tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79828805643261838362024-03-14T04:27:45.895+10:00I Am Housewife.....Hear Me RoarRamblings from a bored housewife.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-62046374699540439682011-06-08T13:58:00.001+10:002014-07-31T11:58:25.918+10:00The Dangers of StationeryI just hideously dismembered my finger on a stapler. Staplers are ridiculous contraptions which never EVER work properly. Oh yeah, they're your best friend while you're clicking away at your papers, but then they turn evil when they run out of staples. It's just like when a crocodile runs out of food and you try to give it some more (which I obviously do regularly). It'll take your bloody arm off before you even get a chance to throw a chunk of meat at it. Unless of course you're the Irwins, in which case you're immune to both crocodile and stapler attacks. I refuse to believe that anyone has ever put staples into their stapler without somehow getting stapled. Whoever designed the stapler is a sadist and should be fed to the crocodiles themselves. And it's a stupid name - stapler. Dumb.<br />
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Stationery can be dangerous. There are just so many things that can go wrong I can't believe it doesn't come with a warning.<br />
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Sticky tape is fraught with danger. Have you ever stuck lengths of tape on your arm (or other body part) to use at later date? OK, perhaps it's just me. But I tell you, taking that sticky tape off hurts. A lot! And don't even get me started on double-sided tape. That's just cruel. <br />
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Binders are horrific. Have you ever got your finger pinched by one of those lever arch thingys? Yeah, well that bloody hurts too. But no one tells you about that, do they? Oh no, it's just a harmless folder to store papers in.<br />
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And how many times have you been left thinking you were morbidly obese because your calculator couldn't work out your BMI correctly? See, it's not just physical pain these contraptions inflict on us, it's emotional as well!<br />
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Have you ever accidentally hit yourself on the head with a ruler? Of course you have. It hurts! And then there's the old 'draw coming too far out of the filing cabinet' trick. Have you ever been crushed by a filing cabinet draw? It hurts too!<br />
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And don't tell me they don't make toner cartridges to deliberately self destruct as soon as you try to change them. Toner goes everywhere and if the dust is bad enough you might even get a touch of asthma.<br />
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Don't ever buy an office chair with armrests. Notice how they design them so that when you move yourself into the table your hands get stuck between the table and the armrest? That's no accident.<br />
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So, next time you get what you think is a simple paper cut, think again. That paper has more than likely been recruited into the evil cult of the stapler, and if they get hold of the hole punch, you can kiss your hand goodbye.<br />
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<img src="http://monsterthreads.com.au/onlineshop/images/uploads/dinosaur-stapler.jpg" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-24960694065689137112011-05-24T17:15:00.000+10:002011-05-24T17:15:57.217+10:00The worst thing in the worldWell, it appears I've dodged the stomach bug, which of course is a great relief but also mildly disappointing since I scoffed that whole packet of chips yesterday. <br />
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In my opinion there is no worse thing in the world than a stomach bug. Yes, I know there is poverty, disease, famine and Justin Beiber, but I truly believe cleaning up the aftermath of a stomach bug makes all of these issues pale in comparison. I have such an issue with it that I simply can't do it. Poor Matt is generally left to clean the mess and I'm left to stand at a distance relaying my sympathy. <br />
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If you do decide to partake in the stomach bug, I highly recommend the 5 star hotel room. We had the misfortune of being on holidays in New Zealand when Emily came down with a stomach bug. (I'm not entirely convinced the misfortune was the stomach bug. It was possibly just being in New Zealand). We were staying at the Holiday Inn. It was about midnight when Emily decided to purge her guts up all over the bed sheets. We simply wrapped up the sheets, rang housekeeping who came and collected them and gave us nice new sheets. That is the way stomach bugs should be handled.<br />
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Amazingly Emily managed to hold on for our 4 hour train journey the next day, only to vomit in the foyer of our next hotel. Perfect timing yet again. I was so proud. <br />
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Unfortunately this time it was just Matt and I with no housekeeping staff to assist. He did a stirling job cleaning up as usual while I updated my status on Facebook. Of course I'm then the one stuck at home with a sick child, but thankfully there was only one more incident and she at least managed to get to the bathroom on time. I like to think she really makes the effort for me since she knows my aversion to vomit. She's nice like that.<br />
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Thankfully Emily seems to have recovered enough to go to school tomorrow and I will make the effort to start my routine yet again. I still don't know what that routine will involve but it will more than likely start with a trip to the gym to get rid of those bloody chips.<br />
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<img height="388" id="il_fi" src="http://i45.tinypic.com/hrc1mx.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="478" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-37394002488989343622010-11-13T22:59:00.001+10:002010-11-13T23:01:39.541+10:00Accidental exercise.....try some today!I went to the gym the other day. I realise that in itself doesn't sound like a great feat, however I'm not a big fan of the gym. In fact, I'm not a massive fan of any "exercise on purpose". I like accidental exercise, like the long walk home from the pub, having to walk up stairs when the lift is broken and building sandcastles at the beach (that wet sand can be mighty heavy).<br />
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Anyway, for some reason I joined a gym at the beginning of the year. And I went regularly. It took me a while to work out what I liked to do which quickly eliminated most things, however I did enjoy fart-arseing around on the cross-trainer while the Winter Olympics was on the big TV. It made me feel like quite the athlete. And being on the cross-trainer was a good choice cause if I closed my eyes and really, really concentrated, I could almost convince myself I was skiing. Awesome, I know.<br />
