Adam Goodes, I am not a racist!

I was just minding my own business yesterday, whipping up a yummy dinner to feed the returning golfer - he's always fanging for food after a round, and I had the radio on, so I could pretend to be getting an aerobic workout flinging my knife armed arms about in saddo dance moves, when a discussion about Adam Goodes began.

I wasn't sure who he was but that became clear very quickly. Yeh he is the footballer who doesn't like being heckled and was named Australian of the Year, and now has made an announcement that he takes offence to every taunt from every paying customer and that it doesn't matter WHAT is being said, because he reckons it's all racist, and because he has said so, then it is and so it had better stop.

Well I reckon this sounds pretty nuts. There is no end to the racist put downs people can sprout, and I am not gonna go through 'em, but if someone yells out that he is a dickhead, then that's not racist, even if he has given a warning that that's how he's gonna take it. That's just their opinion, and surely they are entitled to it. What if someone was to yell, 'That was a shit kick you tall drink of water!' Not nice but not racist, even if he says he perceives it to be.

Going to the footie is not for the weak. People yell out all sorts of shit. I have been know to do a bit of yelling myself in times gone. I can't recall yelling out anything about a player's colour or ethnicity, but I have yelled plenty if they had been in the news for abusing their partner, or if they were forever involved in cheating play, and I might have in my younger years even yelled about someone being a big fat stinker. Yeh I don't get out much anymore for obvious reasons.

So poor old Adam has decided to perceive any taunt as a racial slur. This is ridiculous! It's a lame sort of blackmail in a PC crazy world, where just because he says he feels racially insulted the person speaking is a racist.

It's a bit like someone deciding to be a bullying victim who says that anytime someone looks at them that they feel bullied. Just because they say it doesn't make it so.

And really it just doesn't do anyone any favours, cos calling someone a douche-bag is just not the same as calling them the N word.

The radio fella agreed that anyone who vented their spleen on Goodes, regardless of what they said, in fact even if they said nothing and only BOOed, then they were being racist cos that was what the all powerful Adam had decreed.

I reckon the radio jock was being a dickhead, I do hope he's not black cos he might take that the wrong way.

More on Reality Tellie.

Yep Reality Tellie is like watching ourselves fry.

Master Chef is DONE, and whilst I was not at all invested in the outcome, I have to admit that I thought Georgia was a bit hard done by. What beggars belief is the disparity between winners and losers.

Billie and Georgia.

There was soo little in it, but Billie walks away with $250000 and a whole bucket load of other stuff and Georgia gets a perfunctory $20000 and bugger all. Yeh she might be able to make a name for herself but that is gonna take hard work and some luck.

I reckon competitions in the real world are more fairly decided and the winnings are more reasonably distributed. On reality tellie it's all or bugger all.


I just couldn't face putting his face on here.

I might be the only person in Oz who has not ever watched 'The Bachelor', and so I say this without the smallest shred of first hand knowledge, but it seems that the winner, and boy do I ever use that term loosely, well she gets the boy. And the others well they get to have their faces in our faces for a while and maybe then they get to do a cheese commercial or MC local supermarket promos. In this instance I reckon the winners are not the ones getting the sanctimonious lying piece of poo who gets to put them through their paces like they were dancing fillies performing for a circus, no the winners are the ones lucky enough to escape unscathed.

Yeh I just don't know what incentives can be offered for normal women to opt to put themselves through this inspection. I just had a quick look at their bios online and how wonderful it must be to be able to sum up a woman in 2 lines!

So I am not gonna watch it again this year.

Ahhhh

I am enjoying 'Dancing with the Stars', even though I don't know who half of them are. It goes for a hideous eternity on a sunday night but if you are cheeky and record it, you can watch it in fast forward without all the bullshit in less than an hour, and I do like watching them dance. The 'winnings' are distributed from the off, with some of the money from the voters' calls going to the charities of choice and so the disparity between winners and losers is not so great.

2 more cooking type shows have started this week and to be honest I am pretty cooked out. This is not to say that I will not get involved, just not yet.


What reality tellie do you watch and which shows get right up under your fingernails like a bit of Chinese water torture?

