I am, you are, We Are Australian

After receiving an email from Melisa, my Sister from the US asking if it was absolutely true that Australians put beetroot in their burgers, I got thoroughly over-excited thinking about a good old 'Aussie burger' ... and then it got me thinking. Sure, I bang on about how crap our TV service is, how much I miss England and how I'd like to travel far away from my own little town, but really...I am an Aussie girl, through and through. A bit of a bogan, even. And that made me want to share just exactly what it is that makes me proud to be an Aussie, albeit in a slightly condensed and American Friendly version. And Melisa - I hope that you're burgers went down a treat, you managed to put the pineapple and fried egg in and you called the tomato sauce 'dead horse'. I'll make an Aussie out of you, yet!


Sporting Events:
Whether it's the Australian Open tennis, Boxing Day cricket, the Olympics or Grand Final Day for the AFL: One must be patriotic to some extent. Green and gold worn together is acceptable. Chanting "Aussie Aussie Aussie OI OI OI!" is expected and sledging the other team/country is encouraged. One must make all effort to attend said sporting event, and if not, throw some sort of party in it's honour, usually a BBQ. Even when we're not competing on some front, one takes a vague sort of pride in singing I Am, You Are, We Are Australian or Waltzing Matilda whilst on hold on the phone for 48 minutes (usually to Telstra).

Melbourne Cup. The whole of the State (and much of the entire country) is given a Public Holiday for The Race That Stops A Nation. And it does. Walk into town in the morning for a paper and there's a few people milling around, but soon the streets are bare. Come 3pm on the second Tuesday in November, every one - and this is no mass generalization - will be glued to a TV screen or radio to hear the race. If you're not old enough to legally bet (and believe, I've placed plenty of bets underage on the Cup) the newspapers run a sweepstakes that you can do with your family or friends, as most people have big parties on the day.


Utes. Real men drive them. Preferably with a kelpie in the back. ( I would say explicitly Holden utes, but fear Tezz will kill me). Speaking of Holden vs Ford: You must barrack for one or the other. I am, clearly, a Holden girl.

Tim Tams. Seriously. They're are heaven. The best way to enjoy them is to bite a tiny bit off each end, exposing the chocolate creme within, then suck it through a mug of tea or hot chocolate (note: Not too hot, or you'll have bits of burnt skin hanging out your mouth for days). The trick is to catch it just before it disintegrates, and it's absolutely delectable.

Native Animals (un-squashed variety). Inevitably, when friends and/or relations fly in from overseas, one immediately takes them to all sort of Australian flora and fauna reserves to appreciate the natural wildlife, even though one has spent the previous week moaning because the damn koala's have been mating on the roof all night, or one has hit a kangaroo at dusk and it's completely written off ones car.

Vegemite on toast. (Or pizza. Or anything else you can think of). It's utterly Un-Australian to not appreciate Vegemite. (Heck, even Blogger can spell it!) Every kids lunchbox will have it on their sandwiches, in their Salada's to make 'worms' (the biscuits have little holes in them so it all oozes out when you squish it) or, in later years, smeared on toast with a glass of orange juice for a hangover cure.

Above: My usual Australia Day BBQ location at St Kilda.

Australia Day. Australia Day is like Grand Final day, only better. One must follow two rules: have a barbeque, and have said barbeque on the beach. If one is unable to attend the waterfront, water must be added (last year we did this in the form of water guns). You also must cook at least 6kg of snags (read: sausages) more than necessary, and feed the local seagull population/your dogs/all the people wandering past that will inevitably become your mates for the day. You must say 'mate'. A lot. Copious amounts of beer will also be required. If possible, the Australian Open final will be playing on a TV or radio nearby, and backyard cricket will be initiated afterward.

Lamingtons. If you haven't had one, find a recipe and make them immediately. With lots of raspberry jam around the outside, underneath the coconut. The smaller they are, the better; more chocolately goodness :)


Christmas: One must take a walk along the beach either Boxing Day or Christmas Day to ease the indigestion of the midday meal, and spend at least part of the afternoon dozing in the sun or playing badminton/cricket/board games until it's time to over-indulge again.

This will be an ongoing list, so check back later for most posts!

My fabulous weekend.

I have had a fabulous weekend. Fabulous, I tells ya. Saturday was the Grand Final, and although I'm not remotely a fan of football, the team I 'go for if I have to barrack for someone' won. I'll explain more of that later.

