Stalky Against the Machines

Today I'm frustrated with automated answering systems.  They make me want to throw things...normally the phone that I'm holding.  I actually went over my internet usage (too much blogging I guess) and wanted to contact my provider for a top up.  Simple?  Not so simple.  I'm sure many people will sympathise with me when I say I just want to talk to a human being.  Maybe not even a human being, just something that would respond to me.  I'd take a talking donkey if I could be sure it would actually say something back.  But the sound of that chirpy automated voice who tells you to listen to the instructions and make your selection actually makes me want to cry.  It wouldn't be so bad if it was just a case of making a basic choice but it's like a huge tangle of options that take you round in circles.  Once you've pressed 1 you then have to press 4 and then 2 and then hit star and then press 5 and then press 6 and then press 4 and then press 3 and ahhhhhhhhhhh!  Then after you've gone through the infuriating process of dialling a million digits and selected the option to talk to an operator, the automated voice kindly informs you that lines are only open between 10 and 5 and please call again later.  And this at 09.57.  My God!  Why the automated voice couldn't have told me this before I was put through the digit gauntlet I don't know.  Also, who opens their lines at 10.00?  That's just lazy.  So after much grumbling about stupid robot ladies I try again at 10.05, go through the rigmarole of pressing the same set of numbers again, hear the phone ringing to go through to an operator, hear the operator pick up the phone, hear the operator hang up the phone, hear a new robot voice tell me the call has failed and that I need to try again later.  Failed?  It didn't fail.  It was snatched away from me, stolen at the point when a human voice was about to break through.  That automated system is no doubt in league with the remote controls.  Working together to torment the human race.  Is nothing safe?  So far the washing machine is trying to shuffle it's way out of the laundry room, the remote controls are working independtely of human control and the automated telephone systems are trying to break us mentally.  Where does it end!

Home Alone

I'm getting a little concerned at all the random people who try to get into the flat.  Now I'm sure that most of these occurrences are just innocent mistakes but it doesn't make it any less unnerving.  Our front door is next to the back door of the hairdressers and they look pretty much the same.  I figure people go out back for whatever reason and then pick the wrong door when they go to return.  Most of the time this results in me hearing the fly screen open, hearing the front door open and then hearing both close quickly again, I imagine as someone realises their mistake.  But I don't like this because I figure being at home on my own, I don't want some crazy wandering in.  So if I hear the door opening I'll shoot straight over to the stairs to check what's going on.  That way if there is a real intruder I can catch them at the bottom of the stairs with me at the top rather than have them surprise me by poking their head over the top of the banister.  Hello I'm an intruder.  Hello I'm Little Stalky.  Eek!  I'd have the advantage at the top of the stairs, I could drop things from a height.  The freakiest time was when I noticed the door sitting ajar and I convinced myself someone had snuck in.  So I locked the door and did a check of the flat.  Mystical Roo later pointed out that I could have locked myself in with an intruder but I argued that if I didn't lock the door someone could have snuck in mid check and I would have had to start all over again.  Ha.  But locking the door now seems the sensible thing to do if just for my peace of mind.  So when Mystical Roo goes to work and I'm home alone for the day the door gets locked behind him.  Sensible Stalky. 

Stalky the Snaffler

As mentioned previously I'm an impatient little person, so when the post arrives in the red box next to the flat and Mystical Roo is still at work with the only key what is a Little Stalky to do but try and snaffle the post out of the red box via the small slit provided for the posting of letters.  Sometimes the postie makes it easy for me as the corner of various items will be dangling out the side and I can just whip it out nice and easy.  Good for me.  Bad for me if someone else decides to do the same thing.  Sometimes I have to go on a full on mission, trying to squeeze my hand into the letter box to retrieve what looks to be interesting mail but is more often than not some sort of bill.  It's always the exciting looking pieces likes postcards from France and handwritten envelopes that tend to linger out of my reach.  That's frustrating.  I probably shouldn't be trying to snaffle mail in this manner.  Apart from the obvious danger of a) getting my hand stuck b) getting my hand bitten by a spider / snake / land dwelling, post box inhabiting shark I must look like a bit of a random thief.  But sometimes the art of snaffling is necessary, nay essential for Little Stalkys.  Especially if that Little Stalky has ordered a surprise gift for Mystical Roo and needs to nab it before he gets home.  When I arranged to have the new Norwich football shirt delivered I kind of thought someone might knock on the door, but no, it was shoved into the tiny red letter box, it's grey plastic wrapping sticking out for all to see.  I was relieved to have gotten home first and thought it would be easy to retrieve but that beast was well and truly wedged in there.  I spent a good ten minutes gently wiggling that out of the letter box so that I could whisk it away for wrapping.  I must confess I did get a few looks that day but a snaffler must come to expect this I suppose.  I guess I could give up my snaffling ways and maybe get another key cut but honestly, would that be as fun?  It would take all the adventure out of my daily post checks.  So I guess I'll keep on snaffling.

