OMG its that time of the year . . . uni exams are approaching, holiday work experience has to be organised for the Horticultural DrummerBoy and there just aren't enough bugs in the world to hand in tomorrow. Everyone's major project is due. 50 bugs in 50 days are being exterminated and pinned to a piece of naphthalene soaked Styrofoam in my laundry but there simply aren't enough species so the bug cull goes on . . . anybody got a spare invertebrate . . we're OK for spiders and moths but desperate for other sub-species . . .why didn't he start earlier?
Then there's the awesome stress of Clarebear's final assignment. A full-on major work that has to incorporate her two major subjects, Environments and Graphics. Her choice of subject "Making Sustainability Sexy" was a doozie. Then she gets the Tutor from Hell on Monday's who tears her to shreds and the reasonable mentor on Thursdays that builds her up so the week graphs out like the worst and best trading days on the stock market - all jam-packed into five!
Then there's a whole bunch of self-doubt topped with hormones, tiredness, missing this morning's Biology Exam (just as well there weren't any seats left, she can do it again next week!). A tearful . . . nay . . a sobbing Clarebear calls me at work on the mobile, inconsolable, ready to chuck it all in just 3 weeks from the finish line.
Then there's me . . trying to hold it all together, nervous as hell because ThePrincess is having her knee recon on Thursday and I've been dealing with the dramas of a refurbishment in the office and trying to calm Thommo down because I gave her favourite office chair away. Then there's the added stress of, teary daughters, grumpy sons and a little doggie that has no idea what she's in for. AND, now I have to think about what to have for friggin dinner! Save me . .
It's all about putting things into perspective, staying calm, being in control, cool, calm and collected - my advice:
Scream: there's nothing more liberating than actually emptying your lungs in a fully fledged scream. Too embarrassed to do it out loud, just scream into your pillow but don't hold back.
Drink- don't listen to all that stuff about it being a depressant. Alcohol can lull you into a stupor that just lets you cry your heart out and get it all out of your system. It tastes quite nice and is easy to administer. I recommend a nice champagne or something sticky on ice like Bailey's Irish Cream . . .
Smoke - whatever you like, tobacco, gunja, weed, choof, bloody banana leaves if they do the trick. Just remember to have the toasted sandwich maker on hand for the oh so inevitable munchies.
Sleep - nothing like wasting the hours away with a nana nap whilst watching some really boring soap opera. The only problem with this is that then you feel doubly guilty for not being more on top of your game..
Curse - For example, bitch-face Design tutor who hasn't been able to design anything more exciting than a 'feather chair' and something that looks like a red bathroom puff . . . you could curse her to a life of working for Innovations Catalogue doing typography in nothing but Times Roman Medium . . . and DrummerBoy to Hort tutor who says your graphics aren't good enough curse him to a life of pruning Boganvillia and spreading Dynamic Lifter . . . in 35 degree heat. (I'm quite good at this . . . ). Writing down your curses is quite cathartic . . .
Well kiddies . . that's all I can say . . it's not brain surgery, it's not life or death but it is important. Just 12 months for DrummerBoy and less than 3 weeks for ClareBear so hold on chickens . . stick it out to the bitter end. Soon you'll be free to choose your destiny and better still , get paid to do what you've been doing for free for 4 years! You're almost there . . .
Monday, October 30, 2006
Friday, October 27, 2006
I Know Why I'm Single . . .
Because men are the laziest sons of biatches I've ever come across. I simply can't be bothered with the lazy assholes. They smell funny, they eat too much, they never offer assistance, they think they're God's gift to the female sex and have the arrogance to match their stupidity.
No more obvious was this than today at work. This weekend we're painting our offices yeay! Yellow and blue, bright and cheery but can you find a man to help pull furniture and desks from the wall when you want one? . . . No. Apart from Boffin and the Argentinian . . . the rest of the males at my place of work wouldn't lift a finger. ButterflyGirl, Receptionist and Char are the only ones that chipped in for everyone, lifting bookshelves, computers and clearing surfaces so that the painting team can come in tomorrow at sparrows fart and make their workspace a nicer place. So what did the men do?
Markyboy ran away for the weekend and despite a day and a half warning of the forthcoming event, managed to move a few papers from half his windowsill. Poor form Markyboy! You are the laziest - fortunately you have quality female assistance.
Sgt Bilko . . . well he helped with his own stuff but no volunteering assistance to anyone else. He remained cocooned by bookshelves, desks and tables and just got on with his work and won't be in on Monday to reassemble the mess of pottage that is in fact his office. Looks like the girls will be back on the job on Monday!
The Yarpy didn't even turn up . . shame, because by now, we've had enough, he'll have to shift his desks himself.
AussieOirsh (not to be confused with the NZPubcast Oirsh who I will now refer to as Johnny Dodge) waxed lyrical for hours about the colours, which wall he'd like blue, which wall he'd like yellow and whether it might hurt his eyes he then proceeded to shit stir his staff by asking them what they thought of living in yellow offices to the point that I stated if their eyes started to bleed, I'd paint their fuckin' walls blue for them next week.
Roit . . .now we're ready to go. It's a mess but there's access to every wall, sill and door . . .thanks a lot you Ergophobiacs, Dextrophobiacs and Kainophobiacs . . .
I feel better now and vindicated in my long-held belief that men are only good for putting out the garbage, carrying eskies and casual sex although even that happens far to rarely and is often not done well!
. . shame on you men . . shame, shame, shame. I hope you all come back as removalists who work only in multi-storey apartments that don't have lifts!
No more obvious was this than today at work. This weekend we're painting our offices yeay! Yellow and blue, bright and cheery but can you find a man to help pull furniture and desks from the wall when you want one? . . . No. Apart from Boffin and the Argentinian . . . the rest of the males at my place of work wouldn't lift a finger. ButterflyGirl, Receptionist and Char are the only ones that chipped in for everyone, lifting bookshelves, computers and clearing surfaces so that the painting team can come in tomorrow at sparrows fart and make their workspace a nicer place. So what did the men do?
Markyboy ran away for the weekend and despite a day and a half warning of the forthcoming event, managed to move a few papers from half his windowsill. Poor form Markyboy! You are the laziest - fortunately you have quality female assistance.
Sgt Bilko . . . well he helped with his own stuff but no volunteering assistance to anyone else. He remained cocooned by bookshelves, desks and tables and just got on with his work and won't be in on Monday to reassemble the mess of pottage that is in fact his office. Looks like the girls will be back on the job on Monday!
The Yarpy didn't even turn up . . shame, because by now, we've had enough, he'll have to shift his desks himself.
AussieOirsh (not to be confused with the NZPubcast Oirsh who I will now refer to as Johnny Dodge) waxed lyrical for hours about the colours, which wall he'd like blue, which wall he'd like yellow and whether it might hurt his eyes he then proceeded to shit stir his staff by asking them what they thought of living in yellow offices to the point that I stated if their eyes started to bleed, I'd paint their fuckin' walls blue for them next week.
Roit . . .now we're ready to go. It's a mess but there's access to every wall, sill and door . . .thanks a lot you Ergophobiacs, Dextrophobiacs and Kainophobiacs . . .
I feel better now and vindicated in my long-held belief that men are only good for putting out the garbage, carrying eskies and casual sex although even that happens far to rarely and is often not done well!
. . shame on you men . . shame, shame, shame. I hope you all come back as removalists who work only in multi-storey apartments that don't have lifts!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
What the?
What the? Vegimite has been banned in the US because only breads and cereals are permitted to contain folate. This seems really sensible since Vegemite is actually owned by Kraft, a US Company. The great Aussie icon has not only been bought but rejected . . . oh the humiliation. This link has a petition to save the black gunk for those who have expatriot friends in the US. In fact, you can't even smuggle it in any more - yep, Vegimite is contraband . . . who knows, maybe David Hicks can look forward to some company from his food terrorist countrymen . . .
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Pandora's Cupboard
It's official, I am an anal retentive geek (not a very good one). I've paused in the midst of my Saturday cleaning to check my email (ninemsn loves me) and found that at last I have some comments on my blog. Keep coming kiddies, it makes me feel popular and God knows I need it. I know it's pedestrian stuff but comments are always welcome.
Anyway, whilst cleaning my bathroom I decided to get stuck into that cupboard under the sink. You know, the one that has all the stuff you use at the front and all the shit growing mould on it stuck in the back. Well did I open Pandora's box . . . it's not that long since I ventured into the bathroom vanity but thanks to ClareBear's absolute obsession with waxing her limbs it was covered in orange veet and due to DrummerBoy's complete inability to put a lid on anything smothered in foam shaving cream. I found some cool stuff lurking in the bowels of the cupboard beyond the usual toothpaste, makeup and girly stuff . . .
2 x scented candles, unused due to the absolute miniscule size of my bath making a candle lit foray into bubbles an agonising experience
1 x bath plug with Snoopy on a chain (must keep that one if Stan and the Insta Family ever visit) not used since LittleNeph covered himself in chocolate and had to be dunked in soapy water to remove the offending scum
6 x packets of razor blades - none of which fit either of the two razors on site
4 x tubs of mango body butter (what does she do with it)
2 x tubes of body exfolient (she has got an obsession with skin methinks)
2 x tubes of hair streaker in pink and purple
My nail clippers - yeay I thought they'd gone to that place where odd socks go . . .
