - they're a little big for indoor living. I think they like to polish off the insect carcases around the bottom of the skirting board or sliding doors but if you see a little face poking out or a tail disappearing they can give you quite a shock! Not to mention the very characteristic skink scat which you don't wanna touch until it dries up . . . I'm sure they're not hygeinic and attempts to relocate them have been futile.

Every now and then I can hear Stressanny scream as if breathed upon by the breeding female in Alien . . and plead with DrummerBoy to remove the offending reptile via a Post Pack cylinder only to have it return within minutes. At least the Blue Tongue Lizard that I had in my shower had the courtesy not to return when relocated to a warm position under the pool coping.

This form of wildlife has made a happy home within the damp course of the brickwork,which of course is bone dry and so they venture inside for the cool and the bugs. I'd really prefer them to live under a rock! Indeed, nowhwere on the internet could I find a description of their habitat as carpeted North Western Sydney Loungerooms and home offices . . .I wish they could be house trained.

Camouflage this!

So, Serena Williams has been accused of deliberately wearing a fluoro green tennis outfit to decieve her opponent by making the ball difficult to see against the tunic . . .Serena’s one-piece dress glowed brightly in the floodlit Rod Laver Arena and Santangelo could only muster three games under the glare because she couldn't see the green tennis ball against 'the frocklet'.

The 2003 and 2005 champion was quick to defend her choice of costume. “A lot of people now are wearing a similar colour to this,” Serena said following the 6-2 6-1 win. “I wouldn’t worry if someone wore that colour against me. It wouldn’t affect me, and that’s the attitude I take.”

Pity it didn't camouflage her bum!

Get the Jump On 'em Jason

Some time ago, BabyBro and a group of Indy 500 watching mates, sat satiating their thirst on the Balcony of the Gods on Queensland's Gold Coast. Someone perhaps more inebriated than the rest suggested they go shares in a grehound and the die was cast. That was the day that Go BlackTeddy (nicknamed Jason by his trainer) was purchased, raised, blooded and duly raced. Now at three years of age and lots of TLC later he won his first TAB race in Newcastle. Go you good thing . . . The owners syndicate, now officially "The Balcony of the Gods" are backing their boy to earn a bit more for them this year now that he's got his TAB points.

I did have the opportunity to see him come third at a regional race, despite a torn thigh muscle but never thought he'd be much more than a short-term obession destined for the green dream or greyhound rescue to be rehabilitated for rehoming (as long as you don't have chickens, cats, rabbits or anything small that can't run too fast!). I did offer to take him in the event he 'broke down' again and couldn't be rehabilitated, what was I thinking? Anyway, for now, we can bask in his glory -

Go Black Teddy - we knew you could do it.

Surrender

I entered the room, and with a knowing smile teased my full lips and sank into the comfort of a plush chair in the corner. The handsome stranger turned, having sensed my approach. Locking his steely gray eyes on mine, he moved slowly toward me, his experienced gaze measuring me, hypnotizing me with his soft murmurs of assurance. He sank to his knees before me and without a word, smoothly released me from my constraining attire. With a sigh of surrender, I allowed his foreign hands to unleash bare flesh. He expertly guided his hands through this tender, often hidden territory, his movements deliberate, confident in his ability to satisfy her every need. My senses swam. I was overcome with an aching desire that had gone unfulfilled for so long. And, just as it seemed that ecstasy was within my grasp, he paused, and for one heart-stopping moment, I thought, "It's too big! - it will never fit!" Then, with a sudden rush, it slid into place as if it had been made only for me. As pleasure and contentment washed over me, I met his steady gaze, tears of gratitude shining in my eyes. And he knew wouldn't be long before I returned. Oh, yes, I want more. I will have to do it again and again and again.


Don't you just love shopping for shoes!