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After quite a few months of going to the gym I have come to the conclusion there are 3 types of people who go to gyms. The first group is the biggest. These are the people who go to the gym on a regular basis, normally once or twice a week. It's part of their routine and they have a particular class or activity that they're happy doing. They go for no other reason than to maintain their fitness and health. I like to think I fall into this category. <br />
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The next group are the wannabes. They turn up, normally really, really unfit or overweight and puff around pretending they're enjoying themselves when they are clearly turning purple and about to pass out. They last a few weeks until the call of Oprah, a bucket of KFC and a gin and tonic is just too much to resist.<br />
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The final group are for me, the most disturbing of all. They are the ones that are at the gym every time you go, no matter when that may be. I reckon there's at least a dozen of them at my gym (and no they're not the staff!). I could go at 10am on a Tuesday and they'd be there pumping up their muscles, I could go at 4pm on a Friday and they'd be there pretending to ride a bike somewhere. I could turn up to the bottle shop next door on a weekend and there they are, standing at the door to the gym waiting for it to open.<br />
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These people are freaks but are clearly very fit and beautiful. Good on 'em. The one thing I haven't been able to work out is why these very same people are the ones who will wait 5 mins for a parking spot as close to the door as possible rather than walk from one of the myriad of empty parking spots less than 50 metres away. Perhaps their leg muscles are so big that if they walk too far they get a rash? Who knows, but I'd suggest these gym junkies might like to practice some accidental exercise. You never know, they might just accidentally get a life.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TN6LkE8HvdI/AAAAAAAAADY/Q49Kne18BcU/s1600/gym.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TN6LkE8HvdI/AAAAAAAAADY/Q49Kne18BcU/s320/gym.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-19925307543386993722010-11-12T21:36:00.001+10:002010-11-14T14:21:28.440+10:00May I be struck down by lightning.<span style="font-family: inherit;">I got "tagged" in NessaKnits blog. I'm scared it runs on the same principle as one of those chain mails. If I don't complete the assigned task I'm sure to have bad luck for the next 43 years, or perhaps all my hair will fall out, or I'll start watching netball. Either way, it won't be good. Therefore I shall copy and paste and do my bit. Here goes.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;">4 things that..... are usually in my handbag</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>1.</b></i> My mobile phone. I can't be without it. I need to be able to consult my shopping list, text or check my calender at all times. I switched it off for 2 hours in the movies today and was struggling to breathe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. My purse. It has stuff I need in it, but very rarely money. It also has a photo of Emily in it, which is handy if I forget what she looks like.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Pens. Lots of pens. They have been stolen from various hotels around the world. Many are broken, but they all have a memory.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Lipstick. I'm not sure why. It's generally a colour I don't tend to wear and because the lid keeps coming off, has lots of gritty dirty bits in it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;">4 things that..... are in my bedroom</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><em>1. </em></strong>Ted. That's my teddy bear. I've had him since I was a baby and he sits beside my bed keeping guard to make sure all the evil teddy bears with stitches and one eye missing don't attack me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. A full length mirror that makes me look much skinnier than I really am. I like this mirror and will never throw it away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. My husband. He is generally on the other side of the bed. I can tell when he's there because a sound rather like a fog horn cuts through the night time silence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Shoes. I love shoes and if my husband didn't insist on owning clothes I would use his side of the wardrobe to store more of them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;">4 things that ..... I would like to do but never did</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>1.</b></i> I should have kept playing tennis. I was good at it, but had no ambition. I'm disappointed I didn't at least give myself a chance to turn professional and become a lesbian.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. I would have liked to have kept in touch with a few more of my school friends. After attending a recent reunion I realised I liked them a lot more than I realised.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. I would have liked to have bought that extra pair of shoes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. I would have liked to write a book (and yay for me that's something I can still do).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold;">4 things that .... you don't know about me </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>1. </b></i> I have double jointed elbows. I'm sure this comes in handy for something. I just haven't worked it out yet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. I hate talking on the phone. It annoys me. Those awkward silences when you're waiting for the other person to talk, or when you both talk at the same time. And then when people ring just "for a chat". Seriously, don't ring me unless you've got something important to tell me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. I once dated a guy for no other reason than that he had a really nice car. He ended up dumping me because I only ever wanted to go for drive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. I have played strip poker......and lost. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, at this point I'm supposed to tag 4 people so they can play too, but tonight I feel like living on the edge, so I'm not going to. I look forward to the next 24hrs where I'll no doubt be attacked by a black cat, struck by lightning or be forced to listen to a whole Nickelback song. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-2878161966203327462010-11-05T15:47:00.003+10:002011-06-08T14:21:47.396+10:00The people we meet.....