Real Women have Curves...

So what am I?  Fake?  I try not to rant too much, but my inner Stalky is shouting today and shaking her fist at the television.  The reason for my fist shaking?  The smug TV presenter announcing matter-of-factly that if you don't have curves then you're not a real woman.  At the risk of starting some sort of size debate I would like to say...what the hell?  I understand the message that women should be embracing their natural figure and not trying to starve themselves to look like the size zero models that are always in the spotlight, but surely this is promoting another image than can be equally unattainable for those of us lacking in the curves department.  Some people are naturally skinny and it can be as hard for them to put on weight as it is for others to lose it.  Whilst a more voluptuous lady might look at me and wish they were slimmer I'd look straight back and wish for a bigger bra size.  Women come in all shapes and sizes and a lot of that is down to your genes.  How dare anyone tell me I'm not a real woman because I don't have curves.  What would you like me to do?  Get implants?  Carve out some of my waist to make my hips look rounder?  I think it's wrong that any woman should feel they have to diet and punish themselves to try and fit into a pair of size 6 jeans but I also think it's wrong that any woman should feel they have to pad themselves out to fit ideas of what's sexy.  Some people are big and some people are small but that's ok because as long as you're happy and healthy and have people around you who love you it shouldn't matter what size you are.

Remote Control Mayhem

I've decided that I would quite like some sort of universal remote control, if such a thing exists.  My reason being that the remote control situation in our house is getting out of hand!  There's a remote for the TV, for the air conditioning, for the DVD player, for the surround sound, for the Digi box, for the PlayStation.  I find myself faced with a pile of remote controls and have to remind myself which one does what.  Not only that, the remote controls have started arguing and working against each other.  If I try and turn the volume down using the TV remote, the digi box remote gets angry and instead turns the volume up!  What's that about!  Having so many remotes also creates the issue of where to store so many remotes.  They end up dotted around on the arms of the sofa, down the back of the sofa, under the sofa but normally in the vicinity of the sofa.  I tried lining them all up once to create an orderly pile but decided this only created more confusion.  Every now and then you find a remote control acting independently, turning things on and off at it's fancy.  The air conditioning randomly came on the other day and made us all jump.  Yes it's on a timer, yes someone could have leant on the remote control but I think it's far more sinister.  Maybe the Terminator films had it right.  Maybe the machines...are coming to get us.  Oh my God and I'm sat here on my own, surrounded by remote controls.  Remote controls that may well be plotting my downfall as we speak.  Run away Little Stalky.  Run away!

It's an Age Thing

Mystical Roo often teases me for obsessively taking my ID with me when I go out or when I go to buy alcohol, but honestly I do still get ID'd.  Apparently I have a baby face, or at least that's what a large bouncer told me once.  Who am I to argue with a large bouncer.  So the one time I go out without my handbag and borrow Mystical Roo's wallet is the one time I get ID'd in the bottle shop.  Actually it wasn't really me that got ID'd, it was Monster Noggin.  But neither of us had any ID.  I offered that I had my boyfriend's wallet and had his ID but surprisingly that didn't swing it.  I suppose we should have been flattered really but it's a bit of a hassle not being about to buy your bottle of Mojito when you're both very obviously 18 or over.  We were probably older than the woman serving, or rather not serving, us.  I own a house, Monster Noggin owns a business, I found a grey hair, give me my alcohol!  Grrr.  Maybe we looked suspicious buying a bottle of Mojito.  Maybe she thought we were going to go and sit in the park, at night, on our own and drink it straight from the bottle.  So we sheepishly head back to the car and confess to Mystical Roo that we've been refused service as neither of us had ID.  We figure we'll send Mystical Roo in to get our bottle of Mojito as he's old and beardy and never gets ID'd.  I think it took about ten minutes for Mystical Roo to return as he'd been lectured about buying drinks for people without ID.  Honestly!  Does Mystical Roo not look like a drinker of Mojitos.  What a saga that trip turned out to be.  But as I said, we probably shouldn't complain.  One day we won't get ID'd anymore and then I can whinge about that instead. 