Yesterday was just a blast. Chef and I decided to head to Arthurs Seat, a tourist attraction vaguely near us that has a giant chair lift going up a hill to look over the Peninsular we live on. Unfortunately, it shut down two years ago when it sort of fell over with people on board and squashed a few kids (or some such, I didn't pay too much attention at the time) and they'd obviously failed to mention that on their website. I wasn't too shattered - considering I sobbed on the floor of the only ferris wheel I've been on for the entire ride and refused point blank to look for fear I'd wet myself - and instead found a sign stating 'Horse Trail Rides: 4k'. Well, naturally I had to follow the sign, and it lead to, funnily enough, a horse trail riding facility where I am booked in for a 14km ride in a fortnight. We noticed, next door to said venue, a lovely looking British pub adjoining a winery, which is where we'd actually planned to have lunch when we looked at places online. Several hours later, a pint of Guiness and a pint of Tetleys, a pot of tea, a slice of Mississipi Mud Cake and a Cornish pastie later, I was more than happy to sing along to The Beatles and quietly doze off in a corner for several hours. Instead, I had a short nap, then joined Seah, Tezz and Jon and their dogs down the beach for a sunset stroll, then went for ice cream for dessert. All in all... a splendid way to spend the weekend!

It was a tough choice between the Pig & Whistle or New York, but a pint of Irelands finest seemed like a hard thing to pass up at the time.

Although the weather was supposed to be a muggy 20 something degrees, it was somewhat chilly up the top of the hill, so I chose a cosy nook inside instead of the braver option of sitting out. I didn't regret it.

I spent a good, long time checking out all the fabulous things on the walls, especially this map of London (complete with yelling "Been There!" every time I spotted somewhere familiar). The sign to the left said: 'Hello? Pig & Whistle Pub?" [yes?] Thank goodness I got through in time!" which I liked so much I wanted to sneak it home with me.

Chef ordering me another pint like the good lad he is.

The little nook where we ate our deliciously British lunch. (The man in the photo kept looking at me strangely as I quietly snap, snap snapped all these photos. "Tourists", I heard him mutter under his breath. I shrugged and kept on with my happy snaps).

De-freakin'-licious.

A cup of tea to wash my cake down, and a pint to wash that down. Ahhh, Heaven. Actually, I practically fell asleep after my first pint of Guiness and therefore changed to Tetley's. It does make me wonder slightly how I could down 6 pints in the space of a football match and still be awake.

The view from halfway up the hill. It would have been amazing on the chairlift.

I live around 15km to the left of this photo. So the man in the pub wasn't awfully correct when he said I was a tourist, but hell, I wanted some photos to blog about! Aren't you glad I didn't take offense?

The chairlift at standstill.

Running of the dogs at the beach in the evening.

Longest Post Without Actually Saying Anything.

I can't do a whole lot of typing due to my bung arm (A. it's ridiculously painful so B. it takes about 6 minutes to type a sentence with one arm. Grr).Therefore, my layout is currently undergoing... well... revamping, shall we say. More to the point, lots of me screaming and cursing and wising I had an image I liked relating to Melbourne to put as my header. Le sigh. So bear with me, and any suggestions for more reader friendly designs are welcome.

In the meantime, appreciate these (TERRIBLE QUALITY from my old camera phone) random photos I found on my Mac today, and the amusing anecdotes that go wit them.

This was my plaster cast from the Hand in The Car Door Incident ( I knew I forgot to mention the carnage in my 'I need calcium' post!). On the way to view the Share House I was to live in for over a year, Chef needed to refill his car with fuel, and as we pulled into the service station he asked if I would kindly clean his windscreen. As I was dragging the squeegee over the windshield, I leant over to clean the other half, and while doing so, he shut his car door. Hard. With my hand in it. I refuse to indicate my pain levels re: brokeness, so I calmly carried on to meet my future housemates before quietly vomiting on the side of the road. I later found out that 4 bones were crushed, and I was wrapped in plaster for a few weeks. Fun.

This is my friend Louise, who I went to primary school with in England, walking down the main street in the town I lived in. When I went back for holidays, it was like I'd never been away, and we got on like there hadn't been 10+ years between our last visit. This was the first night the Christmas lights were turned on in my home town in 2005, and although it's a crap photo, it brings back floods of memories of the fun night we had.