An unopened bottle of Calvin Klein Escape - what a coup . . just ordered some from Strawberrynet - hot tip guys and gals - cheap cosmetics, skin care, perfume, cologne, aftershave. Delivered in 4 days to your door and all wrapped in a pretty white ribbon.
2 x very expensive Abre Self Tanning Lotion - unopened
Think I might have a skin care garage sale! Anyway, all clean and tidy now.
Right, time to crank up the Vines and the Dyson
Anyway, whilst cleaning my bathroom I decided to get stuck into that cupboard under the sink. You know, the one that has all the stuff you use at the front and all the shit growing mould on it stuck in the back. Well did I open Pandora's box . . . it's not that long since I ventured into the bathroom vanity but thanks to ClareBear's absolute obsession with waxing her limbs it was covered in orange veet and due to DrummerBoy's complete inability to put a lid on anything smothered in foam shaving cream. I found some cool stuff lurking in the bowels of the cupboard beyond the usual toothpaste, makeup and girly stuff . . .
2 x scented candles, unused due to the absolute miniscule size of my bath making a candle lit foray into bubbles an agonising experience
1 x bath plug with Snoopy on a chain (must keep that one if Stan and the Insta Family ever visit) not used since LittleNeph covered himself in chocolate and had to be dunked in soapy water to remove the offending scum
6 x packets of razor blades - none of which fit either of the two razors on site
4 x tubs of mango body butter (what does she do with it)
2 x tubes of body exfolient (she has got an obsession with skin methinks)
2 x tubes of hair streaker in pink and purple
My nail clippers - yeay I thought they'd gone to that place where odd socks go . . .
An unopened bottle of Calvin Klein Escape - what a coup . . just ordered some from Strawberrynet - hot tip guys and gals - cheap cosmetics, skin care, perfume, cologne, aftershave. Delivered in 4 days to your door and all wrapped in a pretty white ribbon.
2 x very expensive Abre Self Tanning Lotion - unopened
Think I might have a skin care garage sale! Anyway, all clean and tidy now.
Right, time to crank up the Vines and the Dyson
Friday, October 20, 2006
I Like Your New Stuff Better Than Your Old Stuff
OK its Friday afternoon and I have a severe case of fourthirtyitis. EarthMother and ButterflyGirl took me out for a belated birthday lunch which was just scrummy, thanks girls. This whole birthday thing seems to have revolved around food which is wonderful if not very fattening. Anyway, a mezze plate, a bowl of prawn linguine and a couple of Semillon Chardy's and back behind the PC and I'm feeling very replete and schnoozy. My typing skills have declined commensurately and my motivation levels are at an all time low
Then up pops David Bowie singing "All the Young Dudes" - 30 years old and it still sounds great - What's that? My hearing's gone? I think not baby puppy . . . great stuff lasts (bit like good cheese, wine and me of course . . .)
Got me thinking about music I love and music I hate.
I love musicals, you know everything from Okhlahoma to CATS - pathetic I know but I want to know why Andrew Lloyd Webber has gone underground. Even the Boy from OZ didn't appeal to me - musicals these days are the domain of amateur dramatic societies . . . I haven't seen a decent musical since the Lion King and I'm desperate. C'mon you young producers and directors, bring the spectacle back!
I heard a Cog song this morning that reminded me they are grossly underrated but I can't remember what it was called. Great driving / vacuuming music. (Remember I'm an old fart so housework is an important part of my weekly routine and having a bit of rhythm in the background keeps me on track). Not just melodic grunge but a cool website to boost have a look/listen to Cog
I really like Justin Timberlake's Bringing Sexy Back although I think he's a tool. I'm keen also on anything Snow Patrol. Can't help wanting to do the hippy wiggle to the Go Team and am very keen on the Killers if in the right mood. Beck from what I've heard so far is reinventing the wheel once again and that big voice coming from such a diminutive performer is always impressive.
I can't stand those girly bands with little whispy voices - Little Birdy, Sarah Blaskoe . . if you can't belt it out then shut up. Similarly Evanescence have a sameness about them that is just plain boring despite the airplay they get, it all sounds the same - variety is the spice of life kids. AND . . .I don't want to watch another black gangsta video clip with boys dressed in oversized tracksuits and their hats on crooked, donning bling that will put your back out and those ridiculous diamond grills. Get over it guys . . . it's so 1980's. At least MC Hammer's Pants were slightly entertaining! Similarly, the scantily clad skanks that swan around them flashing their naughty bits and lap dancing even in the absence of a lap - girls, get thee to a nunnery . . you frighten the boys. Lads are like collies chasing a car, and have no idea what to do with you once they've caught you. If there's not $1000 in your knickers by the end of the clip, you've wasted everyone's time. It's demeaning, vulgar and unnecessary . . . (ooops grumpy old woman episode there . . hang on while I just gather myself together . . .) Here's an idea, do something clever . . engage your audience with stunning artwork, clever storylines and smoothly integrated graphics . . . and a tune we can enjoy rather than asking us to loosen your buttons, play with your London Bridge or bringing the boys in th yard with your milkshakes - you make pearl jam sound wholesome.
And you people who hang onto the past without even acknowledging the talent out there today - move forward - Just because Sting is enduring doesn't mean he's good . . .
I still listen to TripleJ as my station of choice it's all new music and I get loads of exposure a wide variety of genre's and artists long before they hit the commercial stations - new doesn't always mean good but change is good. At work we vacillate between Nova and TripleM splashed with commercials and a rotation list of about 6 songs plus the golden oldies - I swear if I hear "I wanna rock and roll all night . . " one more time . . .surely Gene Simmons and the boys are about to kark it? They're older than me!
I've also really moved on from what I call my 80's hiatus when I thought that Billy Joel, Sting and Fleetwood Mac were just the ants pants - mind you I also thought that the Play School album and Naught to Nine were pretty damn good. "Oh I forgot my mother's birthday . . I will be shot . . " (remember that one kiddywinks . . . all the way to Tasmania . . . in the car . . .)
Doesn't mean I don't like old stuff . . . just good old stuff. I swear if I hear Layla one more time, I'll throw a sensible shoe at the plasma screen. You know who you are you culprits!
Then just as I give a serve to my closest friends for their dated choice in music, I find out that ClareBear and GymJunkie are going to see . . . Muse? Nah . . . Placebo . . .nup . . . the Mars Volter . . . er nope . . . Gnarls Barkley . . . not even warm . . . Sting? God Forbid . . . . . they're going to see Bert Bacharach
I think I'll stay up late and watch Rage
Resolution for Today: Find out who the Hell Teddy Thompson is . . he's touring next month.
Then up pops David Bowie singing "All the Young Dudes" - 30 years old and it still sounds great - What's that? My hearing's gone? I think not baby puppy . . . great stuff lasts (bit like good cheese, wine and me of course . . .)
Got me thinking about music I love and music I hate.
I love musicals, you know everything from Okhlahoma to CATS - pathetic I know but I want to know why Andrew Lloyd Webber has gone underground. Even the Boy from OZ didn't appeal to me - musicals these days are the domain of amateur dramatic societies . . . I haven't seen a decent musical since the Lion King and I'm desperate. C'mon you young producers and directors, bring the spectacle back!
I heard a Cog song this morning that reminded me they are grossly underrated but I can't remember what it was called. Great driving / vacuuming music. (Remember I'm an old fart so housework is an important part of my weekly routine and having a bit of rhythm in the background keeps me on track). Not just melodic grunge but a cool website to boost have a look/listen to Cog
I really like Justin Timberlake's Bringing Sexy Back although I think he's a tool. I'm keen also on anything Snow Patrol. Can't help wanting to do the hippy wiggle to the Go Team and am very keen on the Killers if in the right mood. Beck from what I've heard so far is reinventing the wheel once again and that big voice coming from such a diminutive performer is always impressive.
I can't stand those girly bands with little whispy voices - Little Birdy, Sarah Blaskoe . . if you can't belt it out then shut up. Similarly Evanescence have a sameness about them that is just plain boring despite the airplay they get, it all sounds the same - variety is the spice of life kids. AND . . .I don't want to watch another black gangsta video clip with boys dressed in oversized tracksuits and their hats on crooked, donning bling that will put your back out and those ridiculous diamond grills. Get over it guys . . . it's so 1980's. At least MC Hammer's Pants were slightly entertaining! Similarly, the scantily clad skanks that swan around them flashing their naughty bits and lap dancing even in the absence of a lap - girls, get thee to a nunnery . . you frighten the boys. Lads are like collies chasing a car, and have no idea what to do with you once they've caught you. If there's not $1000 in your knickers by the end of the clip, you've wasted everyone's time. It's demeaning, vulgar and unnecessary . . . (ooops grumpy old woman episode there . . hang on while I just gather myself together . . .) Here's an idea, do something clever . . engage your audience with stunning artwork, clever storylines and smoothly integrated graphics . . . and a tune we can enjoy rather than asking us to loosen your buttons, play with your London Bridge or bringing the boys in th yard with your milkshakes - you make pearl jam sound wholesome.
And you people who hang onto the past without even acknowledging the talent out there today - move forward - Just because Sting is enduring doesn't mean he's good . . .
I still listen to TripleJ as my station of choice it's all new music and I get loads of exposure a wide variety of genre's and artists long before they hit the commercial stations - new doesn't always mean good but change is good. At work we vacillate between Nova and TripleM splashed with commercials and a rotation list of about 6 songs plus the golden oldies - I swear if I hear "I wanna rock and roll all night . . " one more time . . .surely Gene Simmons and the boys are about to kark it? They're older than me!