Mr Fix It

DrummerBoy was never one of those toddlers that put toast in the video or screwdrivers in the power points. I never had a lockable baby gate, playpen or those childproof lock things on cupboard doors (You know the ones that adult's can't open but 3 year olds seem to have no problem with). So why, why, why . . .at 20 years of age does he now feel the need . . . no the overwhelming urge . . . to save me money by taking broken things apart and/or fix them then really botching the whole thing up.

In an effort to save me repair money and the service of my beloved blower, he has repaired a broken choke with a bit of Knead-It and cleaned the air filter. This in his eyes is a clever repair that sees the blower good as new . . NOT.

Then in an effort to repair a stuck five-stacker CD drive on my stereo he has demolished the entire unit and under sufference and loud objections finally put it back together so that the drawer doesn't close.

Even the rather weak epoxy in ClareBear's craft glue gun has been put to use in an attempt to hang a louvred door in the Bar - fell off within a week . . . still off 4 months later . . .

Lord save me from Mr FixIt . . . There's a reason why people make a career out of electronics, building and motor repairs . . . they know what they're bloody doing!

Selubrious Suburb

Blue Ribbon Liberal Castle Hill in Sydney's selubrious (I like that word this week) Northwestern Suburbs: soon to boast one of the largest Shopping Centres in the Southern Hemisphere, already the largest Chinese and Korean community in NSW and by leaps and bounds the humungousest Pentacostal Christian community in the state now celebrates another BIG event - $540 million worth of liquid ecstacy (I thought that was a lot of champagne until someone explained what it really was) found in a unit not far from our favourite hobby and bike shop. What is our leafy suburb coming to . . .there's little hope for a left wing, greeny, athiest animal lover like me . . .

What Price a Degree

Well ClareBear has finished and passed (hooray!) her arduous and pretentious Bachelor of Graphic Design at the University of NSW College of Fine Arts - arguably one of the best in the country. She's got over a year's epxerience doing templates for an ebay company and six months working with a sculptor turning his ideas into something practical. So where does a credit average at such a selubrious institution get you . . . not very far it seems. She's just beginning the job hunting trail but everyone wants 2-3 years experience or to pay less than she can earn at her part time job in Target! Where's the justice.

C'mon you employers . . . I've got Administration Assistants and a Receptionist earning more than a first year graduate Designer - no degree, straight from school . . . ! I know some of these kids' expectations are simply out of this world and that they expect the heavyweight agency salaries straight away but at least give them a go on the same salary as any other entry level grad. At least the job search means she's honing her CV and folio and getting plenty of practice at applications and interviews . . . spewin!

Chocolate Aint Good For Dogs

Definitely a theme emerging today. Banal Baino was Googling at lunchtime . . . trying to ascertain how much of her chocolate money actually goes to preventing Multiple Sclerosis when I came upon a site on food toxicity for dawgs. You know how precious my Lilly Pilly Princess is to me so I took heed:

Chocolate: aint good for dawgs because it contains theobromine, a compound that is a cardiac stimulant and a diuretic. Which will make your dog wet the floor while it has a heart attack.

Onions: contain the toxic ingredient thiosulphate and cause gastroentiritis and vomiting at toxic levels which can happen some time after the onioins have been ingested. Hence Pizza is OUT for dogs. Unfortunately, this can happen some time after ingestion . . . sheeet yeah

Macadamia nuts: (as if you're gonna give your chocolate coated macas to the flamin' dawg). The toxic compound is unknown but the affect of macadamia nuts is to cause locomotory difficulties. Dogs develop a tremor and weakness or paralysis of the hindquarters. (bit like me late in the evening actually . . . )

And that's not all folks all these can cause doggy downness:

• Pear pips, the kernels of plums, peaches and apricots, apple core pips (contain cyanogenic glycosides resulting in cyanide posioning)
• Potato peelings and green looking potatoes
• Rhubarb leaves
• Mouldy/spoiled foods
• Alcohol
• Yeast dough
• Coffee grounds, beans & tea (caffeine)
• Hops (used in home brewing)
• Tomato leaves & stems (green parts)
• Broccoli (in large amounts)
• Raisins and grapes
• Cigarettes, tobacco, cigars

Tell that to a labarador!

