Little Stalky Walks Home From Work - Ninja Style!

Ok, so walking home from work when it's nearly dark isn't the best idea. Shortly you'll see a pattern forming where I try to avoid paying $10 for a taxi and subsequently get myself into some sort of adventure. Ahem. For the record, walking home from work it wasn't properly dark, it definitely wasn't late and I don't live in what would be considered a dangerous part of the world. Except for the sharks of course but I've yet to meet a shark on my walks to and from work. Any hoo, walking home from work I had come prepared having stolen Mystical Roo's fluorescent jacket (I do have my own clothes but often his are more practical) and also his torch. Heading up the hill, not listening to my i-pod, making sure I was super alert, I kept away from the bushes, away from parked cars and walked towards oncoming traffic. Then began what can only be described as Ninja tactics. Swish the torch to the left, to the right. All safe, no crazies lurking in the bushes. Swish the torch up ahead. All safe, no crazies up front. Swing around super fast and swish the torch behind me. All safe, no crazies creeping up from the rear! This is the routine I generally keep up for most of my journey. As well as being aware of my surroundings I think I thought my Ninja moves would certainly scare anyone off. Lets take into account that at this point I'm walking through a nice residential area where families are having dinner and people are coming home from work. In retrospect whilst avoiding the crazies I successfully managed to look like a crazy myself. Still, I continued my torch swishing, checking, swishing, checking, whilst walking swiftly and confidently. Eyeing everyone suspiciously, including the school kids, I heard fast approaching footsteps from a nearby driveway. Ninja Stalky took over and I was immediately on guard, holding my torch defensively, prepared to shine a beam of light into whoever is daring to invade my personal space! The poor man jogging away from his house looked more scared than I did and promptly sprinted away from the mad fluorescent jacket wearing, torch wielding woman. You shouldn't go walking in the dark. You never know when you might run into me!

Coat Hangers - Are They Evil?

Yes. Yes they are. And El Kenco will agree with me on this one. Coat hangers, as useful as they may be, were possibly put on the planet to push people over the edge. It's like when you try to pull something out of your wardrobe and the simplest task turns into a battle of wills between you and the coat hanger of doom! And then they gang up on you, clinging to each other so that when you do finally manage to wrench your item of clothing free, about five coat hangers fly out with it. You just know that they're going for the face. Or possibly the throat! Then you try and put those attacking coat hangers back on the rack but no, the ranks have been closed and you can't get the buggers to stay put. Finally, with your garment free from the clutches of demonic coat hangers, bent on taking over the world and with angry mobs of coat hangers returned to the wardrobe, they start to rise up, dropping clothes from every angle. Every bit of clothing you pick up and try to rehang is subsequently flung from the coat hanger, taking other items of clothing with it. So now you have a pile. A pile of trousers, skirts and jumpers, looking all sad and dejected under a pile of angry coat hangers. All this and you're already late, have had an argument with your hairbrush and had to skip breakfast. Yes, coat hangers are evil.

I'm NOT a spinster, I'm Stalky

It's sometimes difficult being an unmarried twenty-something, especially when it comes to "declaring your marital status". Life seems to consist of much form filling-in and inevitably you have to tick the box that tells the world whether you're single, married, widowed or divorced. Ummm, how about none of the above? Ok, so normally I get to tick the defacto box (I still have no idea what that means), or the cohabiting box but NOT when I took a trip to Tobago. Oh no. We were actually in Tobago for El Kenco's (aka little sis) wedding. After a ten hour flight from England, after a day or so's rest from a 24 hour flight from Australia, with jet lag all over the shot, on arriving in Tobago we were asked to fill in a little card with details of our country of origin etc. This threw me anyway because as an English Stalky living in Australia, I had no idea what to put. But seeing those little boxes asking about my marital status, well that just sent me into a spin. I believe there were three options. 1) Married. 2) Widowed. 3) Spinster. What? What?! I'm neither married nor widowed but have been courting Mystical Roo for over six years now. How does this make me a spinster?! Oh the horror of it all. I grudgingly had to tick that dirty little box. I had to officially declare myself a spinster. Well I'm setting the record straight. I'm not a spinster. I'm a Little Stalky. And I have a Mystical Roo. And he has me.