I've also really moved on from what I call my 80's hiatus when I thought that Billy Joel, Sting and Fleetwood Mac were just the ants pants - mind you I also thought that the Play School album and Naught to Nine were pretty damn good. "Oh I forgot my mother's birthday . . I will be shot . . " (remember that one kiddywinks . . . all the way to Tasmania . . . in the car . . .)
Doesn't mean I don't like old stuff . . . just good old stuff. I swear if I hear Layla one more time, I'll throw a sensible shoe at the plasma screen. You know who you are you culprits!
Then just as I give a serve to my closest friends for their dated choice in music, I find out that ClareBear and GymJunkie are going to see . . . Muse? Nah . . . Placebo . . .nup . . . the Mars Volter . . . er nope . . . Gnarls Barkley . . . not even warm . . . Sting? God Forbid . . . . . they're going to see Bert Bacharach
I think I'll stay up late and watch Rage
Resolution for Today: Find out who the Hell Teddy Thompson is . . he's touring next month.
Monday, October 16, 2006
20 Going On 12
Boys . . . almost 20 going on 12.
OK just ask me what happened on Friday afternoon. . .go ahead . . .ask.
I drove home from work at about 6.00 to find the carport soaked in engine oil (new fortunately for them - so not too stained) and two 20 year olds backed against the wall, remote controls in hand whilst their RM cars did burnouts on the slimy surface. They knew they were in trouble when I rocked up . . . "Lemmers where's Drummer Boy? And what's that stain on the concrete?" Lemmers gave me that sort of 8 year old "I'm gonna get a smack for this" look and said, "Oil?"
OK, it's fun but you should have seen the mess. "Where's Adam . . " and a sheepish point later I found him out the back with all my outdoor chairs stacked strategically to support a fluoro Hot Wheels track and Loop de loop. I didn't even know DrummerBoy had saved it. Nothing is thrown away with that boy . . it'll be lego next week. This, compounded with pocket bike marks all over the only little green patch left by the drought and the fact that they'd all been using my bath towels in the pool . . what do you do? . . .I wouldn’t mind so much but he still owes me because he was short on his car registration . . . obviously the purchase of a remote control car is essential to his wellbeing otherwise he would have paid back his debt first . . Today he has been armed with some laundry powder, a bucket and a scrubbing brush to remove the oil slick . . we'll see DrummerBoy . . we'll see!
OK just ask me what happened on Friday afternoon. . .go ahead . . .ask.
I drove home from work at about 6.00 to find the carport soaked in engine oil (new fortunately for them - so not too stained) and two 20 year olds backed against the wall, remote controls in hand whilst their RM cars did burnouts on the slimy surface. They knew they were in trouble when I rocked up . . . "Lemmers where's Drummer Boy? And what's that stain on the concrete?" Lemmers gave me that sort of 8 year old "I'm gonna get a smack for this" look and said, "Oil?"
OK, it's fun but you should have seen the mess. "Where's Adam . . " and a sheepish point later I found him out the back with all my outdoor chairs stacked strategically to support a fluoro Hot Wheels track and Loop de loop. I didn't even know DrummerBoy had saved it. Nothing is thrown away with that boy . . it'll be lego next week. This, compounded with pocket bike marks all over the only little green patch left by the drought and the fact that they'd all been using my bath towels in the pool . . what do you do? . . .I wouldn’t mind so much but he still owes me because he was short on his car registration . . . obviously the purchase of a remote control car is essential to his wellbeing otherwise he would have paid back his debt first . . Today he has been armed with some laundry powder, a bucket and a scrubbing brush to remove the oil slick . . we'll see DrummerBoy . . we'll see!
I Made it!
I made it! 50 today . . . can't believe it, I still feel more at home with the 20 somethings but there you go. The weekend was mad . . . Dinner at ButterflyGirl's on Friday was lovely they've just bought a new house and it's cute as a button with everything from an in ground pool to outdoor speaker systems. Lovely stir fry and a nice bottle of Logan Chardy.
Went over for the usual coffee to Babysis' place on Saturday with all intentions of washing
TheBoys as it was about 37 in the shade but got a bit settled and decided to drink coffee and chat rather than splosh ultraviolet shampoo over the scruffy pair who are in dire need of a good wash and a hair cut . . . maybe next weekend. Besides, it's a two person job - horses can make themselves very very tall when faced with a hose! Anyway, I was tossed out at 1.00pm so Babysis and ThePlumber could prepare for lunch. "Where are the kids . . ." I asked "We hired a back hoe to dig a hole in the back paddock and thrown them in with a water bo0ttle and a few toys. . ." was the reply. I think that could catch on as a safe way to quarantine kids for a bit of peace and quite . . .you should try it Stan! What an innovative way to deal with ankle biters . . . .She gave me a lovely outdoor candle and finally I have a back door mat instead of the oddly cut piece of carpet left over from when we did the pool room . . . 18 years ago! I know I could have bought one sooner but never got round to it.Then Thommo put on a great turn on Saturday with a few surprise guests, The Merry Widow, Struth Ruth and all the kids which was fantastic. Great company, super food and a big gold wrapped present. I love shiny things . . . Not that I'm materialistic but I like presents. Even DrummerBoy gave a speech which was very nice. Acknowledging that I'm a tolerant tyrant . . and an alright mum . . . Machiavelli's got nothing on me! Thanks MarkyBoy for the kind words and the Billiecart & Salmon Tres magnifique!
Not to be outdone on the Champagne stakes, I followed up on Sunday afternoon with BabyBro who broke out the Birthday Cake and Crosier . . and more presents! I feel like I've been on a food and drinkathon which is very appropriate when one stares their half-century in the face.
Sunday night GymJunkie cooked me dinner, how sweet. He even bought his cornflour and dry sherry from home and did me a treat with satay prawns and beautifully presented rice and a nice salad. I really appreciate gestures where people go out of their way to do something nice. And . . yep, more presents . . .yeay . . I might have another birthday next week. Finally, before coming to work this morning, ClareBear gave me her little offering a beautiful Greek ceramic jewellery box with a pair of very individual earrings from Santorini . . . just my style. Thank you darling, you're a treasure.
And the booty score . . .
Babysis
Decorative Outdoor Candle and a lattice hanger which makes it look like a mini Taj Mahal when lit - we ate our candlelight dinner around it last night - and a badly needed back door mat
Babybro
Breville toasted s'wich maker with bells on - I think it even makes the tea and does the dishes, and a bottle of Crosier which has now met its maker
Thommo and the Merry Widow
Fabulous red leather Estee Lauder vanity and makeup case and stacks and stacks of cosmetics (they must think need them . . . I guess at my age, I need all the help I can get. ) Now I have resolved to purchase red luggage for my impending travels to match the cosmetic case.
GymJunkie
Satay Prawns bless his cotton socks, champagne glasses and some Dusk melts, my house smells lovely but the glasses won't last long in the hands of Basher Bainbridge
ClareBear
Jewellery box and earrings she knows my style so well - fashion and sentiment.
DrummerBoy
Full Car detail and boy does it need it although because he's nursing a hangover today and has to clean up after the BBQ he had last night it might mean a postponement until later in the week.
StruthRuth
A lovely pot plant with the most delicate of fragrances, now sitting in the little wheelbarrow that once housed my herb garden
HippyBro
Fuck all - but that's expected . . .
Thank you everyone, you made this one very spesh! I must now crack on at work when I really need a nana nap!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Fookn Foine
Aha, the bar has been raised . . Oirsh has very kindly linked me to his blog/podcast site after I sent him my menial offering. Whilst it's the lazy way to run a blog, it has a charm all of its own and for those of us with time on their hands or mindless jobs, you can tune in and pretend you're sitting in some NZ pub drinking Guinness slagging George Bush (not that you need a Guinness to go there . . ) and solving the problems of the world. Now the challenge is on. I thought he was an artoid geek type with a wicked sense of humour - turns out he's a laconic piss-pot with a penchant for the long version rather than the short. He podcasts in the pub with a mad Canadian and acknowledge that they're 'blow-ins' with some political commentary and a lot of finger-clicking to get the attention of the barmaid. I like it.
This lad from Eyre is far from stupid although very funny - he's opinionated in the nicest kind of way, has a strong political bent . . .left wing if I'm any judge and quite frankly I am surprised - dunno how the Irish got their reputation for being dim. Check it out. Takes a while for the download so use iTunes if you can. the NZpubcasts are few and far between but if you've got a spare half an hour it's entertaining to say the least to tune into the remarkably sober musings of these two not to mention trying to understand the accents without actually seeing their lips move!
