with mustard

I drove home tonight through an incredibly thick sea fog. It was quite impressive, really. What sort of fog rolls in at 5pm? Don’t fogs usually come early in the morning or late at night? I think it must be a Portent. Of Doom, of course. I don’t think there are any other kinds of Portents. Perhaps next there will be a plague of frogs. Or boils. Or frogs with boils. Although I may not see them, due to the fog. Am I going around in circles? It’s the fog. I was lucky to make it home at all.

And here at home, shrouded in foggy gloom, there was a Little Dog. Actually he’s quite a Big Little Dog now. He weights 58kg, which makes him the Biggest Little Dog we’ve ever grown. And he’s doing it in fits and starts, like a teenage boy who suddenly grows out of all his clothes and eats all the Weetbix. Would you like to see him?

Well, he’s somewhere in there. Actually, he’s #5 in line. Did you guess him? And can you see why we still call him a Little Dog? This is at his breeders’ house, where we leave him to gallivant around the city/country/globe. In the lineup, his mother is #1 and his sister is next to him at #4. That puppy is no relation, but is Super Cute and when we came to pick up our dog, we almost took her home instead. Because: SUPER CUTE. But has a lot of attitude, as you might expect from one so little who can hold her own in that crowd.

What else? I woke up the other morning distressed about an eBay purchase gone wrong, and lay there fretting about what I was going to say in a sternly worded email and whether it was worth reversing the Paypal or just letting the money go. Then I woke up a little bit more and realised I had dreamt the whole thing. In my view, it was as bad as dreaming about work, then having to get up and go and do the work you were dreaming about (which has also happened, clearly). For the record, all of my eBay purchases are going swimmingly, thanks for asking.

The cats are fine and because it is colder than a witch’s tit here in Melbourne, they have taken to sleeping on the bed. With us. And because they are cats, they don’t know how to share. In fact I can probably blame my stressful eBay dream on them, because when I woke up from that I was distorted into a kind of pretzel shape due to cats pressed against me in uncomfortable positions. In addition, I was freezing because most of my top half was out from under the duvet; somehow when one of my cats curls up on the bed, he magically locks all of the bedding around him in place. There is no way you are dragging any part of that duvet out from under that cat; you’d just better hope you had enough before he got there. And you NEVER DO.

Photo: Wednesday

Happy Australia Day!
Wednesday is a very strange day to have a public holiday. NOT that I’m complaining.

Here is a caterpillar. I know, right? Is it not big? Is it not brown? Does it not have big pretend-yellow eyes on its bum? I don’t know whether it’s poisonous to touch, but I still feel all righserq3409tulr


I never know what to do after a long absence. Sidle back into the room and hope you don’t notice? Give long and bewildering explanations? I think I’ll just launch right into a stream-of-consciousness rant. Then you’ll feel right at home.

The little dog is fine, and has been de-knackered. Yep, it was time for him to lose his bollocks. He was sad. He also had to wear a giant cone which caused much hilarity. Not so much for him, but for us. I actually did wear the cone, and it’s quite echoey in there. Also you can’t reach your face, like to scratch it or put chocolate in your piehole, which makes you feel like you have tiny tyrannosaurus rex arms. You also can’t chew on the stitches in your testicles, which is not usually a problem for me but was something which the little dog was very intent on doing.

I got an iPhone for work. My boss has been trying to press an iPhone on me for at least a year now, so that I will have all-hours access to email. For this exact reason, I have dodged an iPhone for that length of time. However I was not able to get out of the latest round of upgrades, so I have an iPhone. I love it. Apart from the work emails, which HOLY GOD STOP EMAILING ME. I email people 2 hours ahead and 4 hours behind me (not the same people, clearly) (TIIIME TRAVEL) so it never stops. But apart from that, it’s all good. Anyway, I had the phone for less than a week and Mr T opened up our bedroom curtains, which overlook the back yard. And stood there. “What?” I said, and saw… my phone lying on the concrete. THE HELL. It was fine, a few scuffed corners not withstanding (a nice buff with a nail buffer thing sorted that out) but obviously I went in search of the little dog. Who I found further down the yard, on the lawn, chewing on the lovely wool felt case I had bought for the phone. BAD DOG. Although I do like the way he just discards the phone on the way down, intent on the nice snuggly case. All of this to say: I have a new phone and a bad dog with no bollocks.

Apart from that, nothing else is happening. Apart from this ad here, which is currently playing at the rate of twice per ad break during the stellar movie Bad Santa:

Now I like this song, so I hum tunelessly along when it is on. And Mr T and I have taken to having discussions about what would happen if we owned the product being advertised; to wit, a web enabled printer that you can send photos to directly. “Oh, darling, someone is sending us a photograph! How lovely! What is it?…. why, it’s ANOTHER PHOTO of someone’s genitalia. I believe this is from David. How thoughtful!” I don’t know about your house, but in ours, any ink and photo paper would be sadly wasted on blurry close-ups of our hilarious friends’ nether regions. Perhaps we’re not really the target market.


