Oh Goddess, the Horror!
25 December, 2010

As my mother said – reaching for a glass of red wine with a barely perceptible tremor of her hand – “I’ve never known a Christmas quite like it.”

Soon after the gift unwrapping, Magic Man, lurching around the lounge room in an excess of festive spirit, smashed my table lamp. The hand-blown glass table lamp I had travelled all the way to the wilds of darkest Springwood to purchase from IKEA. That table lamp.

“Oh well,” I told myself, trying to be philospophical as I swept the floor for stray shards, “Some people will lose loved ones these holidays. It’s only a THING.”

As it happens, only a very minor thing. Little did I know, the real horror was just around the corner.

First, a little background. Magic Man decided, back in October, that he dearly wanted a couple of scorpions for Christmas. His doting Grandmother was happy to oblige, and together they purchased a little glass tank in anticipation of the happy event. Regrettably, the Creepy Critters pet store in our town went out of business just before the school holidays – taking with it both the scorpions and, even more crucial, the live food they needed.

Plan B. Magic Man decided that a siamese fighting fish could live in the little glass tank just as happily and Miss Fish arrived on Christmas Eve.

For a brief, golden time, both Magic Man and Miss Fish were as happy as the proverbial weasels.

Early in the afternoon on Christmas Day just as everyone was relaxing, full of prawns and goodwill to all men, Elf Boy wandered into Magic Man’s room. We’ll never know what actually happened next, but allegedly Miss Fish became startled at the sight of Grandpa’s dog and took a frantic, suicidal leap into a nearby bucket of Lego. How the glass lid that covered about 85% of the tank’s surface became dislodged is still a mystery. Grandpa’s dog may strike fear into the hearts of fish, but he lacks opposable thumbs.

A frantic search through 50,000 bits of Lego ensued. Magic Man wailed “Siamese fighting fish can last out of water for up to five minutes. We’ve got to find her!”. But, even after we’d turned his whole room upside down, we couldn’t find so much as a scale of the late and much lamented Miss Fish.

Some say Grandpa’s declared-dangerous dog swallowed her whole. He’s got form, having terminated a couple of cats before his death-spree was curtailed.

I think Miss Fish was a magical Christmas fish, sent to torment me within a hairs-breadth of my ever precarious sanity. Smashed lamps, kamikaze fish and Aunt Irma, too.  Merry freaking Christmas!

Advertisements

Happy Thingy
18 December, 2009

Got over Christmas at about the age of 9, when it became my job to be woken by the little kids pre-dawn. Armed with only stockings, I then had to keep them quiet until Mum and Dad rose at their leisure. Spent my teens and twenties Grinching it up, big time. But now I’ve given birth to Magic Man and Elf Boy, I’m feeling… well, not exactly stuffed with Christmas Spirit (hold the sage, it burns!) but… fractionally festive.

If you hive off the rampant consumerism, forget all about Merry Old Cola Beverage Marketing Man and the fact that Down Under, December and January are months best spent in a polar bear enclosure –  rather than frolicking in the UV radiation turning your own back-yard into an all-you-can-eat buffet, minus the food safety standards – then it’s not such a bad little festival. Poor kid is born to a single mum, grows up and instead of setting fire to things, smoking all the hashish he can steal and hot-wiring the neighbours’ donkey carts chooses instead to teach us to be nice to people and peaceful. Fair enough – I’ve heard worse messages (for the purposes of this blog we’ll pretend the Book of Revelations never happened, ‘kay?).

Be safe and nice, people. And I hope 2010 is terrific, for you and yours.

PMT + 32 C + 85% Hum + CC + NM = ?
16 December, 2009

What do you get when you cross pre-menstrual tension with searing heat, sticky humidity, the usual Christmas chaos and a New Moon?

I don’t know what to call it, but I can give you two bits of info:

  1. It’s no more pleasant to experience than to suffer from
  2. It ain’t pretty.

If there’s a cure, other than moving to Svarlbad and not leaving  a forwarding address, please advise

Christmas Poem
10 December, 2009

*

Christmas is coming

so let us flee

the artificial jollity.

Avoid all presents,

tinsels’ drape and

Spurn the mobius sticky tape

Don’t try the Plaza;

Santa’s there

Stuck – pervy sweat on plastic chair.

The freeze-dried carols,

strain on faces,

shopping carts sudden death races.

The beach is worse

‘cause sand and heat

can’t make up for the par-cooked meat

of tourists lying

on their towels.

Let’s bury some – you bring the trowels.