This lad from Eyre is far from stupid although very funny - he's opinionated in the nicest kind of way, has a strong political bent . . .left wing if I'm any judge and quite frankly I am surprised - dunno how the Irish got their reputation for being dim. Check it out. Takes a while for the download so use iTunes if you can. the NZpubcasts are few and far between but if you've got a spare half an hour it's entertaining to say the least to tune into the remarkably sober musings of these two not to mention trying to understand the accents without actually seeing their lips move!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Doggy Update
Well after having a general anaesthetic an x-ray and some serious manipulation, ThePrincess has definitely ruptured her cruciate and has bone degeneration in her left leg, this means a knee reconstruction (pic left). Whilst she's very sore she was hilarious when I bought her home last night, still under the influence of anaesthetic and wobbling about the kitchen, she kept collapsing and just lying there having a little think before attempting to jump on the bed. Unable to do so, I was forced to assist.So what you say? How is this blogworthy? This my friends is no ordinary dog - this is my third child, my bedmate (yes, I share a Queen Size bed with a King Size dog) my littly pookie wookie schnooks. The vet wanted to do the op on Friday (13th) but despite my not being at all superstitious, it's a bad weekend - Birthday celebs anticipated dinner at ButterFly Girl's on Friday Night and another at Thommo's on Saturday and DrummerBoy arranging a BBQ with younglings on Sunday afternoon so no nurse at home to take care of the invalid. Then the vet is off to Paris for two weeks - what is it about bloody Paris, everyone's been there except me but that's a whole other story - so she's scheduled for 2nd November. I'm preparing my leave forms as we speak to take her first week of invalidity off to make sure she's comfy womfy. Don't even ask about the price . . . footballers don't pay this much . . . you pet owners out there . . . take out pet insurance before you need it!
Resolution for today: Remember that ThePrincess is a dog and that ClareBear and DrummerBoy are my children.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Ex-cruciating
ThePrincess has pulled a cruciate ligament in her knee. Serves her right for being extra wiggly and ballistically bouncy and for racing from woe to 30km after rabbits that she hasn't got an ice cube's chance in Hell of catching. And, despite my best efforts and a stomach full of anti-inflammatories, she is going for her first anaesthetic and x-ray this afternoon - my little baby, she's only 5 years old in December! If the x-ray confirms suspicions, she's under the orthopaedic surgeon's knife on Thursday . . . that's right she has her own specialist!
It looks like my little poppet will need a knee reconstruction or a TPOL tibial plateau leveling osteotomy. Sounds impressive? They break a bit of bone to relieve pressure on the joint or something. Wait until you hear the cost AUS$2,500! She will have to be boxed up for six weeks with no movement except to go to the loo on a lead - anyone who knows Lily knows this is gonna kill her. She's a wiggly, sprinty, very active lab who knows stop and go and not much in between. Poor thing is going to think that I'm punishing her. I've just been searching websites to find out more but it looks like the best long term option. Who would have thought that running around could cause so much damage - I'm glad I don't exercise. Just as I've consolidated all my debt too . . . what a birthday pressie!
Stay tuned . . . maybe the x-ray will show something less serious.
It looks like my little poppet will need a knee reconstruction or a TPOL tibial plateau leveling osteotomy. Sounds impressive? They break a bit of bone to relieve pressure on the joint or something. Wait until you hear the cost AUS$2,500! She will have to be boxed up for six weeks with no movement except to go to the loo on a lead - anyone who knows Lily knows this is gonna kill her. She's a wiggly, sprinty, very active lab who knows stop and go and not much in between. Poor thing is going to think that I'm punishing her. I've just been searching websites to find out more but it looks like the best long term option. Who would have thought that running around could cause so much damage - I'm glad I don't exercise. Just as I've consolidated all my debt too . . . what a birthday pressie!
Stay tuned . . . maybe the x-ray will show something less serious.
The Week That Was
Aha . . back to work after a lovely 4 days off re-potting my plants, disposing of spider webs and their residents, cleaning windows and flyscreens, going mad with the pressure hose . . yes I know it's illegal but it doesn't use much water and it cleans concrete and mouldy walls like a charm. The irony is, I can employ someone to come and pressure hose my mouldy bits but I can't use it myself because of the water restrictions . . where's the justice . . . so I cheat. My God, I feel like Martha Stewart or that Lush woman who has all sorts of hints and tips for cleaning nasty little stains like Scotchguarding your dress if you're going out to eat Italian so that the tomato sauce doesn't stick (Monica Lewinski could have done with that tip . . . gawd, getting a bit pedestrian here . . ) Seriously tho, the Karcher Pressure Hose is my new toy. OK boys, you like your cars, motorbikes, planes, remote controls and computer games, I love my leaf blower and now the Karcher . . . just don't pressure hose bare feet, it hurts. You should see my retaining wall . . once covered with 17 years of damp and mould is now a gleaming new wall. The pavers are actually a nice sandy colour, not swamp green after all. I can't wait to play with it again.
I didn't manage to have a nice seafud lunch with ClareBear or Babysis as usual - finances are at a premium at the moment to the point where I've consolidated my debt through a five year personal loan. It's obvious the house isn't going to sell in a hurry despite the chains of Beijing Businessmen being shown around the back paddock. I did have a great lunch yesterday with YummyMummy and Overall but BikerGirl couldn't make it unfortunately so it was a small gathering. The only one bad thing about eating at YummyMummy's place is that she's lactose intolerant - oh that mud cake was just begging for a delicious dollup.
Poor YummyMummy, last time we visited it was pissing down, this time we arrived in 35 degree temperatures only to be driven inside by a southerly buster for fear of being blown off the verandah with the porch swing and the pool filter box lid! We were duly entertained by Gabby and the RibbonKid . . . dancing to one of the most obscure children's records (yep actual vinyl thing that goes round and round) Ah, I remember the age of fairy costumes and pinkness - all those ballet lessons, jazz, musical instruments and I've raised a 22 year old with absolutely no talent for any of it, I could have done so much more with the money. Overall and GreekLover are heading off to the States tomorrow I'm really envious, San Fran then the Eastern States, have a great time kids and good luck driving on the wrong side of the road.
Little else to report this week, it has been a homebody week and only one week to the day before I turn 50 - bugger! No celebrations planned, it's a real anti-climax - but you know it's real when people stop saying "Oh my, you don't look 50!" (except for Overall and Yummy Mummy who keep my ego intact, thanks girls, you're good for the soul.) I should be in Paris but there you go. I'm being very philosophical and focussing only on presents. I would like a back door mat, a toasted sandwich maker and a bottle of Verve Cliquot please.
Most disappointing was the low level of humour waiting for me in my inbox upon my return to work! C'mon you slackos . . lighten my life a little with some funny stuff. And Oirsh, you owe me your blog link!
I didn't manage to have a nice seafud lunch with ClareBear or Babysis as usual - finances are at a premium at the moment to the point where I've consolidated my debt through a five year personal loan. It's obvious the house isn't going to sell in a hurry despite the chains of Beijing Businessmen being shown around the back paddock. I did have a great lunch yesterday with YummyMummy and Overall but BikerGirl couldn't make it unfortunately so it was a small gathering. The only one bad thing about eating at YummyMummy's place is that she's lactose intolerant - oh that mud cake was just begging for a delicious dollup.
Poor YummyMummy, last time we visited it was pissing down, this time we arrived in 35 degree temperatures only to be driven inside by a southerly buster for fear of being blown off the verandah with the porch swing and the pool filter box lid! We were duly entertained by Gabby and the RibbonKid . . . dancing to one of the most obscure children's records (yep actual vinyl thing that goes round and round) Ah, I remember the age of fairy costumes and pinkness - all those ballet lessons, jazz, musical instruments and I've raised a 22 year old with absolutely no talent for any of it, I could have done so much more with the money. Overall and GreekLover are heading off to the States tomorrow I'm really envious, San Fran then the Eastern States, have a great time kids and good luck driving on the wrong side of the road.
Little else to report this week, it has been a homebody week and only one week to the day before I turn 50 - bugger! No celebrations planned, it's a real anti-climax - but you know it's real when people stop saying "Oh my, you don't look 50!" (except for Overall and Yummy Mummy who keep my ego intact, thanks girls, you're good for the soul.) I should be in Paris but there you go. I'm being very philosophical and focussing only on presents. I would like a back door mat, a toasted sandwich maker and a bottle of Verve Cliquot please.
Most disappointing was the low level of humour waiting for me in my inbox upon my return to work! C'mon you slackos . . lighten my life a little with some funny stuff. And Oirsh, you owe me your blog link!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
A Load of Balls
There are 4 codes of Football in Australia. Soccer which isn't huge with anyone over 12 because the competition isn't close by, Rugby Union which is big with the private school mob - apparently it's a gentlemen's game and I have to say that the faces of Union players look a little less worse for wear than some others and they do seem to have half a brain - hell, half of them are lawyers! Then there's Aussie Rules which is only played here but much loved particularly in Western, Southern Australia, Victoria and Tasmania with a single Sydney Team represented on the roster and of course there's Australian National Rugby (thugby) League.
OK I'm a fairweather fan as WEagleWiseMan in Tassie keeps telling me but I couldn't resist revisiting the Mars Bar challenge. Last year SwanGirl and I were bet 2 King Size Mars Bars that the Swans couldn't beat West Coast Eagles in the AFL Grand Final. Of course they hammered them and thus begain a year long limited interest in the outcome of Sydney Swans and the Australian Footbal League (ABL).
Then they hit the grand final yet again with the same adversary - yep you guessed it, West Coast Eagles vs Swans so - bang the gong, we are on . . I did actually watch the game and thought that the Swannies were unlucky to miss the comeback of the year and lost by just one point. Still, that's the great thing about not being too passionate about the game, it doesn't hurt so much when you lose. So WiseMan . . go the Weagles . . your chocolate is in the post!