This is the local flock of seagulls from Inverloch, where I grew up. They like fish and chips, annoying people for said fish and chips, and crapping on my car.

My housemate Kylie and I went through a bike riding phase back in Share House days. We're hire out bikes for the day, and travel through the city and along the beach, and one day we thought it would be fun to ride the path that travels alongside the Eastern Freeway. It added up to about 40km, with quite a few hills, and we thought we'd take a short cut. We got colossally lost, and ended up at Chef's work sipping cocktails and having our lunch prepared for us before catching a lift home. That's my sort of bike ride.

Aside from the fact I love stuff like this - old fashioned photos that are captioned - this is somewhat my general outlook on children.

Kylie and I decided one day to utilize our pool at the sharehouse. We'd recently stolen the large Commonwealth Games sign from, you guessed it, the Commonwealth Games. It was actually quite easy - we just sweet talked some security guards and got a couple from the Opening Ceremony after the barbeque we'd had, but we later found we could only fit on in the car, and even then it was a hilariously tight fit. We wedged it in bent from the front windscreen to the back, with me contorted into a small ball in the back seat underneath it, which completely blocked the back window. How we didn't get pulled over by police is beyond me, but we didn't and that sign came in handy for many things over the years, especially this Slip N Slide.

I was, of course, the one who tried it out first. I soon realized we should have moved the Slide slightly further away from the concrete. We had some fun times in that pool over Summer (our house had no Air Con, and after a few drinks it was the place to be). There's photos of two years of NYE parties taking place in it, as well as warm up cocktails from our Cocktail Party and Pimp's N Hoe's party. Good times.

She does.

I just looked out the window to see what Sahara was growling at, and the girl across the road is getting married. There was a big, hulky guy staring at me when I walked Sahara before, it turns out he's their limosine driver, not the pillaging rapist I first thought.

She looks really pretty, and the bridesmaid dresses are beautiful.

...but isn't 4pm on a Thursday afternoon kind of a random time to tie the knot?

I should really implement calcium in my diet.

I chipped my elbow last night. I'll give you a run down on the other bones I've broken, fractured or somehow mangled. In order.

When I was 7, I was playing catch with a friend and broke my finger catching the ball. I wont even pretend it was some sort of cricket ball or anything remotely hard and rubbery.

A year or so later I tripped over my own shoe and landed in the soft, waist length grass... and broke my wrist.

A little while later, I was riding a dressage test in the arena on my favorite pony and failed to notice he was going to shy at a fallen tree. He went left, I went right, and landed on the point of my shoulder. I then unsaddled, washed, brushed and fed the pony before leaving and pretending all the while I was fine. Mum knew I wasn't the moment she picked me up, as I immediately asked to go to the hospital, which I generally avoid like the plague.

I was fine for several years, until I broke a rib on the right hand side mucking around with my mates on a bus. I did the same rib on the other side a few years later, again being silly on a bus.

Then I went to England and played soccer - bare foot - with my ten year old cousin, and subsequently missed the ball, connected with the ground and broke four bones in my foot. There's still the hideously deformed lumps on my feet to this day.

A year later, my ex boyfriend elbowed me in the face and cracked my cheek bone. Ouch.

That was my last broken bone - well, the past two years I've dislocated my shoulder about 12 times, simply from sleeping funny. I can't imagine how this happens; I eat about a kilo of cheese a day.

And then last night happened.

I fell off the couch. On the point of my elbow. Ouch again.

High School Old School

...and here they are! (read my last post).

Rebecca (my old housemate) myself, Michelle and Hayley. Gotta love that tiara, hey Melisa!

My Debutante Ball - the highlight of my high school years. When I was in grade 7, my bestest buddy, BB, met a charming young man named Henry at a school disco, who she developed a bit of a crush on. Being the mature, sophisticated youths that BB and I were, and due to the fact we went to different schools, we relished the times we got to spend together. We used to make his name out of alphabet spaghetti, call him; giggling, and hang up, and write romantic stories about him in the little book we used to keep. Totally mature, like I said. Long story short, I met his older brother, Bill, whom I lated dated on a off for about a year, then Henry moved to my high school in year eight, and I transferred my affections to him for a short time. As a result, we became quite buddy buddy (mainly due to my teasing him about getting married and having lots of sex and babies with my best friend), and as he was one of only two guys in my school actually taller than me at this stage, I begged him to fulfill a promise to be my Debutante partner in Year 11. When those 4 years eventually passed, (and even though our romantic future never quite worked out) we were still close friends (and he was still taller than me, thank goodness) I was unfortunately in hospital for a month, and thus missed the time when the Debutantes were being presented. Luckily, I persuaded the committee to let me 'come out' the following year - my last year of high school - and even more advantageous, I convinced my two best friends to 'be presented to society' with me. Naturally, we had an absolute ball, and Henry being the fabulously fun guy that he is always made rehearsals fun. I must admit, it was one of the first time's I'd ever worn a skirt. The nigh went off smoothly, but seeing as Hen was now 6ft 6 and I was on 6ft myself in heels, we were placed to the side of the Set as the photos were taken. Still, I got to enjoy the night with my closest family and friends, as you can see in the photo above. Henry is still one of my best mates.