Stalky the Pedestrian

In the last 18 months I've done a lot more walking than driving so am generally the pedestrian shaking her fist at the car rather than the driver shaking her fist at the walker.  It's a hard life being a pedestrian sometimes, especially if you're trying to navigate the car park at Woolworths.  Oh yes, another Woolworths adventure.  Walking up the street and arriving at Woolworths one is faced with what can only be described as a gauntlet.  It's like the cars are there with the sole purpose of taking out pedestrians and possibly earning points in the process.  You can't take a step forward without someone reversing towards you.  Sidestep that car and another one's aiming at you from round the corner.  There is so much activity in that car park I wonder why more people aren't actually parked and off doing their shopping.  It's like a car conspiracy.  They're toying with us!  I almost got wiped out on a zebra crossing the other day.  I'm a good pedestrian and I always wait at the zebra crossing before continuing as you just can't trust people to stop.  You have to allow for the person on their phone, the speed demon and the yokel who shouldn't even own a license.  Still, heading across the zebra crossing one car had stopped for me and then from over the hill this woman comes flying towards me, not stopping, not slowing, definitely not stopping.  I froze in the middle of the zebra crossing and let her whip on past.  Yes she was on her phone.  And the worst thing?  She gave me this look as if to question why I was stood in the middle of the road.  Like I was the one who was in the wrong.  If I was more inclined to violence I might have thrown something at her car.  But it's not just the one's who don't stop that are the problem.  You also get the ones who think they're being helpful by slowing to let you cross the road when in fact it would have been a whole lot quicker if they'd just carried out and gotten out of your way.  If you're the only car coming down the road you might as well just keep going.  Especially if you're not going to actually indicate that you're letting me across.  As far as I'm concerned you're just slowing down for the junction and will run me over just as fast as zebra crossing lady.  If you don't flash your lights, give a little wave, a little nod, how am I supposed to know you're trying to let me cross.  I'm not psychic!  Never mind.  Tomorrow I might be behind the wheel myself and then I can blog about how annoying the pedestrians are. 

Over Thinking the Situation

It's often been said that I tend to "over think" the situation, whatever the situation may be.  I simply can't help myself.  Even for the most basic of things I'm pondering the consequences to my actions.  Will I offend anyone?  Will I upset anyone?  Will they think I'm crazy?  Probably.  I decided to phone Mystical Roo whilst he was doing an expo to see what he wanted for dinner.  My first thoughts are that I don't want to disturb him if he's in the middle of speaking to a potential client.  Then I think, oh it's ok he won't pick up the phone of he doesn't want to.  But then, what if it rings at a really awkward moment and interrupts the flow of conversation.  What if it's ringing in his pocket and everyone is just staring.  What if the potential client thinks Mystical Roo is rude for not answering his phone and becomes not a potential client but not a client at all.  Oh God, I've ruined the business!  See, over thinking.  Now I can't text Mystical Roo because his phone is a bit squiffy and won't allow him to view messages.  So I think I'll prank Mystical Roo, just once and then he'll know I've tried to make contact and call me back at a time that's appropriate to him.  So I let the phone ring once and then hang up.  Ok, that should do it.  He will call me back.  20 minutes go by and still no phone call.  Not only am I a scatterbrained over thinker I'm also impatient. Then, I try to argue with my impatience.  Maybe he's really busy.  Maybe he didn't hear the phone.  Or maybe, because I let the phone ring just once on my end, it didn't translate into a ring at the other end.  I've seen this delay happen before when we play phone tag around the house.  Yes, it's the delay.  Mystical Roo didn't hear it ring at all.  So, I call again and let it ring about 4 times this time just to make sure.  Then, almost immediately Mystical Roo calls me back.  For reasons unknown I then launch into a full account of my over thinking.  Then I think Mystical Roo must think I'm a crazy stalker Stalky because I over think too much.  Then I realise that he's seen enough crazy by now that if he was going to do a runner he would have done it already. 