Chocolate for Charity

I did make a couple of New Year Resolutions besides the one to actually enjoy New Year 2008. In past years, actually about the past 19 years, I've resolved to get thin, get laid and give up smoking . . . none of which have actually come to pass to my satisfaction so this year I went for something different . . .to walk the dog every day (my idea of exercise beyond walking to the fridge or making the bed) . . . make vegetables and seafood my friends (not difficult given the price of meat in Oz at the moment), not to drink alcoholic bevvies mid-week and then maybe slowly move on to drinking only when I go out. This last one is indeed an economic measure. I calculated that I'm probably spending about $600 a month on cigarettes and booze. Your average pack costs about $11 and a passable bubbly about $12 - 15 per bottle . . . . . no wonder I'm redrawing on the mortgage. So . . . in the interest of keeping the peace with my co-mortgagee BabyBro, Plan B has been activated.

Only one small problem in the indulgence stakes - . . . how do I deal with the charity chocolates on the reception desk. Little scrumptious mini-Snickers and Milo bars, not to mention the almost healthy sounding Summer and Nougat Rolls but my faves . . . Tim Tams . . .aw gawd . . . I love one with my coffee! Over the past year, I've dutifully whacked in my $10 a week to raise funds for MS without taking my full quota of chocolate but in 2007 . . . I'm sorry but there will be no chocolate . . . just charity . . . As one of my colleagues pointed out, I can still put the kish into the jar without eating the chocolate . . . Ahh such is life. I'll be good until Easter.

What's All the Fuss About

New Year's Eve . . I never really got it other than another excuse for a pissup so close to Christmas, I'm still nursing my hangover from Christmas Day. I guess in the past I've had my share of shindigs but over the last couple of years it's been a quiet night, usually with Thommo or BabyBro.

Seriously tho, it's not a night I really care too much about. If there's an invitation to party, I'm up for it but if not, I'm quite happy with my own company, a bottle of Moet and a seafood platter for one. This year was no exception. It wasn't the lack of festivity that really got up my nose, it was the total lack of invitations! I could have gone to the Engineer's but that's miles away and would have meant staying sober or sleeping in the car . . . the Merry Widow did invite me over but with just the two of us, it didn't seem like the most cheery option and I like to end the night in my own bed these days. And that was it! Thommo went to a formal dinner with friends, Stressany was pissed by 7:30 and so stayed home with BabyBro and had an early night, ClareBear went over to Manly with mates and DrummerBoy danced the night away at the Art House so it was me and me dawg . . . Moules Bon Helene and fireworks on TV. This year's resolution . . . get invited to more than two New Years Eve events next year!

Old Boiler's Road Trip

So, what do two old boilers do with a free day during the Christmas Break - go on a road trip of course. However, these days, it's no freewheel up to Byron, not even an overnighter at Toukley nup, just a day trip to Norah Head and beyond. Thommo had to drop her daughter at the boyfriend's holiday camp at Camp Breakaway - 52 Maori's camping out - more tattoos than Chopper Reed at that place. So once dropped - the gals take the scenic route home, check out the lighthouse, bypass the Entrance and do what most civilised road trippers do . . . have lunch by the sea at Terrigal. Very nice Seafood plate, a Macadamia and white chocolate cookie and a couple of chardy's later and we take the short haul home. All in all a very noice day and back for bedtime. We also showed great restraint by not dropping into a single shop other than the Glenorie organic fruit stall - nice strawbs!

I'm Back

Back after a dingle with a router which has seen us offline for over a week. Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to you all. Christmas at the Baino's was tops. This year we broke with tradition and held our Christmas on Christmas Day rather than Christmas Eve. With no boyfriends, girlfs or inlaws to visit on Christmas Day it seemed the sensible option and allowed BabyBro to play golf and party hard.

The theme - Kitch - complete with tacky T shirts, silly hats and bouncing santa's . . . Babysis came up with the goods and provided Red Aprons for Santa's Little Helpers and an adequate amount of Santa Snow so that we could stencil the sliding doors in the pool room with equally tacky Christmas motifs.

