Sad news today from the Seppos:
A highschool girl who, with a group of friends, chose to hike a treacherous unmarked region evocatively known as “The Devil’s Kitchen”, fell to her death today. She was somewhat inadequately prepared for the outing, chosing to walk… and then trip and plunge to her doom… in a pair of “strappy, open-toed sandals”.
Why was she bushwalking, dressed like a Pussycat Doll? The clue here is the presence of the group of friends. Presumably they aimed to do what all teenagers want to do, i.e. get wasted and get their freak on. Really, we should applaud them for considerately choosing an out-of-the-way place for their shenanigans.
I fondly remember the inappropriate footwear choices of my youth. Number one would have to be the emerald green suede, sky-high spike heels with a baroque bronze toecap. Now, in isolation, well removed from the human foot, these shoes were a work of art, almost sculptural in their elegant sweeps and tapers. Put them on, though, and you were sure to injure yourself. Wobble off them in a precarious position, such as poised on the parapet of an Art Deco block of flats on the New Farm bank of the Brisbane River (that’s a story for another blog), and they may well have been the last pair of shoes you would wear in this life.
What’s the silliest – or most dangerous – footwear you’ve ever attempted?
Fun in a box 
I’ve got Womble feet. Sadly, this means even the humble rubber thong falls into the ‘inappropriate footwear’ category.
Oh, how I’ve dreamed of slipping on a strappy pair of Jimmy Choos and tripping along the nightclub strip. Instead, I strap on a pair of Docs, and find myself trip trop trip tropping along. For years, I’ve been expecting a troll to jump in front of me and demand to know why I’m on his bridge. (This did, in fact, happen at JB’s blog).
Now I’ve passed the age where I’ll even attempt to be fashionable, I’ve developed a rather unhealthy attachment to socks. Socks can hide a multitude of sins. And corns. This is a good thing, yes? After all, a lady must maintain an air of mystery. And I’m sure it’s a mystery to all the other shoppers, why anyone would be shuffling around the stores in a pair of Holeproof Explorers.
Hehehe.
You’ve hit on two of the most comfortable things you can put on your feet, Mysterious Catty – however Womblefied they are.
Doc Martins: ahh, AirWear soles. Nothing springier and comfier. Added bounce comes in handy when some geezer needs ‘is ‘ead kicked in, know what I mean?
Explorer Socks: so fluffy and warm and they stay up without strangling your ankles. And they come in purple.
Yes. Yes they do. And also in red.
Yes, red Explorer socks are a great choice. They make you scuffle round the shopping mall faster.
Now that I am in my mid forties I wear orthodics.
If you click on the link above, you will see why.
The story of my life. *sob*
Hehehe… excellent clip, Quokka. The last time I heard sounds and saw faces like that, I was in labour.
Catty, I think I’ve found some shoes for you. Check out this clip of the Banana Spliffs… sorry, I mean Splits:
How about those enormous silver sneakers? Comfy and stylish!
Well, Booooooooy-HOWDY, AutoCat! Where do I get me some o’ them there booty cuff thangs?
Meh.
Maybe it had nothing to do with the shoes and everything to do with the wearer.
I took the dog out for walkies down to South Bank at 4pm and forgot that every car out at this hour is a 4WD driven by a deranged parent, late to collect their own child and intent on killing anyone else’s that gets in their way.
I admit that I’m edgy and possibly due for a visit from Jen’s Aunt Irma (I will find you the clip) but it did seem to me like our suburb had a fresh delivery from the Idiot Farm today. They were just freaking everywhere.
thus I had a balanced and impartial opinion.
i.e. he agreed wholeheartedly that someone who stops their car in the middle of the road – at the bottom of 2 hills – thus preventing anyone from passing in either direction and inviting punters to run up their arse – while they duck into the house across the road to visit a mate – deserves the title of Fuckwit of the Day in my little world.
The fuckwit in question was at least wearing a yellow vest which did compensate for the fact that it was pitch black and he hadn’t left his car lights on.
I think its time to start distributing a new variety of fleuro vest.
‘I am an idiot and I WANT TO DIE.’
We can load them into buses and take them to O’Rielly’s.
Not all the way, of course. Just to that bit where I always expected the road to yawn open and the bus to plunge over the cliff when I was a school child.
They’d be in their element.
What happened there?
Bad editing.
Idiocy is clearly contagious.
The rest of that sentence:
The bloke walked home with me, thus I had the benefit of his Balanced and Impartial opinion in my Idiot Spotting Activities.
Aunt Irma.
Aunt Irma is also contagious. All the experts say that synchronising to the alpha female is an urban myth. So it MUST be true.
Kinda like anal probes must also be true, because the CIA deny they exist. What did you think, Madam. Did my alien look like Michael Jackson? The teen thinks I’m an idiot.
There you go, Quokka. More proof that idiocy is contagious. As if the entire senate wasn’t proof enough.
Totally an MJ look-alike, Catty. With that greenish skin tone and tortured expression, who else could it be?
And the nose. Or lack of.
Yeah and next we’ll be debating oil spills! 🙂
Being a bloke, shoes are usually not an issue (thank Krist) but my friend and singer, diminutive Joy Mullgan, being an honorary midget, wears platforms. Not just heels but the whole shoe, at least six inches high. Her tiny feet disappear into the legs of her pants so she looks like she has no feet.
She says she is sick of yobbos and their opening line of ‘While you’re down there…” and must wear her stilts to avoid the need to kill people. Meanwhile, she is looking for a tall femur donor.
Stafford, have your tiny mate check with Hajnal Whatshername, the exceedingly photogenic councillor from Ipswich, or Logan City, or some other westerley plain where the bevans roam free and flannelette is mandatory.
Apparently for a few grand you can get Russian doctors to break your legs and insert screws. They then gradually move the raw, fractured ends apart until new bone forms. The Cheka discovered the procedure accidentally while extracting intelligence, I assume. Hajnal Thingy got 8cm taller that way.
A whole 8cm! I’m sure it makes all the pain and expense totally worthwhile.
I was 5″1 when I started uni and copped this line a lot.
I found that a friendly punch towards the stomach and the line ‘Whoops! Missed.’ discouraged it from being used again.
The only time I wish I wasn’t short is when I’m trying to get articles from the top shelf in the supermarket.
Why do taller men assume that “Excuse me, can you please help me get that bag of Super Coat down?” is a pick up line?
I thought supermarket pickups were a matter of banana arrangment.
You’re being far too polite to the staff at Coles, trust me, they aren’t used to it.
I’ll tell you the story about the Chicken Nazi in middle management when I see you at pancakes.
I’m pretty tall, I have loooong arms – thanks to a heart defect – and my huge feet mean standing on tippy toes really extends my reach. People in supermarkets constantly ask me to get things off the top shelf for them.
I like it. It makes me feel useful. Like Thomas the Tank Engine. Or maybe not – I never see HIM getting anything down off the top shelves.
The only disadvantage is that I’m afraid of heights.
The question is did the young lady involved get the much saut after and may I say prestigious Darwin award?
Be a bit of a shame if she went to all that efort and lost out to someone else.
I am a big fan of the Darwin awards but my understanding is that they aren’t awarded to minors. No disrespect to those of you struggling with the Devil Incarnate (AKA a teenager with raging hormones and no sense whatsoever) but I believe credit is allocated to the parent who gets a big F for neglecting to pass on the rudimentary basics of survival.
Looking forward to the Chicken Nazi story, Quokka. Popped over to Greybeard’s the other day and I gather he’s up for pancakes, too.
I’m not sure if the Darwin’s have been judged this year or not – but falling down a mountain wearing silly shoes probably wouldn’t cut it. Often, finalists seem to remove themselves from the gene pool by means of a spectacular explosion of some sort. I’m thinking of the would-be ATM thieves, among others.
Don’t be afraid of heights, Catty… it’s what’s at the base of something high that should concern you.
When my nephews turned 17 I gave them copies of the Darwin Awards and suggested they have a good read before they left home and said that I hoped never to see their names in a future edition.
So far, so good, but I probably should have done it five years earlier. How was I to know that 13 year old boys on a farm like to make fertilizer bombs with their mates when Mummy and Dad are busy at work?
PS.
Pancakes.
Yay!
Darwin awards, hey? I nominate the local primary school principal.