Wierd Sunday

I was up at a sparrow's fart today cos I fancies going off to the local markets that a girl friend of mine organises. Hi ya Nik.  https://www.facebook.com/yrlocalmarkets?fref=nf

They are usually held at the Turf Club but they were shunted outta there and rather than cancel it they relocated to the Arts Centre. Nik has worked every day this week measuring and working out where to put everyone, It is a very big job and I wanted to pop in to see the fruits of her labour.

Now the markets are up and running at 6am. I mean really, who is up at that hour any day, let alone on a Sunday? So I was only up and sorted by 7. I looked out the back anf there was this whalloper boat parked up on the beach. I thought it looked like a very pretty boat, and as the young bloke jumped off it carrying a big white plastic bag of stuff and herding a dog, I felt sorry that he'd be a bit early for a fish and chips breakfast.

Boaties often pull up and head to the village for a six-pack and some snacks.

But then I noticed that he didn't take time to tie his boat up so I figured he was just there to dump some crap. That's a long way to go to throw some shit away but who am I to judge?

The tide was going out so I was pretty sure that the boat wasn't gonna float away.

I looked out into the park and saw 3 blokes standing sort far apart but not far apart if you know what I mean...well why should you know what I mean, I am not sure if I know what I mean.

The markets were lovely. Soo much better than at the Turf Club. I wonder if it's possible to move 'em to the Arts Centre permanently. There was a jovial community feel and it was cool to see different stalls that I clearly miss at the old place. I had a little coffee date with Bob and a good poke around and then was back at home at about 9ish.

Well bugger me - the boat was still there well and truly grounded on the sand. This was most unexpected.

I called the police while we waited for our coffee.

We did the back and forward back and forward dance around and finally Christian from the Water Police discovered that the boat had in deed been stolen from somewhere near upper Coomera. I didn't know there was even water there.

While we waited for confirmation of the theft, Christian and I discussed whether or not I should tie the boat up as the tide was coming in and if it floated free it would very likely do damage to people's pontoons or boats etc.

He suggested that it might not be wise cos if there was any damage to the boat as a result of it being tied up by an amateur, the owners could sue me....Just for being helpful! How have we come to this shitful situation?

Anyway as soon as it was certain it had been stolen, he told me to keep well clear of it in case they could get some finger prints, and now I am on look out, armed with a camera and a direct phone number, in case the thief comes back. Christian is on his way.

So not my ordinary old Sunday!

I do wonder who in the hell steals a boat from the suburbs and drives it down to another suburb and parks it up and then buggers off with a big white bag of stuff and a dog? It just doesn't sound like fun to me, but then I haven't spent too much time stealing boats.

If it was my boat I reckon I would be offering a reward to the civic minded individual who bothered to report it and track it down and look after it for me, but given the current litigious nature of people, perhaps it is more likely that I will find myself in trouble. I do hope not.

Expectations.

Sometimes, when delusions blur with reality, I see myself as a young woman running gracefully, Bo Derek style along the beach to a musical crescendo that climaxes as I dive smoothly into the waves.

Of course this was never my reality. I have spent a lot of time at the beach, face planted into the sand, boobs popping out of too small togs, and sandwedgies - not the same as sandwiches I can tell you! - though a sandwich would be more comfortable up your gunoo than the other.

I have been thinner but never has anyone accused me of being elegant.

When I was about 18 during another eternity when the parentals were not speaking and the old woman was off overseas somewhere and my lovely Dad needed a 'date' for his men's club's Ladies' Night, I got all gussied up for him to make him proud.

He had given me a handful of cash and told me to get myself something that was good for a formal / black-tie event.

I was a cashed up skinny big titted arrangement, so that should have been easy. I knew what was expected but still bought a pair of velvet flairs and a velvet bomber blouse thing that I really liked - but that I have no recollection of ever wearing again. I plastered on so much makeup that I no longer recognised myself, and had my hair done at the salon....ooo very posh.

Dad, bless him, was not the least bit disappointed or embarrassed as he presented me to his goggle-eyed friends, even as they wink wink nod nodded to each other as they circulated the rumour that I was a prozzie, not the daughter, who they all still thought of a child. And still Dad  was not shitty.

We ate and chattered and drank flash wines and then there was the dancing.