Stacey and I as Survivors at a local Ball. (The theme was 'TV Stars' and we didn't have a whole lot of time to come up with an outfit. Good job our school shirts were no longer needed!)

This photo represents one of the main reasons why I detested school so much. I was always the chubby tom boy - which never bothered me a jot until I reached my final two years, and we no longer wore school uniform at the Senior Campus. Having ridiculously thick hair - much to my mothers chagrin - I often got it razored to thin it out so it was more manageable. Unfortunately, on a trip to an out of town hairdresser not long before my Deb Ball, the eejit who was trimming my hair mistakenly used the scissors instead of the razor, and my hair was reduced to a closely cropped mess of boyish hair, which made me look like a 12 year old chubby male. Not that I'm terribly shallow (ha!), I cried for weeks on end.

Kellie, Burgan & I in Our Room. (Finally! My hair was growing a little!)

This was our 'room' in school. Like every school, there was specific cliques and groups, and this room housed a group of around 10-20 girls, who had their own little groups in the bigger circle. This was handy, as we could flit between them all and be social, yet still spend time with our closer friends. As one of the girls would get interested in a specific boy, his group would then occasionally connect with our own, and move off again when the romance fizzled out a little. This was also the room where most of my English exams took place (*shudder*). I recall, not too long after this photo was taken, sneaking out of class and running off to my then boyfriends fathers house (who was a local dentist and never home during the day) and drinking wine from a cask, watching daytime TV and playing Giant Balls of Death. This involved both of us holding a large exercise ball in front of out chest, running at each at full force, and trying not to fall through the large floor to ceiling windows/break any of the ornaments in the house after the massive bounce. After a few hours of this, we sloped off back to school after spraying rather a lot of deoderant to cover the wine smell, and carried on the day as usual. I thought I was such a rebel.

Ah, Muck Up Day again!

As I mentioned, we were certainly bright! This was the corridor linking the class rooms to the front of the school, and it led off to the canteen and courtyard etc. We could see it from the window in Our Room, so we could always watch who was going were like the nosy cows we were. We turned up to Muck Up Day in a van with our rollerblades on, but fortunately remembered to take some shoes, too. (We only wore white converse back in the day, and every girl had a different colored star. Mine were aqua blue).

Our Room again, and the very desk I'd sit on to take SAC's (like mini exams during the year; they added towards our final scores). People would mostly sit their pencil cases in front of them, slightly open so we could see our mobile phones (they were banned at school). Whenever I'd get a message, I'd pretend to sharpen a pencil/rummage for something, and quickly read it, then sit it on my lap and type out a response whilst looking at the board and pretending to pay attention. During SACs, because they were like exams, we weren't allowed pencil cases (presumably we'd keep notes in them to cheat) and were only allowed 4 pens on the desk. This didn't usually bother me, but during a particularly horrid SAC on Australian war, there was a soccer game being televised between my own team, Arsenal, and my mothers team, Manchester United. There was a fierce rivalry in my house. Not wanting to miss out on the score (and knowing there were others in the room who wanted to know the score) I kept my phone in the toilet roll holder in one of the bathrooms across the hallway from the classroom, and snuck out several times pretending to need to blow my nose (I had a revolting cold at the time) and called my Mum to check the score. I'm not sure she was aware of the importance of what I was in the middle of at the time.

My favorite Muck Up Day photo, and the last time we were all together.