Somewhere third-world, (and almost certainly sub-tropical), there is a poor community with a small school. I can’t tell you exactly where, as I am having a bit of trouble giving a rats arse. Anyway, this school has no electricity, or running water. The school gets zero funding, and relies on donations for all their running costs and equipment. To raise money for this impoverished centre for education, our school principal is running a special fund raiser.
All our students are to come to school in blue – that’s the poverty school’s uniform colour. All our students are to make a minimum $2.00 donation. All our students (this is the fun bit) will spend the day with no lights, heaters, computers, or any electricity at all. Solidarity is all well and good, but it is currently pissing down outside, the sky is dark as twilight, and the mercury will not be passing 13 at any stage today.
Two of my kidlets have had the ‘flu within the last fortnight. Guaranteed, by the end of the week, all three kidlets will be snotting from arsehole to breakfast time. And will the principal be there to sponge their fevered brows at 3am? Oh, no, not a hope. Freaking tosswad will be asleep in his lovely heated house, won’t he? Shit head.
Please excuse my temper. I am totally exhausted. I was up until 4am, crocheting a poncho for the middle kidlet, as she announced at 9pm last night that none of her blue clothes fit any more. And the only blue wool I had was that stupid string with pom poms all along it. Whoever invented that crap deserves an anal probe.
I really need a nap.
“Excuse me, can you please help me get that bag of Super Coat down?” You mean that isn’t a pickup line. Damn! That little old lady down the shop this morning was well not hot exactly but she had a certain something. . . maybe was the cheeky scent of mothballs, yes that was it!
Catty, solidarity just another word for mindless symbolism. People round the planet are living shitty lives so let’s all don our hair shirts and go without for a whole day.
I’d keep the kittens home, next day they can annoy classmates with how they kicked arse on the computer game of choice. If you are so inclined you could use this day as an example to the nestlings of the evils of green politics, enoculate them against anti-capitalist ideas. Consumption and consumerism is good, just ask them where would they rather live, in the ipod, mobile phone and cool fashion world or sitting in the dark eating boring watery soup, if our greeny masters allow that.
Btw it’s a shame that minors are excluded from the Darwin awards possible that the judges are concerned that the young uns would hog all the top pozzies. Maybe they should do what other competitive sports do and allow a special slot for young achevers. Admittedly it’s something you can only do once but reward for efort I say.
Quokka, your nephews sound grand, blowing things up at 13 many parents would just be glad to have the kids out of bed doing something.
I think the Darwins ignore kids, because ALL kids do ridiculous crap at some stage. It’s part of the job description. I’m amazed any of my friends made it to 18.
Catty, I am amazed I made it past 15, you know as an adult when you look back on some things you’ve done and shudder at the sheer insanity of what you did. Not many regrets mind but some risks I took were just off the wall.
I’ve reached that high point of hypocrisy where I can’t actually watch what my nieces do (they tell everyone on facebook, the few times I’ve seen their pages I’ve almost had an aneurism) and I just have to avert my eyes and pray that by the time they turn 28 they’ll have the drugs, binge drinking and violent men OUT of their lives and they’ll be whole and sane.
Boys are easier. WTF was Havock whining about the other day at his site? Girls are SO much worse.
I know this because I WAS ONE OF THOSE GIRLS!
You and me both, Quokka. Boys are extremely straightforward – feed them, love them, hose them down from time to time and you’re right. Any tempremental flare-ups between them are solved with a quick punch up and then they’re right again. Girls are devious, spiteful, cliquey, two-faced backstabbers, capable of holding a grudge into the next life.
Present company excepted, of course.
Just don’t let your little explosives specialists know what a lovely incendiary combination styrofoam and petrol makes.
Poor, poor, Catty. I’ve had the flu for the past couple of days so I feel crappy in solidarity, if that helps. I’m sure it’s a fabulous poncho, though. I believe those nasty non-degrading blue plastic supermarket bags also crochet up well, for future reference… the resultant garment’d be waterproof, and frantically eco, if not cosy.
Poor you, Madam. Have you been rubbing camphor chest rub on your feet at night? I can highly recommend Olbas oil, too. Marvellous stuff!
Of course, nothing beats having somebody wait on you hand and foot while you spend three days in bed with chocolate and trashy novels. So I’ve heard.
Poor MM.
Tis the Season to be froggy. I fought off something nasty the other day and by that I mean a disease, not an adolescent with a sack of cow shit.
Have been very grumpy ever since though I can’t blame Aunt Irma alone, must have something to do with inadequate brain capacity.
Catty, I’d be keeping the children home and make them watch something educational.
Maybe that episode of Daria where she and Jane are forced to get involved in team spirit. I’ll see if I can find it.
Between “falling to the communists”, winter lurgys and pea-brained principals we’re all in a sorry state.
Here are a few words of good cheer:
* slow-cooked potato chips
* toasted crumpets dripping with butter and honey
* sticky date pudding with butterscotch sauce and custard
* anything with bacon
*sob* I miss my sense of smell! Everything tastes like shredded wheat… except shredded wheat, which tastes like extruded cardboard.
Yum! I rarely get sick, just hay fever: after about the 15th sneeze you are ready to have your nose cleaned out with a welder’s wire brush so losing my taste in food is not a problem.
It might help that I don’t have kids bringing trojan horses home from school, ah well someday I’ll trick a lass into kids and then I’ll be able to play catchup!
Scott, you could hang around outside the local primary school and try to catch your own trojan.
Or maybe not. Your intentions may be misconstrued somewhat.
Try the high school instead. You might just find that lass you seek – aim for the blondes with ugg boots and pink lip gloss. Bogan girls are renowned for their fertility, their inherent fear of contraception, and their inability to recognise a line when they hear it.
In five years, you’ll have all the ‘flu you can handle from little Barry, Trev, Cheryl and Tracey. Bogan children are born with a layer of green slime above their top lip. They’re also born with Bundy-scented pheromones, and an inbuilt guidance system that will take them to Redcliffe/Frankston/Parramatta as soon as they can walk.
Have fun!
Hehehe.
Let us know when you’re expecting a Happy Event, Scott. We’ll send a little 000 flanno and baby’s first pack of Winnie Blues.
Too kind ladies. Catty your suggestions are noted.
I’d avoid hanging around any school gates, Scott. Camera phones are so prevalent and caregivers quick to assume the worst.
I’m sure there are plenty of lovely young Bogan girls flocking to wherever highly-coloured, over-sweet cocktails are sold to the driving beat of Lady Gaga, closest to you.
And at least in a nightclub, you’ve got some basis in law for the belief that they’re over 18!
http://twitpic.com/1ve548
Slight hijack, but there’s been a problem at Spamtrap central with a blogger being given Lobe’s personalized security code.
I think its because they dropped the ‘U’ at the front of the code.
Hehehe.
Solid gold sec code.
Actually, I can think of several codes starting in “AR” that would fit noone’s favourite troll…
Sole, perhaps? Or swipe?
The really funny thing is that his comments box won’t come up at NT, so he can’t blather his usual self-important crap!
For the first time, I’m loving the NT spam faeries.
And “slick”, and “sbandit”…
Good one, spam faeries – your next mission, should you choose to accept it, is to obliterate SJS.
That’d be nice, but I think JB has a soft spot for SJS. And there’s that rumour about her being a sock puppet.
How funny would the offspring of an SJS/Lobes pairing be? Would the lovechild of a lizard and a yeti be a liti, or a yezard?
Unless that sock puppet rumour is true: then it would be a sozard, or a lick. Oh, definitely a lick. Unless it’s a litter, in which case they would be would be slick – hey, look, Madam! You were right about that code! Arrrrr!
Your mating theory does go a long way towards explaining why Lobes always sounds like he’s got something large and scaly wedged firmly up his arse.
Perhaps they mistook araldite for KY in the throes of their passion.
Gak! Ergk! Hhrung!
Please excuse the retching noises.
Thank goodness I have an empty stomach – what a nasty mental picture.
Empty stomach? What am I thinking!?!! It’s dinner o’clock, and here I am NOT eating!
Must go. The trough awaits.
Won’t catch me lurking outside any school gate, just too weird do you wan’t me appearing on a current affair catty? “do you know this man he could be stalking your kid!”
Besides Madam is right at least in a club you know they are over 18, if they are using fake id well that is the doorman’s job to spot.
Having said that I have stopped clubbing, too expensive too loud and the music is usually crap. Oh! shit! I’m now officially old!
Welcome to old age, Scott.
Sure, things sag and don’t work like they used to, and you’ll find that modern music is annoying, but there’s an upside:
* you’ll find you no longer give a rat’s about being cool.