OK, so first of all: Let me get my World Cup gloating out of the way early, before my team dies in the arse. MY TEAM IS TOTALLY BEATING YOUR TEAM. How great are the Kiwis going? Aside from the dubious distinction of sending a team called the All Whites to South Africa (I don’t know HOW many times I have had to explain the reasoning behind the name these past two weeks) (the rugby team is the All Blacks, hence the soccer team is the All Whites, the basketball team are the Tall Blacks &c &c to infinity) (and beyond) we are somehow SURVIVING. And Australia is filled with National Angst at the performance of the Socceroos (clearly I don’t come from a place of strength regarding team names, but SRSLY) and are openly supporting the Kiwis as their second team. I don’t need to tell you that the only time a Kiwi will support the Aussies as their second team would be if the Aussies were playing actual card-carrying terrorists who bite the heads off kittens, or maybe the French, so this sudden spirit of Oceania-love has come as quite a surprise to me. Anyway, we are riding the wave of World Cup love in the office. My boss, who is also a Kiwi, has found whatever extension you dial to turn all the desk phones in the office into loudspeakers (like a mini PA system). Today he turned it on and played the iPhone vuvuzela app down the line for a good minute. I don’t know if you’ve tried to work with a loud horn blaring through your phone speaker, so I’ll save you some time: you can’t. Just relax to the soothing sounds. How’s the serenity. (Movie quote to appease the Australians… please don’t kill me! We’re Oceania, remember!)

Speaking of killing me, our work day was also interrupted by a gunman. Yes! Melbourne had a gunman! Now we can truly hold our heads high when compared with other cities around the world. Our gunman absconded into the depths of Richmond, parts of which were duly shut down. Guess which suburb I work in? If it’s not the vuvuzelas, it’s the police helicopters circling maddeningly for a good three hours. Oh, and let’s not forget my boss added to the racket by turning the phone speakers back on and playing iPhone gunshots down the line. Please note the supportive and encouraging environment in which I work. Keeping us on our toes apparently.

the return!

OH YES I LIIIIVE! O. Hai. Yes, I have been back since Sunday. Yes, it is Thursday. But unfortunately for your good selves (and even more unfortunately for me) I was felled, FELLED I tell you, by gastro not 12 hours after I returned triumphant to Melbourne. No, not swine flu. Nothing so important to the government. Just run of the mill, regular old debilitating gastroenteritis. The last few days have been a bit of a blur. Nobody wants to hear the details of gastro (the pain! the whimpering! the BUCKET!) so I will spare you. The worst part though, was the first night, where I was up every half an hour and my actions blended into some sort of ghastly dream sequence and I would wake from my sweaty doze convinced this was the last time. It’s the last time! Thank god! My dream said so! Let me tell you, it was NEVER the last time. NEVER. Days later, I thought to ask Mr. T where he was during this time; turns out he was sleeping on the couch. Under a towel. Yes, a towel. He would not approach me nor the spare blankets during this time and I DON’T BLAME HIM. Anyway, I feel much better now (yes, it’s Thursday and I have lost an entire week) but as a result I have basically no memories of my week away, wiped out as they currently are by The Horror. Give me time to get actually well and I’ll post some photos up. OF THE TRIP. I have no photos of the last four days and you should thank me.

And I did actually get tested for swine flu (well I went to the doctor and he stuck a thermometer in my ear) and I am 100% swine-free. Which I am glad about, because I sat next to a very nice English couple on my connecting flight home from Singapore and I would hate to ruin their holiday. So. What have you been up to while I’ve been gone?

winter of our discontent

Well not that I’m discontented in any way, but it IS winter. OMG is it winter. I went up the road this afternoon and the wind was BITTER. I would have been even colder, except I was wearing my awesome green boiled wool jacket. (I don’t know what that means; I just like to say “boiled wool”. I don’t think any of my other clothes have been boiled, but I couldn’t swear to it. I mean, I haven’t boiled them MYSELF.)

I am trying to take more photos again – you know, now that the light is failing and it is bitterly cold. Timing is everything people! And I DO NOT HAS IT. Well, it is YOU who have to suffer through poorly-lit photos, so stop encouraging me. Jeez.

Here is Mr. T at the Anzac day football match (no, not THAT football match, the other one). They were handing out free ponchos at the gate. Ah, but we’re undercover! we crowed. First row of the covered stands… clearly we will not need your poncho! Well, no, not if the rain played fair. Instead, it swirled around and hit us from the BACK. The first five rows of undercover seating were all sporting their ponchos double-quick. Did I mention winter? Welcome! We have been expecting you!