My exams (the real ones) were unfortunately really badly spaced, so while some people got all theirs out the way in the first week and could relax, mine stretched at one every 4 days for nearly 3 weeks, and my final exam - and hardest, Environmental Science - was due to end only a hour before our Formal began. The exam itself wouldn't have been too bad had I have been paying attention during the year, but as there was only 4 year 12 students in the class (and two of them were my closest friends) they merged us with 4 year 11 students - and you can't put 4 of us girls in with younger boys and not expect carnage. We had a great teacher, who thought we were hilarious (or else just had a nervous breakdown trying to teach us and basically gave up) and let us run amok before we settled down a bit, and we were constantly writing romantic and sordid romance novels which was the highlight of our week. On a particularly frivolous day, my best friend Shell and I rummaged through the teacher's papers on his desk, looking for something or other, and came across an application to another school (this did not surprise us particularly, as we would have given even the strongest teacher reason to doubt their career choice) but, as I said, we loved this guy and we wanted him to stay. To show him our great affection, we pinched the application whilst he wasn't looking - along with his photocopy card - and proceeded to claim to need the bathroom. We then raced to the copiers, stuck the photo from his application in (which was from something like 1961 - the photo, I mean) and blew the image up to about a metre big several times, then proceeded to write amusing things on the photos and stick them all over the school. It didn't go down so well, and 2 years later, I had the rather unpleasant task of serving said teacher's fish and chips at the local pub I was working at. He'd taken some time out from teaching, presumably to calm his shattered nerves.

All in all, although I claimed to not be able to wait to leave the confines of my school - and sharply rebuked anyone who said that revolting line 'school years are the best of your life' - I'd love to go back and do it all again, minus a whole lot of raging teenage hormones and some of the more annoying people who attended.

Speaking of High School...

It seems like an age ago, and well, it pretty much is. After reading Melisa's post this morning, I logged into my Facebook, and there awaiting me was a photo from my high school Muck Up Day. I wasn't as all-loving of my secondary college education as Melisa, but I sure did love my final year. I don't know what the American equivalent is, but basically, it's our last day of high school and everyone - absolutely everyone in Year 12 - gets dressed up, gets drunk and plays pranks on the teachers (and rest of the school). If I recall correctly, there was much cling wrapping of toilet seats, putting Vaseline on the class room door handles, and running around with Super Soaker water guns full of fish oil, which by the end of the day when it was all dry and hot, was absolutely disgusting. The teachers usually turn a blind eye or encourage it (but I must admit, there was a few grumbling about the fact I was on rollerblades all day and collected a few younger kids going down ramps/stairs).

And here it is. My Muck Up Day.

Can anyone guess which one I am? (Keep in mind I like having full attention, and pose a lot).


Yep, there I am, resplendent in the cheer leading outfit I borrowed from a friend who'd recently returned from America, and the rest of me head to toe in fluorescent loveliness. I think I was aiming for some sort of 80s Cheer Leader.

Totally hot.

(I haven't got photo-shop or anything of the sort of my Mac, so I had to resort to some hideous online bling making thing to get an arrow. Le sigh.)

I'm going to see if I can dig up any more sexy high school photos!

Spring has Sprung.

I took Phoenix and Mac down to the beach on Saturday to help celebrate the first perfect day of Spring.



Jealous much?

*sings the Macca's song* I'm lovin' it!

I'm a bit down in the dumps today - it's day four of my cold, and even if I was feeling well enough to do anything, it's revolting outside. So before I attempt covering Sahara's paws in pink paint to do a little paw-painting Thank You card for her orthopedic surgeon, I thought I'd do a little list of the things I'm digging right now. (please note: this isn't a general 'I'm always thankful for' list, it's more of a 'this has made me smile in the past 3 days' type post, hence the lack of 'having a roof over my head, even though I'm paying an extortionate amount for it and it actually belongs to someone else' etc).

So, here goes...