Under the Influence

Why is it that drinking alcohol makes you do random stuff that you would never do when sober?  I don't drink that much, mainly because I can't handle it and fall asleep but it only takes a glass or two for me to start feeling strangely confident and hyperactive.  Suddenly singing seems to be the best idea ever even though in the sober world, I only sing whilst cleaning, more importantly when no one else is around to hear me!  Unfortunately, Duke and I are now infamous for our rendition(s) of Aerosmith's Dude Looks Like a Lady.  I think someone even managed to get evidence on camera once.  The thing is, we don't learn from past experiences.  We wake up the next morning with dry throats and strange memories of rocking out on the stage.  Was it all a dream?  No, no, we really did do it again.  And you can be certain you won't be the only ones to remember.  But you know you'll do it again.  SingStar nights have been the cause of many memorable renditions.  I had no idea that I could rap when drunk.  Hmmm.  But it's not just embarrassing singing and dancing.  It's the weird ideas that seem excellent at the time.  Me and El Kenco wanted crushed ice for our cocktails.  Crushed ice people, not big ass chunky cubes.  So what do you do when you want crushed ice?  You get a rolling pin and bash the crap out of that bag of ice.  Yes the bag will inevitably split and most of the ice will go flying across the kitchen floor, but you get your crushed ice. And what about when you want to toast a marshmallow but no one's having a BBQ?  Why you toast it with a match of course.  Of course.  It is also important when under the influence, to make sure that your friends and family know how much they're loved.  You must therefore hug your friends and family and tell them you love them.  Very important.  Being drunk is very hard work.  No wonder I always fall asleep on the sofa. 

Cook Off

Recently I've started to doubt by cooking abilities.  I always thought I was ok at cooking but recently I've had some culinary catastrophes.  Unsieveable gravy being one of them.  Mystical Roo is totally overtaking me (yes I had to think about that sentence) in the kitchen stakes and is certainly the better chef.  I seem to struggle with anything that involves timing.  Getting the veg to be ready at the same time as the meat and the potatoes and whatever else might be going on.  I always misjudge the situation and have something ready way before everything else.  Like last night I was cooking a pie in the oven at the same time as my Yorkshire puddings.  I can see the top of the pie going black whilst my yorkies just sit there taunting me.  This leads to much crouching in front of the oven, peering at my dinner and wondering why I always get it wrong.  I wonder if I can will the yorkies to cook faster or the pie to slow down but alas I lack this power.  Then I think that I should take the pie out and put it back in again just at the end to make sure it's warm.  Then I start wondering about food poisoning.  Then I scowl at my dinner, possibly provoking it further.  In the end I had very nice Yorkshire puddings but a slightly burnt pie.  I proceeded to cover this in gravy and eat around the black bits.  Yum.  I seem to be better at the stuff where you just chuck everything into a pot and let it simmer.  I do an excellent bolognaise and chilli.  I even do a good coronation chicken.  I can't be rushed and need to take my own sweet time about things without the pressure of timing.  Mystical Roo is a maestro in the kitchen, multi tasking and experimenting, always creating amazing dishes.  I'm lucky that Mystical Roo creates such tasty food but I can't help but be a little competitive.  What's that all about!  I tried to do a vegetable curry the other day and that was just a disaster.  The sweet potato dissolved into nothingness,  the cauliflower and broccoli bits were too big and all the other veg was slightly undercooked.  We ended up with a kind of spicy soup that may or may not have been glowing.  On top of that I'd created enough of this stuff to feed an army.  We grudgingly ate some of this curry/soup but promptly threw the rest in the bin.  Not good.  So much for me being able to chuck everything in a pot and let it simmer!  Bah! 

Man Flu Myth?

At the risk of upsetting any fellow ladies out there, I would like to take the time to ponder...man flu.  I got to thinking about this whilst hobbling around the house with a sore thigh, thinking how I must tell Mystical Roo about by boo boo and possibly obtain sympathy for my boo boo.  Mystical Roo makes an excellent nurse and administers appropriate care to Little Stalkys with boo boos.  In fact, he's such a good nurse that he often refuses to be nursed himself.  It takes a hell of lot for Mystical Roo to complain about anything.  He just gets on with it.  Snot?  Get me some cheap bog roll, I don't need soft tissues!  Headache?  What headache?  Chopped my hand off?  I'll take a pneumatic claw thank you.  He just handles it.  Me on the other hand...well, it's not that I'm looking for sympathy, it's just that my boo boos are really bad.  Snot?  Balmy tissues, a hot bath and some cream please.  Headache?  I need paracetamol, ibuprofen and a cool flannel on my forehead.  Chopped my hand off?  God help you all.  My hips click, my knee plays up in the cold and wet, I can't handle a hangover, I sneeze when confronted with pollen, dust...antiperspirant spray.  And poor Mystical Roo hears about all of this.  Mystical Roo my knee hurts.  Mystical Roo my nose is itching.  Mystical Roo I have a bruise.  Mystical Roo make it all better!  Mend my boo boo!  So I guess man flu might exist but it's not Mystical Roo suffering this affliction but Little Stalky. 