I don't reckon anyone was left in any doubt that I was in fact Ted's daughter after that. We managed to maintain a degree of grace until we didn't. When we buggered up a step, or I flew my arm out and wacked some expensive older woman in the girdle, we both feel about laughing. We weren't embarrassed and it didn't make us feel we should give in to the 'elf and safety police and vacate the floor.

I am lucky that I inherited from my Dad, my disregard for other's opinions about who I am or what I look like or what I do.

And now, older and dozens of kilos heavier, I still don't give too much of a shit. Yeh I would like to be thinner, but even if I was I still wouldn't look like everyone else and the weight hasn't impacted on the way I think. Age may well be allowing a more 'don't give a fuck attitude' which is liberating so I still fling myself about wildly and sometimes end up in a pile of ungainly limbs.

I watch these celebrities and royals all spanxed up and rigid, saying what is expected and behaving with decorum and I feel a little claustrophobic, as I imagine myself looking for a door and a handie big enough to take my jumbo bra and blister making shoes.


I really enjoy stories about Kate and Wills, but here I reckon they are both wondering what force wind is gonna be needed before she looses the hat.

Do you do as you're told?
How far do you follow along the road of social expectations?

Travel tips for Nutters

There is a competition being run by Virgin Australia and I am gonna share this entry with 'em.

It's all very well to gather tips about traveling with kids or old people, or determining what is best to wear, or what should be packed into you carry-on bag, or what airports are best for stop-overs, and of course Seat Guru will give you all the comparative info you need about seat sizes and plane configurations. All of this info is easily found and useful for 'normal' folk.

But what about those of us, who are other than normal?

Now there are many variations of 'normal' and I can't speak for them all, so here's my advice for people who do not travel well cos they go into panic attack mode - definitely different to flight mode, as soon as the fella in front slides their seat back, and I will include a little aside for migraine sufferers just for good measure.

If you have a fear of every other sod on the plane using up your air, then you need to plan well in advance.

Get your GP, who no doubt already knows most of your quirks, to fill in the airline medical form. Just a little note from your doctor I don't think is gonna cut it. Mine is a MEDIF form for Virgin Atlantic, but I have presented it to other airlines and it seems to be similarly effective. I am pretty sure you can download the forms or your travel agent will be able to help.

When you book your flights I reckon it's easier to do it with an agent cos they can see your letter and then they can call the Seating God and even if there is a policy of not pre-booking seats, usually it is possible cos let's face it, you are nutty, and no-one wants an 'episode' on board a short or long haul flight.

The aisle seats are the only ones to go for - an aisle exit row seat is the best even if you have to pay a few extra bucks for it....root around behind the couch cushions and find some coins cos it is definitely worth it. They will ask you if you are able to work the escape door and of course you are, cos you might be nuts, but that doesn't mean your arms don't work.

Get to the airport early and check in in person even though you will have checked in on line, cos sometimes changes happen and you could have been bumped out of your seat - yes this has happened to me, and then a little melt down is in order to ensure you get what you had already sorted.

Once you have your boarding pass you are pretty much guaranteed to be sitting where you think you are sitting, so you can plonk yourself down for a cuppa and a muffin and begin to enjoy your holiday.

Line up early to board, so you can get on and stow your handies- if you are in the exit row everything will need to go up up up, but don't sit down, wait til you inside passengers get there and let 'em in, cos there is no point sitting in that confined space any longer than necessary.

Not being very tall I often have to stare down giants who have the shits up cos I am sitting where there is more room. Just look 'em in the eye with a 'go to buggery' look on your face.

Listen to the spiel about how to work the door, and try hard to commandeer the arm rest...this is very dependant upon the pushie shovie battle with you neighbour.

Then just settle in.

If it's a short domestic hop, read your kindle or have a little nap.

If it's long haul, take your shoes off, down some Phenergan ( good idea to test drive this at home before your first flight in case it leaves you a drooling wide-awake mess)  and see if sleep is possible. An eye mask and some gel ear plugs really do help.

The nutso repercussion for me on a long haul flight, regardless or whether I am in Economy or Business class, ( I have no First class experience - although I would not say, 'No' to giving it a burl )
is that all too often I wind up with a vomity migraine. It is best to carry what ever meds you need to counter the migraine with you, especially if your regime is Aspirin based cos planes seem to be only permitted to carry Panadol. What they will be able to help you out with is rubber gloves filled with ice and these little wonders wrapped in some paper towel placed behind your neck could bring relief.