The whole family was in attendance including Bec from Melbourne and the musical Freddie. Day started with Daquiris and gifts, progressed to a feast of baked ham, salads and the chocolate fountain with fruit and marshmallows - by the end of the night the table looked like a blood spattered murder scene thanks to LittleNeph who flicked chocolate from here to kingdom come with a skewer in an attempt to finish every drop.

Much champagne and hilarity followed by the gift of the day, an electric buzzer game. Hold the handle, press the button when the light goes green or you get a shock. Kept the lads amused for hours - well into the wee hours actually, I had to tell them to go to bed at about 2am.

The most explosive finish to the evening was when I removed a bottle of champers from the glass tabletop of one of our outdoor settings and the whole thing smashed to smitherines. No pressure, no drop, just simply collapsed with bouncy Santa dancing amongst the shards of glass and spilled red wine! Bummer . . fortunately there were witnesses - it wasn't me honest.

Check out the pics

Blast From the Past

Many of you know that I worked for a National Police initiative called NEPI from 1995-2000 which ran the national fingerprint, names, AVO database etc. I loved it. Nice people (all tech nerds), stressy boss but it was exciting and worthwhile work until we did a proposal to replace the national fingerprint identification mainframe and the then Police Minister, Amanda Vanstone decided it was a great idea but wanted to run it from Canberra. Crimtrac was born and NEPI dissolved. Anyway, got an email from the biggest white-anter and sirrer at NEPI the other day and have since met up for lunch - I love being on leave! Had a great chat and a lovely lunch over a couple of chardy's. He's now working for IBM so they paid for my meal - thank you IBM - if I'd known in advance, I'd have ordered the lobster!

Tell ya, the public service is a monster. Full of well intentioned people treading water, making sure the process is adhered to, complying with EEO rules but not producing anything. After five years, and of those that worked at NEPI (National Exchange of Police Information) only 2 have gone into the private sector. The rest - yep, treading water in Education, Transport and others. It's no wonder we never get anything done in this country, time to introduce some KPI's and accountability rather than dwelling on flexitime - results count, not the time spent on achieving them, if indeed they are ever achieved. Crimtrac is still running but making most of its money doing criminal history checks for DIMIA (Dept of Immigration, Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs). There's still no national DNA database as the states won't agree on legislation about who can be tested. In NSW you have to be in prison or charged before DNA can be extracted without your permission - funny tho, South Australia managed to change legislation toot sweet during the Peter Falconio murder investigation . . where there's a will, there's a way - all Public Servants need is the will.

It's Official

TheMacedonian is now "TheBenchwarmer". It's sort of cute and cuddly with a slightly pathetic edge. Poor BenchWarmer dates girl, spends money on girl, moves in with girl, girl gets testy and moves on . . .he's just warming the seat for someone else poor possum . . . Never mind chicken, when you have the courage to confess to your crush, all could change for the better!

When Will This Day End . . . .

Because I've got my leave booked from tonight . . this week has dragged slower than the end of Hamlet (You know where everyone dies but talks a lot before they do . . . goes on and on and on . . .)

Gawd . . it's only 12:45 . . I finish at 1700 and I'm sooooo ready to go home and begin my leave. So here's the plan. Google a bit on marketing to 50-60 year olds as they're our demographic. Write some paper so that when I get back from leave I can finish the 2007 Marketing plan and do some cool and relevant stuff to suck in the baby boomers. Then, take a longer lunch than usual. It's the Christmas Party tonight so Thommo and I are waiving our Chardy lunch which grieves me more than I can say . . . of course I can eat two meals a day! Then again it's pissing down so good day for Red Lea Chips and Gravy . . . mmmmm Gravy. OK so the long lunch, buy Stressany's Kris Kringle for our Christmas Table . . . coupla stocking fillers for ClareBear - DrummerBoy has scored pretty well this Christmas so he's set, apart from something chocolatey. Then head back into work.