I'm Lovin'...
The first 'real' day of Spring. It came on Saturday, and it was absolutely perfect beach weather. Christmas decorations in the shops. Although I realize it's 3 months early, I've already got that quiver of excitement pulsating through my veins as I think about fairy lights, wrapping paper and baubles. Sahara's silky ears. She had a bath right before her surgery, and because she hasn't been able to go outside and roll in all manner of nasties, she's still pristine and smelling like tangerines, which means I can rub her gorgeous ears and not smell like rotten seaweed. Rush. It's my new 'must watch' TV show for two reasons: Callan Mulvey - the heart-throb of my teenage years (google him. He's totally worth it. My mother is in love with him, and texts me all sorts of silly things when the show is on. It's like bonding with a sister.) - and the Melbourne scenery. I get excited every time I can say 'been there!'. Le Desire Candles. I discovered them last Thursday, and I've been back twice since. The Apple and Cinnamon makes my house smell edible, instead of like cats. Soft Tissues. The only silver lining to having a cold is 3 ply Aloe Vera on a red raw snoz. Receiving Mail. Of the hand written, air mail variety. There's something so exciting about checking the mail and getting something other than an electricity bill. Pad Thai Curry. Last time Seah made it for me, it was absolutely to die for. I'm more than looking forward to having another tonight. Johnny Depp-athon. I've been watching every movie I can lay my hands on with him in it. I think I'm so addicted to him because his mannerisms and humor remind me so strongly of my brother when he was younger, and someone I looked up to. My car. Oh, tis good to have her back! I never thought it would be so easy to transfer my affections from my previous beasty, but she's just a much fun. Ah, my freedom has returned! Raspbery ganache filled Lindt chocolate. Need I say more?

Bag Kitten

Whilst enjoying a relaxing bath a few days ago, I heard a strange clunking noise and automatically assumed Axle was devouring a chair leg/rummaging through a cupboard or similar. I asked Chef to see what it was (because, let's face it, I had no intention whatsoever to give up the lovely warm bubbly water), and for a few moments, all I could hear was laughter. As I was yelling for him to tell me what had happened, I heard him talking to someone. I don't do patience very well, and as they say, Curiosity Killed The Kat, but I chose to refrain from removing myself from my little oasis and muttered a few choice words in Chefs direction, instead.

The next day, as I uploaded some photos...I came across this.



Whenever I watched Funniest Home Video's or the like, I always wondered what type of bad parent it would take to not help their child as he/she fell down/banged into things/etc, and instead set the camera rolling.

Now I know. I'm living with one.

Footloose.

I just flipped on the T.V to see what The View was actually like (I've read so much about it on Perez, and finally it's reached Australia - and as I expected, I had absolutely no idea who/what they were discussing), and as I flipped...I kind of got involved in the Midday Movie. Generally, I steer clear of those movies like they're some sort of VD, but suddenly I realized one of the girls in it reminded me of Sarah Jessica Parker, so I hopped online to check out the name and cast of the movie.

After skimming the cast, I recognize practically every name, even though I hadn't realized it was them in the movie.

And then I realized the name of the movie...


It's Footloose! I'm hooked! It's one of those movies I'd vowed never to watch (think Dirty Dancing), and then getting suckered in.

My pink, punctured puppy.

I know the blog's been taken over slightly by Sahara and her mangled leg, but I swear this'll be the last post (check out A Blog By Thy Dog for gruesome photos, more details and updates).
She's just come home from the vet, and after sitting with her sobbing in the kennel room yesterday for nearly an hour because she was still paralyzed from the epidural, so she had a complete turnaround today. She was practically scaling the walls when we went to pick her up, and now she's nestled in on her new pink rug with her new pink Scratchy the Flea toy, and her new pink collar and matching pink tag, from Fuzzyard (hello, blatant plug!).

I'm thinking of buying a wire pen that's meant for miniature puppies to play in in the backyard without some sort of hyena eating them or something (honestly, I don't know why people would buy them) to keep her contained and off her recliner.

Sahara's surgery.

She was a little bit suspicious and moody this morning, hence her ears pinned back. Please also admire the photo in the background of myself and the racehorse I used to help train, splashing around in the surf during morning exercise.

My little piglet's just gone into surgery.
I'm more than a little worried.
To take my mind off it, I flogged the idea of a signature from my 'big sister'.
Thanks, Melisa!

...oops! And other stuff.

My absence has been mostly to do with the fact I somewhat exceeded my download limit (I was having a Johnny Depp-athon. Who can blame a girl for watching Cry Baby, Pirates 1,2 & 3, Secret Window, Sweeney Todd and Sleepy Hollow on consecutive evenings? It was downloading my Ultimate Favorite - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - that reduced my internet to the speed of Dial Up), but also because of a few other reasons...

I drove down 'home' on Sunday, and had lunch with Mum before going to see a local production of Shout! Nearly 4 hours later, I was in complete and utter agony, and not just because the rendition of Shout! left a little to be desired. The seats were clearly fabricated from some sort of torture rack cleverly designed in the shape of tiered seating, and as I have rather long legs, my knee caps were up somewhere around my chin at all times.