If unfortunately the vomits cannot be avoided, take a sick bag and head to the loos. There is no room for the usual driving of the big porcelain bus, so you will need to sit on the loo and pop the bag in the sink and hurl away. There's not a lot of room, but there is more here than in your usual economy seat, so claustrophobic panic attacks should not be a problem. It's great when you only have to deal with one thing at a time.

It's not wise to hop into the champers if you have a migraine, but I haven't ever tried having so many that I fall into a stupor, and if you are on a 14 hour flight and if you think you have time to sleep it off, then maybe this is worth a go.

I reckon the number one bit of advice to nutso travellers is to be very very pleasant to the crew, cos you just don't know when you will need their help and I have seen people be wildly rude who are then surprised when there is not much help offered.

The crew are your own personal little angels - treat 'em well.

I have had panic attacks and migraines on planes more times than I care to remember and the staff have always just been wonderful. There's not much they can do but they do it well.

I like to read about travel advice outlining how to pack for a week by rolling shit together so it can fit into a thimble and where to go and what to do and who to see when you get there, but I reckon there might be space in the dim corners of travel guides for those of us who are in need of a little help in dealing with the demons.

Of course we are all different and just cos some of this works some of the time for me, doesn't mean it will work ever for anyone else. Good luck

Ranty Pants Tuesday

There are some things that we, living in the great land of OZ, take for granted. We know that when we flip the switch by some miracle, light there be, and we know almost certainly that if you are out and about and need to pee, Maccas loos are clean and no-one will care whether or not you are a valued customer, feel free to pee away. We know that regardless of which party is democratically elected, people will whinge about 'em and we accept that almost universally people believe they could teach a year 9 Citizenship class for an hour on a Friday afternoon without loss of teeth or flying broken furniture.

We accept that when we turn on the hot water that it will stream on out scorching hands unless the whole system has been adjusted by the ol' 'elf and safety gnomes. Well that is, unless you live in the Big House.

Sunday is slide into the bath and it's most important cos it's scrape the legs day and then enjoy the clean sheets night. Sure, the tub is filled on other days, but Sunday soaking is an institution, far more reliable than most of the shite that slips out of realestate agents' mouths.

Last Sunday, I ran the bath and then phaffed around making beds and putting away ironing and all that usual crap, and when there was about enough water, in I dove, book in hand, ready for my 3 hour marathon. Except that the water was not hot, it wasn't even tepid! Shit!! This was not good. The bubbles were popping and the razor was sharp, the kindle was charged and Steve was doing whatever it is he does while I float. ( Yeh I don't float and he makes Sunday Roast - I say this for full disclosure.)

The tub was not even half full and too cold to allow a long stay. Bugger!! Legs were scraped and I scampered out. Bugger Bugger Bugger!! I do enjoy my Sunday ritual.

But I shouldn't be whinging too loudly. Steve had exactly NO water, except COLD. He did a bit of a wibble wobble at the machine, but by Monday morning it was clear that it was fucked...That's the technical term I used. When the techie arrived he was more specific but it was just as fucked.

The thing is some whiz bang heat transfer eco greenie thing. It's Government greenie approved and it came with a 5 year warranty, when it was bought and installed, almost exactly to the day 6 years ago.

Steve is sanguine about this. The warranty needs to run out sometime, and of course he is right. But how greenie, eco, sustainable, Ozone saving is a machine that shits itself in such short order? The old style electric things, or the gas ones, that work by some sort of non-greenie magic, well they seem to hang in there for decades. This is a lot of kit to hit the bin after only 6 years don't you think?

It is possible that the importers are a little embarrassed cos a replacement machine has been ordered at the wholesale cost to them - yeh right, was that an agent speaking? of about HALF of what ours cost 6 years ago, or maybe they are just all being made in China now instead of Germany. I will be long gone before I can figure out how any of this works.

The machine which is coming from Melbourne or maybe Brisvegas was ordered yesterday and will arrive tomorrow - no delivery charge or at least they had the good grace to incorporate it into the rest of the bill. Not bad huh? 2 days for a walloper thing to get here.