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did something quite out of character this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to a multi-dimensional healer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the hell is that?” I hear you ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, not surprisingly, I’m still not entirely sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It all started at my friend’s jewellery party last week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know the girl’s night out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met a lady there who was really nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s just call her Freaky Crystal Lady with Special Powers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, we chat for a bit and she asks me what I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell her I’m a housewife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m fairly sure she was impressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I asked her what she did, she explained she was a multi-dimensional healer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate it when people just have to get one up on me, like they’re soooo special. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’m curious enough to ask her a few questions, and she gave me a brief run-down of what she does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then found myself asking for her business card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, as my week continued to plummet downhill I decided to pay her a visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured if nothing else I’d get an hour of peace and it would give me something to write about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I turn up to her rooms which are in the back of a hair salon and am made to sit in a little waiting room with running water which is supposed to be soothing but only succeeds in making me run to the toilet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whilst there I wonder what the hell I’m doing here and what exactly I think might need healing anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I don’t want to be a wuss (well, that and there’s a $25 cancellation fee) so I prepare myself for the worst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Freaky Crystal Lady with Special Powers comes and collects me and I silently say goodbye to my family and friends in the assumption that I am being taken into some abyss never to return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her room is nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kind of like a little chiropractors office but with dim lighting, candles and more running water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She put on nice music that is sold by dreadlocked men and women in hippy organic music/food stores and made me take my shoes off and lay on the massage-like table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She then proceeded to explain what she was going to do and it took all my will power not to laugh out loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This woman who seems so normal was going to wave crystals above me, then touch me and open up my Chakras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not entirely sure what a Chakra is apart from a bad 80’s singer, but in any case it turns out many of mine were closed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">From memory if the crystal doesn’t move, then that particular chakra is closed, if it swings from side to side it’s half-closed and if it swings around in circles then it’s open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come on, stay with me here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to go through this so you’ve got to too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, one of mine was swinging around wildly which apparently means it’s really, really open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked me if I was very sexual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you fucking kidding?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Um, no.” I reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, then it is your creativity which is going wild.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fair enough then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I’m told to just relax, close my eyes and think of nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, cause it’s soooo easy to think of nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, as you may have guessed I’m slightly sceptical about, well, everything, but I decided to just lay there and do as she asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the course of the hour some very odd things happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Firstly, she chanted in some weird language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure who she was talking to but when no one responded<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she gave up and went silent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not long after that my breath became irregular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not enough to think there was something wrong, but I definitely felt my breath catching for no real reason and I also experienced a strange sensation in my legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect they were just going numb from laying in the same spot for too long, but you never know.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the hour was up I was told to take off my mask and open my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I just couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried, I really did, but my eyes just would not open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a very odd situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told me to just lay there until I was ready, which I did, and then all was well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then had a chat and discussed some very interesting things, which will mean nothing to anyone apart from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either she’d somehow managed to do some research on me or she may just be a Freaky Crystal Lady with Special Powers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m curious enough to find out so I’m going to go back and see her again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure if anything is healed but she’s a lovely lady and I get to have a nice rest for an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just might ask her to turn off the water next time. </span><br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-38469683814224372942010-11-03T22:26:00.001+10:002014-07-31T12:10:55.549+10:00Is this as good as it gets?So yesterday was the big day. Melbourne Cup Day....."the race that stops a nation". So they say. I've been looking forward to this day for a while. A fun proper girl's day out where we get to dress up in clothes we wouldn't wear any other time of year and act like teenagers. Unfortunately the day didn't quite go to plan. Emily had a rather large issue at school the previous day, so I had to pay her teacher a visit to confirm that she isn't quite as disturbed as her behaviour indicated. Or perhaps she is. Who knows. In any case, she'll either grow up to be a stripper or a politician, so interesting times ahead.<br />