This afternoon (Sunday) it's more footy final time with the National Rugby League Grand Final but for me this game holds no charm. Just a bunch of badly behaved latent homos grappling each other's inner thigh and sliding over the line hugging their ball . . .truly, it's bizarre. You run a few metres, someone pulls you down, then you have to pass the ball backwards where someone else picks it up and runs a few more metres until someone else pulls them down. It's got to be the most unintelligent sport in the world which probably explains why so many of these bozos end up on advertisements for cheap school outfitters dressed as women or in front of the judiciary for head high tackles (apparently they're worried that damage to the brains of these nit-wits is a real possibility) or being in court for indecent exposure, drunk driving or sexual assault.
Seriously, they have faces that only a mother could love thanks to years of being smashed about with balls and fists (not necessarily in that order). Few have a brain bigger than a pea and yet we get so swept up in Grand Final Fever that all around the country today there are Barbecues galore, pissups aplenty - ClareBear has run away to Seal Rocks for a girly footy free weekend and GymJunkie is sitting on the couch with his Brisbane Broncos costume on waiting for the game to start . . . he's only got 6 hours to go. Me . . well I've hired a nice video and have a bottle chilling in the fridge.
Anyway, for you fanatics, Go the Broncos . . .and well done Weagles . . . I'll toast your health in oooh, about 10 minutes?
OK I'm a fairweather fan as WEagleWiseMan in Tassie keeps telling me but I couldn't resist revisiting the Mars Bar challenge. Last year SwanGirl and I were bet 2 King Size Mars Bars that the Swans couldn't beat West Coast Eagles in the AFL Grand Final. Of course they hammered them and thus begain a year long limited interest in the outcome of Sydney Swans and the Australian Footbal League (ABL).
Then they hit the grand final yet again with the same adversary - yep you guessed it, West Coast Eagles vs Swans so - bang the gong, we are on . . I did actually watch the game and thought that the Swannies were unlucky to miss the comeback of the year and lost by just one point. Still, that's the great thing about not being too passionate about the game, it doesn't hurt so much when you lose. So WiseMan . . go the Weagles . . your chocolate is in the post!
This afternoon (Sunday) it's more footy final time with the National Rugby League Grand Final but for me this game holds no charm. Just a bunch of badly behaved latent homos grappling each other's inner thigh and sliding over the line hugging their ball . . .truly, it's bizarre. You run a few metres, someone pulls you down, then you have to pass the ball backwards where someone else picks it up and runs a few more metres until someone else pulls them down. It's got to be the most unintelligent sport in the world which probably explains why so many of these bozos end up on advertisements for cheap school outfitters dressed as women or in front of the judiciary for head high tackles (apparently they're worried that damage to the brains of these nit-wits is a real possibility) or being in court for indecent exposure, drunk driving or sexual assault.
Seriously, they have faces that only a mother could love thanks to years of being smashed about with balls and fists (not necessarily in that order). Few have a brain bigger than a pea and yet we get so swept up in Grand Final Fever that all around the country today there are Barbecues galore, pissups aplenty - ClareBear has run away to Seal Rocks for a girly footy free weekend and GymJunkie is sitting on the couch with his Brisbane Broncos costume on waiting for the game to start . . . he's only got 6 hours to go. Me . . well I've hired a nice video and have a bottle chilling in the fridge.
Anyway, for you fanatics, Go the Broncos . . .and well done Weagles . . . I'll toast your health in oooh, about 10 minutes?
And how does that make you feel?
Had to go to a course on 28 and 29 September and pretend I'm a financial planner. Apparently as Practice Manager and Marketing guru, it's important for me to really understand how to hook a client and close the sale. So, sitting next to rather sweet man from Melbourne we were a team. It all went very well, the view was great, the food was nice then it all fell apart with role play. I hate it. Pretend your a planner, pretend your a client . . it's such a wank. So we cheated, Melboy and I talked about our personal lives, our dogs then along came the ajudicator so we launched into " . . and so, why did you want to see a financial planner . . . . " and "how does that make you feel . . ". If I never do another role play in my whole life it will be too long.
It is amazing what people will tell you tho. He's married, wife doesn't want kids - happy with the dogs in South Yarra but he's busting for a brood. Poor thing, I had to remind him that by remaining DINKS they save a fabulous 120,000 over 18 years. Mind you, I wouldn't swap mine for a house in Toorak let alone South Yarra.
It is amazing what people will tell you tho. He's married, wife doesn't want kids - happy with the dogs in South Yarra but he's busting for a brood. Poor thing, I had to remind him that by remaining DINKS they save a fabulous 120,000 over 18 years. Mind you, I wouldn't swap mine for a house in Toorak let alone South Yarra.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Where Did My Friends Go?
Friends . . .can't live with 'em, can't live without em but having 'em is always an asset. I've always been a bit lean on the friendship side. I mix OK but don't like most people, they're opinionated, dense, uninterested in others and generally self-absorbed and competitive so when I do meet someone with zest, personality, an opinion and a willingness to listen, I latch onto them like a mollusc on a damp rock and try desperately to never let them go. But go they do. So this is a melancholy little entry for some . . I miss the StanTheMan, he didn't stay with me long but we've been such good friends. . even though he was living in the land of the long white cloud for most of his antipodean stay it was a mighty leap closer than that little island cluster he's on at the moment. I can't wait for him to get back south and I really will make the effort to visit him and his new insta-family.
I miss the DesignPrincess too . . . last time I heard from her, she was jetting about between Ireland and Germany, buying houses in Notting Hill and swanking with the trendoids. I got a mouthful too for berating her for not talking to her friends back home . . but I haven't heard a word since . . . .
Then there's that Dancin'Queen who travelled to Prague and never came back. She's cast herself a new life as well but no news is good news from her point of view so I'm not too worried. She's a hot stop on the BIG TRIP whenever that happens, just hope that my walking frame can cope with those tight alleys and that I'm stable enough to down a couple of absynthes without breaking out the Poise.
Finally there's that Yorkshire mob, only met them first in 1995 and didn't like them much when we first lobbed - thought they were pretentious - how wrong could I be. We were reunited in 2001 and had an absolute blast. They're intellectually challenging (not challenged) and have me on my toes from name that plant to my opinion on the lack of rainfall in the Andean valley. Not to mention the book reviews . . .I'll have to read another one before I meet up with them. Still, a love of the grape and all things labrador has bridged all gaps and we're still correspondents.
And . . last but not least there's the absent e-friends, Oirsh and BeanBoy, even little WeaglesFan, never met 'em, never will but they're fun to play with on the net. Who knows, maybe next time they're in Sydney, they'll look me up.
Then there are those closer to home. Not too many and I've finally decided that if they are to remain friends, effort is to be made. that's right readers, it's taken me half a century to realise that real friends are worth the effort . . .they're worth staying in touch with, having a laugh with, sharing their problems and their joys. I love Overall, BikerGirl and YummyMummy. I love our quarterly lunches stupid jokes and broad discussions on alternative therapies . . .you girls are an alternative therapy . . YummuMummy is right I feel validated after an afternoon with you lot.
I love our sporadic dinners with TheTeacher and MerryWidow - as long as the alcohol doesn't get the best of us, tends to make the tears flow - it's lovely sharing family tales, grumpy female woes and hideous sexual jokes with like-minded people. I love our weekend forays (not enough of them mind you) with TheTeacher, MerryWidow and the VetsWife. We have to be especially careful not to make her laugh too much for reasons of a weak pelvic floor despite my constant insistance that she'work it girl'.
Then there's coffee each Saturday with Babysis. We solve the problems of the world like how much cheaper Aldi is than Coles and whether generic Tim Tams are as good as the real thing, whether the quality of the horse feed is appropriate . . . how to stop 7 year olds bashing the bejezzus out of dad's PC and other important matters . . . then I feel guilty about having not done any washingl, pack ThePrincess - all covered in mud usually - in the back of the car and begin the days 'homework'.
Then there's Thommo. Bless her cotton socks, she's been around since Jobe was a baby. I always forget her birthday, she never forgets mine. She never sends Christmas cards, I always do. She frets and fawns, I'm so relaxed it's terrifying. She's rich as rockafella, I'm poor as a church mouse . . .she's thin as a whip, I'm fat as a house but somehow there's a chemistry there that makes us the inseparable odd couple. She's one of the few people I can work with, holiday with, share a kitchen with, walk 20kms with, cry with or just do nothing with.
Bless yer cotton socks Thommo . . you're the bomb!
I miss the DesignPrincess too . . . last time I heard from her, she was jetting about between Ireland and Germany, buying houses in Notting Hill and swanking with the trendoids. I got a mouthful too for berating her for not talking to her friends back home . . but I haven't heard a word since . . . .
Then there's that Dancin'Queen who travelled to Prague and never came back. She's cast herself a new life as well but no news is good news from her point of view so I'm not too worried. She's a hot stop on the BIG TRIP whenever that happens, just hope that my walking frame can cope with those tight alleys and that I'm stable enough to down a couple of absynthes without breaking out the Poise.
Finally there's that Yorkshire mob, only met them first in 1995 and didn't like them much when we first lobbed - thought they were pretentious - how wrong could I be. We were reunited in 2001 and had an absolute blast. They're intellectually challenging (not challenged) and have me on my toes from name that plant to my opinion on the lack of rainfall in the Andean valley. Not to mention the book reviews . . .I'll have to read another one before I meet up with them. Still, a love of the grape and all things labrador has bridged all gaps and we're still correspondents.
And . . last but not least there's the absent e-friends, Oirsh and BeanBoy, even little WeaglesFan, never met 'em, never will but they're fun to play with on the net. Who knows, maybe next time they're in Sydney, they'll look me up.
