six impossible things

Kate has just written about sloths which bought back memories for me. Not of real sloths; I’ve never seen one outside a zoo. But we had a stuffed sloth in my university post-grad department (due to space constraints I was with the Zoology students, which rocked). Also deer skeletons and hagfish and fruit flies, but it was the sloth we loved. We moved him round and dressed him up on our every whim.

Note the walkman… well it WAS the 90s.

That’s the rare Afro Deer in front, but I can’t remember what the back skeleton was. Something with tusks? I was just IN the Zoology department, I didn’t actually DO any.

Funnily enough, the guy reading the Cosmo is the only one of us with a PhD. I am standing at the back, demonstrating my usual lack of concern for the comfort of others.

I’m just not good at remembering things at the moment. Such as the fact I left an open-ended question here, then just pissed off and left it. I’m sure you’re used to it, though.

I bought “all astonishment”, and YES I did consider “excessively diverted” but I actually thought nobody else would be able to spell it. It is available though, and I was all astonishment. Anyway, the companion piece to “all astonishment” is, as I see it, “all politeness”. I’m not, though, and I’m not rude enough either. Because I really think that would work with a really snarky subject. And not someone who would neglect it, leaving it to wither and die on barren ground. For example.

It’s a long weekend here. Yay the Queen. So far, to honour her, I have listed some things on eBay and vaguely attempted to sew some darts into a dress front. Also I have made two large batches of soup (leek & potato and pumpkin, and can I say pumpkin soup really sings if you use chicken consomme instead of chicken stock; it goes all velvety and unctuous) and washed untold loads of washing and found out that the heating works in my house, for lo, it all came on at once and suddenly I was mad hot and sweating and wondering what the hell was going on. The heating. That is what is going on. This is similar to the part when they (and ‘they’ refers to the building supervisors or overlords or whoever) turned the hot water off from 8am to 3pm last Monday, and I only remembered this at 7.58am when I had yet to shuffle my way into the shower. Quickest shower ever. Bugger the water restrictions, if they just made all the water cold that would solve all their showering problems. And I wouldn’t have to trip over a bucket ever time I shampoo my hair.

Well the dog whisperererer was quite interesting. The Black Dog does not mind what people do to him – doesn’t react when needles are injected, the occasional whimper about something, that’s about it. This makes him a very irritating dog to be sick, by the way, as you can’t tell what’s hurting him. Anyway, the dog whisperer came and told us how tense he was, how nothing was getting through, flowing down. Alright then. The Black Dog lay there passively, panting agreeably, as she touched him on the head (there’s no pressure involved, so she wasn’t squeezing or anything). He didn’t mind this, although he was a bit confused as to why someone was sitting so close to him and yet not patting him. She talked to him and ‘replied’ to him (“yes I know, I’ll do that bit soon… he’s telling me about his radial nerve, does that mean anything to you?” Um, no, and I don’t think he knows what a radial nerve is.) At one point he started pushing her with his nose, his signal to pat him and pat him NOW DAMMIT, but she ‘misinterpreted’ and told him it wouldn’t hurt much longer. Heh. Anyway, all good so far. As she moved down his back, I was interested by his behaviour – he moved from passive, to bored, to restless, but then he turned away from her and stretched his head as far away as possible. This is Black Dog speak for I REALLY DON’T LIKE THIS (because he shows no pain, and is a very polite dog, this is really strong language for him). But by the time she got down to his shoulders (his front legs are his major problem area), he was actively straining to get away, whining, and eventually giving a constant, steady bark. So I must concede that she was indeed doing something. Talking to him? I don’t think so. (And he didn’t give us away! Good dog!) But Mr. T feels like he could walk better in the next few days, and so I’m happy to keep going. He got whispered again this morning, so I’ll go and see how he’s doing tonight. It does seem to be more Alternative Hippy Therapy, and less Crazy Mind Reading, which is the ratio I was hoping for. And to be frank, this is the last stop for the Black Dog. If he can’t walk on his own now, there’s nothing more that can be done for him. I hope she didn’t tell him that in their Telepathic Talk.

Enough! What else has been happening? I had visitors over from New Zealand this weekend, as it’s their Queens Birthday this weekend (it’s ours next weekend, and yes it’s the same Queen; she is Shrodingers Queen, obviously). So there was much shopping and wine and winery visits. That means today there is much laundry and cleaning and sorting. I really need this long weekend – come! Come to me!