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Anyway, I got that sorted then rushed home to prepare for my big social day. I needed to get a bit of work done first which was interrupted by the Jehovah's Witness dudes at the door. We live a long way from anywhere, so I figure if someone wants to make the effort to come find us to talk about the Bible, then I'll listen to what they've got to say. We always end up having a spirited discussion. Thankfully this guy knew when he was flogging a dead horse, so he glanced in the door and commented how he loved our polished timber floors. It was at this point I knew he'd given up on converting me and was probably going to try and sell me floor cleaner (or carpet).<br />
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Of course once I'd said goodbye to my new found friend I realised I was running quite late. So I chucked my dress and hat on and attempted to cover up the sand fly bites on my legs. Thankfully I was wearing a huge hat which covered the complete lack of attention to my hair and which was hopefully going to take the attention away from my chicken pox-like legs. I pulled out my new clutch bag which I bought especially to go with the dress and shoes only to find that nothing fits in it. Seriously, who makes a bag that you can't put anything in? Bloody ridiculous. So I ended up taking a 20 year old handbag cause it kind of matched, but frankly was just stupid looking. <br />
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I made it to the restaurant and had a very enjoyable lunch with my Year 1 friends, plus two women who I didn't know. They were Year 4 Mums which none of us knew who somehow got themselves invited. Odd. Anyway, one of them won the $10 sweep. Bitch. I won a bottle of champagne for Best Hat which is awesome. Now the hat I only wear once a year only owes me $330. What a bargain!<br />
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I stumbled out of the restaurant leaving the last two friends there complaining about their husband/ex-husband and wondering if this is as good as it gets. In many ways it was a great day, but somehow it just wasn't a proper Melbourne Cup day. My shoes stayed on all day, I didn't dance, didn't fall over, didn't catch a taxi, didn't spill a drink, didn't go to a sleazy nightclub and didn't wake up with a hangover. It was almost an anti-climax, and I'm left wondering exactly the same thing my drunk friends were wondering yesterday. Is this as good as it gets?<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-52497402979608840652010-11-01T21:20:00.001+10:002011-06-08T14:22:56.636+10:00Seriously, who smells like that?!I've been doing a bit of research lately into different foods. You see I've had a few bowel problems which is just ridiculous. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Can you believe it?!! I'm </span>37 years old and I’m already being asked to scoop my shit up into a little cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I got those </span>test results back which confirmed I had good quality poo amongst other things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">In a few weeks </span>I'm supposed to go and have a blood test for gluten intolerance and some other letters which have no real meaning to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m hoping I’m gluten intolerant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never really been able to keep up with fashions and trends in the past, but I think I could be right up with this one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How cool would it be to have to go to the special gluten free bakery and shop in hippy organic food stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’ve always wanted to be one of those annoying people who brings their own bread to cafes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m so impressed the staff don’t just tell them to piss off!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m getting quite excited about the prospect of being diagnosed gluten intolerant, so I’m hoping it doesn’t turn out to have been just be some lame stomach bug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My doctor also thought I may have had a rare hernia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is just getting too good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next I’ll need a hip replacement.<br />
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So anyway, I've been watching what I've been eating and taking note of any unusual occurences. I've made some interesting discoveries. Bread and pasta does in fact make me feel pretty crappy, tinned salmon and tuna makes my breath smell, hamburgers make me burp, onion leaves a horrible taste in my mouth, chocolate gives me pimples and wine gives me a hangover. But I reckon the most annoying food issue I have by far is "asparagus wee". It stinks. Just one little nibble of asparagus and you would swear my insides have gone toxic. Disgusting.<br />
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I'm reminded of this tonight as I sit at the other end of the house from the bathroom after having emptied a tin of air freshner to cancel out the asparagus wee smell. Well, I'm assuming it's just that and not some rare kidney disease. No doubt I'll be pissing in a little cup sometime soon and then we'll know for sure.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TM6ia4OK5rI/AAAAAAAAADI/O2sXYxh0YtY/s1600/Asparagus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nx="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TM6ia4OK5rI/AAAAAAAAADI/O2sXYxh0YtY/s1600/Asparagus.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-84082474833002055482010-10-29T16:58:00.000+10:002010-10-29T16:58:13.914+10:00If I didn't have you.I had the most beautiful morning today. My lovely husband and I went to the local surf club for breakfast. We sat out on the deck overlooking the beach and the ocean. We even saw a whale....or a dolphin.....it was hard to tell from 5kms away. Either way there was a dark shape out there which was definitely moving. We were having such a lovely morning that I forgave the useless chef for over-cooking my poached eggs. (Of course he stuffed them up because I didn't have to pay an extra friggin dollar.) I also forgave the barista for making my coffee too strong. What the hell is a barista anyway? We used to have coffee-makers, now someone is trying to culture us up and turn our perfectly good coffee-makers into baristas. Well, can I tell you something barista person? Just cause you call yourself a barista doesn't mean you make the coffee any better.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I was having quite a lovely morning when I had a moment of reflection which made me pause for a moment. I looked at my husband and thought to myself "what would I do if I didn't have you?". It scared me a little bit actually. I mean he's not perfect. Actually he's far from it. But I quite like him and for just a moment I wondered what my life would be like if he wasn't around. I pondered this and tried to think how I could put it into words. I then decided I couldn't be bothered, so I thought I'd leave it up to Tim Minchin do it for me. So, take it away Tim.......<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IeZMIgheZro">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IeZMIgheZro</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-28733858655992926492010-10-28T19:56:00.001+10:002010-10-28T21:42:39.510+10:00Don't take it personally.I've worked out us humans don't like being told no and many of us also have trouble saying no. I know, I'm obviously a genius to have worked this out, but it really makes me wonder why it's so important to us. Today I said no to someone, and they were hideously offended, demanding the reason why I would be so bold as to say no. Well love, it's none of your friggin business actually. I just don't want to! <br />