* you’ve got carte blanche to grizzle and moan.
Enjoy!
Just get a job as a LollyPop Person.
Problem solved.
I still think we should have clubbed together and sent Lobes on a Land Marks course last year.
He’s earned it.
Or a Land Mines course. We could slip the instructor a few bucks to tell Lobes to test for mines by prodding the ground with a stick.
Scott, only gammin’ about the bogan girls. We all know you have better taste than that – because you hang out with us.
And I’m glad you don’t want to be on A Current Affair. That leaves you free for Today Tonight. I’m still practicing my Mad Cat Lady cackle for when the neighbours call them over to film my house full of crap; maybe we can swing it so we’re on the same episode! Do you reckon you can start a dodgy washing machine repair company?
Okay Catty it’s a date but I don’t think dodgey repairman will suit, won’t generate that certain level of self-righteous outrage that makes such programs so . . . annoying. *didn’t want to swear as I don’t know Madam’s rules on cussing*
Maybe I could go around and be the phantom dodgey bloke terrorising old ladies at the shopping malls, I can see it now “is your granny safe from “this” man!” He offers to help getting things down from high shelves but all he wants to do is bask in the scent of old mothballs!”
I’m sure that if they really work on it they could stretch it out to cover 2/3 days.
http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/world/teen-solo-sailor-abby-sunderland-feared-lost/story-e6freoox-1225878258262
I hate it when I’m right, but I’m guessing JB won’t even remember my arguments about why I was so against these dangerous FKN ‘I am the youngest person in the world to do blah blah blah things’.
Oh lord, Quokka, that’s awful news. I was so sure that would happen to Jessica Watson, too. What on earth are their parents thinking? These days you think twice about letting kids go to the shops alone.
Scott, you may feel free to use any of the seven words banned on American radio – except for the mother one. That’s just icky.
Catty, that Phantom cape and your pink boots will look fabulous on ACA. Let me know when you’re on so I can tape it!
Still can’t find the cape. I can’t find anything! Which means my hoarding is coming along nicely. I should have the newspapers up to the ceiling by Christmas, which just leaves the aquisition of multiple cats.
That could be a problem, given that so many of the neighbours’ cats have vanished since the new family moved in around the corner. (I haven’t been able to look at a dim sim in weeks.)
Somehow, I think it would take the shine off TT’s story (TT? As in, tittie? That’s one of America’s banned words, isn’t it? Oh look! I’m digressing!) if there were no cats at the Mad Cat Lady’s house. Actually, it would be really funny if they were filming, and the little old Asian man were to wander across the shot carrying a cat. Especially if they can smell that weird dim sim smell coming from his house.
Oh, but they won’t be able to smell it because of my mothball perfume – there you are, Scott, I’m providing a link for one of TT’s famous segués. We’ll be on the same episode for sure.
Yes, MM, but think of it this way, now the Australian Media gets to interview Jess Jess and say ‘How does it feel to know that your notion of heroics and adventure led others to follow you, and resulted in their deaths?’
I’m waiting for it.
It is just how the bloody media works, and if Jessica Watson’s family had any FKN sense they would have seen that one coming too.
Then again these families never really struck me as being the type to anticipate consequences. Stating tearfully on prime time TV that if your teenage daughter lost her life doing what she loved (seeking fame and fortune on the high seas) then it would all be OK just hit very hard on my ‘You all need THERAPY! Lots and lots and lots of therapy’ buttons.
Catty if you need a substitute cranky mad cat woman, send the TT crew around here. Just do it before I clean out the kitty litter tray so I’ve got plenty of ammunition.
Ooh, Quokka… I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right (of course)! They’re probably door-stopping JW as we type. Still, she seems much more sensible than her own mother, she’ll probably cope.
Catty, given the dearth of felines and since being a crazy junk-hoarding cat lady has been done nearly to death, have you considered being a crazy junk-hoarding RAT lady? The advantage being that your stacks of rubbish will attract scads of vermin without you having to lift a finger! Just let the kidlets’ crusty cereal bowls and half-munched sandwiches accumulate a bit and you’ll be overrun in no time. Rats are no good in dim sims – too fiddly to peel, and somewhat stringy.
Or mice.
Mice are good, and you don’t need to slice them up to fit them in a dim sim. Much less work involved.
Argh.
I just ducked out for supplies (yes, the cheesecake shop, last minute cramming requires White Gold Mudcake) and caught the news. JW has issued a statement through her vulture tamer saying that her thoughts are with AS’s family. Mother W came on the air to talk at length about how worried she was when their Jess was at sea, I listened closely and noticed she did manage to fit something in about the missing girl.
Its all about MEEEEEEEEEEEEE…whee!
Oh. Oh, dear. Madam, I just glanced around my house. Two crusty cereal bowls and a once-bitten sandwich are sitting in the lounge room. Also, a tub of popcorn, and a half cup of juice, propped beside a massive stack of abandoned SFI magazines my mother in law donated to the cause.
Scary.
I should be able to call TT by Wednesday at this rate.
The teen is spending the day with her boyfiend. (not a typo). Their teachers are writing report cards today. I offered to help by providing them with a rubber stamp with a big letter F on it, but they said my daughter’s results aren’t indicative of the rest of the school.
Anyway, the boyfiend’s big brother had gone to work early, locking the screen door behind him – and taking the keys. Boyfiend could not open the door to let the teen in. I ended up having to drive them to the big brother’s workplace to pick up the keys. When we got back, boyfiend’s mother let them in. She’d been there the whole time.
It seems JW’s family don’t have the patent on being skullvacant.
White Gold Mudcake ? Tell me more, Quokka. On second thoughts, no… tell me after your exams.
Catty, you’re a more patient woman than me. I would have left them to commune through the screen door, Romeo and Juliet style. Damn hard to get pregnant through a screen door, for a start… and you could have spent your morning productively – maybe eating your way through a packet of tim tams while heckling infomercials, or teaching the vermin circus tricks for when ACA come over.
MM, I’m with you.
I would have said ‘Welcome to the Barrier Method’ and left them to it.
I handled it the same way I handle most disturbing things. I went shopping.
At the end of the day, I had NO money. Absolutely none. The pantry is totally crammed with snack foods, and I bought gifts for the teen, the kidlets, the Boss, my Goddaughter and my bestie. As I unpacked it all, I realised there was nothing in there for me. How stupid! Not even a box of scorched almonds!
Bugger. Now I’m going to have to make myself some.
Catty, one day I will have to teach you the fine art of laziness, and letting others fend for themselves.
It takes practice, but the rewards are worth the effort involved.
Home made scorched almonds are also worth the effort. I’m thinking of flavouring milkybar chocolate with blueberry. Or is that a bit too weird?
Not at all.
In my house they’d get flavored with harpic, which would mean nobody would ever trust me to make them again.
Hmm… the milky bar chocolate question deserves some consideration – to then wrap around a scorched almond, or to enjoy in its own right? I’d leave the almonds out of the equation.
Quokka, I’m with you. I’ve raised indolence to the level of performance… well, absence of performance, really… art. You should see me loafing – it’s like I’ve taken your masterclass.
I majored in napping.
O.k. Nap time is over. You can all wake up now.
Yummo, just had a cuppa tea and half a packet of Tim Tams, just thought I’d share. Going back to sleep now. Too cold for anything else.
I’ve had two days of really horrible cramps in my thumbs.
Could have something to do with the 40m2 of turf that the Bloke and I dragged up the hill into the back yard on Saturday, but since he doesn’t have cramps in his thumbs, nor any aches and pains, its more likely one of those bizarre PMS/Exam stress things that my body likes to generate when Aunt Irma and Uncle Academia are visiting at once.
MM, if this develops into one of my full blown PMS migraine things I’m going to dodge my exam tomorrow and sit a supp, if so can we put off the Pancake experience for another week or so?
As much as I’d love pancakes my condition means that handling cutlery isn’t an option.
Meh.
One day I will find a shrink who can explain the weird things that my body does to me when I’m stressed.
My theory, Quokka, is it’s either an excess of progesterone or not enough estrogen. I haven’t been able to test the theory, as even the thought of drinking soy milk makes me gag. Bleargh!
Oh, and Scott – only HALF the packet of Tim Tams? You’re not trying hard enough.
Scott, I knew I liked you for a reason… half a pack of Tim Tams for you means half a pack left for me. You can foward the remainder by express post.