Ode to Robbie

In our current situation Mystical Roo and I can't have pets and that's a shame because I really miss having pets.  In England I had the coolest rabbit in the world and his name was Robbie; a cute Netherland dwarf with a feisty attitude.  I'd never owned a rabbit before Robbie and didn't realise what amazing personalities they have.  Robbie used to follow me round the house, sit with me on the sofa and watch TV and generally do cute stuff.  I could call him from the kitchen and he'd come running, assured of a grape or another bunny treat.  The funniest thing was when I used to do my yoga DVD in the front room.  Robbie used to go loopy over this and would run round me in circles.  When I was getting ready to do press ups he jumped on my back and just sat there and when I did rolls, he used to roll over too.  It had me in hysterics.  He was quite protective of me and used to get jealous of Mystical Roo.  I didn't know rabbits could growl but they can.  And they head butt too.  Poor Mystical Roo was rather bullied by Robbie.  My rabbit was also a bit of a thief too.  I came back from the kitchen once to find him nicking off with a slice of pizza about the same size as him.  After that it was a tuna sandwich.  Man that rabbit had an appetite.  He stole post too and once tried to run off with a birthday balloon.  He didn't realise the balloon was attached to the weight he'd grabbed and couldn't understand why this inflatable beast was chasing him round the room.  We gave him a little bunny bed in the lounge so he could chill out and he used to lazily sprawl out across it.  In a particularly lazy mood he grabbed his food bowl in his mouth, dragged it over to his bed and lay down so he could eat in bed.  Lazy or genius?  Who knows.  He was amazing. 

Is the White Horse Manmade?

In my Little Stalky innocence I've been known to come out with a few questionable comments.  Sometimes words come out of my mouth before my brain has had a chance to catch up and this leads to nothing but trouble.  Of course I know that the Westbury White Horse is manmade and when I asked Mystical Roo if it was so I was merely exploring the idea that maybe there'd been a vague outline of a horse that someone had chosen to refine.  Well I've never lived that one down.  I think I just look at things in a different way and that leads to random comments.  Yes, for a long time I thought Portland Bill was a pirate rather than an actual place but you can see my logic.  It doesn't help when innocent children are not corrected by their parents.  When driving and someone speeds past you they're overtaking you not taking over you.  Heading into your teens not knowing you've been saying that sentence wrong is certainly interesting.  To this day I still have to think about it first.  I can't remember when I discovered that chutney wasn't a fruit but wonder what made me think it was in the first place.  And did you know that ponies aren't actually baby horses?  Who knew!  But it's quite fun viewing the world in my own weird way.  I learn something new everyday!  Oooh I rhymed.   

