Bend and Stretch

Mystical Roo will sometimes succeed in persuading me to partake in some form of physical exercise with him.  Not as dodgy as it sounds, I can assure you.  As you may or may not know by now, Mystical Roo is a healthy sort who watches what he eats and likes to run and stuff.  Now I can run, but only if given purpose, like maybe running away from a land dwelling shark or running towards my latest shipment of fruit gums.  I went for a jog with Mystical Roo once and I promised myself I would never do it again.  I think it nearly killed me.  He's taken me to the gym a couple of times but I have an aversion to the gym since shooting off the end of a treadmill and landing on my face.  We sometimes go swimming, where he does about 5 lengths to my 1 before I get bored and retreat to the jacuzzi.  What I do enjoy is our body balance sessions where we get to do yoga, tai chi and pilates.  This is less about stamina (of which I have none) and more about strength and balance.  I like to see how far I can bend my body into weird shapes.  Our body balance classes are always good fun and I like having Mystical Roo as my partner.  I'm secretly, or perhaps not to secretly now, a bit competitive and like to see if I can beat Mystical Roo by bending a little bit further or holding a pose a little bit longer.  This is a hopeless battle as Mystical Roo is much stronger than me, much fitter than me and can always touch his toes, where I can get down to about my ankles.  I'd hoped being a short ass would have made things easier as I don't have as far to go.  There's always an interesting selection of folks in our class and on busier days you can't help wondering if it's rude to be doing downward dog in front of a complete stranger.  I tend to position myself in front of Mystical Roo as I figure it's better to have him stare at my bum than that random man who sings throughout most of the session.  Yoga poses are a funny thing and often create even funnier noises - tee hee, but I've noticed that some people don't seem to dress appropriately considering all the bending and leaning involved.  One particular lady really could do with a sports bra or at least a top that's not quite so low cut.  I nearly fell over when I was faced with a full frontal of cleavage.  Mystical Roo was most composed and claimed not to have noticed our busty companion.  He's too innocent... 

Sshh, I'm Sleeping!

I love where I live, I really do, but of a Thursday, Friday and Saturday night Mystical Roo and I are being plagued by drunks!  Maybe we're getting old - well Mystical Roo is anyway.  Maybe being in bed by 9pm on a Friday is a little early.  I don't really care.  When I'm tired, I'm tired and that's that.  So Thursday night seems to be karaoke night in the pub down the road.  I lose count of the number of times I've heard someone screeching along to Mustang Sally.  And Friday and Saturday night seem to be random music and noise.  Before I start sounding like a crazed party pooper with a pokey stick and clenched fist ready for the shaking, I need to clarify that I do go out, have been out, will go out again, but I like to think of myself as a more considerate drunk.  The friendly kind who generally falls asleep and dribbles a bit.  I accept that living down the road from the pub that I can expect a certain amount of noise.  The thing that's been getting to me and Mystical Roo is the random straggling drunks who appear at about 2am.  They seem to end up right outside our window and at this point start screaming, swearing, fighting, crying, vomiting.  Yuck.  Why do they have to choose our window?  Why not amble on down the road a little further where there's no one trying to sleep.  I'm often tempted to shout at the drunks and shoo them on their way but figure this will only end up with a broken window.  I've pondered setting up an elaborate drunk-watering device where a simple tug on a string from me would dump a bucket of cold water over the head of the offending drunk without said drunk realising where the attack had come from.  There are many problems with this idea, mainly the fact that I think this device would not be engineeringly sound and in my head is actually more like a magical floating bucket.  As I am not privy to magical powers I will have to rethink my plan of attack.  Maybe I do need a pokey stick after all.  So inevitably Mystical Roo and I will be awoken my some sort of drama unfolding just below us.  And then, just as you're drifting off to the land of nod, some peanut in his stupid peanut car will come flying down the road with an exhaust that sounds like it's choking and so much wheel spinning that you can practically smell the tyres.  And if that's not enough, the driver will then decide to beep, beepity, beep his bloody horn.  Who exactly are you beeping at?  Are you just beeping happily that you've actually managed to keep the car on the road and haven't killed anyone yet?  Or are you just unsure what a horn actually does and have to press it to remind yourself of the happy noise it makes.  Also, what are you doing driving around aimlessly at 2am?  Go home!  If only I could pinpoint a location for these drunks the next morning, when they're sleeping, dealing with a monster hangover.  Maybe I'd go and sit outside their bedroom window.  With a drum kit and the dulcet tones of my very special singing voice.  Ha!