Catty, with you all the way. If people were MEANT to milk soybeans, they’d have little teats. And their milk wouldn’t taste like watered-down mucous mixed with chalk.
Quokka, certainly we can postpone. But I hope your thumbs are feeling fine and dandy soon… you never know when you might want to hitchhike, or indicate approval. Or signal for a gladiator’s demise. If you sit the exams, the best of good luck. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, so your’s are free for writing.
Well Catty I had the other half the night before, sorry Madam, besides by the time they got to you they would be all melted and yicky.
Never mind, Scott. Plenty more where that came from. Or maybe I’ll get some Caramel Crowns.
Mmm…. caramel.
No caramel here. Just a freshly baked bananana cake with creamcheese frosting.
*sigh*
Mmm…. cream cheese frosting.
I’m a pepper mint person myself but cream cheese frosting sounds nice. Btw when I said I never seem to get sick, well some bastard has given me something, throat feels like sandpaper and my nose won’t stop dripping arrrggghhh!
That’ll teach me to open my mouth, Murphy and his mindless minyons are always listening in and are on hand to ruin your day.
Arrrgh! Man Flu! Run away screaming!
http://www.heraldsun.com.au/lifestyle/the-other-side/only-known-cure-for-man-flu-is-liberal-doses-of-female-sympathy/story-e6frfhk6-1225877748311
Poor Scott – rest, fluids (no, not beer, water or orange juice), simple analgesia and more rest. At least you got to enjoy the Tim Tams while you still had a sense of smell.
Poor, poor Scott.
There, was that a curative amount of feminine sympathy?
Chicken soup for hydration, brandy and ice cream for analgesia, Tim Tams – well, because everyone needs Tim Tams.
Brandy and ice-cream… in the same snifter, Catty, like a kind of gentleman’s spider?
Ice cream in a bowl. A generous medicinal amount of Brandy sloshed over the top. My old doctor in Queensland put me on to it. Gotta love those Toowoomba Doctors!
Aunt Irma sucks.
Aunt Irma was not due to arrive until Friday, but predictably she chose to turn up and cripple me on Exam Day. Which means that I’ve been under the dooner, staying warm and taking pain killers.
The reason this sucks is that it means pulling out the same pathetic excuse that I used for my late assignment. Which, while true, smacks of a certain lack of creativity in pathetic excuses.
I would much prefer to have something you need to be quarantined for, the likes of which spreads fear into the hearts of student kind the world over. Rabies, or Swine Flu, or Scott Flu.
But no. Once again, I get to write ‘Attacked by Aunt Irma’ on the stat dec.
I feel SO neurotic.
Anyway, the implications here are that I will be psychotically trying to fill my brain with knowledge on Sunday and shall not be fit company for the pancake eaters among you.
I’m guessing they’ll throw the supp at me one day next week. Can we put pancakes off till July? Ms Mayhem might be back on her feet by then, too. Anyone heard how she’s doing?
BTW, we will need to book a table when we do head off to the Pancake Manor. That place goes nuts early in the morning.
I think I’m feeling a little less fuzzy now.
Which one of you was it said they’d made the Tim Tam soup?
Tim Tam soup? Oooooh, I LIKE the way fuzzy Quokka thinks.
Let me see. How would we make Tim Tam soup….
I’d say we need to take the ice cream out of the freezer for fifteen minutes, then mush it up into a soft-serve consistency. Now….
Do we bite the corners off and suck the ice cream up through the middle? (that would involve sucking hot liquid through first, to get a clear passage).
Or, do we crush up the Tim Tams and stir through the ice cream? (that would require stock. Caramel or Chocolate? I have plenty of both chocolate and caramel stock, but then, I’m a bit odd).
Executive decision be damned. We need scientific research! I’m going to experiment RIGHT NOW.
Love you sooooo much, Quokka.
No sympathy needed here ladies though the suggestions were welcome except for yours Madam ORANGE JUICE! What were you thinking? It tasted foul, completely disgusting.
Catty I had a friend who swore that a bottle of scotch or rum was the best cure just drink the lot and all the bugs would die from alcohol poisoning, it seemed to work for him, hate to be his liver though.
Whent to bed yesterday arvo and didn’t get up till sometime after 12 today, drank lots of water. Feelling much better now no man flu here just finishing up with lots of gobbits of unadentafiable gunk. At least the joints ar no longer aching, I even discovered that hair could hurt.
Glad to hear you’re on the mend, Scott. Sorry to hear you’re under the weather, Quokka. Pancakes postponed until whenever. How are you, Mayhem? Hope all is well.
Now, important matters. Tim Tam soup. I vote for a warm chocolate ganache, with a swirl of caramel. Tim Tams to be diced and sprinkled on the top for textural contrast, like croutons but infinitely yummier. How did your research go, Catty?
Bugger. I didn’t think of ganache. I could have done it with white chocolate, too.
The soup was tested most thoroughly by the kidlets. They said it needed sprinkles. We tried stick sprinkles as well as 100’s & 1000’s; the general consensus was that the stick sprinkles were better as the 100’s & 1000’s were too crunchy.
Further research required, but cannot be completed until I’ve been to the supermarket for more ice cream and Tim Tams. I did have another packet, but we needed a control sample for comparison. Told you our research was thorough.
Scott, my old dad swears by hot rum and lemon for a cold – the hot and the lemon being optional. Glad you’re feeling better.
Scott, you obviously didn’t mix enough vodka with your orange juice. Has Catty taught you nothing about the place of spirits in the sick-room?
White chocolate ganache soup would be yummy with a swirl of raspberry coulis, don’t you think, Catty? With shortbread crumbs for croutons.
Mmmm… molten chocolate.
Good luck with your further ice-cream research. We eagerly await the results.
I saw a flavor of Homer Hudson ice cream in the freezer at Coles – or maybe it was Woollies – that I’m not familiar with.
And now I can’t remember what it was.
In fact I can’t remember much at all.
Although I did remember to stop at the pastry shop near the Gabba when I went out for sushi and I got myself a citrus tart.
yum, and yum, and yum.
Meh. Back to the grind for me.
Carry on.
I tried to get a french tart, but she wouldn’t get in the car.
Lure her with a packet of Gitanes next time, Catty.
Meow! Leave those poor French tarts alone Catty, you don’t know where they’ve been.
Madam that was the problem, I drank the orange juice without vodka *slaps side of head* won’t happen again promise. It’s amazing what 18 hours sleep can do for your health, I should do it more often.
Quokks, been through study hell so I know your pain unfortunately you’re not of the age where large amounts of booze will help.
Catty, can I come live with you? All the food experiments sound fun, I could be one of your mindless but loyal test subjects.
I bet Scott would eat a mince muffin.
I made them the other day, and Magic Man decided before they came out of the oven that he wasn’t going to participate.
Grrr.
Scott, you would hate it here. The whole house is run by a shouty old woman with an obsession about people picking up after themselves. (That would be me.)
Unless you’ve got the knack for ignoring shouty old women, that is. All my children seem to have that knack. *sigh*
But but the shouty old woman cooks wonderful food, surely sacrifices must be made especially in the pursuit of a perfect tim tam soup?
Besides, I’m a bit like that myself I can’t stand dirty dishes and stuff cluttering up the kitchen or coffee table. Food areas MUST be clear for the next meal! Clothes though, cleaned yes, folded up yes, put away? Well sometimes, when I have nothing else to do and the phantom internal voice says “you know you are a lazy bastard Scott!”
Madam, yes I’ll have 6 of your muffins, with lots of butter, oh, mince, are we talking fruit mince? if so maybe some whipped cream as well. mmm
Hehehe. No, beef mince. They’re like individual meatloaves. Although maybe if I HAD tried serving them with whipped cream I might have achieved better uptake.
I’ll still take 6 but instead of butter and cream I’ll grab a dish of sweet chilli or bbq sauce.
I’m a sucker for any oven baked goods *sigh* now I’m hungry, have to go cook something.
We just had cheeseball with pepper crackers. I love cheeseball, especially before bed. It gives me such interesting dreams.
You know what would be good? Mince muffins with a gooey, melted cheeseball centre!
Scott, I’ll put you down for half a dozen.
I wonder how bocconcini with pesto would work in that.
BTW Catty, some mad knitting fiend has been busy in my locale. I took the mutt for a walk across the Goodwill Bridge from south bank to the botanical gardens at lunch time yesterday and some arty type has knitted decorative tea cosies for the pillars at the south bank end of the bridge.