Spider Sneak Attack

So I'm scared of fish.  As noted previously, this is a legitimate fear as sharks are fish.  Now Monster Noggin and El Kenco are scared of spiders.  Again, a legitimate fear for those of us living in Australia as there are deadly breeds out here.  El Kenco, you live in England...nuff said.  Interestingly both El Kenco and Monster Noggin are convinced that spiders are actually out to get them.  I could laugh at this until I saw actual evidence of spiders in full stalking action!  There was a monster of a spider heading for El Kenco at our house back in England and it did appear to be charging.  This led to much jumping on the sofa and screaming.  Somehow we managed to get the spider out onto the patio but I can't remember how as neither of us wanted to touch the thing.  I'm not particularly bothered by spiders but I still don't want to touch them.  Too many legs.  Anyway, El Kenco was convinced that unless we killed the spider it would find it's way back in and seek her out.  There was going to be no relaxing until the spider was dealt with so we employed the assistance of a trainer belonging to Mystical Roo.  El Kenco dropped the trainer on to the spider but decided that wasn't enough.  We would have to whack it again but she couldn't pick the trainer up with her hand.  No, the spider might leap out for a revenge attack.  I think I was laughing too much at this point to offer any sort of assistance.  So the next thing I know, El Kenco has a coat hanger and is hanging out of the side door trying to hook Mystical Roo's trainer by the shoe lace.  Eventually she succeeds and with the trainer hanging from a lace by the hanger, drops the trainer again for another blow against the spider.  I'm pretty sure she killed it but was super alert for the rest of the night.  When we were younger I got a phone call to say there was a spider acting suspiciously outside her bedroom door.  Good sister that I am, I got out of bed and went to investigate.  Yes there was a spider, but whether it was acting menacingly I can't be sure.  Anyway, I found a shoe box and put it over the top of the spider to stop it harassing my sister.  No, no, no.  El Kenco tells me the spider is strong and will push it's way out of the shoe box.  Ok, so then I put a shoe on top of the shoe box so that the spider with super human strength can't escape!  Monster Noggin is plagued by Huntsman spiders at work and they really are scary.  You can actually see their eyes and everything.  Mystical Roo rather likes the spiders as he says they eat all the flies.  We had a huntsman at work the other day but it was on the ceiling and no one could reach it.  It got sprayed with some sort of bug spray but refused to submit.  This then led to much staring at the ceiling in case the thing decided to move and drop into someone's hair.  Then a broom was employed to poke at the spider and get it moving.  God knows what the customers thought when they saw a bunch of us staring at the ceiling armed with a broom.  It seems to me that spiders bring out strange behaviour.  Whilst I might go running from the sea if faced with a goldfish, I don't think I've ever gone out armed with a coat hanger and trainer. 

The Bog Brush Boogie

I've just had another fun morning of housework, washing and ironing.  I jest, but I'm definitely more inclined towards cleaning than most.  I have an obsessive compulsion to hoover and I enjoy the cleaning aisle in Woolworths.  It smells nice.  Anyway, I was up to my usual cleaning routine, which involves me turning my music up nice and loud so that I can sing and dance my way through the chores.  I can sing and dance so much better when I'm on my own and in the bathroom.  Cleaning the toilet, woo, singing to GaGa, woo, dancing with the bog brush, woo woo!  Yeah!  Every now and then I ponder the idea that someone might walk in on me and catch me mid strut.  Oh the shame.  But of course this has happened to me before.  Anyone as prone to disappearing into their own imagination as me is bound to get caught out once in a while.  Through my childhood I think it was mostly El Kenco who stumbled across my embarrassing dancing/singing/antics.  Then she joined in and the "hail tesco man" dance was invented.  When you're swaying to Michael Jackson's "Earth Song" in front of the window with arms waving and the tesco man arrives, what else does it look like?  I do like to drift off into my own world and this often gives others the opportunity to sneak up on me.  Blow drying my hair, El Kenco came into my room and I screamed, thinking there was an intruder, before promptly aiming my hairdryer at my poor sister like a gun.  Yes, I was going to ward off a burglar with my hairdryer.  Ahem.  Mystical Roo is always making me jump.  Sometimes I think he just materialises.  I'll be in the shower and he'll poke his head round the door to say hello.  There's a delay in my scream where I register there is no threat but still, I scream.  Poor Mystical Roo.  No wonder he doesn't trust me crossing the road on my own.   

Do You Speak Whale?