The Grocery Olympics

In the absence of Mystical Roo and subsequently the Ute, I'll often go wandering over to the supermarket to pick up some shopping.  It's not far to walk, only about fifteen minutes, and I'm lucky enough to enjoy a rather scenic walk by the ocean.  Somehow, over the last three days, I've racked up a shop per day!  No big deal, but honestly - how do I keep forgetting things?  I even make a list.  I'll be unpacking the shopping, or halfway back to the flat when something clicks and damn it I realise I've forgotten the clingfilm.  Or the milk.  Or more importantly the toilet roll.  We can all manage without clingfilm and milk but do we really want to sacrifice the toilet roll?  I think not.  I have discovered that my little trips to Woolies have become a serious fat burning exercise.  Never mind the walk to Woolies, that's easy, it's the walk back when I'm loaded with shopping bags.  Along with forgetting various grocery items I also seem to forget that I have to walk back to the flat with my goods.  I'm meant to be going for essentials only, you know, toilet paper and things that are easy and lightweight for me to carry back.  Did I really need that 1kg bag of apples?  Probably not.  But then I don't think about things like this until I'm lugging the shopping back through town.  I try to balance myself with the shopping bags so to avoid any unfortunate swaying and crashing.  I also try to walk quite swiftly so I can get home faster and dump my heavy load.  The interesting thing is, you can be quite obviously struggling with weighty bags but no one ever accommodates you by moving out of the way.  Whilst walking along the pavement with many bags, including those damn apples, I was ambushed from nearly all angles.  Some ladies to my left were walking alongside one another whilst at the same time a group of workmen came out of the pub to the right.  Then all of us were heading towards a bottle neck created by strategically placed cafe tables.  So, did the ladies go single file?  Did the workmen go single file?  Hell no!  I can't go single file because there's only one of me.  This resulted in some impressive bag lifting on my part.  With no movement on either side of me the only thing I could do was haul those shopping bags above my head like some weight-lifter specialising in the grocery Olympics.  My God that took some effort.  There was much muttering from me on the discourtesy of my fellow pedestrians.  This was only half way home and I could see one of the bags splitting so I picked up my pace.  It was a hot day (for winter) and I was becoming sweaty and unladylike.  My hair was starting to fall out of it's clip and fly into my face.  Then my jacket decided it wanted to slip off of my shoulders and rest half way down my back flashing black bra straps underneath a white vest top.  The shame.  By the time I reached the painters working on my road I had hair all over the place, clothes all over the place and was looking pleasantly shiny.  Nice!  They all watched me with smirks of amusement before I hurried around the corner and back into the flat.  I've never been so pleased to get home and made sure to curse the bag of apples as I placed them in the fruit bowl.  I think maybe I need to invest in a little trailer or something.  Maybe a donkey. 

Adventurous Underwear

Yes, I do have adventurous underwear. But I'm not talking bells and tassels. No, I'm talking adventure seeking, world seeing, escapee pants! The type of underwear that is apparently bored of day to day activity and feels the need to flee the house by whatever means necessary. The first time a pair of my knickers snuck out without my knowing was by hitching a lift to the gym with Mystical Roo. Did they tag along in his bag? Had they wrapped themselves up in his towel? No, the knickers were stowed away in the hood of his jacket. I wasn't there but from what I hear those knickers were so excited at their trip to the gym that they leapt straight out from their hiding place and landed on the floor. Excellent. I think Mystical Roo was thrilled to find a pair of ladies knickers tagging along for the ride. The second time a pair of underwear went adventuring was a few months ago. This time I don't know how they managed to get out and only realised their escape on returning from the beach. Ah look, there appear to be a pair of knickers in the tree. Yes, they're mine. Excellent. So there they were, in the middle of the shared courtyard, my knickers hanging in a tree. They were swiftly removed and, due to the insects that had apparently found a new home, were dumped in the bin. So people beware, keep an eye on your underwear!