I made a point of carefully studying the name of the creator so I would remember and tell you when I got home but that’s gone, baby, like most other things that I try to keep stored in my brain at the moment. maybe it was wildcosies.com – not sure. Will ask bloke to check later.
I did figure out the name of the unfamiliar new homer hudson ice cream – Digger. It has chunks of anzac cookies and honeycomb. I suspect its full of 220 but didn’t have my reading glasses when I ducked into Woollies yesterday so I’ll have to check that and find out if its likely to poison me. Sounds yummy though.
I got the Bloke his beloved Chock Rock so that he can gnaw his way through that over the weekend.
Catty you’d better post the link to the Miley Cyrus knicker scandal too. I’d ask at cheeseburger, but you know, the Faff Tyrants may not approve of us discussing celebrity child pornography scandals.
When we were on hols in Perth EVERY freaking time I sat down in front of the TV that bloody Hannah Montana movie was on cable and every other channel was fuzzy and incoherent. Argh.
I think God was punishing me for leaving my MIL on the other side of the continent all on her lonesome for Xmas. Well, every year she assures us she’ll be dead before next Xmas so this time told I told the Bloke ‘You can tell her that we booked the holiday because we believed her.’
Relatives.
Argh.
Here you go, Quokka:
http://www.heraldsun.com.au/entertainment/confidential/perez-hilton-facing-heat-over-racy-miley-cyrus-picture/story-e6frf96o-1225880387007?referrer=email&source=HS_email_nl&emcmp=HS&emchn=Newsletter&emlist=Member
Her father must be so proud.
Ah, Catty. How appropriate is that image for a blog entitled ‘fun in a box’?
Advice for teens no# 287:
WEAR PANTS!
I don’t know. I suspect Miley won’t bat an eyelid.
Isn’t this the kind of thing that 17 year olds post on their own face book pages and think it’s hilarious?
From cheeseballs to cheesecake.
Did I read that article correctly? Someone is accusing Miley of wearing fake fur underpants??
Take that, Brazilian waxers. I want a pair… how cozy would fur knickers be on these chilly winter nights!
Good one Quokka, I nearly sprayed tea all over my keyboard laughing.
Be thankful it was only tea.
One of my Invisible Friends in America complained that she snorted Dr. Pepper out through her nose, whilst at work. It went all over her keyboard and some important document she was fiddling with at her We Are All Very Serious Here type Law Firm place of employment.
Apparently soda bubbles tickle your nose hairs for some time after the event whereas the tannins in tea probably just help to clear out your sinuses.
Meanwhile I am interested in these Faux Fur pants of Miley’s. Maybe Hilton is right and she was wearing a trendsetting new G-string of raw beaver.
Things could get ugly if PETA gets wind of this.
I believe their remedy for this is a bucket of faux blood.
Maybe Hilton should adjust his web-site with a photo-shopped image of that little scenario.
Seeing as he’s only doing it for her own good, and all.
Too bad she wasn’t in Brisbane to see her little fans at the ‘Out of the Box’ festival at south bank.
Speaking of festivals, did you get to “The Dreaming”, Quokka?
No, busy trying to study and wrangle Aunt Irma.
Maybe next year, when I will hopefully be leading a study free existence.
Did you get there?
I might head up to the Eumundi markets one weekend in July after my supp, though. I woke up this morning to see FIVE brush turkeys roosting in the poinciana behind our bedroom window. I chased another two over the back fence, that were below the tree scratching at the turf we laid in the back yard last weekend.
* Which means I’m in the market for a sling shot.
Its time to put the neighbour’s macadamia tree to good use.
Hi guys, thought I’d check in to let you all know I’ve updated at both my places. Sorry I have been slack, but I have been popping in for a giggle every so often. 🙂
Good.
Because I finally figured out why Lobes uses that name.
Its the missing pieces that he’s searching for, like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, to make himself complete.
What, as in frontal lobes – his were removed during a court sanctioned lobotomy?
Or do you mean his sparkly chandelier earrings were just too, too heavy, and ripped his poor little ear lobes off while he was doing the Y.M.C.A in his buttless leathers?
Either way, he is lower on the evolutionary scale than your brush turkeys, Quokka. But we knew that.
Could be prostate related – they have lobes, too.
Quokka, in case you can’t make it up to Eumundi you can always make your own:
http://www.instructables.com/id/How-to-make-your-own-catapult-from-recycling-in-4-/
Glad to see you back on deck, Mayhem.
If a court was to sanction removing anything from that troll I think they’d be aiming at a target lower down.
The courts have gone soft these days, that’s the trouble. Lobes would look fabulous in the stocks, I reckon… or on the wrong end of a cat-o-nine-tails.
Bring back the lash!
I think he belongs in the era that used these implements.
Too bad we can’t send him back in time to prehistory where he belongs.
I’d like to see him in a shock collar that gives him 240 volts every time his wank gland activates. Don’t worry about the detrimental effect to his heart. I’m convinced he doesn’t have one.
Or maybe a pool of earwigs. Dump him in the middle and make him swim to the side. If we can find a big enough pool, that is.
Perhaps we could force feed him printouts of every horrible comment he’s ever made, until he pukes. Then make him eat the puke.
Then, just for good measure, dress him in pink flannel loveheart PJ’s and a mauve coral fleece robe. Curlers and shower cap, cold-creamed cheeks and fluffy bunny slippers should complete the look. Then send him into a crocodile infested swamp armed with nothing but a nail file and some cotton swabs. Get Bear Grylls to film it.
No, I don’t like Lobes very much.
Sounds reasonable. I’m not sure that an earwig is quite lethal enough, though. How about those flesh-stripping scarab beetles, as seen in “The Mummy”?
Oh, all right. No earwigs. I’ll get some fire ants instead.
Better idea.
How about we lock him up with his own Mummy until such time as she can correct the deficits in her social training?
Surely he’s still living with her as it is?
Hmmm. Norman Bates also lived with his mother.
Can’t be a coincidence.
And so did John Howard.
Which one? The actor or the politician?
Not sure… could be either.
The one that the Chaser liked to hunt down in his tracksuit.
You wouldn’t catch Kevin in a tracksuit… maybe that’s why he’s out of touch with the electorate. Perhaps he should invest in a pair of ugg boots.
Mmm… cosy ugg boots.
I’ve got a pair he can have. They’re pink. Blondes look good in pink. (20,000 boganettes can’t be wrong.)
Yes.
I see a good deal of this when I’m out walking the dog, and Catty, trust me, its a popular look with the private school girls. Designer jeans, tops, and make up, topped off with a set of fluffy uggys. Even though their boots probably cost $300 they still manage to look like Julia Roberts turning tricks in Rodeo Drive.
I blame Kath and Kim for setting this trend, or at least for making sure that it stuck.
Gina Riley has much to answer for.
Ugg boots are a much more sensible footwear choice for a working girl than spike heels. At least their feet can stay warm!
Pink is a great choice for Kevin. He’s got lots of ties to match.
They’re also a sensible choice of footwear for Wombles.
I wonder if Kev would stick with his predilection for pink when buying a trakkie?
Blue, I think. To match his eyes… and his salty language.
Kevin’s no fun.
Can we play Dress Up Wilson Tuckey?
Wilson Tuckey? Easy fixed – remember my Tracey Anderson workout dvd? You can still buy feather bikinis on eBay….
You won’t be able to play with Kevin much longer, it seems that he is about to be shafted by his backbenchers. Good, he is now going to find out how unpleasant being shafted can be. Poor poor boy, he won’t get to strut the world stage anymore.
I don’t see Wilson Tuckey in a feather bikini, myself. I think he’s more of a Chanel suit and pearls man.
Julia better lock her wardrobe, then.
Hehehe. But she’s an Autumn and he’s a Winter!
A dab or two of powdered foundation should fix that.
Mmmmm….. pancake…..
with Waffles, given that it is Mr. Tuckey.
Thanks Quokka. Now I have a mental image of Mr Tuckey doing the dance of the seven veils, except with waffles.
Pancakes would drape better…
The Draping of the Droops.
I have an image, here, and it’s not pretty.
Put maple syrup on it. Everything looks better with maple syrup.
That would make him far too appetizing.
Perhaps we could drizzle BBQ sauce over him and feed him to the wolves.
If they’ve got room for desert once they’re done mauling Kevvy.
Sublime disinterest in that from me, today.