And… awwwww! Here is my poor brave dog, sporting the latest in canine fashion. Yes it is purple. Light purple. With paw prints on it. Mr T was devastated when he bought him home from the vet. “It isn’t even BLUE! Or black!” he whimpered. To the dog: “Quick, act more manly! Roll over and show your gigantic testicles!” I wish this sort of sentence was a one-off in our household, but sadly EVERYONE shows me their gigantic testicles. I’m sort of inured to them at this point.


My god, it has been one of THOSE weeks and it is only Tuesday. Isn’t it? I think it’s still Tuesday. It’s like the space-time continuum has stretched endlessly. One point this morning at work I thought, “It’s only 10.30am on Tuesday? How can this BE?” It felt like one million years had passed and that I could feel every one of those years. Oh and I forgot – also last night this laptop went to do its online backup, froze, and gave me the Blue Screen of Death. OH YES I LOVE THIS. But unbeknownst to me, Mr. T has somehow fixed that this afternoon. I am down some sort of Emotional Roller Coaster-slash-Rabbit Hole. You know how some people create drama in their personal lives for the fun of it? OH MY GOD THAT WOULD KILL ME DEAD. I’m not designed for tension. I am designed, I think, to be some sort of genteel English upper-class person, on a lounger with a G&T on a lush green lawn out the back of a country house. I wonder why this life, which I am clearly so suited for, has not materialised around me yet? Hmmm.

Hey, do you have a giant glass canister of snack-sized Kit Kats on your kitchen counter? No, me neither, anymore. They did not last NEARLY as long as you might think.


So when I told Mr. T about my dream (aka harangued him about his selfish behaviour) he laughed his head off and accused me of stopping him from following his dreams. Which were, quite literally, MY dreams, but whatever. And he looked all shifty about the $24 grand and won’t tell me where it is. The thing is, the note in the dream actually named the bank, but I CAN’T REMEMBER. Oh the irony.

Other than that, my car has been having odd electrical problems for a few weeks. Occasionally the electric windows wouldn’t work, and then once it started raining (which it hasn’t done for months), I discovered that when the windows wouldn’t work, the wipers didn’t work either. I had to turn the engine off and then on again to get everything to work, which is a bit difficult when, say, driving down the freeway. I meant to book it in this week but then this morning, backing into my parking space at work, I noticed the lack of brake lights reflecting off the concrete wall behind me. Oh. Great. Obviously I took the car down to be serviced today (after sitting in my parking building turning my car on and off, on and off, on and off until finally the electrics caught and held…) and when told the year and make of my car, the technician said, “oh yeah. They do that sometimes. It’s the ignition switch.” THANK YOU HERE IS TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS. I used to love my car but it is rapidly tipping away from Benign Mode Of Transportation towards Money Pit.

Oh here it is, funnily enough, on rainy Saturday. However I draw your attention to the Ikea roller blind in the window above it. Does it look sort of… aerated… to you? Like, for example, a little grey weasel has been CHOMPING on it? Even though he has toys and a brother to chomp on instead? THEY DO IT TO TORMENT ME.


Yesterday Mr. T pissed me off, so I went to bed annoyed with him. He left the house at 6.30am this morning and woke me up by mistake, which made me angry again (and he’d left early to volunteer for bushfire cleanup at Kinglake, which makes me HORRIBLE as well as ANGRY). Anyway, I went back to sleep and had this very real dream in which I found a note telling me he’d left me to go back to New Zealand to follow his dream of becoming a professional surfer. I was INFURIATED. Where the hell did this surfing thing come from when he hasn’t been on a surfboard in 15 years? How could he leave me to deal with the dog and the cats and the MORTGAGE while he pisses off and does what he wants? Eventually I woke up at some point and realised it was a dream, but it didn’t matter because I was SO ANNOYED at his STUPIDITY. In my DREAM. I even knew that in several hours this would be funny, but NOT RIGHT NOW OMG I AM SO ANGRY.

And now it is several hours later and yes, it is funny. Now. Just. I still plan to yell at him about it though. And also ask some serious questions about the mysterious $24,000 mentioned in the note (which he was planning to live off, you know, while surfing). This number seems strangely specific, so WHERE IS THIS DREAM MONEY I MUST KNOW.


This web stuff is tiring. The last time I really poked around with the back-end of the internet (NASTY) was about 2003, and it turns out a LOT has changed since then. Who knew? Anyway, the blog has moved to WordPress (oh god let the blog have moved to WordPress) and hopefully you can see it and continue to ruminate on my words of wisdom. Or, you know, just ruminate. I’m not too concerned either way.

The one thing I’m really concerned about is the site feed. I THINK I have migrated it to the new blog (I guess I’ll find out when I publish this) but if I haven’t, the new feed is http://www.siximpossiblethings.net/feed. Although how will you know, because you won’t see this? Halp! Stuck in endless feedback loop! I don’t think I’m cut out for this anymore. Here, have a cat picture.

Doing new stuff makes our brains hurt too. Our tiny, tiny brains.