at the sound of the beep

We bought a new microwave a few weeks ago, a purchase I begrudged dearly. Who wants to spend money on a useless appliance like a microwave? When there are iPods and cameras and boating equipment which could be bought with that money instead? Sad to say, I was the one insisting on the microwave purchase. Our old microwave, although only about 6 years old, had not aged well. I could deal with the sticking door button, the mysterious stains and the never-used preset buttons. But I had to take a stand when the inside started rusting. A few flakes of rust here and there? Mmmm, metallic. But the entire bottom of the microwave turning an attractive shade of streaky red? Not so much.

The new microwave is slightly bigger than the old one, meaning it does not quite fit into its alloted corner in my tiny 80s style kitchen (remember peach as a decorating choice? I do!) But this is more than compensated for by the new lack of iron in our diets. Also, it is more powerful and I can nuke the everloving CRAP out of food. Mr. A put some instant porridge in there, unaware of the power contained within its silver skin … two minutes later he was looking at scorched earth in a bowl. This was funny to everybody except Mr. A, who gloomily watched the Brown Dog eat his breakfast. Although it STILL annoys me – when DVD players are $79, how on earth can a microwaves be over three hundred bucks? Surely they’re the same thing, but the microwave just has a few more “lasers” (do the Dr. Evil air quotes … DO IT) and microwaves can’t rewind. To the dismay of Mr. A, no doubt.

Clocking In

Current Procrastination Events:
– Writing a club newsletter, which I have known about for approximately 4 months, and was due out approximately 3 months ago
– Walking any one of a number of dogs (and that number would currently be three, God help me)
– Ironing vast quantities of clothes, all of which have been screwed up as they dried, then danced on by psychotic ninja monkeys
– Attending the gym, wherefore to inflict pain upon my arms and avoid the Sweaters (those who Sweat, not jumper windcheater pullover type clothing things)
– Burning three DVDs for work, because WE DO NOT HAVE A DVD PLAYER AT WORK (security reasons, dontcha know. Of course, we were all given 256MB memory sticks, because memory sticks are ALL ABOUT THE SECURITY. (Actually, we’ve got those because there’s no policy on those things yet. Go us!))
– Finalising and booking my February holiday plane tickets, timelines on which are becoming increasingly tight
– Taking towels out of the washing machine and putting them into the dryer, so that in two hours when I try to have a shower, I will have a towel (I am going to be really angry in two hours)

Current Events:
– Whee! Sitting on my arse on the sofa! Watching Malcolm in the Middle and typing blog entries! I rock!

I have returned from a BEAUTIFUL place ..

Oh my God! You’ll never believe what happened to me! There were all these aliens and a huge spaceship shaped like a saucer, no, like a lightbulb, no, like a piglet! And I was beamed inside the piglet, no, sucked inside the microwave, no, fell down a HUGE HOLE SHAPED LIKE THE LIME IN A BOTTLE OF CORONA! And there were all these little people there, and they were jockeys, no, they were grandmas, no, they were APOCALYPTIC STUNT RIDERS! And then we all raced around a track made of tiny marshmellow santas! And I have only now JUST THIS MINUTE returned to this human world! And of course the first thing I did was write this. Um. And here I am!

Actually, I’ve just been really busy.
But don’t you prefer the first version???

So we have two houseguests at the moment, filling our tiny detached abode to capacity. Our first guest is our friend Mr. A, who is marking time until he returns to New Zealand in a couple of weeks. Amongst many other ‘gifts’, we now have the contents of his pantry.

Mr. A: “I don’t know what the fuck this is … a can of cannelloni beans.”
Me: “Cannellini beans.”
Mr. A: “Huh. What do they do?”
Me: “The fuck I know.”
Mr. A: “Cool.”

Our second guest is a dog, of the breed of the Black Dog. So now we have Black Dog, Brown Dog, and Dainty Black Dog (for she is a girl and very little.) Well, she’s not really that little … to people used to normal dogs, she’s probably quite large. Her people have moved to Melbourne and are looking for a dog-friendly house, so for the moment she is fascinating our cat and entertaining our dogs. In fact, she has spent many hours playing with the Brown Dog until both their heads are encrusted with spit. If YOU come round, she’ll play with you too!

I Spy

Hanging around waiting for a meeting to start today, the conversation turned to glasses and contact lenses. One girl started moaning about her “awful, awful” eyesight – turns out she is shortsighted, with a score of -4 in one eye. I think my mouth may have dropped open in disbelief. I would KILL for eyes that good. Well, I would seriously maim, anyway; always assuming I could see my target, as my eyes are very much worse than that. To illustrate this point, I told them of a night about a year ago.

One night about a year ago, I rose from my bed to go to the toilet. Actually it was probably early morning, as there was enough light to see my way down the hall to the bathroom, even without my contact lenses in. Halfway down the hall there was some washing I must have dropped from the night before; a sock or something, fallen as I had carried the clean clothes back up to the bedroom. As I walked past it, I bent down and picked it up, bringing it up to my face so I could see what it was.

It was not a sock.
It was not any item of clothing at all.
It was a dead bird.
A Dead Bird.
My cat must have killed a dove in the night and brought it into the house and left it in the hall.
And I was holding it in my hand.
Right up close to my face.

Needless to say, I reflexively threw the bird away from me. I had no idea where it went since I am HALF BLIND, as has already been abundantly proven. I made it into the bathroom where I indulged in some compulsive hand washing and a few of those shivery things (which my mum calls “a grey goose flying over your grave” and I call “anything except for an explanation which references my future grave site”). I shot back to bed to alert Mr. T to the bird, the dead bird, there is a bird in the house! Bird! He didnt care. Damn him and his 20/20 vision.


My cat has a cold. It is hysterical. Not that sick animals are in any way funny (don’t email me, animal liberationists. My dogs run free, free in the streets! And are not poisoned by evil vaccinations! And collars are the work of the devil!) (note to normal people: all animals are vaccinated, controlled and collared. Except the cat, because he chokes himself and gets one front foot stuck in the collar and comes hopping to us in distress, yowling pathetically.) Anyway, where was I? Oh, the Cat. Yes, he seems to have a cold. He will be sleeping calmly on the pile of polarfleece in the lounge (one day I will sew that polarfleece into dog bed covers … perhaps the day after tomorrow, or more likely when the world freezes over in the style of The Day After Tomorrow) when he will wake himselve up with a giant sneeze that sounds like paper ripping. This sneeze throws him backwards, and he lies there bewildered on his back, with huge dark eyes and the most bemused expression on his face. Then he sneezes again, then again. Then he looks at us snickering at him, and sneezes again. About this time, the Brown Dog comes running over with concern barely concealed delight, and takes this opportunity to thoroughly wash the Cat’s head. Exhausted, the Cat cannot fight as he usually does, and is forced to submit to the slobbery declaration of love. Then he sneezes again. Brown Dog begins cleaning again … his work is never done.

They wept like anything to see

  • Reading:
    A giant pile of Cuisine magazines, the hoard of a friend returning to
    New Zealand. They make me feel hungry, but too inadequate to cook.
  • Listening:
    Some back catalogue: Dimitri from Paris.
  • Watching:
    Co-workers and their fake tan mishaps in aid of the Spring Racing Carnival. Youll laugh! You’ll cry! You’ll go all streaky and orange!
  • Eating:
    Dumplings at yum cha.
  • Liking:
    Planning my February travel. So little time! So little money! So don’t care!
  • Pondering:
    If the dog turns his head away from the cat, does that mean the dog becomes invisible and hence safe from any potential attack? All signs point to YES.