Then there are those closer to home. Not too many and I've finally decided that if they are to remain friends, effort is to be made. that's right readers, it's taken me half a century to realise that real friends are worth the effort . . .they're worth staying in touch with, having a laugh with, sharing their problems and their joys. I love Overall, BikerGirl and YummyMummy. I love our quarterly lunches stupid jokes and broad discussions on alternative therapies . . .you girls are an alternative therapy . . YummuMummy is right I feel validated after an afternoon with you lot.
I love our sporadic dinners with TheTeacher and MerryWidow - as long as the alcohol doesn't get the best of us, tends to make the tears flow - it's lovely sharing family tales, grumpy female woes and hideous sexual jokes with like-minded people. I love our weekend forays (not enough of them mind you) with TheTeacher, MerryWidow and the VetsWife. We have to be especially careful not to make her laugh too much for reasons of a weak pelvic floor despite my constant insistance that she'work it girl'.
Then there's coffee each Saturday with Babysis. We solve the problems of the world like how much cheaper Aldi is than Coles and whether generic Tim Tams are as good as the real thing, whether the quality of the horse feed is appropriate . . . how to stop 7 year olds bashing the bejezzus out of dad's PC and other important matters . . . then I feel guilty about having not done any washingl, pack ThePrincess - all covered in mud usually - in the back of the car and begin the days 'homework'.
Then there's Thommo. Bless her cotton socks, she's been around since Jobe was a baby. I always forget her birthday, she never forgets mine. She never sends Christmas cards, I always do. She frets and fawns, I'm so relaxed it's terrifying. She's rich as rockafella, I'm poor as a church mouse . . .she's thin as a whip, I'm fat as a house but somehow there's a chemistry there that makes us the inseparable odd couple. She's one of the few people I can work with, holiday with, share a kitchen with, walk 20kms with, cry with or just do nothing with.
Bless yer cotton socks Thommo . . you're the bomb!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Blow Job
Ahh to be in Sydney now that spring is here . . .35 degrees in the shade, big blue skies, puffy Simpsonesque clouds . . sounds like paradise . . .
I have been unable to complete my Sunday blog due to 95km per hour winds and a bloody grassfire opposite number 7! I wasn't game to leave the PC on for fear of a blackout which came at about 12:15pm. I once fried a motherboard (and ate it with a glass of nice Chianti) through a power surge - also fried my DVD, Alarm and Microwave and blew up the pool pump so I'm very sensitive to lightening strike, power surges and blackouts.
Yep, yesterday was the day from hell. Hot, windy, smokey, noisy and enough to make ThePrincess so fearful that she spent the bulk of the day wedged between the couch and the side table or cowering in the shower recess.
Not unusual for us to have an Indian summer before the long weekend but this was scary Sunday. Branches from the lemon scented gum narrowly missed my roof and another heavyweight fell just centimetres from the back shed. The entire lawn area (about 1ha) is strewn with twigs, branches, leaves and other debris deposited during the wind storm. All I have to do now is get Babybro to overcome his fear of mixing two-stroke and using his mofo of a chainsaw in an attempt to tidy up around the place.
He's already panicking about the place looking a mess for the big NRL Grand Final BBQ next Sunday - he needs to chill, doesn't he notice that every Saturday afternoon, the leaves have magically vanished, plants are watered, pool is clean . . . men, they don't notice a damn thing unless it's 2 centimetres from their schnoz, clearly labelled and attached to something alcoholic as an incentive to read and recognise.
I hate gum trees, those of you who know me are aware of the affinity I have for my leaf blower and it's not for any kinky reason. Gum trees shed, leaves, bark, branches . . . even the bloody flowers waft all over your windscreen. Kill them all . . this does grate against my environmental bent but after living in close proximity with them for almost 2 decades, I can safely say that deforestation can't come soon enough for me. It will take us a week to clean up the twigs, flowers, fallen branches bark . . . if it can come loose it WILL fall off a gum tree.
Four flyscreens suffered also and three of them are now all bent out of shape and half way up the back yard and my newly spruced and cleaned swimming pool has a layer of sticky gum flowers bunging up the works.
Still, ever the optimist, managed to back up with a BBQ once the wind subsided, GymJunkie and ClareBear were already coming for dinner but ended up with DrummerBoy and a number of other post pubescents eating me out of house and home. It is nice to be able to share the virtues of a Mudgee Verdello with your son I must say . . . only the best for my little soldier boy.
Resolution for today: Try to get DrummerBoy to think of sausages as a food group not just a collection of lips and arseholes.
I have been unable to complete my Sunday blog due to 95km per hour winds and a bloody grassfire opposite number 7! I wasn't game to leave the PC on for fear of a blackout which came at about 12:15pm. I once fried a motherboard (and ate it with a glass of nice Chianti) through a power surge - also fried my DVD, Alarm and Microwave and blew up the pool pump so I'm very sensitive to lightening strike, power surges and blackouts.
Yep, yesterday was the day from hell. Hot, windy, smokey, noisy and enough to make ThePrincess so fearful that she spent the bulk of the day wedged between the couch and the side table or cowering in the shower recess.
Not unusual for us to have an Indian summer before the long weekend but this was scary Sunday. Branches from the lemon scented gum narrowly missed my roof and another heavyweight fell just centimetres from the back shed. The entire lawn area (about 1ha) is strewn with twigs, branches, leaves and other debris deposited during the wind storm. All I have to do now is get Babybro to overcome his fear of mixing two-stroke and using his mofo of a chainsaw in an attempt to tidy up around the place.
He's already panicking about the place looking a mess for the big NRL Grand Final BBQ next Sunday - he needs to chill, doesn't he notice that every Saturday afternoon, the leaves have magically vanished, plants are watered, pool is clean . . . men, they don't notice a damn thing unless it's 2 centimetres from their schnoz, clearly labelled and attached to something alcoholic as an incentive to read and recognise.
I hate gum trees, those of you who know me are aware of the affinity I have for my leaf blower and it's not for any kinky reason. Gum trees shed, leaves, bark, branches . . . even the bloody flowers waft all over your windscreen. Kill them all . . this does grate against my environmental bent but after living in close proximity with them for almost 2 decades, I can safely say that deforestation can't come soon enough for me. It will take us a week to clean up the twigs, flowers, fallen branches bark . . . if it can come loose it WILL fall off a gum tree.
Four flyscreens suffered also and three of them are now all bent out of shape and half way up the back yard and my newly spruced and cleaned swimming pool has a layer of sticky gum flowers bunging up the works.
Still, ever the optimist, managed to back up with a BBQ once the wind subsided, GymJunkie and ClareBear were already coming for dinner but ended up with DrummerBoy and a number of other post pubescents eating me out of house and home. It is nice to be able to share the virtues of a Mudgee Verdello with your son I must say . . . only the best for my little soldier boy.
Resolution for today: Try to get DrummerBoy to think of sausages as a food group not just a collection of lips and arseholes.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Technologic
What is it about the mature age worker that prevents them from embracing technology, enjoying the internet, learning how their PC works . . .learning how to type or put paper into the printer the right way round! It's pathetic.
I'm crap compared to most gen Xers but jeez, I know how to change the batteries in my mouse and add some extra RAM . . I even work with someone who still yells out to his assistant for phone numbers when he's got some pretty sophisticated industry software sitting on his PC which not only tells him the client's name and number but how often they go to the loo . . . hopeless and no desire to change.
Another things that 'they' think Excel is hard wired into the computer and that anyone who can master it must be an IT genius or bloody Software Engineer - oh no that wouldn't be right, they'd think a software engineer was someone who designs cushions.
Others are two-finger typing at a pace that is nauseating to the point that you just do it for them. You know, it's like watching Clare Bear's boyfriend GimJunkie trying to iron a business shirt, eventually you get up and do it for him because the pain of watching him struggle with a seam and trying to work out whether he's left or right handed makes your brain hurt and your eyes bleed. (Actually I didn't do it for him but I might next time . . .) We even have a guy at work who asked for some keyboard shortcuts . . not the sophisticated ones, oh no . . no F9 for him . . Ctrl B, Ctrl I, Ctrl X . . . need I say more.
I can do it and I'm old enough to remember the first PC . . . I had an A4 Apple before the Mac bit came in . . . and it was stunning. State of the art, everything a Copywriter needed and in a format that could be read. I knew my SCSI's and dongles . . even had a RasterOps screen . . I've just grown with them. I'm not a patch on young Arkenstone or the BucollicBoffin but I know my way around a directory tree. Enough to train my own younglings to optimise their Macs and Defrag their PC's.
Get with it you old farts . . . it's not as hard as it looks and I need some more legitimate adult geeks to blog with.
Resolution for today: Reassure MarkyBoy and UncleBob that the Directory Tree is actually available via their PC, not planted in the park.
I'm crap compared to most gen Xers but jeez, I know how to change the batteries in my mouse and add some extra RAM . . I even work with someone who still yells out to his assistant for phone numbers when he's got some pretty sophisticated industry software sitting on his PC which not only tells him the client's name and number but how often they go to the loo . . . hopeless and no desire to change.
Another things that 'they' think Excel is hard wired into the computer and that anyone who can master it must be an IT genius or bloody Software Engineer - oh no that wouldn't be right, they'd think a software engineer was someone who designs cushions.