When Bathtime Goes Bad

I love bath time. Soaking in a hot tub with lots of bubble bath. Reading a good book or a trashy magazine. Sometimes drinking tea, sometimes drinking wine. Bath time is a relaxing luxury when you can just focus on chilling out whilst pruning up. But there are times when bath time can be troublesome. When the hot tap runs out of hot, when unidentified floating objects appear, when you fall asleep and drop your magazine in the water. Yesterday was an excellent example of a time when bath time can go bad. For reasons unknown I will take my mobile phone into the bathroom with me. I have since discussed this with Mystical Roo who thinks it's weird that I would take my phone with me at bath time. Am I worried that I'll get a toe stuck in the tap and have to phone for assistance? Do I fear that I may become locked in and have to call for help? I think it's more that I worry that someone won't be able to get hold of me if they need to. Not many people call me anyway but if they did it would be when I was in the bath and the phone was sat on the sofa. Ringing away with no one to pick it up. Should a phone be answered whilst one is lounging in the tub? And if it is, should you announce that you are in fact wallowing in bubble bath or try and disguise your whereabouts with as little movement as possible. Sloshing water is such a giveaway. Anyway, the phone accompanies me to the bathroom and is placed on the side with the aforementioned tea/wine/beverage. I've never had a problem until yesterday when inexplicably the phone leaps from my hand, does a little midair spin like some sort of telephone acrobat and lands with a "ploink" in the bathwater before promptly sinking to the bottom and landing with a thud. I was super speedy in retrieving the phone and made sure to dry it with a towel. It seemed to be working fine at first but half an hour later the screen had gone blank. Oh the shame! The clumsiness! I confess to Mystical Roo that I have given my phone a dunking, thus provoking the all important question "why did you have your phone with you when you were in the bath?" "It was dirty and needed a scrub." The phone was and is actually ok in the end. It just needed a bit of air I think. Poor thing had a bit of a shock. Will I learn my lesson and enjoy bath time without the phone? Who knows.

Gippers: Are They Plotting World Domination?

Maybe world domination is a bit extreme but I certainly think they're going for shopping aisle domination! Gippers. A word penned, I believe, by Rabby. This refers to members of the older generation who somehow manage to always be blocking access to something, be that the pavement, a shopping aisle, the fast lane or a shelf. Now I feel the need to clarify that Gippers are a specific breed within the older generation much like "hoodies" are a specific breed within the teenage generation. Not everyone is a Gipper. Any hoo, I got to thinking about Gippers on a recent early morning mission for teabags. I realised they were out in force and up to their usual tricks of parking trollies diagonally across the aisles and subtly changing course in front of you just as you're about to scuttle on past. Cunning. Then, heading out of the shopping centre there was a Gipper with a pram, walking parallel to me but somehow heading towards me. She was fairly speedy and got ahead of me just to stop right in front of me. There was almost a collision. An innocent mistake? Or another point for the Gipper initiative. Hmmm. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's been taken out by a Gipper. In fact Rabby has discussed the times he's been thwarted by a Gipper. And they're not just lurking in shopping aisles. Oh no. They'll get you in the middle of the street if you're not careful. Do you really need that walking stick? Or is it just a convenient tool for the tripping up of passing feet? And why is it when I'm stuck behind you on the road, as soon as I go to over take, you speed up? Mind games. I wonder who their leader is.........

Rubber Gloves are (Possibly) Not the Answer!

Oh woe is me! Dramatic yes, but pertinent considering my recent post discussing the ingenuity of using rubber gloves to open lids. Well I've just been thwarted in the kitchen! So I'm innocently cooking chili for dinner when I go searching for the tomato paste. There is a jar open in the fridge but not enough as I'm cooking super sized portions ready for freezing. There is also an unopened jar in the fridge. I grab the jar and give the lid a quick test turn, just to see if I can open it without the aid of the trusty rubber gloves. That's a negative, as expected, so I pick up the rubber glove and expect the lid to just pop open nice and easy. But not today. This jar of tomato paste is playing hardball. I try, over and over to the point where my hand starts to hurt. I'm right handed but for some reason I use my left hand to open things. Maybe that's normal, I don't know, but I try with the other hand just in case. Still no luck. At this point I'm looking at my chili, which is happily bubbling away, awaiting it's ingredient and wondering if I can scrape out enough tomato paste from the open jar. No, there's simply not enough. Surely this will upset the chili. I consider that maybe my technique has failed me because the jar was in the fridge and so cold. Or perhaps it's because I'm not feeling 100% today and have the strength of a gnat. Either way, the damn lid isn't moving and the chili is calling out for it! I consider the neighbours and then remember I don't have any. Maybe I could go to the restaurant next door and ask someone to open my jar. No, they'll think I'm crazy. Maybe I can call Mystical Roo and ask him to come home to open the jar.....no, that's just silly. I'm now angry with the jar, upset because it's threatening to spoil my dinner. So I grab the rubber glove again for one last try and give the jar serious evils. In a last ditch attempt to get this thing open, and venting my rage, I swear at the jar of tomato paste through gritted teeth. I swear and I twist and then finally, FINALLY the lid pops open. I think it was shocked by my bad language. But thank God the chili is saved. In conclusion, if the rubber glove method initially fails, then start swearing at the uncooperative receptacle and try again. Scare it into submission. Mwah ha haaaaaaa!