Complete some 'while I'm away' notes for Sgt Bilko and Boffin so that they feel fully informed of goings on over the next week or two. Fluff around with emails, delete and quarantine some spam . . . delete my cookies and temp files . . . offer to do some washing up . . . I'm a very 'team oriented' manager . . .waste half an hour having a smoke on the front steps (I never bring my nurrells to work except on Fridays) . . . write a wonderful "I love Yous All" email to staff, wish them a Herry Mristmas . . then choof off at about 4:30 for a shower and prep for dinner. There . . how to waste an afternoon but still look busy.

Naming Ceremony

TheMacedonian is unimpressed with my pseudonym and says it's boring and uncreative. Well that's what happens when you're outside the creative environment so here goes.

I need some inspiration. He's 22, large but cuddly, obviously ethnic hence 'TheMacedonian', terribly emotional, multi-lingual, ultimately geeky (I was corrected for quoting XBox without the 360 after it which is apparently important to devotees of EB). He likes to eat, smokes copious amounts of foreign, very strong cigarettes, doesn't drink a lot but I suspect when he does he goes hard. He's sensitive, articulate, physical (i.e. huggy). He's rarely anywhere on time and often has to be woken from a deep slumber - like this morning when he promised to pick ClareBear up from the mechanic after she dropped her car there and left her walking home in the rain . . .He's highly intelligent, well read and totally frustrating to work with because he won't do the boring things. Makes a mean cappucino . . . generous to a fault . . . desperate to find MrsRight. And yep . . . I'd have fired him if he hadn'e left of his own accord.

Now he's Damjanov to some, Macedonian Mammoth to others, Stinkovic to one (because he came to work on more than one Friday smelling of alcohol and cigarettes and B.O. after a hard night out and in the same clothes he'd party'd in!) None of which I find entertaining or flattering . . . he's worthy of something interesting yet fantastically comical.

So, any suggestions for the renaming? It has to be quirky, identifiable, true and ultimately creative . . .

P's Are Degrees!

Congrats to my sweet thing. ClareBear has officially passed the most gruelling 4 years of her life attending the University of NSW College of Fine Arts full of pretentious pricks and fuckin' charlies. Despite the rigours of GymJunkie dumping her on the last day of uni (no celebrations that night) then the reality that she's back in the dating game that she hates so much (no celebrations that week), then an escape to Byron Bay that apart from a fleeting encounter with the rather gorgeous Jack Johnson really didn't provide enough of a distraction. She finally received word that it's all over and she has her degree. My little Bachelorette of Design . . .

Whilst she's still not feeling too celebratory, she managed to party hard last Saturday and get a bevy of phone numbers from wannabe suitors, is spending a lot of time with the Macedonian . . . he makes her feel 'worthy' and he has an XBox and is also in the position of dumpee at the moment so there's lots of empathy there - she's also meeting a prospective date next weekend so it's all looking up. She looks great and the birthday hair straightener is justifying it's enormous price tag and the daily jogs paying off in looks and fitness. You're lookin' good kid . . . and I'm breathing out after the semester from Hell.

Fear God? For Christ's Sake Why?

ClareBear says that I'm judgemental and jump to conclusions . . .

We live in the North Western Sydney Bible belt . . . 900 metres from Australia's largest evangelical church Hillsong and not too far from one of the most right wing, conventional Anglican congregations in Sydney. So religious fanaticism of the Christian kind, carrying and reading of the two-columned book is a common occurence. The problem is, Christians or at least the Evangelistic Anglican kind are soooooo . . . two-faced. On the one hand, they're rude, uncharitable, unwilling to slip outside their comfort zone, help others in need or develop an empathic relationship with anyone. I even had one say to me that they don't care about the environment because they're going to be 'saved' and go to heaven which means they don't have to give a shit about the state of the world (as he blithely threw his chocolate wrapper on the ground). Another who refused to have sex before Marriage because he was afraid of eternal damnation if he did . . not because he 'believed' it was the right thing to do. What is this fear that these people are absolutely gripped with?