I sold a little toy for Zig on ebay and the winner lives in Tassie. Yeh the little thing weighed in at less than  200gms and apart from the idiot at the Post Office not being able to advise about the best wrapping for it, I selected a bag and paid for the postage of nearly 8 dollars, and then the goober proudly told me it would be delivered in, - wait for it, remember that my hot water thing that takes 2 burly blokes to lift will be delivered in 2 days, only 48 little hours, - yeh it takes 4 fucking days for the toy to make it to Tassie. No bloody wonder that Oz Post is going broke. They need to up the service.

So as I was visiting Bell and Zig yesterday and as we had no hot water here and my hair needed some attention, I packed up the potions and showered at her place. I had some new stuff for hair thickening, some Loreal stuff, that looked very high tech, like some 2 part chemical splodge. I followed the directions and you know what? Bugger me if one of the squirter things was clogged up and so the 2 part complex was only one -part and as I plopped it on my hair, I was just hoping that the other bit that was stuck in the bottle wasn't the bit that stopped my hair falling out at the roots. I hate it when things don't work, even simple things like this.

I got a fork tine to it this morning and fixed it.

Shame that a fork or a screwie wasn't enough to fix the hot water thing.

Liebster Award

Well Bugger Me!! no not literally ta very much, but Michelle from Pinky Poinker has nominated me for an award!

Well yeh it's a made up sort of thing that allows Bloggers to go on about themselves like they are famous but it has spread all over the world in a more pleasant way than an Esso Oil spill.

So here goes.

 

1. What makes you happy? 

A table full of food all perfectly separated in pretty bowls, and no-one double dipping with their delightfully diseased forks or spoons and certainly not their fingers. Of course I make an exception for .... yep ME. Everyone else can just keep outta my food please.

2. Why did you start blogging? 
I have plastic boxes of festering mouldy diaries which chronicle all manner of banal life crap, which I am carefully - well not really, keeping for my Girl, and when I figured out at least rudimentarily how to blog, I just thought it would be a cleaner legacy for her.

3. What is best thing anyone has ever said about your blog?
I love it when people just laugh out loud. That's the best response. If someone actually told a tale of weeing themselves, that would be the top of my list, as long as I wasn't sitting on a tram next to them when it happened.

4. What is one piece of advice you would offer or one saying you live by? 

I haven't the least bit of an idea about advice for other people. Maybe cut your toenails so you don't wear holes in your shoes...me I wear thongs every day so it doesn't matter.

5. What are your top three bucket list items?

Well first I need to find a bucket cos they are very handy, so a big red shiny metal bucket. And I'd like to be able to keep a pair of 'good' scissors just for sewing, cos I am bad at grabbing the first thing to hand and if necessary McGyvering a solution to just about anything, so knives can become shovels and scissors can become can openers. And lastly I would like to see my girl settled and happy.

6. What is your ultimate guilty pleasure? 
I don't believe in guilt.

7. What is one product or service you cannot live without?
Getting my hair done. I spent years slopping shit onto my hair in my kitchen, dripping dye all over the floor and my favourite clothes, and then I found out just how bad it really looked, in comparison to having it done by someone who actually knows what they are doing. Hairdressers - just can't live without em. Ta Ann-Brit

8. What is your favorite Australian travel destination? 

Melbourne for glamour and getting toshed up

Sydney for speed - not the drugs and food and ferry rides.

Brisvegas cos it will always be home.

And 'The best beach in the world' Narrowneck on the Goldie

 

Yeh I am greedy about Oz.

9. What two countries make you the happiest to visit? 

The UK feels like home and the food in Italy is worth the plane ride.

10. What is your dream destination? 

New York in the winter. I went in the summer and my feet blew up like balloons and I had to buy a pair of sneakers from a shop in the Trump Towers! They did not match ANY of the clothes I had taken and whilst I might have been comfy, I looked like a bag lady on holiday.

 

I would like to nominate these people for a Liebster Award.

Tamara from www.tamzentemple.com.au

Kirsten from www.kirstenandco.com
Summer from www.summerlandish.com
Liz from www.lawsofgravity.blogspot.com.au
Lana from www.sharpestpencil.com.au
Kez from www.awsomelyunprepared.com
Daniela from www.midlifemeanderings.com
Dan from www.whatdandidnext.com