Sometimes I forget that I live in Australia.  It's not like I suddenly wake up and go, oh crap, where the hell am I?  But you still have to go to work, pay the bills, look after the house etc, so things just become normal again.  So waking up on a Sunday morning and pottering around the house seems like just another day until you're disturbed by screams coming from the lounge.  Now with my squiffy hearing, all I can ascertain is that there is a high pitched noise coming from Monster Noggin and urgent requests that I "come quick."  Somehow I convince myself that Mystical Roo has fallen from the balcony or something so I launch myself into the front room in a panic.  But Mystical Roo is fine and both he and Monster Noggin are bouncing around the room pointing out of the window.  Lucky girl that I am, I can see the ocean from my window and there in the blue is a big whale, cheekily flashing his tail at us.  Huge excitement!  Yes we've seen whales before, but never on "our" beach and so close to shore.  It's raining, none of us are dressed but we have the genius idea that we should run to the beach to get a closer look.  Brief pause and then we're all running to get changed.  Who needs underwear, or even shoes, let's just run out of the flat like lunatics just to get a closer look at the whale.  Mystical Roo and Monster Noggin somehow manage to get away with looking vaguely normal, even if Monster Noggin does have bare feet, but I look my normal weird self in huge grey tracksuit bottoms, a Norwich City football shirt and a pair of gold ballet pumps.  I might as well have just gone out in my dressing gown.  So the three of us run up the path to stand on the cliffs by the beach.  And yes, on the day we decide to go out like crazed tourists, there is some sort of surf competition on so lots and lots of people to witness our behaviour.  Excellent.  But totally worth it because the whale was beautiful and kept popping up to say hello.  I'm fairly certain he was waving at me so I waved back.  As you do.  And then I figure if I'm waving at the whale, well, I might as well talk to the whale too.  If you've seen "Finding Nemo" then you'll know what I mean.  He didn't answer back but did pop his head out so I think he was acknowledging my excellent use of whale language.  We stood out in the rain for quite a while watching our whale but eventually had to return to the flat when we realised we were inappropriately dressed for the weather.  Still, as I write this, Mr whale continues to wave at us from the sea.  It's days like this that remind me how lucky I am. 

Super Stalky

The other night a group of us got into one of those random conversations asking what if...What if you could invite anyone to a dinner party?  What if you could have super powers?  You've got to love random conversations.  The list of guests we had coming to our dinner party was an interesting selection and we even started deciding who would sit next to who.  There were arguments over where to put Brad Pitt, but I think we finally got things settled.  When we pondered super powers I decided that I'd like to have mind control.  I would of course only use my powers for good...only for good.  I think in the mix we had someone who could fly, someone who could teleport, an invisible person and a someone with the power of telekinesis.  We were going to be a crime fighting team of superheroes.  But then we started arguing over who had the best power and before we knew it we were fighting amongst ourselves.  An invisible person can sneak up on you but then if you're in trouble you just teleport your ass out of there.  But once you've teleported, who's to say that the dude with powers of flight won't sweep you up and bring you right back again.  But the telekinetic dude will put a stop to that by dropping a piano from a great height.  Obviously I'm perfectly safe because I would simply control everyones' thoughts and tell them to behave and get me some pizza.  Mmm pizza.  And then I'd get distracted with pizza and the whole thing would start all over again!  If only we could work together.  Why must we bicker!

Static Stalky

After swiping the car the other day, I got myself into another Woolworths related adventure.  Never before has one girl had so much to say about doing the grocery shopping!  Pleased that I would not have to lug the shopping bags home, I was happily wandering around with my trolley, dodging the hordes of children swarming the aisles.  It's not often I do a big shop without Mystical Roo as he's the sensible one and is required to control my impulsive buying of rubbish.  "ooh it's got shiny packaging"  "No Stalky.  Bad Stalky."  Anyway, it's a bit boring shopping without Mystical Roo as I've got no one to talk to.  I know he doesn't really listen when I get the verbal diarrhoea but at least it looks like I'm talking to someone and not just to myself.  Speeding up my shop I began to struggle with trolley steerage (yes an official term).  It's tricky controlling those things sometimes, especially when you have to go round corners.  So if you ask if I rammed that kid on purpose?  Probably not.  But am I sorry?  See my previous answer.  Mwah ha ha.  No, I'm not that evil.  It was halfway through the shop that I realised I was statically charged.  Excellent.  Every item I went to pick from the shelf gave me a little zap and I looked like a crazy person because everything I touched caused me to jerk my hand back in surprise.  Then, after a few shocks, I started to really cautiously select items, thus looking even more bonkers.  Still statically charged I headed to the check out and realised I'd forgotten the tissues.  At least it wasn't the loo roll.  Again, shopping on your own you can't ask someone to hold your place in the queue or send Mystical Roo on errands for the items you've missed.  I decided to leave the tissues and get some later.  I then went to the bottle shop to get some wine for dinner.  Again, I normally guard the trolley while sensible Mystical Roo goes in to get the wine.  This time, on my billy, I had to go into the bottle shop with the trolley.  I was still statically charged.  I then was trying to reverse my trolley whilst holding the bottle of wine.  I didn't want to put it in the trolley for fear of looking like a shop lifter or something.  Then when I went to pay for the wine, still statically charged, I shocked the man behind the till and proceeded to jump whilst he looked at me blankly.  Apparently he hadn't felt the shock and so I just waffled on about being statically charged.  Hasty exit and the downward slope of the car park causes me issues because the trolley is trying to escape.  Then to the car, which has broken central locking, meaning I can't open the boot unless I unlock the drivers side door.  Ok, so there's no brake on the trolley to stop it from rolling down the hill, no Mystical Roo to hold the trolley and the gap between my car and the car next to me is too small to be able to squeeze the trolley into.  Bugger.  I actually stood mumbling to myself for a while, wondering what to do next.  In the end I entered into a fabulous trolley balancing routine that involved me holding the trolley with one hand whilst stretching to unlock the door with the other hand.  Success!  I return the trolley to it's home, still statically charged and proceed to be shocked by the door of the car.  Me and my shopping drive home and I wonder if I should be allowed out of the house on my own.  Who knows what will happen on my next Woolworths adventure!