Far too obsessed with my study to care about matters of state.
My brother used to have a t-shirt that said “dip me in honey and throw me to the lesbians”. (Classy guy, my brother).
Maybe we should get one of those shirts for Wilson.
O.k, Quokka, seeing as you’re so disinterested, I am going to tell you the only newsworthy thing I have seen on this topic:
Last night, on one of Channel Nine’s updates, Kerry Whatshernamethenewsreader said, “And now we’re crossing live to our political correspondent in Canberra, Laurie Oakes. So, Laurie, what are you hearing?”
Unfortunately, their Skype audio was down, so Laurie wasn’t hearing anything at all. He just sat there staring at the camera.
It was one of those champagne comedy moments.
The only other thing you need to know, is that KRuddy cried like a girl. Just like Hawkey did when the Labor party dumped him for Keating.
That is all. Anything else is spin doctoring, and will merely distract you from the important stuff. Like, is maple “flavoured” syrup EVER acceptable?
Maple flavored syrup is never acceptable and I think Laurie Oaks has that look on his face because his mother never gave him the good stuff.
I’m familiar with that expression, BTW, happened a bit when we were watching the last election. crappy sound feeds.
And we caught the ABC news and the 7.30 report so we saw Kevvy cry.
You’re in the loop then, Quokka.
Now, go snack. You need to keep up the calories for all that study. Isn’t that right, Doctor Madam Morgana?
Indeed. Calories are always beneficial.
Maple flavoured syrup is made from fenugreek and is an abomination before God and man… and especially woman. PM Gillard should legislate against it.
PMS Gillard probably will.
Oh, I SO hope the printer makes that particular typo when he prints up her new stationery!
Hehehe. Parliment should be interesting, one week in four.
But politicians only work one week in four. You’re right. This will be interesting.
The mad monk v. Aunt Irma.
Not a hope.
There’ll be a stiletto in his eyeball before the month is out.
Well, you know what he himself would say, Quokka: “Shit happens.”
He also says not to believe everything he says.
Right.
Maybe we should go through his statements one by one with the Catty Lie Detector.
i.e.
‘I can’t wait to get home and have sex with my wife.’
Source of Tony’s creepy sex talk – Womens Weekly, unless of course I hallucinated that little tidbit during my last mammogram.
*shudder* You’ve just put me off my apple pie and custard.
I’m drinking coffee. There’s nothing in the world that can put me off that, but if there WAS anything, it would be that little gem. WW, you say? Sounds more like FHM.
The Bloke has corrected me and said it wasn’t the WW (that’s the creepy sex talk about his daughters’ sex lives), it was on of those throwaway responses to the media during a question about ‘what’s the hardest thing about all the traveling that you do?’
Tony’s creepy sex talk is enough to put anyone off their custard.
I may never eat custard again.
How’s the studying, Quokka? All raring to go for your supp?
Exam, 16th July.
Thanks for asking, Catty, it’s going OK.
I’m on schedule with my revision and I’ve even managed to unpack one of those horror boxes that has been festering in my study.
Good going. As long as the Cheesecake Shop is trading, I think you’ll be alright.
Oh, bugger. Now I am going to be obsessing about cheesecake ALL DAY.
I don’t suppose there were any cheesecakes in your fester box, Quokka?
Only half joking. I was cleaning up the teen’s bedroom, and found a tic toc biscuit being used as a bookmark in her maths textbook. No wonder she’s failing maths.
I remember when I was 8 being sent to my room for some imagined misdemeanour and ordered to eat a flavor of ice cream that I didn’t like.
And yes, before you ask, my step mother was in fact psychotic.
I spooned all the ice cream into the plastic trays of one of my fuzzy felt boxes and put the box back into the toy closet, carefully concealed close to the bottom of the pile. I waited a while and then announced ‘Its OK, I’ve eaten it.’
I meant to dispatch it at some later point, but forgot.
When I found it, months later, it had turned green and evolved into a whole new life form.
Sounds like the teen’s socks.
THAT’S where he comes from!
Quokka, I think your ice cream slime might have devolved into Lobes.
Excellent! Quokka, you created him; you can destroy him…
And to think that all I will need is a can of Glen 20.
And a rottweiler.
Hmm… are you going to use a Zippo to turn the Glen 20 into a flame thrower?
That was the plan.
Glen 20, the solution for a man who is so much more than just another foul odour.
Can’t we go back to talking about Tony Abbott’s sex life? It was a MUCH nicer subject.
*shudder*
Let’s talk about Julia Gillard’s wardrobe instead. Okay, she doesn’t want to live in the Lodge, but can’t she engage a stylist? Did you SEE that coat she was trolling around the shops in? It reminded me of cat vomit… and not in a good way.
Silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Mutton dressed as lamb. Wolf in sheep’s clothing. Lipstick on a pig.
That’s right. I don’t like Gillard. She’s a nasty, backstabbing piece of work. Very well suited to politics, yes?
Oh, hang on. We were commenting on her poor wardrobe choices, so she wouldn’t be well suited at all, would she?
Hehehe. Lipstick on a pig.
No, poorly suited, I believe. And I just don’t understand the hair either. Surely, in this day and age, there’s no NEED to be a redhead?
Red, surprisingly, is the best camouflage colour for snakes.
Really – so a red-bellied black snake is having a bet each way, then?
Yes. And displays a sassy fashion sense that lesser mortals would rush to emulate.
So we can’t expect black streaks in Gillard’s hair anytime soon. Her soul, however, is a different matter.
Poor Kevvie. He looked all lost and bewildered just after he was deposed, didn’t he? And he didn’t pull off crying as manfully as Hawkie, either.
I’d love to join in all this fun, but if the Bloke got wind of me deriding the hair/fashion sense of the less fortunate, he’d pull out photos of me in elastic bottomed track pants from target and publish them on line. There were holes in unseemly places that I never got around to mending and which no other reasonable man would think to complain about.
I seen them there photos of you on Mayhem’s site, Quokka. You is beautiful. Don’t let any trakky-dak derider say otherwise.
Aw…that’s so sweet!
Thank you!
Now, back to business.
What is this about photos of me on Mayhem’s site?
I threatened to bite her toes off if she dared to do such, and I saw the whites of her eyes so I’m guessing she knows that I meant it.
I told Havock the same thing but that just prompted him to put me first in line in the parade of Unusual Suspects on his Brisbane Trip Blog. That’ll learn me.
I ordered a tube of glue from Magnamail recently. It arrived in the mail today. They even sent me two free gifts – a personal massager, and a clock.
Hmmmm…..
Mmm… personal massager. Sounds like fun.
Is it battery operated or do you plug it into the mains? If the later, then you will keep it well away from the bathtub, won’t you, Catty?
Odd.
I thought that a personal massager would look more like this:
If so, Catty, you should probably hand it in to the health department. Although the glue gun could come in handy to check the source of the epidemic, come to think of it.
Zaburoni – Proof that it’s not just Youtube videos that go viral.
Hehehe.
I trust your massager is not contagious, Catty. Perhaps you should give it a good going over with Jif before you fire it up.
So long as its Rapped in Plastic (please imagine the Twin Peaks Crime Scene Twang) I’m sure it’ll be completely harmless.
Hi MM and friends. Wondered what happened that you were so far down the list and now know! Too busy having conversations to write! Just read through all comments, took note of suggestions for Joy Mulligan’s thigh and shin bones (She is too happy in her own skin for that shit) then finally came to PMS Gillard and ask you (all) to take a look at Chancellor Angela Merkel! But it is unfair that females suffer forensic attenton while blokes get away with looking like St Vincent de Paul rejects.
Poor Kev is a purist and was badly managed unfortunately. A good guy.
My contribution to the ‘dressing of Iron Bar’ discussiion is drab prison overalls. If not for parliamentary priveledge, he would be wearing the costume for real! How can they keep electing such a dickhead! Did I hear a mumble of Boganspeak?
Anyway MM, just glad you are alive and enjoying yourself. XX
I always thought it was Iron Bark Tuckey.
Must be time to get my hearing checked or the wax in my ears scraped out.
From experience, if you want the wax removed, get your cats to lick your ears.
Or was that just my cat?
http://www.cairns.com.au/article/2010/07/03/116475_local-news.html
I must not laugh.
I must not laugh.
I must not laugh.
Nope.
Not working.
Laughing.
Childcare facilities in Cairns have improved drastically, I see.
Hey Stafford – I’m always enjoying myself, no need for you to worry on that score!