So, they go to Church on Sunday, get involved in the op shop, do a bit of marriage counselling (totally unqualified I might add) and that redeems their soul so that they can be negative and critical assholes to everyone for the following week before they purge their sins with arms waving, eyes shut and the lord's light beaming down on them.

Its a world where disability or obesity is not tolerated. Women have to look good for their husbands, the accumulation of wealth is encouraged and the attendance of ethnic minorities reviled- White is might - Get rich first then choose your charity.

I work with one who even has "Fear God" emblazened all over her back windscreen - now that's taking the 'fish' sign a little too far. I bet she doesn't let her kids watch Harry Potter either . . . what happened to the forgiving God, all things bright and beautiful - the Lord God loves us all - seems he's turned into a vengevul, nasty bastard whose rule of thumb has them all worried they're going to spend eternity in Hell.

OK ClareBear, you might have a point . . .

What Is It About Window Treatments?

What is it about redecorating that gets the workplace fired up. Everyone wants to put their two-cents in and everyone is suddently a member of the Fab Five just busting to take part in the magic makeover . . . except when it actually comes to 'doing' anything. I wish they had the same enthusiasm for washing their coffee cups and doing the filing. The office refit is almost finished but I am constantly asked about the foikn window treatments. We've had frosting replace our daggy grey venetians on both floors and the whole place has opened up. This combined with bright yellow walls and dark blue trim has breathed new life into a very boring old 'grey' office. Last week it was "Why are the venetians still up now the frosting's been done?" "Why haven't all the pictures been hung?" "Why does this door still stick?" Answer: because I'm too foikn busy pandering to fragile egos, changing water bottles, stopping leaks (literally), creating workflows, writing a marketing plan and putting out office fires . . . you'll have to wait for the handyman.

This week it's been the bloody board room curtains. "Why did the rods go up before the curtains?", "What sort of curtains?", "Do you think yellow is appropriate?", "Why curtains not blinds?", "When are they going to be finished?" Really, I don't care but I do know that whatever happens with this blasted fitout, I will be remembered . . . not for my five years of faithful service, my marketing innovations, my supreme practice management and people skills. Nope . . I'll be that employee that painted the office yellow and put those God awful window treatments in.

7 More Sleeps

Just seven more sleeps and I'm on leave for 3 weeks. After the works Christmas party on 15th, it's total rest and relaxation until the 7th of Jan. I sooooo need it. I'm snapping at everyone like a banshee, have zero tolerence especially for the lazy men I work with and am absolutely over the religious nutters that seem to gravitate towards financial planning . . . or maybe it's just where I live in the middle of the suburban Bible belt . . . I'm beginning to feel very NIMBY about the two columned book!

Tonight, I'm really getting into the spirit, Clare's coming home and we can start getting Christmassy. At work we have the cutest mini wind chime that sounds like fairy bells when someone walks though the door, perhaps not the most professional of doorbells but it's really uplifting. I have two bouncy Santa Clauses made out of tin and in separate poses, one with Ho Ho Ho sign and the other with a lantern and ginger bread man in his hands. Tell ya, it's Kitch but not bad taste. Babysis on the other hand is going a little too far with a fluffy Turkey which sings Christmas songs . . .

Anyway, back to me . . my bouncy Santas will form the centrepiece of our Christmas table and scored an amazing 2 china mobiles with little santas on them as well as some bouncy bottle stops. I'm definitely into bouncy things this Christmas there's a very 'boing' theme emerging. I've nearly finished all my shopping with the exception of some Kris Kringle things for work and Christmas night as table gifts. So, yep, it is beginning to feel very micrassy.

e-Merging Madness

A recent Parliamentary Committee has recommended that due to inextricable historical links, Australia and New Zealand should form a merger and become a single nation. Now before Stan and Johnny Dodge have a heart attack, this is merely a suggestion from some silly standing committee (read public servants justifying their existance). The committee is of the view that Australia and New Zealand would benefit from collaboration at the parliamentary level to ensure ongoing harmonisation of their legal systems and to investigate future options for mutually beneficial activity, including the possibility of union.