<br />
Just because I say no doesn't mean I don't like you. Of course it may not mean I do like you either, but that's not the point. It doesn't mean I don't like what you're offering or that I'm intentionally trying to offend you. It just means no, not this time. Or maybe never. Who cares. It's just no. <br />
<br />
My problem is I don't say no often enough. I like to avoid the exact thing that happened to me today. I don't like letting people down, which is strange cause I'm not a big fan of people so why should I really care? <br />
<br />
My life has been a mixture of being a yes and a no person. Up until the last few years if you asked me to go for a helicopter ride, I would've said no. If you'd suggested I swim in the surf, I would have said no. If you suggested I start writing a blog, I would have pissed myself laughing, then would have said no. I really had no sense of adventure (which is odd because I'm a rally co-driver, but that's a story for another time). I just didn't want to do anything that was out of my comfort zone.<br />
<br />
On the other hand though, if you asked me to help you pretty much in any way, I'd say yeah, sure. I'd agree to look after your kids (even though I don't really care for kids that much), be secretary of the pre-school or run a school fete. And I wouldn't even wait to be asked. I'd stick my bloody hand up for it! "Hey, pick me! I'm hanging to volunteer to do something I really don't want to". Seriously, what sort of idiot am I?<br />
<br />
So my problem now is that I'm starting to conquer one side of my yes/no persona but my other side still needs a lot of work. Today if you suggest I jump out of a perfectly good plane, I probably won't say yes, but I'd come up with a workable compromise. Something along the lines of "How about I watch YOU jump out of a perfectly good plane?" I will say yes to going on that ride at the theme park, I'll say yes to bobbing around in the surf like a pogo stick and I'll say yes to learning how to row a kayak. And my life has been so much better for it.<br />
<br />
Now all I need to do is teach the other side of my personality to say no. Next time the position of class co-ordinator becomes available, I really want to say no. After I conquer running the school fete, I need to say "thanks for experience, but I don't want to do that again". I need to remember I don't actually like children all that much when I'm about to volunteer to have 57 of the little shits over to my house for a playdate.<br />
<br />
I guess that's something for me to keep working on. In the meantime I'll keep saying yes to all the things I used to be scared of doing and practice saying no to all the things I don't want to do. And it would be doing me a big favour if you don't take it personally.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TMlE6p3CGnI/AAAAAAAAADE/zeMMHvGpkpc/s1600/15518-Uncertain-Orange-Person-Shrugging-And-Weiging-Out-The-Options-Of-Yes-Or-No-Clipart-Illustration-Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TMlE6p3CGnI/AAAAAAAAADE/zeMMHvGpkpc/s320/15518-Uncertain-Orange-Person-Shrugging-And-Weiging-Out-The-Options-Of-Yes-Or-No-Clipart-Illustration-Image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-59675580165644384042010-10-27T17:33:00.001+10:002010-10-27T17:34:19.737+10:00What a dumb idea.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I recently went along to my daughter's schools P & F Meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s Parents and Friends for those of us who remember it as P & C.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was quite surprised to find a grand total of five parents there (excluding committee).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, how hard is it to drag your sorry arse out one night a term to check out what’s going on in your school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I know everyone’s busy with work and children and eating Pizza Hut in front of the telly so you don’t miss Masterchef, but seriously, is it really that hard?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>4 times a year! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Anyway, I go to this meeting and find it’s really cool because they have wine and food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like these Parents and Friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course I now realize why they have wine and food. They’re making sure you’re nice and relaxed when they hit you with the “Oh we’re still looking for a <insert name of position here>, would you be interested?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my case it was for a position entitled Fete Convener.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even know how to spell the word convener until then so I clearly had no idea what this position would involve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a vision of standing behind a trestle table selling sausages at Bunnings and figured that could be fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously being the Convenor I would probably need to organise the trestle table.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So I organise to have a coffee with the Outgoing Fete Convener (OFC).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrange to meet at Gloria Jeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least in a public place someone will notice me trying to escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I’m in trouble when not only does the outgoing Fete Convener turn up, but so does the P & F President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ve sent in the big guns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m feeling very outnumbered and now wish I hadn’t ordered decaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to be much more alert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we have a nice chat while trying to be dainty eating our toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder why we insist on putting tomato on sandwiches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It either squishes up into a horrible red mess or it simply falls off the sandwich.