I wonder if it cost his parents $2 to get him out? Where were you when they needed you, Catty – you’re a claw machine ace.
Accident my aunt.
I say that Dad probably set the whole thing up in preparation for Slide Night at the kid’s 21’st Birthday Party.
This is the kind of thing – in Cairns at least – that I call Forward Planning.
I had a go at the claw machine on Friday. It was full of Cadbury Creme eggs. If it had had any snot goblins in it, I would have veered past the machine and gone to Krispy Kreme instead.
If you trapped a Cadbury Creme egg with a claw, Quokka, wouldn’t you be in danger of smooshing it?
Mmm…. Krispy Kreme.
Said in Little Red Riding Quokka tones: ‘All the better to impale you with, my dear.’
I’ve never tried to use one of those machines (I’m aware of my limitations and hand-eye coordination is not among my skills) but I think if I saw a toddler in one I’d be sorely tempted to try. Those claws can’t be that different to birthing forceps, surely?
It must be getting towards that Sugar Obsessive time of the month again.
We got in after a busy day yesterday and all we could think about was sugar and stodge. So we went to the pancake manor for dinner. Yum.
We usually go halves in a Macadamia Madness pancake and in memory of my boarding school days I always get the whipped butter as well as ice cream and syrup.
I still had Pancake Remorse when I woke up this morning so I took Mutt and Pedometer off for a nice long 7000 step walk around UQ. I went up to the food court to satisfy myself by viewing the pain and suffering of the Med Students, who must still be doing exams. Saw a few ‘medical physiology’ texts in the hands of some children with tortured expressions. Sound familiar MM?
Meanwhile, I am looking forward to our next cheeseburger breakfast.
Now.
Back to my own pain and suffering.
Medical physiology was like an outbreak of acne compared to the bubonic plague that was Neuroanatomy. *shudder*
Macadmia Madness pancake, you say? Mmmm. Now I know what I’m ordering. Hurry up and get finished with your exams, please, Quokka… and all the best in them!
It will be all over as of midday Friday the 16th.
Feel free to reschedule our Pancake Feast any time from then.
I don’t think I have enough neurosns connecting at the moment to even spell neuroanatomy.
Oh and thanks.
I become an ill mannered brute when I’m a) studying b) realizing that there’s no chocolate in the house after I’ve done 7000 steps.
And to think I just walked past the sweet shop at UQ.
Doh!
Cleaning. Out. Cupboards…..
Must. Be. Strong….
Noooooooo!!!!
Pretend you’ve found Narnia and lock yourself in there.
Refuse to come out till someone’s made waffles and done the rest of it for you.
Good idea. But I went with the “curl up whimpering on the couch, under a fluffy blanket, until the pathos gets to everyone”. I have had a steady stream of beer nuts, cream biscuits, coffee, and the Cadbury Creme eggs I got out of the claw machine on Friday.
This is not good. How did they find where I hid those eggs?
I hope some chocolate finds you swiftly, Quokka.
Bad news on the creme egg front. There’s only one thing for it – return to the claw machine to replenish your supply.
I hope you have one of those weird blanket-with-sleeves things to curl up whimpering under, Catty. Heightens the pathos significantly.
I did stop at the claw machine today, but with a million kids in tow, I spent every gold coin in my purse but didn’t get anything. Small children are surprisingly bad at claw machines. Not that it mattered. The machine was full of troll dolls and kit kats today. No eggs. No delicious, creamy, fondant-filled eggs. No tantalising, smooth Cadbury Creme eggs….
If anyone wants me, I’ll be curled up whimpering on the couch.
When you said Troll Doll I had a vision of Little Lobes, trapped in the Claw Cage, surrounded by troll dolls.
Perhaps we’ve found the Wound that formed his basic nature.
That would mean Lobes grew up in Cairns?
Or a zoo.
Or a zoo in Cairns.
I wouldn’t mind seeing Lobes in a fluro green fright wig, but I wouldn’t want to be rubbing his head for good luck.
Madam, that isn’t a wig. He really does look like a clown. Fitting, really, seeing as he is a clown.
Rather like the one in that Stephen King novel that lives in the drains and eats little children.
*shudder*
Not “It”. I still get a frisson of terror every time I pass a storm water drain.
Me too.
However all this talk of clowns is making me crave a double bacon McMuffin. Which would involve leaving my air conditioned nest of revision papers.
McDonalds should deliver.
My brother was wandering drunk through Fortitude Valley one night. (actually, a lot of nights, but he was training to be a Telecom technician, so it was necessary). He passed by the back of a Macdonalds restaurant as they were unloading stuff from a semi. There was a conveyor belt running from the truck into the back door of the restaurant. On the conveyor belt were individual, paper wrapped hamburgers. He said it was surreal, watching the burgers sliding past, one at a time.
This was before the days of camera phones. Pity, as he could have put it on Youtube. And then hackers could have redirected the hits to a Porn site, like they did to poor Justin Beaver.
But I digress – my brother’s experience is proof enough that Maccas is capable of delivering, literally, to your door. Shall we start a petition?
Aunt Irma tends to disorganize me.
A revolution or some other activity with guns and grenades would be good, though.
Its 14C in my computer nook.
If you want me, I’ll be in the AC, under a pile of cats, trying to absorb wisdom via osmosis.
http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/and-now-the-jessica-watson-album-20100707-zzzh.html
Ugh.
Who on earth would buy THAT? I mean, apart from her mum?
Ladies… Still faffin I see, and more power to you, tho’ MM I’m with Stafford… a new story would be nice. (Demanding Bitch aren’t I)?
Quokka, it’s a dirty lie, there are no photo’s of you on my blog, they’re all at Havsy’s place. I still have the ones from our last brekky though.
Speaking of which, I should be allowed out in polite company again from about the 18th. Not sure if you lot qualify, but I’ll probably risk it. But if all goes according to schedule I will be out of commission again on the weekend of the 30th. So 18th or 25th would probably be best for me.
Catty, the mind boggles.
I was just relieved to see that she didn’t plan to sing her own tunes on the CD. And if they’re going to put a photo of her on the cover I hope they pick one where you can’t see her molars.
Mayhem, you’ve surfaced, good to see you back.
Since I’m the one who stuffed the rest of you around by changing the original date for Pancake Gluttony, I’m fine to work around either of those two dates.
Morgana, what works for you?
What’s on the Jess Watson CD? “Sailing”, obviously. Perhaps “Six Months in a Leaky Boat” ? “Orinoco Flow”?? The mind boggles.
It has been chilly, Quokka. Think Sara Lee and dress in layer over layer (but of polar fleece, not flaky, buttery pastry – mmm… pastry).
Umm, how does the 25th sound for pancakes? I might even have managed a new post by then…
The 25th is good for me.
We will probably need to book when we know numbers.
Let’s see.
The sailing CD.
Nup.
All I can think of is Abba.
‘Money money money’.
No fair! I want pancakes tooooo!
This seems to be my week for missing out. Not only can’t I get to the JB sesh in the city tonight, but it’s also my anniversary this weekend – and just like every other year, the Boss will fail to make even the most perfunctory of gestures.
Mayhem, I’m relying on you to take up the slack. You are now on double rations of both pancake and hose.
Oh, and I want photos of the pancakes, so I can live vicariously through your indulgence.
Don’t worry about hose photos, though. That’s taking it a bit too far.
Tell you what, Catty. So you don’t feel so left out, how about if I order what you would have ordered? (as long as it’s the Macadamia Madness pancakes, that is)
And Happy Anniversary – if you’d done a murder or two you’d be on parole by now.
Thanks, Madam. Double whipped butter on those pancakes, o.k?
Ladies, the 25th is good for me too. As it turns out, it’s The Brat’s birthday on the 18th anyway (who knew???) and I should possibly be available to celebrate on the (very unlikely) chance that he will not be working that day. Oooops, Chemo Brain kicked in early. Speaking of which, apart from tired I am currently feeling okay after round 1. We’ll see what tomorrow brings….
If there is any justice in the world, Mayhem, it will bring chocolate, vodka, and a LOT of naps.
Catty I think Mayhem’s little whoopsie moment there trumps your husband’s forgetfulness.
And Mayhem, I wouldn’t go blaming chemo yet, I forgot my own birthday this year.
Catty, the way to deal with this is to book the restaurant three weeks in advance, stick the reminder note on the fridge, program it into his phone/blackberry/computer and then of course you have children who can be bribed to remind him.