Others are two-finger typing at a pace that is nauseating to the point that you just do it for them. You know, it's like watching Clare Bear's boyfriend GimJunkie trying to iron a business shirt, eventually you get up and do it for him because the pain of watching him struggle with a seam and trying to work out whether he's left or right handed makes your brain hurt and your eyes bleed. (Actually I didn't do it for him but I might next time . . .) We even have a guy at work who asked for some keyboard shortcuts . . not the sophisticated ones, oh no . . no F9 for him . . Ctrl B, Ctrl I, Ctrl X . . . need I say more.
I can do it and I'm old enough to remember the first PC . . . I had an A4 Apple before the Mac bit came in . . . and it was stunning. State of the art, everything a Copywriter needed and in a format that could be read. I knew my SCSI's and dongles . . even had a RasterOps screen . . I've just grown with them. I'm not a patch on young Arkenstone or the BucollicBoffin but I know my way around a directory tree. Enough to train my own younglings to optimise their Macs and Defrag their PC's.
Get with it you old farts . . . it's not as hard as it looks and I need some more legitimate adult geeks to blog with.
Resolution for today: Reassure MarkyBoy and UncleBob that the Directory Tree is actually available via their PC, not planted in the park.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Brain Dead
Ha ha, not that you'd notice but I had to recreate this because I forgot not only the login but also the password to my own site . . .shouldn't admit it but I thought it was funny.
Mudgee Magic
Just come back from a lovely long weekend in Mudgee, NSW wine country. Thommo, MarkyBoy the Merry Widow and I jumped in the Callias for a trip west and joined TheExpert and TL for three days at the wine festival. Stayed in a fab cottage with river views, an Alpaca, and Ostrich named Miss Olivia, two sheep a lonely goat and a plucker of chooks and ducks and an albino Turkey who wasn't fussy who he cracked on to. Very pretty. 
We drank in the afternoon we arrived and then went to Eltons for dinner yum . . I'd forgotten how nice Veal Marsala really is. We stumbled home then played a game of Stink (I dunno we couldn't work it out either) and were beaten by TheExpert who was more pissed than all of us. Fluke or what?
The only problem living in the country is the bloody birds get up so early. Tweeting and shrieking, quacking and gobbling . . . I swear they're worse in spring so I was up spritely at 6.00am as usual, creeping around on my own waiting for the day to start.
Saturday we went to the Growers Market at the Catholic Church and bought honey and olive tapanade. Then just to show that we are egalitarian atheists, covered the craft market (I use the term loosely) at the Anglican Church across the road. You'll be pleased to know that there is still a market for tea towels with crochet edges and do it yourself cushion making . . indeed you can buy a template with a lovely rottweiler head on it or even your fave Massey Ferguson Tractor in glorious red. Bought ClareBear a little metal dragonfly made out of recycled car parts that was cute - and fitting - seeing as her major project is making Sustainability sexy!
Sight of the weekend: The country ute with the largest arials you've ever seen, Jim Beam Stickers "I'm a shooter and I vote" sticker, bull bars, roll bars, a heavily reinforced cage with the ugliest hunting dogs you've ever seen tucked safely inside and a poor wild pig, gnarled to bits on the back of the tray. Very country and reminded me to count the fingers of everyone who poured a tasting wine (make sure there were five on each hand) and to check name tags . . . I'm not going near anyone called Mable or Clitus.
Then we did the wineries, Frog Rock, Blue Wren http://www.bluewrenwines.com.au/(nice little cellarmaster with strawberry blonde hair who gave us a free bottle of the competition's rose), De la something or other with a nice golden retriever and yummy Sicillian olives and marinated mushrooms, I think the wine was OK too - I only bought the ones with the pretty labels (who say's I'm shallow). Then onward and upward to a number of others - many whose names I cannot remember but tasted everything. Lunch at the Cheese Factory and the best macadamia and olive pesto I've ever tasted.
The late afternoon was a bit boring until Thommo hurled her bocce ball into a water feature and TL and MarkyBoy had to get their feet wet and rummage in the mud with a rake to retrieve it. Ah well . . . if anyone was going to plop it in the water it would be her. I refrained from playing . . . they were hurling the bocce like shot puts . . more arse than clarse so MarkyBoy and I, the true 'good life' Pitt Street farmers checked out their irrigation system.
Saturday night we cooked at home but it was restaurant quality, bbq seafood and a chunk of fillet that went down well but in Thommo's case came right back up again . . .at least we think it was the steak . . .couldn't possibly have been the merlot.
Sunday we had a slow start, a big brekky and hit Burnbrae where I bought a nice sticky and then on to Andrew Harris and Logan for coffee and cake with a view and a dalmation with painted claws, before heading home. All in all a very noice weekend.
My house was even tidy when I got back, DrummerBoy had been out biking all weekend and came home covered in dust with the usual horror stories, leaping of 60 foot ramps into a cliff face. He's been attempting supermans, seatgrabs, off-axis leaps and whips. I don't even want to know what sort of danger he's in when he does this. Why couldn't he take up lawn bowling or cricket and ClareBear had hardly been home with Biology excursions, Saturday at the races and wakeboarding on Sunday.
Only ThePrincess was home all weekend and very pleased to see me. This is Lily for those who haven't met my third child. Nicknamed ThePrincess by Babybro because she is overly indulged.
Ah well, that was my little excursion for the month. Back to blowing leaves, washing and cleaning for the next couple of weekends. the only thing that went wrong was within five minutes of arriving home, I blew up my oven . . .bugger . . . there went the Sunday roast.
Resolution for today: try to understand why Burnbrae Chardonnay has a 'nose' like burnt toast.
We drank in the afternoon we arrived and then went to Eltons for dinner yum . . I'd forgotten how nice Veal Marsala really is. We stumbled home then played a game of Stink (I dunno we couldn't work it out either) and were beaten by TheExpert who was more pissed than all of us. Fluke or what?
The only problem living in the country is the bloody birds get up so early. Tweeting and shrieking, quacking and gobbling . . . I swear they're worse in spring so I was up spritely at 6.00am as usual, creeping around on my own waiting for the day to start.
Saturday we went to the Growers Market at the Catholic Church and bought honey and olive tapanade. Then just to show that we are egalitarian atheists, covered the craft market (I use the term loosely) at the Anglican Church across the road. You'll be pleased to know that there is still a market for tea towels with crochet edges and do it yourself cushion making . . indeed you can buy a template with a lovely rottweiler head on it or even your fave Massey Ferguson Tractor in glorious red. Bought ClareBear a little metal dragonfly made out of recycled car parts that was cute - and fitting - seeing as her major project is making Sustainability sexy!
Sight of the weekend: The country ute with the largest arials you've ever seen, Jim Beam Stickers "I'm a shooter and I vote" sticker, bull bars, roll bars, a heavily reinforced cage with the ugliest hunting dogs you've ever seen tucked safely inside and a poor wild pig, gnarled to bits on the back of the tray. Very country and reminded me to count the fingers of everyone who poured a tasting wine (make sure there were five on each hand) and to check name tags . . . I'm not going near anyone called Mable or Clitus.
Then we did the wineries, Frog Rock, Blue Wren http://www.bluewrenwines.com.au/(nice little cellarmaster with strawberry blonde hair who gave us a free bottle of the competition's rose), De la something or other with a nice golden retriever and yummy Sicillian olives and marinated mushrooms, I think the wine was OK too - I only bought the ones with the pretty labels (who say's I'm shallow). Then onward and upward to a number of others - many whose names I cannot remember but tasted everything. Lunch at the Cheese Factory and the best macadamia and olive pesto I've ever tasted.
The late afternoon was a bit boring until Thommo hurled her bocce ball into a water feature and TL and MarkyBoy had to get their feet wet and rummage in the mud with a rake to retrieve it. Ah well . . . if anyone was going to plop it in the water it would be her. I refrained from playing . . . they were hurling the bocce like shot puts . . more arse than clarse so MarkyBoy and I, the true 'good life' Pitt Street farmers checked out their irrigation system.
Saturday night we cooked at home but it was restaurant quality, bbq seafood and a chunk of fillet that went down well but in Thommo's case came right back up again . . .at least we think it was the steak . . .couldn't possibly have been the merlot.
Sunday we had a slow start, a big brekky and hit Burnbrae where I bought a nice sticky and then on to Andrew Harris and Logan for coffee and cake with a view and a dalmation with painted claws, before heading home. All in all a very noice weekend.
My house was even tidy when I got back, DrummerBoy had been out biking all weekend and came home covered in dust with the usual horror stories, leaping of 60 foot ramps into a cliff face. He's been attempting supermans, seatgrabs, off-axis leaps and whips. I don't even want to know what sort of danger he's in when he does this. Why couldn't he take up lawn bowling or cricket and ClareBear had hardly been home with Biology excursions, Saturday at the races and wakeboarding on Sunday.
Only ThePrincess was home all weekend and very pleased to see me. This is Lily for those who haven't met my third child. Nicknamed ThePrincess by Babybro because she is overly indulged.
Ah well, that was my little excursion for the month. Back to blowing leaves, washing and cleaning for the next couple of weekends. the only thing that went wrong was within five minutes of arriving home, I blew up my oven . . .bugger . . . there went the Sunday roast.
Resolution for today: try to understand why Burnbrae Chardonnay has a 'nose' like burnt toast.