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think Gloria Jeans have the right idea by squashing it so horribly in the toasting machine that everything just glues together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much easier.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Anyway we have a chat and I discover that the Fete they are talking about is the one I went to last year when Emily was in Prep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now as far as I’m concerned this is not a Fete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A fete is trestle tables with stuff on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little homemade cakes, brownies, jams, little crap things that no one wants anymore that they redesign and call paperweights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “fete” they are talking about is not a real fete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There ARE trestle tables which are used on all of the 30 or so stalls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s also rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a stage where there is entertainment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s raffles and cent auctions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s an art exhibition. No, this is not a Fete, it’s the friggin Ekka!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So our little chat goes quite well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OFC assures me as long as I’m organized it’s a pretty straight forward job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s very organized, she says, and has everything I could possibly want in two folders which she’ll apparently only show me once I commit to the position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figure how hard can it be?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I know I need to do something with my life as it’s been nearly a year since I sold my business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How long a break does one actually need?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I say yes, and then wonder why I have developed a headache when I’m only drinking decaf. I felt excited, euphoric almost that I now have a title.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fete Convener. My life now has purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">In the weeks that have passed since then I've found myself thinking a lot more about my future plans and unfortunately I've realised that my life purpose is not actually to run the school Fete. That's a bummer. Would have been handy to have known that a bit sooner. Oh well, no turning back now. Come visit me there in 6 months. I'll be the one holding up the bar making rude gestures with the German sausages.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-80661331092893658022010-10-26T18:06:00.001+10:002010-10-30T13:47:51.844+10:00If you can walk in them, then why bother?There are two types of shopping - solo shopping and social shopping. <br />
<br />
Solo shopping is, as the name suggests, when you go shopping by yourself. These shopping trips are for basic needs such as groceries or everyday clothing. This would include cotton underwear, t-shirts, unisex jeans, flat and comfortable shoes, flannelette pyjamas, etc. <br />
<br />
Social shopping is when you shop with a friend (or friends if you're lucky enough to have more than one). This type of shopping is solely reserved for non-essential and totally inappropriate items such as bikinis you will never wear, a pair of jeans to join the other 19 pairs in your wardrobe, a new handbag, anything from the perfume and make-up counter, most jewellery, and shoes which weren't meant for walking. Everything must be purchased at full price.<br />
<br />
I don't like solo shopping. It's stupid and a waste of time. Social shopping is my passion. I'm quite good at it. I was taught by a friend who is a master at it. Unfortunately we now live in different states which means we only get to social shop once or twice a year. This has become even more depressing since discovering that none of my new found friends really "get" social shopping. I have one friend who clearly tries, but just doesn't get the concept. She proudly "status updated" that she bought 3 pairs of shoes in one go! I was impressed by this yet also a bit concerned as it turns out she was solo shopping at the time. Upon further investigation it turns out she bought those 3 pairs at K-Mart for a total of $59, AND at least 2 of those pairs were flat and comfortable. What a ridiculous waste of time.<br />
<br />
Today I was hoping for a win. I went shopping with another friend for the specific purpose of finding her an outfit for our Melbourne Cup lunch next week. (For those that are unaware, the Melbourne Cup is a horse race which requires everyone to dress up, wear big hats, drink a lot of alcohol and avoid getting glassed at Swell). I was excited to be going social shopping and was salivating over the possibilites.....hats to be tried on, dresses to be squeezed into and shoe heels to be measured. Unfortunately my best laid plans came crashing down when I rang her to arrange a place to meet and she suggested Colorado. FFS. Comfortable cotton clothes that they make up to a size 18! What the hell was she thinking?! <br />
<br />
So anyway, my day went from anticipation and excitement to comfortable shoes from Colorado, sneakers from Athletes Foot and an oversized top from Noni B. Not to be deterred, I did manage to get her to try on two completely inappropriate dresses and although she chose not to purchase them, I came away with the feeling that I may have had just a little win.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TMaLqzNJRhI/AAAAAAAAADA/hLenPSqIjdQ/s1600/shopping-logo-tss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TMaLqzNJRhI/AAAAAAAAADA/hLenPSqIjdQ/s320/shopping-logo-tss.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-84178568140664378282010-10-25T13:33:00.002+10:002010-10-25T14:46:42.980+10:00Golf is shit.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>When we moved to our current location I decided to take up golf. It seemed the logical thing to do since we had moved to a suburb with 4 golf courses and a driving range. It was either that or take up horse riding, and I've been put off that since our Year 6 school camp to San Michele where I rode a horse called Patch who shit himself the whole time I was on him. Bloody disgusting. Anyway, golf it was.<br />
<br />
As a kid I used to play tennis, and was pretty good at it if I do say so myself, so I figured how hard could golf be? It's the same concept....hitting a ball with a stick. And frankly it should be heaps easier cause the ball isn't even moving. So I bought myself a set of bats and decided to get some lessons. This was mistake number 1. For someone who can be mildly competitive, learning the correct golfing technique is fraught with danger. Because I learnt everything I needed to know, I stupidly expected I would play well. Well that doesn't just happen. Apparently having good hand/eye co-ordination doesn't cut it in the golfing world. You have to get your weight right, don't move your head, don't stand too straight, don't bend too much, don't twist too much, don't swing so far back, but make sure you swing further than that! <br />