Mystical Roo Knows Best

Mums always know best. This is something I've come to realise is very true. Mystical Roos always know best. This is something I have also (grudgingly) realised is very true.  With the weather looking dodgy this morning I went rooting through Mystical Roo's wardrobe to find a waterproof jacket. I figure with the jacket and umbrella I'll be fine. It isn't raining that hard anyway. Mystical Roo says no Stalky, get a taxi Stalky, you'll get wet Stalky. Stalky is stubborn and doesn't want to waste $10 on a taxi. Stalky is wrong. When I first stepped out the door, things seemed OK; my hair was tucked away in the hood, I was zipped up and ready to go. Sure the sea was churning and foaming, spitting out salty spray with more exuberance than usual. And yes, the sky was black and the trees were seriously swaying in the wind. Still, I thought, it's only a twenty minute walk to work. I'd only gone about five minutes when the wind started to howl and my umbrella tried to make a break for freedom (much like my washing machine). I wrestled with my umbrella and managed to get the thing back under control just before the heavens opened and poured it's contents on my head. My head, in fact, was OK. My whole upper half was OK. But my trousers started to absorb the rainwater faster than Spongebob Squarepants. I got soaked so fast that I didn't even have time to consider a taxi. Figuring I couldn't get any wetter than I already was, I soldiered on, arriving at work with puddles in my shoes. I left a trail of water all the way from the doors, through the office and out to the tea room. I had to admit defeat and phone Mystical Roo to a) admit I was wrong and b) ask him to bring me a change of clothes! Lesson learned. I shall never doubt the wisdom of Mystical Roo again!

It's all Gravy!

Well, Mystical Roo and I decided to make ourselves a roast dinner last night as we haven't had roast dinner in many months, what with it feeling too hot and all. I put myself in charge of Yorkshire puddings, pre-beef preparation and the all important gravy. Growing up with mum's homemade gravy, I like to make my own, even though it'll never be quite as good as mums. Ever! Any hoo, so gravy is just like a bit of the meat juice, a bit of tomato puree (or paste as it is here), flour, veggie water and wine! Normally I make perfectly edible gravy, but not yesterday. Yesterday was bad gravy. Maybe the fact that the ratio of wine in Stalky to wine in the gravy was heavily unbalanced had something to do with the thick brown muck that was yesterday trying to parade around as gravy. My God, this stuff was so thick we couldn't even sieve it. We couldn't even sieve it! That's not gravy. That's a brand new food group. It's a good job Mystical Roo was there to keep things sane, or we would never have had any dinner last night. In the end, the thing masquerading as gravy was chucked back into the pot, doused in water and wine and then finally served. Not our best roast dinner but then we are out of practice. I won't let this incident stop me from trying to make gravy. Good gravy!

Rubber Gloves are the Answer

I currently seem to have issues with the opening of various receptacles; bottles, tins, cans and that sort of thing. I like to think that I can do these things for myself, give it a go, even though I'll inevitably go to Mystical Roo for his assistance. However, in the absence of Mystical Roo I'm often left to fend for myself and end up arguing with inanimate objects. I recently engaged in an epic battle with a bottle of lime drink. After numerous failed attempts at unscrewing the lid I wondered if sawing the top off was a legitimate idea. After realising I had nothing to "saw" with I did discover a screwdriver, which I promptly used to stab a hole in the top of the lid. Effective but ultimately not the ideal way to get to your lime drink. I have since discovered the rubber glove method of opening bottle tops and even things like jam jars. Anything with a screw on lid I guess. Basically, using a rubber glove to open a lid gives you excellent grip, thus allowing easy opening of...whatever it is you're trying to open. I did in fact use the rubber glove method this morning to open a ginger beer. The next thing I need to investigate is, when your tin-opener is broken, how do you get into a can of tuna when the ring pull has just snapped?!

Crazed washing machines and upside-down tumble dryers

Of the many things I've noticed and like about Australia, laundry rooms are definitely up there. I love that I have a separate room for my washing machine, ironing board and other such items. What a great idea. My laundry room even has a toilet, though I'm not sure if that's the norm. I've also noticed that tumble dryers seem to be attached to the wall and upside down. I have no idea why this is the case but I guess it's a space saver. I wish I could attach my washing machine to the wall because the damn thing keeps trying to escape. I don't know what I've done to offend the washing machine that it feels the need to flee but it's obviously upset about something. Maybe it's all the dirty washing I keep feeding it. Every time I turn it on it tries to bounce it's way out of the laundry room! Luckily for me it's normally thwarted by the aforementioned toilet. Ha! I say "ha!", the washing machine normally has the last laugh when I can't get the door open because it's wedged itself up tight against the toilet. Try moving a washing machine when you weigh 50kg and it weighs...well, a lot more. I have no authority with this washing machine.