Waiting for a man to remember an anniversary is a futile exercise. You need to be annoyingly proactive.
Anyway, happy anniversary.
Now.
Who else is coming to this stodge fest?
Should we do some sort of round up?
Gosh that sounded unenthusiastic.
Mayhem will have to teach me where to find those smiles and hearts and stuff.
Torture him, Catty.
There.
That should cover it.
xox
Oh, I do Quokka. I do. But why save it for anniversaries? The Boss cops it at least once a month.
Whipped butter, torture… I’m getting confused.
Yes, we should do a round-up. I’ll pop over to Greybeard’s blog and let him know the revised date.
Thanks.
JB said that he was going to organize a burger gathering once his Tour is over – so we’ll just have to hope it doesn’t clash with that.
He said he’ll try for lunch as so many of us can’t do evenings.
Worst case scenario, we wind up overstuffed on a double cheeseburger food date.
Hehehe. Overstuffed double cheeseburger… do you want fries with that?
Hope the revision is going well, your thumbs hold up and the planets are all aligned.
Cheeseburger? Cheeseburger, you say? But I have no cheeseburger. Woe, oh woe is me! All I have to feast upon are these chocolate fudge brownies I just made.
So sad, so sad. Oh, the trials that beset us….
Mmm… chocolate fudge brownies. Save one for me, Catty?
Meh.
Aunt Irma, head cold, and I’m convinced I’ll be sitting this horror subject again. Oh well. After Friday at least I can forget about it.
Now.
Where did I leave that half finished toblerone last night?
Wow. I’ve never heard of a half finished toblerone. Not in this house, anyway. That’s as weird as a half finished packet of tim tams. Or a half empty bag of kettle chips.
You are going to have to try harder, Quokka.
Yes. Some things were meant to be consumed at one sitting. Like the aforementioned, and a bag of Lolly Gobble Bliss Bombs.
Mmm… Lolly Gobble Bliss Bombs.
You know, what we need here are some sponsers – I think Kraft make Toblerone, don’t they?
I haven’t seen lolly gobble bliss bombs for years.
The next best thing is that sugar and salt encrusted popcorn that they sell at the Redcliffe Jetty Markets.
IGA has Lolly Gobble Bliss Bombs. I had to drag the kidlets away from it during a school holiday shopping trip last week. Fortunately IGA was giving away free mini boxes of Milo cereal, and my children are easily distracted.
Catty, you rock.
Now – where would I find a Bertie Beetle?
Also at IGA.
In my young and single days, my flatmate and I would go clubbing. When we returned home, we’d eat Bertie Beetles until we puked. It helped reduce the impact of the following morning’s hangover.
My big brother used sausage and egg mcmuffins for the same purpose. But he drank more than I did.
I just drank tequila till I puked.
I wish I could time travel so I could go smack myself over the head for that and explain that One Day my youthful self would have to live inside Decrepit Self and she would not remember Youthful Self with any fondness.
If any of that makes sense you probably need a gin.
Ah, gin. The only thing left sitting on the table at the end of the cocktail party. Apart from vermouth.
This is how I developed a taste for martinis.
Oooh, oooh, oooh! Did you see Mayhem’s new avatar? Did you SEE? She’s all BLONDE! And GORGEOUS!
Fireman Sam will think it’s Christmas!
Way to go, Mayhem!
Yes, and I’m very envious of anyone who can go blonde without going orange. Looking good.
Um, is anyone else having trouble with gmail today?
Mine won’t compose mail and it keeps freezing.
Did you guys see Bob Hawke and Blanche on the 7.30 report last night?
The Bloke made me switch it off because it was more disturbing than Michael Jackson, looking at all that face work. It was when she spoke and there was the old lady’s gravelly ‘all out of oestrogen’ voice that he really started to shriek.
Gah.
Thankfully I was in the kitchen and missed that piece of classic television.
But I’m curious. Why were they on? Was it about how Pauline Hanson Lite… sorry, I mean Julia Gillard… kept patting Hawkie on the back like he needed burping? It looked like her latent mothering instincts were betraying her.
Blanche has written another book, so she was spruiking some dark secrets.
Kerry was going to ask them about the time/s when Bob contemplated suicide.
From the look on Bob’s face I think he was giving it serious thought there and then.
I think the only place you can get Bertie Beetles these days is at the Ekka – luckily, you’ll be able to stock up next month. Just take plenty of Vitamin C and Echinacea beforehand, and wear a surgical mask. Or possibly a gas mask. Maybe both.
I can’t believe Blanche has written another book… what is there left to say? One thing you can say for Bob, he’s still got a lovely thick head of hair.
I’m currently incubating some real treats for all the littlies at the Ekka next month.
I took it to Coles earlier today for a training run.
Kids will be dropping like flies come school time tomorrow.
I must be having a ‘brain closed for renovations’ day, Quokka. That made no sense.
If you’re at the Ekka, I can highly recommend the chocolate peanut fudge. It’s not as good as mine, but close.
I went to IGA and bought the kids some Bertie Beetles. They said the beetles taste just like the Combantrin squares I gave them last month. Ah, that’s the taste I remember! Nice to see they stuck with the original recipe.
I have the sniffles.
And I breathed heavily on all the children who scuttled past me when I was choosing between jubes and twisties in the junk food aisle.
http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/dog-shoots-man-in-buttom-in-new-zealand/comments-e6freon6-1225891262497
I can see this will get a special mention in the Darwin Awards.
Why choose? Both is as good an option as either.
And now, from Queensland, a nominee for 2010’s “stupidest lawsuit of the year”:
http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/australian-teacher-valissa-bauer-wants-860000-in-compensation-for-yelling-at-kids-at-school/story-e6freuy9-1225891241053?referrer=email&source=DT_email_nl&emcmp=DT&emchn=Newsletter&emlist=Member
My sympathies are with the dog, Quokka. He observed what his master was up to and wanted a piece of the action. Pig shooter… razorback – you can see how the confusion arose. Practically indistinguishable.
That shouting teacher is hilarious! Was it in her contract that she had to yell at those poor little blighters? Did she have some supervisor come around and say, “Nah, you’re not up to scratch I’m afraid, you’re going to have to scream MUCH louder to meet our guidelines.” Anyway, if you could damage your voice by shouting, Magic Man and Elf Boy would both be mute. Believe me, they are FAR from mute!
Morning Ladies,
Yeah it is…. ignore MM’s time stamp at the bottom of this comment!
Thanks for the compliments, DEEPEST apolz for not getting in and updating my blogs with pics. It’s been a little rough. Quokka, I CAN’T go Blonde without going orange…. The wig is the perfect answer.
Hopefully by the weekend I will be able to get in and do some home maintenance. Plenty to tell you all, just too fkn tired atm.
Hey Mayhem – awesome new do!
Hope all is going well and you’re staying positive. Of course you are – anyone with such fabulous hair is bound to be cheery.
Ditto from me, Mayhem.
Looking forward to our pancake day.
Moving on to our agenda of Falling Stars, did anyone see Mel’s latest rampage, going off about his mexican housekeeper and referring to them as ‘Wetbacks?’
I’ve been trying to tell a friend at another blog that he’s not one of ours, he’s one of theirs. Which is what I keep saying about Russell Crowe.
I’m having a hard time convincing the seppos that Australia doesn’t have a factory near Dubbo that produces obnoxious yobbos, express made for the silver screen.
I just typed a long, angry rant of my own on the subject of Tosser Mel and his skanky gold digger.
I had to delete it. It was not pleasant reading.
Here’s the summary:
Why can’t people just be nice to each other?
I don’t know. Ask Lobes. He has all the answers.
This is me signing off to do one last day of cramming.
Back tomorrow after the horror of the exam.
Save me a kipper, I’ll be home for breakfast.
They say fish is brain food. They also say brains are zombie food. I’m wondering why we can’t just cut out the middle man, and throw fish to the zombies?
It would save an awful lot of hassle, come the zombiepocalypse.
Big thumbs up for the exam, Quokka. Try not to get too nervous, it makes you sweaty. Sweat in exams is not good – it makes the secret notes written on your wrist go all blurry.
Mel is a seppo and they can keep him. However, the gold-digger has no-one but herself to blame – she should have known what she was getting into.
All the best, Quokka. I’ve got everything that I don’t need to sustain life crossed for you. You can do it! Yay! Go Quokka! *insert favourite inspirational saying here*
Thanks Ladies.