Giddy - Up

This blogging every day is harder than it looks, you know. Which I guess is why I haven't actually been doing it. [It's easier when you're battling a mental illness, and that is too high a price to pay for the second time.]

So this afternoon I've been doing some cleaning out of old junk I've had lying around for ages. Some of it is worth hanging on to, some of it isn't. Here are a couple of gems I thought could do with another moment in the sun.

(1) I must have ripped this from a magazine in the 80s - it's humorous, sure, but check out the price of a cup of coffee!


When I first stumbled across this amongst my souvenirs, I saw only the back of it and was somewhat puzzled as to why I would have treasured Molly's ins and outs (in any form).


(2) I used to work with a guy who was known to a few of us as Pony Boy because, if you can believe such a thing, he wore his hair in a ponytail. There were many aspects of Pony Boy's personality and habits that irritated me profoundly, but most annoying of all was the loud, slurpy, messy way he would eat at the desk right behind me. One day after a particularly long and virulent lunchtime rant on the subject to DJ Pups, I returned to work to find she had rendered my pain with great artistry and sensitivity:


Maybe I'll keep this one after all. If I put it on the fridge, it might put me off my food - and that could only be a good thing. It'd nice to be able to think fondly of Pony Boy after all these years.

Faux Trot

So DJ Pups flew over from Sydney for my birthday shindig this weekend. We were chatting away while we were getting ready for the part-ay. We were talking about the predilection of a friend of ours to always put her foot in it, and cause offence without meaning to.

DJ Pups said, "But god bless her; that could be any one of us. I mean, I know I'm always making faux pas."

What I meant to say: I hear you, sistah. Hallelujah and amen. I do the same thing all the time.

What I said: Exactly!

Kulchad

I was relaying to DJ Pups various bits of advice I'd had from New Girl re being a single girl out on the town.

Top of her pops? Wear make-up: men are stupid* and need all the help they can get in realising you are single and available.

"Gosh," said DJ Pups after she'd digested various bits and pieces. "It's like having your own Emma right on hand. You know, that film with Gwyneth Paltrow? Or, even, the book - by Jane Austen."



*Except you. Of course.

And we haven't even been to a Tony Robbins seminar!

DJ Pups and I would like you all to remember this: think positive! If negative thinking can be a self-fulfilling prophecy, then positive thinking can be too.

Certainty is not the exclusive domain of negative thinking.

THINK POSITIVE.

Oh yeah, it's been one of those weekends. Now we're painting henna tattoos on each other.

She works them hard for they money.

I rang DJ Pups to wish her a happy 40th. She had an art exhibition and drinks in Sydney to celebrate the happy event. I didn't even know DJ Pups was doing art and I shall be pressing her for the deets when I see her at Easter time.

Anyway, I liked her idea of an exhibition. The Burp's 40th is this weekend and I'm heading off down south to attend her celebration. When I told Pups this her immediate question was, "But, pet, who will look after the poor little pussy cats?" It's so nice to have someone around who is so completely simpatico when it comes to les chats.

I told her that I'd asked the kids next door - who are 10 and 12 - if they wanted to earn some pocket money by coming over and feeding the cats dinner on Saturday night and breakfast on Sunday morning. While the little blighters are willing, I have no idea what would constitute a reasonable amount of pocket money, bearing in mind that:

- I want them to be willing to take up future cat-sitting responsibilities
- I don't want to create unreasonable expectations in their greedy, prepubescent minds
- I don't want them to think I was too stingy and graffiti my wall in revenge.

DJ Pups admitted to being as stymied as I was re the inflation-recession-pocket money interface. She thought slinging them ten bucks each was reasonable. I don't know. I'm thinking fifteen; I can't afford to upset them - after all, they will have the key to my house.

The Fruit

DJ Pups has decided to visit for a couple of days over Easter.

-----------------------------------
From: DJ Pups@
Sent: Monday 16 March 2009, 9.03am
To: hazelblackberry@
Subject: Party!!

Hi haze,

I cannily didn’t keep any details from my booking, but I hope to get a confirmation email tomorrow.

I’m arriving on a Qantas flight at [time] on Friday 10 April – hopefully not too late for dinner? Then leaving at [time] on Sunday 12 April – that gives us all day Saturday and Sunday until afternoon – is that ok?