<br />
So I do all the crap the instructor tells me to and I eventually get reasonably good. He even videos me swinging and points out that he could see my earlobe in that shot, which clearly demonstrates why my ball ended up on the wrong fairway. What a load of bollocks.<br />
<br />
So anyway, I practiced and practiced and then decided to join a ladies social competition at one of the local clubs. I was the youngest there by about 70 years and one of the few who didn't need a cart due to the onset of arthritis. I realised all my lessons were pretty much a waste of time when I got beaten by an 'A' grader who uses her putter for everything except teeing off. What about my beautiful drives, my stunning chip shots and my to-die-for mid-range shots? Well, no one could care less, cause all anyone wanted was that little plastic trophy, and if that meant hitting the ball like a hockey player, then so be it. <br />
<br />
Due to my mild competitive streak I continued playing for a number of months until I had managed to win A Grade, not once but twice! I then realised I had achieved everything I was ever going to achieve, and have now retired to social golf every Monday with a friend who doesn't give a rats about the score, as long as we've got time for our latte afterwards. And that's probably the way golf should be.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cfNB9BdzID0/SOZAkffPw3I/AAAAAAAACnY/D19NusCKmks/s320/golf_fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nx="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cfNB9BdzID0/SOZAkffPw3I/AAAAAAAACnY/D19NusCKmks/s320/golf_fashion.jpg" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-57163420238589201742010-10-24T15:38:00.002+10:002010-10-24T15:57:38.586+10:00You can take your poached eggs and shove em....I like poached eggs. I can make them at home quite easily. In fact I'd say I'm fairly proficient at it. I don't find them any more challenging to make than, say scrambled eggs, so when I go out for breakfast on a weekend I don't consider that the "chef" may find them in any way tricky or terribly time time consuming. <br />
<br />
So imagine my surprise when I was slugged an extra dollar at our local cafe this morning for the privilege of ordering my eggs poached. Now, let me clarify, there was no disclaimer on the menu saying "cause we find poaching eggs a particularly onerous task, we are charging you $1 to turn you off ordering them". Nothing of the sort. I ordered, I was asked how I wanted my eggs, and then watched as the waitress pressed a button on her fancy ordering system which added an extra $1.50. When I politely pointed out that it doesn't say anything on the menu about extra charges, she checked with one of the co-owners who confirmed that there was an extra charge of $1 (not $1.50). Then she had to work out how to change the extra charge amount on her fancy ordering system, couldn't, and gave up. I paid my $1 extra for my poached eggs (which were lovely) and vowed I'd order one less coffee from them next week just to stick it up them. That'll teach em!<br />
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If you own a cafe and have to charge extra to poach an egg, you either need to put your prices up, or take a up new career cause you're friggin useless. Surely even the little darlings on Junior Masterchef can poach an egg without cyring.<br />
<br />
So, I just don't get it. They are clearly proficient at cooking a poached egg, and their scrambled eggs have more than 2 eggs in them, so what's the extra charge for? I bet they're just trying to stick it up us posh people who like our eggs done in a posh way. Well, you're not getting away with it.......ok, well you did this time......but never again. In future I'll dribble scrambled eggs down my face with all the other losers and you can take your poached eggs and your extra dollar and shove em......sunnyside up.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-89245588424156037732010-10-22T14:19:00.003+10:002011-06-08T14:24:46.822+10:00Skin care, jewellery and tupperware.I'm going to a skin care "party" tonight. First it's not a party. There is no music, no balloons, no sleazy guy in the corner, not even a cake. It's a sales pitch. Throw in a glass of cheap wine and some crappy dip you found at the back of your fridge and all of a sudden you have a party. Not likely. <br />
<br />
I'm a little bit fragile today. My social calendar is currently full of such "parties". To me this indicates I have no life and I'll do anything that reminds me of days past when I used to go to real parties that didn't require you to discuss the merits of certain types of plastic. Tonight should be a corker though. They're apparently going to show us how some jars of cream and bottles of potions will stop us looking older. What a crock. But you know what? I'll buy something. I always do. It's not that I'm a sucker...far from it...it's just my way of saying thanks for inviting me. Thanks for giving me a night out and giving me a glass of shit wine and letting me devour your not-quite-off dip. <br />
<br />
A friend posted on her Facebook status today that she was looking forward to her "girls night out" tonight. I was a bit jealous for a minute before I realised she's coming to the "party" tonight. See, I never thought of it as a girls night out. Firstly, when it's at someone's house, it's a night in. Secondly, there's always that underlying pressure of listening, sampling and nodding politely that for me just makes it painful to be at, and that's not what a girls night out should be. It should be about a nice meal, a few drinks and avoiding getting glassed at Swell. Now, THAT's a girls night out.<br />
<br />
And then of course there's the hit up at the end. They all want ME to hold a party. No way sister. It ain't happening. I'll happily drag my sorry arse to someone else's house, but having one myself is just scraping the barrel for me. I might as well have a flashing neon sign over my head saying "pick me, I've used up all my girl's night out party invitations so have to resort to having one myself. Please come. It'll be embarrasing if no one turns up. I'll even supply cheap champagne." That's one expensive neon sign.<br />
<br />
But I guess this is my life now. I do miss the days when I had a night out for no reason. Not to celebrate someone's birthday, or to go to a tupperware party, or to celebrate a special occasion. Just a night out for the sake of it. At least if I did that now I could wear my Moodi dress, my Esteem jewellery and wear my $200 face cream. Then I'd come home and nibble a few nuts out of my Tupperware container and go to sleep on my Lorraine Lea sheets. I guess these girl's night's aren't a waste after all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-69050086006241199632010-10-21T21:26:00.003+10:002010-10-23T16:47:16.371+10:00What do you do with a dead sheep?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Well, this week didn't start off well at all. We were away for the weekend and came back to find one of our pet sheep had died. If you think that means dinner for the next couple of weeks is all organised, then you'd be sadly mistaken. Our two sheep, Dolly and Freckles were/are pretty old. Their meat would be as tough as old boot leather I imagine and seriously how could you eat your own pet anyway?!<br />