I bought a new domain name (well it came free with hosting space I had already bought, so there you go). Don’t go there, as I haven’t even directed it anywhere, but it is:
allastonishment.com
(And .net, since I went for the full set this time).
Now you should be able to name the book, not to mention the quote. So I won’t even ask. BUT: can you think of the ‘companion’ domain name, in the same format (all…), that I almost bought instead? The only thing that stopped me is that I’m not, whereas I think I can do something with all astonishment. I don’t know what, yet. I’ll tell you when I decide.

It seems I am really bad at this blogging thing. I don’t even really have any excuses. Well, I was flat out busy last week (busy at work, busy at home, even busier at work, somewhere to be every night — although this seems like a very normal situation for some people, it stresses me out because I am LAZY) and this weekend I meant to accomplish lots of things, only now it’s Sunday morning and sunny and I have a cup of tea and I am listening to songs from lacroix (I like ‘Math and Physics Club’, although I feel compelled to point out it should be ‘MathS and Physics Club’ and also, who has clubs for those things? moving on) and I am waiting for some washing to finish washing and I can’t remember what all those things were, those things that were so important. This always happens to me. And then I get to Monday and I am angry I haven’t done half of what I meant to do. But who wants to write a list for their weekend?

The Black Dog is not doing so well now the weather is a bit colder – he has stiffened back up and he can’t bring one of his paws down properly. (If you think of how an animal (or a person I guess) walks, a front leg comes forward and then the foot extends and they stand on the foot – Black Dog can’t extend the foot easily, so he lands and walks with the foot tucked in on itself, so he walks on his knuckles. Or to prevent this he swings his leg out sideways so his foot can stay extended.) (Originally this paragraph was one long sentence, but I ran out of breath so I went back and put some full stops in for your comfort.) But considering he couldn’t stand up at all a few months ago, he is still OK. He is seeing a dog whisperer on Thursday, only this person seems like a cross between a dog whisperer and a Crazy Lady. She’s recommended by the Black Dog’s physiotherapist, with a caveat on the Nuttiness. I have no problems with animal whisperers in general – it makes sense that some people would have a greater rapport with animals than others. But this lady apparently has actual conversations with the dog, who tells her what he wants and where he is hurting and what his problems are. Mr. T and I are a bit worried about what the Black Dog will tell her about us. The current favourite is “WANT MORE BISCUITS”. Or perhaps “WANT MORE BONES”. He has a pretty one-track mind. Anyway, she saw him briefly yesterday at physio (shut up) and they had a brief conversation. Well, Black Dog stared intently at the biscuit in his physiotherapist’s hand, and paid no attention whatsoever to the dog whisperer as she ‘talked’ with him.
She said, “He’s saying there’s something wrong with his ear. Does he have ear infections?”
“… No. In fact, never in his life has he ever had an ear infection.”
“Well, it’s definitely something about his ears. Maybe his inner ear?”
(This is when I had to bite down so as not to point out that it was obvious to all that the dog was having trouble walking, he has balance problems, so pointing out an inner ear problem was hardly rocket science.)
Maybe I will not attend the dog whisperer session. I’m sure I will just be flagged as ‘unhelpful’ and the dog will no doubt ‘say’ something mean about me. “EATS FOOD IN FRONT OF ME AND DOES NOT SHARE”. Yeah thanks dog, way to dob me in.

Ah, eBay. Allowing me to buy things while sitting on my arse. I’ve mentioned this before, I think. Hey, at least I don’t know my credit card number off by heart. That would be going too far.

Here’s a meme that’s old and yet I somehow want to do it. Answer the questions using pictures you have found on Google Image search. Apparently you’re supposed to use the first picture but if I didn’t like that one, I didn’t. I’m a rebel and I’ll never ever be any good.

Your age on your next birthday:

Don’t ask me, ask Google.

Your favorite colour:

Again, this is ‘green’ to Google. I’m just doing what I’m told here.

Your middle name:

I had to go a fair way in to find an image that wasn’t porn. Nice.

The last meal you ate:

Delicious.

Your bad habit:

Apathetic laziness? I’m so there. Or I would be, if I could be bothered.

Your favourite fruit or vegetable:

Not square, though. Although I’d give it a go.

Your favourite animal:

Not from Google. Sorry. And don’t tell the other dog.

The town you live in:

Beautiful one day, perfect the next. Oh wait, that’s Queensland. My bad.

The name of your pet:

OMG! Black Dog is exposed!

Your SO or best friend’s nickname:

Apparently.

Your crush’s name:

Although not really. It just seemed like the thing to do. I object to the word ‘crush’. It all seems a bit Dolly magazine, circa 1988.

Your occupation:

Again, not really, but that’s what came up on the search and hey, maybe I should wear a name badge. And get a haircut like Eddie Munster.