Handbag of Doom

Sometimes I have days where things just get on my nerves.  Like washing the sieve.  That gets on my nerves.  Never has there been a more annoying item of kitchenware to wash than the sieve.  Damn you sieve!  For all of your vegetable draining, pasta straining qualities, you're still a pain to wash up.  Today my handbag has been driving me loco.  Sometimes I feel like Mary Poppins with a bottomless pit of a bag.  The only thing is, things seem to go missing in that black hole.  It's like I can hear my keys jingling in the bottom somewhere, I know I put them in my bag, but for the life of me I cannot get my hands on the things.  It's the same when my phone starts ringing.  Happily chirping from somewhere in the depths of my bag and yet impossibly out of reach.  My phone isn't exactly small, my handbag isn't exactly big, the phone is ringing, vibrating AND glowing, but somehow, I can't find it.  When I finally do get my mitts on the thing it will have stopped ringing and I'll miss the call by seconds.  Mystical Roo has a strong opinion on handbags and thinks that if we women didn't fill them with so much rubbish, it would make things easier to find.  I thought he had a fair point and so I did empty my bag on unnecessary items, but still the phone and the keys elude me.  Maybe they're in league with each other!  I also got stabbed by something in my bag the other day.  That scared the crap out of me.  What with living in Australia and all, my first thought was a spider had bitten me!  Or a snake!  Or a small, land dwelling, handbag inhabiting shark.  It turned out to be my name badge from work.  One of the lesser known deadly creatures of Australia.  Maybe I should follow Mystical Roo and be satisfied with having my phone and keys in my pocket.  But what about my purse?  My gum?  My tissues?  My diary?  Surely no one has pockets big enough!  Maybe if I carry a torch in my bag I can use it to illuminate the black hole and better retrieve these elusive items.  But I bet the black hole would get to my torch first, so I would need a second torch to find the first torch, to find my keys/phone/purse.  Ok I'm going to get one of those miners helmets with the torch on top.  Then I can wear the torch and won't have to risk losing it in the handbag of doom.  Practical and stylish!

Practical Stalky

Whilst walking home from work last night (not in the dark) I got to pondering about practical and impractical attire.  It seems that when a situation arises that requires sensible clothing I end up diving into Mystical Roo's wardrobe rather than my own.  Last night I was wearing Mystical Roo's fluorescent jacket.  When it gets really cold I steal Mystical Roo's big thick hoodies.  If my assistance is required in the warehouse then I borrow Mystical Roo's t-shirts and jumpers.  Poor Mystical Roo must wonder where half his clothes go sometimes.  I must say I look spiffingly good dressed in over sized gear, particularly when it's fluorescent.  I had a good street urchin look going on the other day that drew many a stare from the men in white vans.  Dressed in Mystical Roo's t-shirt, fleece AND fluorescent jacket I looked like a child dressing up with spindly arms and legs just visible under a mass of material and safety gear.  Yes I'm cool.  But it does the job and whilst I may not look fantastic, I succeed in being warm, keeping my own clothes clean (sorry Mystical Roo) and giving off a luminous glow when when walking towards oncoming traffic.  At the opposite end of the scale, a night out with the girls will inevitably involve skirts and impossibly high heels.  So of course I'm cold, my feet hurt and I'm incapable of moving anywhere at speed.  I seem to go from one extreme to the other.  Is there a happy middle ground?  Maybe I should try investing in some practical clothes of my own.  If they actually fit me then I would look less like a hobo and more like a Stalky.