This just about sums up the quality of the event. The artificial flowers didn't even make it in a vase - just rammed in a crack in the sink. Classy.

On the way home (finally...) we stopped in to visit my Nan, then headed back to Mum's and had the most honest, open and ... fulfilling chat. We discussed everything from wanting children "When will my maternal instinct kick in? I clearly have no biological clock" to actual childbirth "I'm so going for a C section complete with tummy tuck. There's no chance in hell I'm getting ripped from my hoo-ha to God-knows-where to spawn a child" and moving on to slightly more guarded topics, like my father, my school teacher; The Pedohpile and so on.


Subsequently, I was in a foul mood yesterday from lack of sleep, as Mum and I had been up all night talking before my long drive home, and when I canceled my personal training appointment to pick my car up from the mechanics, it still wasn't fixed. On the way home, tears in my eyes at my lack of freedom and hating the world, a red car randomly stopped in front of us in a 70km an hour zone, and somehow we managed to avoid it.

Unfortunately, the two cars behind weren't so lucky in avoiding us.

The split second before the impact, I registered a) it was going to hurt and b) the car hitting us was a brand new Mercedes Kompressor. Eep.

Luckily, everyone involved was completely OK, except for minor whiplash and bruising. We all swapped details and thankfully, a taxi driver stopped to give his details too - he could attest to the fact the red car caused it all, then immediately drove off when he saw the chain reaction of crashes behind. (The red car driver, I mean, not the taxi driver). Miraculously, our car came out fine - considering lightly tapping a piece of wood completely removed the Sump, petrol pump and front quarter panel, I was shocked there was anything left of the back of the car.

Noooo!

The Merc had some dents and scratches, and a cracked bumper, but also came out of it quite well, aside from quite probably shattering his brakes and ceramic wheel things...

...but the third car wasn't so good.

I had to put off another gym session this morning due to my splitting headache (funny that, considering my head connected with the head rest, then the door frame) and sore neck, and have instead completely scrubbed the bathroom after giving Sahara a nice, cleansing bath before her surgery tomorrow morning. Not, of course, before Phoenix and I did battle getting him in the bath, and trying to keep Axle out, while Cleo screamed down the house because she knew it was her turn next. Honestly, it was like some sort of canine murder scene - fur all up the walls, mud splattered in every conceivable orifice in the bathroom, and the wet paw prints running away from the scene.

I sometimes wonder what the neighbors must think when they hear the crashing, banging, splashing and howling coming from our bathroom. Still, at least Sahara will smell all pretty and be soft and clean whilst they hack her to pieces tomorrow...

*sobs*


Disclaimer: I don't know if I'm allowed to put up pictures of the cars with their number plates showing, so I've tried to hide them. Please don't sue me.

In the land of Nod.

Axle taking a little nap this afternoon (after more death and destruction rampages this morning, I can completely sympathize with his previous owners for giving him up, but, having said that - you've gotta admire how adorable he is whilst asleep).

Lolus Catus.

Cleo the Lol Cat.


.

Another fulfilling day without my car.

I've been a little flat today, so I hopped into bed with some yummy homemade mint slice (which I can't seem to leave alone. I'm like Miranda from S&TC with her chocolate cake obsession) and put Little Miss Sunshine on the laptop. Not long after I'd settled down in the pillows, Sahara weazled her way into bed and snuggled up, with her head on my chest.

It started out innocently enough...

Then we got a little bit silly...

I think it's fair to say she can sense how nervous I am about her operation on Friday morning. Completely, utterly, nail bitingly shit scared would be more to the point. So we had a little chat, which lead to a bear hug, which moved on to her getting the wiggles... and she soon started getting the sillies back.

Alright, alright. I was being silly, too.

And then Phoenix started feeling a little left out, and attempted eating the cat.

I had to put this one in because a) my hair looks freakishly long and b) my gosh, I look like my mother!

*wipes away a single tear of happiness*

I have just been informed, by a very cruel person who shall remain nameless *cough* Terence *cough* that the below is coming to Melbourne. I can see it might be slightly harder than usual to explain when someone finds a $1400 receipt for shoes instead of the usual $250 I have to talk my way out of. ("what? No, I've had those for years!" or "Oh, they've been on lay-by for practically forever. It works out to only around $7.50 a week, when you look at it that way!")

*...and then wipes up the drool*