Your birth city:

They told me I was born in a hospital but I see no traces of one.

Your favourite song:

You give me that funny feeling in my tummy.

I have internet back, sort of, and I would like to show you a linky path:

From Erin* to Mia* to THIS. And I cleaned dog wee off the carpet this morning and I’m only wearing one sock, but I think I know what I’m talking about, and you can trust me when I say THIS IS THE INTERNET, RIGHT HERE. This is what it’s FOR.

Hi. My internet is broken. Namely, the laptop won’t see the wireless network. Actually, it can see all the neighbours’ wireless networks; just not mine. It is wilful and stubborn and I must break its spirit.

Also I am watching South Park and Satan is dressed as Britney Spears. It strikes me that this is an excellent costume party idea. Usually I spike my hair up with soap and go as Something About Mary.

… Clearly, the internet has gotten by without me for a week just fine.

Another weekend over already? I don’t understand. Why does this keep happening?

I went down the Great Ocean Road on Saturday and went on the Otways Fly. Not a giant insect created by science; instead, a network of catwalks miles above the forest so you can see the view and not disturb the ecosystem. Although really, all you do is look down and shit yourself at how high up you are. I was not alone. Actually I didn’t mind the flywalk; what I did mind was climbing the turret up to the really high bit, and only because it swayed alarmingly in the wind. But the weather was really nice and I got some good photos, and hey, I’m not dead. I lost my sunglasses though.

Also, on one of the information signs was details about the animals and birdlife you might see; birds, spiders, ghost shrimp. You think I am joking but I am not. Our favourite, though, was the carnivorous Otway Black Snail. Awesome name. And guess what we saw???

AIIIEEEE!!! He is lunging for my jugular!
Flee! Flee for your lives!

Oh god, I don’t want to admit how long we stood by the side of the path and made jokes regarding killer snails. You may have some idea of my capacity to entertain myself endlessly; multiply that by a strong desire to kill time before climbing onto an incredibly high deathtrap and you have some idea of the state I worked myself into.

And just in case you think I am misrepresenting the height of this: I stood on one catwalk and made the others go to the (slightly lower, but otherwise exactly the same) observation deck opposite me. Then I leaned over the edge as far as I could and took this photo. I think this was when I lost my sunglasses, because I sure as shit wasn’t paying any attention to anything but my own person falling over the edge.

There’s a snail waiting for my body at the bottom, I know it.

I had to buy a new hairdryer yesterday. While trying to disguise the ratty nature of my haircut, I contorted into a spectacularly uncomfortable position and dropped my old hairdryer into the toilet. Did you know a hairdryer will not explode if dropped into a toilet, but instead continue to work, merrily blowing bubbles and spattering toilet water all over the bathroom floor? It is true. Also scary. I pulled the plug out of the wall by the cord, despite being in mortal fear of being electrocuted, because really, what else could I do? I then threw the hairdryer into the shower. Rats 1, Jac 0.

I have returned. I always say that, I think. But I have! I went to the Central Coast for a wedding. There I reunited with lots of other people who live in Melbourne, most of whom I hadn’t seen in over a year, because you know Point Cook is a very long way from Prahran. (Hint: it isn’t. It’s just that no one wants to go to Point Cook.) Anyway, apart from taking the piss out of those who live in Point Cook (and keep in mind I come from New Zealand so had absolutely zero legs to stand on, although that could have been the alcohol) I found the Central Coast to be awesome. Not that I knew where I was going or what I was doing. I flew into Newcastle, went to pick up the rental car, and when the rental car guy asked me where I was going I just looked at him blankly. He seemed reluctant to hand over the keys until I dredged up a snippet from my memory: “It’s something to do with a bird.” (Hint: Budgewoi. This is totally birdlike!)

We filled the car to capacity with people and luggage (not mine, I took carry-on only, and smuggled on a metal nail file I AM SO HARD CORE oh god it was a mistake I swear) and took off. Mr. T was driving (and here you sense a large part of my recent blogging absences) and two people we had never met were in the back, Austin Powers was navigating on TomTom (“groovy driving, yeah!”) and we made it to our destination within our 100km rental car daily limit. Then I went swimming in the ocean and got pummelled by some great waves, and only almost drowned once. Swimmer of the year! Also my ear filled up with water and I could not shake it out all weekend, causing me great anxiety for the flight back. (I am shit at both foreshadowing and remembering what I said five minutes ago, so I will confirm this caused no problems and I did not have to scream with sinus pain on the landing. Score!)

I haven’t downloaded the weekend’s photos yet, but I feel the need for a beachy one. Here’s a fish.

[Babe-the-pig voice]
La La LAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!