<br />
Even though we were expecting this moment eventually, it's still a terrible shock. Poor Emily was devastated and couldn't stop crying. Strangely I found this quite comforting. She's not one for noticing much about what happens around her and doesn't seem to care all that much about, well, anything really, so it was nice to see she really did "get it". She goes to a Lutheran school so she obviously learns about God etc. but she's never mentioned the G word at all. Until that night. She asked "Can God read your mind?". Now, truth be told, if I'd been honest I would have said that I didn't believe in God, but not wanting to disappoint the poor girl twice in one day I came out with "no, but I can!". This of course horrified her more than anything else I could have said and she now practices keeping a blank canvas inside her head to make sure I don't intrude which of course means she doesn't think in any sane way at all. <br />
<br />
Reminder - do short course on how to talk to children about religion.<br />
<br />
In any case, after we'd all had a good cry, we awoke to the new day. I carted Emily off to school (don't want the mourning to go on too long) and it was then that we realised we had the task of disposing of our beloved Dolly. We considered digging a hole in the paddock, burying her and making a nice little grave, but practicality took over. Or perhaps we were just too lazy. Either way we decided to find "a man" to come and collect her. Surely they'd be somone who would. And find someone we did. He wanted $650 to come and pick her up! You've got to be kidding. So we did some further investigation and we found that we could take her to a place that has a special spot for deceased animals. Well, OK it's a tip, but they DID have a special spot for her. So we wrapped her up in a tarp and placed her in the back of the ute. Problem was it was a 45 min drive and Dolly was starting to....well.....stink. It was a very unpleasant drive.<br />
<br />
So anyway, poor Dolly's body is now at the tip and according to Emily she is a lovely angel. And next week we're getting delivered some new 1 year old lambs. And tomorrow night we're having lamb cutlets. Life must go on.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TMKE0cxXxkI/AAAAAAAAABQ/QU3Izp14Yx0/s1600/IMG_4920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" nx="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ksu7BtTvkHQ/TMKE0cxXxkI/AAAAAAAAABQ/QU3Izp14Yx0/s320/IMG_4920.JPG" width="320" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982880564326183836.post-31433371379862176972010-10-14T11:08:00.001+10:002010-10-24T14:54:23.113+10:00Starting at the beginning.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My name is Karen and I’m a housewife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Wow, that was hard to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to put in black and white something that was never supposed to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To acknowledge that this is my title, my being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A housewife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a housewife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No more, sometimes less.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’m 37 years old and have been married for nearly 10 years to Matt (Matthew when he’s not listening).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s pretty cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could say he was good looking, wonderful, witty, kind, adorable and any other number of words, but I’m not the gushing kind (and I don’t like lying), so he’s just pretty cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We have one child (OMG!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just one?!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is a girl and her name is Emily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s pretty cool too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well most of the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes she’s just so damn childish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t want that from a 6 year old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It appears my world revolves around her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That wasn’t supposed to happen.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I think I’m pretty intelligent, relatively nice, have a decent sense of humour and sometimes swear inappropriately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I acknowledge that many people can’t see these wonderful traits in me, but that’s not my concern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not terribly concerned about what people think of me, but I’ve begun to realize that I DO worry about what I think of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gee, I can beat myself up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not normally the sort of person who does a lot of soul searching, but lately I’ve found myself contemplating just what has become of my life, how it turned out like that, and have become aware that Monty Python actually does make sense.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’ve decided to take myself on a little journey to discover what I’ve done with my life, what I shouldn’t have done, what I should do and if it really matters at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember as a kid I used to lay in bed contemplating the meaning of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did I get here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I know how I got here physically, but what is the purpose of us, the human race?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who or what decided we should exist?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent many months as a 10 year old trying to work this out and in the end made a conscious decision that it didn’t matter because I was starting to fall behind with my clarinet practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, now nearly 30 years on, I’m starting to wonder if it does in fact matter, as playing the clarinet clearly didn’t.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So, this little blog is solely to help me through my life to discover if it really has been as boring as it appears to be and to give me a place to have a whinge about myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But right now I think it’s time for a cup of tea and a little lay down….</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17688999170650402546noreply@blogger.com2