Now in ozziespeak this doesn't mean jack shit. I think what they're trying to say is that the two countries are so alike that we might as well get into bed with each other and bugger the trans-Tasman rivalry. No way Jose!

Whilst I admit to having never been to New Zealand and that it is on my itinerary of lovely things to do one year when I can't afford a real holiday . . . there are some serious problems inherent with the combining of the cultures. For instance, if we adopted a singular currency like the Euro . . would it become the Aussibro? How do we solve the dilema of conflicting Rugby Teams . Surely the Wallabies and the All Blacks can't be friends? Then there's the political dilema - Little Johnny, friend of il diablo and the lovely Helen Clarke (I don't think she has any friends).

What next, will they ship our possums back? Do we export our snakes and spiders in the interest of equal bilateral relationships. Will Bondi become little Auckland (oops - already is).

Although on the positive side, we'd have to enter into a Treaty with the indigenous owners of Australia as King George did with the Maori. We'll have to sharpen up our extreme sports venues and buy a few more snow making machines.

Now - don't get me wrong - I'm all for friendly bilateral relationships with the Kiwis. Love taking the piss out of them and all that but as for us all blending into the same mixing pot . . it will be chaos and our merinos won't be safe. Leave it as it is Pollies.

I hear its a nice place to visit . . . .

Puddles, showers and Downright Downpours

We all know Australia is the wide brown land but no more than at the moment as we enter our fifth year of drought and suffer under level 3 water restrictions. No sprinklers, no car washing unless you use a bucket only. Plant watering 2 days a week with a bucket or hose and definitely no hosing verandahs or patios or using pressure hoses (my second favourite power tool outside the leaf blower). Our once lush, wooded acreage has been reduced to dust and leaf mulch and 7 green olympic rings where our Envirocycle (told you we were green) sprinklers sporadically pop up and water a 10 metre circles out the front.

A friend in Jersey emailed to say he couldn't open my emails because he'd dropped his laptop in a puddle and it was behaving badly. "Puddles? What are they" I retorted, seriously - haven't seen one for months. Then yesterday the sprinkling started, heavy skies and just enough moisture to stop the washing getting dry. I knew there would be trouble as the dogs went ballistic trying to come inside before a mighty crack of thunder and wham . . . a downpour. The smell of all that fabulous rain hitting the parched earth was superlative. To make it better, it rained all night - yeah this morning I saw puddles - it usually dries off in 10 minutes in this heat. Another 5 days of this and we might have a bindi free patch to sit on during the summer! Then again, it takes more than 1mm to break a drought. Ok lads, if you're gonna pee on the garden, do it on the green patch just outside the pool . . . it needs all the watering it can get!

Chloribomber

DrummerBoy has taken over the maintenance of the swimming pool as he's now the pool expert having worked at the pool shop for 2 years. Yesterday, he duly arrived home with one of those 20 litre blue containers of liquid chlorine and some stabiliser to make sure the water doesn't go green during ThePrincess' aquarobics and this stupid 40 degree weather we keep having. The drum comes in an unsealed plastic bag to stop it dripping where it shouldnt. No problem, does the usual, sploshes some in the deep end, then in the shallow and sits it on the side of the pool. Adds the stabiliser which is a sort of granulated white powder and sits the stabiliser packet, still 2/3 full, on top of the cholorine bottle. Oops, time for a shower and a shave before partying hard! 15 minutes later we hear a noise resemlbing a large falling branch only with a sort of explosive 'pop'. Yep, the stabiliser has dripped on some of the chloring around the top of the bottle and blown the entire thing out of it's plastic bag, blown the chlorine bottle about a metre and it's now snowing little white granular bits - very Christmassy! Good job it wasn't in your car on the way home DrummerBoy - you'd be toast. Message: don't mix chemicals, save that for the suicide bombers!