Let me know what to bring!!! (in addition to easter treats and wine and communion wafers)
talk soon!!!
djp

-----------------------------------

Communion wafers? I see she’s giving up atheism for Lent.

Have a good weekend, son. You too, Mr Walker.

I was passing a peaceful few minutes at the bus stop the other morning waiting for my bus, as is my way and my right, when a car load of hoons passed by. I was so deep in contemplation of the sunshiny morning and how awful it must be to be the person who empties out the bin where people leave their bags of dog poo, particularly during summer, that I wouldn't have noticed them except that they kindly beeped their car horn at me as they approached the bus stop.

This made me look around and as they shot past one of the young gentlemen - in the blur of vehicle and noise, the car seemed to be packed with them, but isn't it always the case? - leant out the window and yelled, "Ahoo ablar agargle gargle brffxak zhor."

At least, this is what it sounded like to me. Not unlike the noise Lux Interior makes just before he launches into 'She Said'.

So I wondered if they just wanted to ablar agargle at me or if they had some more complicated message that got distorted in the time-space continuum. Or maybe they were just morons. That could explain a lot.

It did remind me, though, of the time I went camping on the NSW south coast with my friend DJ Pups. The camping ground we chose was chockers, but we managed to find a reasonable space of lawn to pitch our tent. Then we headed out to get some food. As we were leaving, we noticed a rather forlorn couple hunched over on the kerb, weighed down with backpacks and camping gear. They looked foreign. You know. Gorgeous.

It seemed such a shame that they should be squeezed into so small a space when they could enjoy some of our grass so DJ Pups wound down her window and yelled over to them, "Hey, do you wanna put your tent over here?" Well, on occasion DJ Pups has a somewhat Strine accent and her offer came out as the rather unintelligible, "Djawannapuchatennovaeah?" This verbal concoction combined with an unsteady grasp of English and the sight of the two of us leering at them (come on, we were just being friendly!) probably translated as an offer of a fun foursome complete with coathangers, glass shards and masking tape. So it was no surprise when they both scrambled backwards in horror, holding out their hands as if warding off great evil. "Nooooo!"

Pups shrugged. "Suit yourself." Translation: "Soochaself." Translation: "You'll find it less painful if you don't fight it."

I detected a touch of frost from our fellow campers that weekend. Which, when you think about it, was probably preferable to anyone showing any interest.

Patently

Not to be outdone, DJ Pups and I have come up with an invention of our own: a sanitary napkin that holds an average bladder-full* of urine. It saves a gal the embarrassment of buying incontinence pads, is as slim-line as any other product on the market, can be used as a regular pad with fewer changes required, and eases the squeeze in those times when a regular toilet break just isn't possible.

What powers this revolutionary product is a space-age, ultra-absorbent, blue gel core known as "Eliminent". With Eliminent safely stashed in your mongrellies you need never fear any embarrassing leakages or squirming ever again.

The ad campaign will feature a spunky young girl trapped in a meeting, desperate for a comfort stop. Thanks to Eliminent, she can relax those pelvic floor muscles and get back to the business at hand. At the end of the ad, we see Ms Spunkster shaking the hand of some old geezer she's just dudded big-time in a business deal. As she turns to wink at the camera the voice over - a woman's deep-but-cheeky voice, much like DJ Pups' - will ask, "Does he know she just pissed her pants?"

(*Maximum capacity of average bladder yet to be determined.)

Mission Statement

This weekend my friends Mona Lisa & DJ Pups are coming to visit. Grumpy says, "I bet Pups is disappointed we're not living in Sorrento."

When we left Canberra, Pups had a grand vision for our new life in Perth. We would move to Sorrento and raise three children - most likely named Troy, Shane and Justine. They would be beautiful and athletic (ie, adopted) and all be very active in the local surf lifesaving club. Justine would play hockey and the boys would be rising stars in the WAFL. To complete the picture, Grumpy would have to transform into a boozy captain of industry and I'd need to get friendly with a bottle of bleach, a packet of Marlboro Lights and some sort of white wine with my morning tea.

It was a beautiful dream. I am only sorry we weren't worthy of it.