Deferred Birthday
We put our house on the market. I've lived there on a massive block of land with some member of my extended family or other for over 17 years so it's time to cut the apron strings. First with Bumper, then Hippybro, now Babybro. We all cohabit happily with our kids and dogs and washing and gum leaves and skid marks on the grass because we're too lazy to use the driveway.
Anyway, we've been gazetted for subdivision but nobody's banging our door down to buy. I can't understand why, it's a big and generous block with favourable rezoning. Sadly prices are falling . . . not even a business card in the mail box. Meanwhile we're all sitting around asset rich and cash poor.
Babysis wants to build a new house and have lots of jewellery . . but we all know what we have to do to get jewellery don't we girls and it aint wait for an inheritance.
Babybro wants to go to Queensland and live the dream even tho all his children are spread about the southern east coast. I'll give that one a couple of years before he realises that life in paradise is as boring as batshit . . you can't play golf 7 days a week no matter how hard you try .
Then there's Hippybro who's already blown most of his on a house that hasn't even started to be built who knows what he's done with the money - prolly gone into home theatre equpment or up his nose.
And me . . well I've put off my trip to Paris which was to be the starting point of a long, long holiday before launching into some sort of volunteering for a worthy cause and part-time paid work. As a consequence, I have postponed my birthday to 2007 hopefully when the house is sold, I am mega rich and can afford to travel.
So my beloveds, no presents for this little black duck this year . . hang on, I didn't think that one through at all . . .
. . actually I would like Bulgari or Dune eau de parfum, (ea de toilette is too feint), a toasted sandwich maker for those late night munchies, a case of Verve Cliquot to wash it down with and and an espresso machine . . . cappucino's for brekky. OK so I am fickle, a Libran and a woman and thereby permitted to constantly change my mind.
Resolution for today: Devise a way to receive presents without acknowledging the half century.
Anyway, we've been gazetted for subdivision but nobody's banging our door down to buy. I can't understand why, it's a big and generous block with favourable rezoning. Sadly prices are falling . . . not even a business card in the mail box. Meanwhile we're all sitting around asset rich and cash poor.
Babysis wants to build a new house and have lots of jewellery . . but we all know what we have to do to get jewellery don't we girls and it aint wait for an inheritance.
Babybro wants to go to Queensland and live the dream even tho all his children are spread about the southern east coast. I'll give that one a couple of years before he realises that life in paradise is as boring as batshit . . you can't play golf 7 days a week no matter how hard you try .
Then there's Hippybro who's already blown most of his on a house that hasn't even started to be built who knows what he's done with the money - prolly gone into home theatre equpment or up his nose.
And me . . well I've put off my trip to Paris which was to be the starting point of a long, long holiday before launching into some sort of volunteering for a worthy cause and part-time paid work. As a consequence, I have postponed my birthday to 2007 hopefully when the house is sold, I am mega rich and can afford to travel.
So my beloveds, no presents for this little black duck this year . . hang on, I didn't think that one through at all . . .
. . actually I would like Bulgari or Dune eau de parfum, (ea de toilette is too feint), a toasted sandwich maker for those late night munchies, a case of Verve Cliquot to wash it down with and and an espresso machine . . . cappucino's for brekky. OK so I am fickle, a Libran and a woman and thereby permitted to constantly change my mind.
Resolution for today: Devise a way to receive presents without acknowledging the half century.
Old Boiler
I've been calling myself an old boiler since I was well, a spring chicken but it's suddently dawned on me that I really am. My daughter says I drive like a geriatric and my son says I smell like elephant brains . . I think both were meant to be terms of endearment but I took them darkly. I decided to start a blog after being thoroughly entertained by the streams of younglings who expose their lives, dreams, hopes aspirations, drinking and sexual habits all in some cathartic or maybe it's an exhibitionist way to vent, reflect or just to document their day to day existance - either way it's a voyeur's paradise in bloggworld.
Not that I'm a voyeur just a Sunday surfer . . .and not that I have anything as interesting to offer I just thought I'd have a bash. My interest was also sparked by a couple of e-friends who I've adopted through my business life and we've become good pals although we've never met and I'm old enough to be their mother. Tempted as I was, I've never lied about my age to these e-buddies but they seem to enjoy the occasional banter with some client in Sydney even though it's highly unlikely they'll ever share a joke let alone a beer. I suppose I'm a safe proposition, fun when it suits . . no commitment . . . Addicted as I am to some blogs, all written by people who I have never met and probably never will . . I decided to start my own journal.
Even if it's not nearly as entertaining as some. I now know, I can get things out in the open without boring my children, MSN'ing my tiny contact list of computer literate peers or at the very least have something that my overseas mates can log into from time to time to gauge just how tragic the middle ages (mine that is) can be. First place of choice was 'My Space' but realising that there are no postings for people ove the age of 40, I turned away, spurned, hurt and cut to the core because I'm not 40, not even 45 but only a matter of weeks on the right side of 50 and that dear readers is what cuts me to the core. Inside, I'm fabulous . . .young, spirited, thoughtful, feisty . . Christ, I listen to Triple J - I can't be that old, my girlf rides a motorbike in races for heaven's sake . . .I say fuck and like the Foo Fighters . . . but every now and then, my alter ego surfaces, that grumpy old woman that laments kids today because they don't know the art of conversation, it's all done via SMS on mobile phone or heiroglyphic messages on some chat line :) (: :P }} }}, btw, imho . . .electronic coms sux.
Alternatively, that anal woman occupies my body and freaks out unnecessarily about the way a towel is strewn all over a bed or loses the plot because shoes are not neatly placed together and God forbid if anyone gets instant coffee granules in the sugar or leaves the toilet seat up - because the world as we know it will end.
Then there's that weeping mess of a waste of womanhood that just bursts into rivers of saltiness because someone left the door open or let the dog out or didn’t' make their bed or was so selfish that they couldn’t bloody be bothered to go up and buy some milk when they know all I want in life is a CUP OF TEA IN THE MORNING!!!!!!!
Not to mention . . .that ballistic bombshell of spiralling overconfidence, the legend in her own lunchtime, that amazonian decision maker with supreme knowledge grounded in nothing but sheer belief in her ability . . .In a nutshell, that's me . . .
I look in the mirror and see a tall, slim, dark-haired, brown eyed beauty with a face full of character and charm. A smile that would melt the ice caps and velvety skin that any man would find irresistable.What's really there is a mere semblence of my formal self, not so many wrinkles but I've just about forgotten what my original hair colour is . . frequently tinted to hide the grey. My silph like figure has well quite simply ballooned so now I really am a woman of substance and my skin . . well, nothing a 10 week acid peel regime can't fix.
Resolution for today: Remove all reflective surfaces from view.
Not that I'm a voyeur just a Sunday surfer . . .and not that I have anything as interesting to offer I just thought I'd have a bash. My interest was also sparked by a couple of e-friends who I've adopted through my business life and we've become good pals although we've never met and I'm old enough to be their mother. Tempted as I was, I've never lied about my age to these e-buddies but they seem to enjoy the occasional banter with some client in Sydney even though it's highly unlikely they'll ever share a joke let alone a beer. I suppose I'm a safe proposition, fun when it suits . . no commitment . . . Addicted as I am to some blogs, all written by people who I have never met and probably never will . . I decided to start my own journal.
Even if it's not nearly as entertaining as some. I now know, I can get things out in the open without boring my children, MSN'ing my tiny contact list of computer literate peers or at the very least have something that my overseas mates can log into from time to time to gauge just how tragic the middle ages (mine that is) can be. First place of choice was 'My Space' but realising that there are no postings for people ove the age of 40, I turned away, spurned, hurt and cut to the core because I'm not 40, not even 45 but only a matter of weeks on the right side of 50 and that dear readers is what cuts me to the core. Inside, I'm fabulous . . .young, spirited, thoughtful, feisty . . Christ, I listen to Triple J - I can't be that old, my girlf rides a motorbike in races for heaven's sake . . .I say fuck and like the Foo Fighters . . . but every now and then, my alter ego surfaces, that grumpy old woman that laments kids today because they don't know the art of conversation, it's all done via SMS on mobile phone or heiroglyphic messages on some chat line :) (: :P }} }}, btw, imho . . .electronic coms sux.
Alternatively, that anal woman occupies my body and freaks out unnecessarily about the way a towel is strewn all over a bed or loses the plot because shoes are not neatly placed together and God forbid if anyone gets instant coffee granules in the sugar or leaves the toilet seat up - because the world as we know it will end.
Then there's that weeping mess of a waste of womanhood that just bursts into rivers of saltiness because someone left the door open or let the dog out or didn’t' make their bed or was so selfish that they couldn’t bloody be bothered to go up and buy some milk when they know all I want in life is a CUP OF TEA IN THE MORNING!!!!!!!
Not to mention . . .that ballistic bombshell of spiralling overconfidence, the legend in her own lunchtime, that amazonian decision maker with supreme knowledge grounded in nothing but sheer belief in her ability . . .In a nutshell, that's me . . .
I look in the mirror and see a tall, slim, dark-haired, brown eyed beauty with a face full of character and charm. A smile that would melt the ice caps and velvety skin that any man would find irresistable.What's really there is a mere semblence of my formal self, not so many wrinkles but I've just about forgotten what my original hair colour is . . frequently tinted to hide the grey. My silph like figure has well quite simply ballooned so now I really am a woman of substance and my skin . . well, nothing a 10 week acid peel regime can't fix.
Resolution for today: Remove all reflective surfaces from view.
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