Photo Friday

Halloween 1996

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Q & A

Those pesky Jehovah Witness's were back in the 'hood today, leaving more of their literature in my letterbox. At least they didn't destroy my property this time. But they did pose some questions on their pamphlet that I will try my best to answer. They did ask, after all:

Does God really care about us?
I think that if there is a God, he's looking for the "Do Over" button as concerns the human race. I would.

Will war and suffering ever end?
I doubt it. Humans have been fighting with each other since the fork in the branch of the evolutionary tree that Creationist deny exists. As much as I'd like it to happen, I don't see it anytime soon.

What happens to us when we die?
Biologically speaking? That's kinda complex - go read this Wikipedia article for the lowdown. After that, you may be put into the ground, or cremated, or donated. Or a combination - cremated when the future doctors of tomorrow are done with you, for example. And they do need you.

Is there any hope for the dead?
Ummmm, no. Death is final. Unless you're hoping they stay dead, then yes! Next!

How can I pray and be heard by God?
I'm told the traditional pose in on your knees. However since other activities considered immoral by certain folk also take place in this position, you may want to reconsider. But really, however you feel comfortable.

How can I find happiness in life?
Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. And chocolate. Hell, chocolate alcohol!

Feel free to answer these questions in your own words in the comment section. And for the record, if any other religious group would like to leave their own questions in my mailbox, I will do my best to answer them as well. Much like my views on a person's sexuality, a person's religious belief's are their business. I don't give a fig what you worship - until you try and convert me. Then all bets are off and I'm an equal opportunity snark.

RAmen.

Censorship

I try and stay away from the political stuff but today I just can't. It's not even political, really, but since it was proposed by the current Labor Government in Australia I guess it could be considered such. But really, how can censorship be considered political when it really falls into the realm of evil?

Go and read this article in today's online Courier Mail - the local Brisbane rag paper - before continuing. What - you don't want to? You really should read it for yourself... oh for heaven's sake. OK, a brief summary: the current Labor Government of Australia is proposing internet-wide censorship for all of Australia and could ban not just illegal but controversial websites. Yeah, bet you want to go read it for yourself now, dontcha? Go ahead, I'll be here when you get back...

Scary, scary stuff. This was first proposed after the election last year, although the proposal then came with an "opt-out" option. I was still against it, preferring an "opt-in" option instead for those who want to believe their Internet access is G-rated. There was such a furore over it at the time, especially as it had never even been mentioned as part of the Labor party platform prior to the election, and I thought it had died a quiet death. How wrong I was. Instead it went and mutated into something even more repressive.

The moron asshole fuckwit assclown Minister who came up with this plan is Broadband, Communications and Digital Economy Minister Stephen Conroy, or as I will now call him the Minister for Moronic Ideas. Senator Conroy cannot even say for certain which topics will end up as part of the mandatory filtering list. There will also be a second-tier list of sites that will be optional for those who want, in the words of the government, a "clean feed" that will block "adult content". You must "opt-out" instead of "opt-in".

Hey, wanna puree my food while you're busy treating me like an infant? Maybe wipe my backside? Burp me... no, wait. I can manage that one all by myself. Ahhhhhh, that's better.

Seriously, this is simply wrong, wrong, wrong! I also find it very offensive - and I find very little truly offensive - that those who question this proposal are labelled pro-child porn, pedophiles, and anti-family. Because that is what Senator Conroy has done - taken a page from President Bush's "if you're not with us you're against us" book and turned it into "if you're not pro-censorship you support the abuse of children."

Fuck off and die.

In my own personal opinion, I believe pedophiles should be strung up by their private parts and dipped slowly into boiling oil whilst being stabbed with dull knives that have been coated in virulent bacteria. They then should be removed from said oil while still alive and left to die a slow and painful death. And yet I think this plan to force my internet content to be censored against my will smacks of the tactics of some of the most oppressive regimes in the world.

Who decides what is censored? Fellow Senator Nick Xenophon, who wants to block internet gambling? Or Senator Steve Fielding, who wants anorexia sites banned? What about religious groups who find gay marriage offensive? Euthanasia is illegal, so those sites could be banned. So much for that research paper.

The thinking that if you are against these filters then you must be some kind of perv that watches Internet porn also makes me roll my eyes right into the back of my head. Porn was around long before the big bad Internet, because sex is a basic human need. I don't watch Internet porn, yet if someone wants to watch legal adult porn in the privacy of their own home then that's their business. I can support someone's right to do something without doing it myself.

And then there's the whole "we must think of the children" argument. I'm in the business of parenting my own children, not everyone else's. If you don't want your children stumbling across or even deliberately seeking out porn, then install your own filter and set it to maximum. Don't expect the government to do it for you. And don't try and sell me the "I don't understand technology" song-and-dance routine. Take a class. Borrow a book from the library. Ignorance is no excuse. Kids can get around filters if they are very determined, much like they like to get around other silly rules parents put in place like chores and curfews. They test limits - it's what they do. Reinforce those limits - it's what we're supposed to do. My filter sends me reports when someone tries to access sites I've deemed inappropriate; having your mother ask you why you entered "Angelina Jolie nipple slip" into a search engine puts a stop to things pretty quickly. Short of cash? There are free filters out there, even one from the Australian government (the previous one set it up). Of course you could also try keeping the computer in a common area of the house and not allow it into their rooms so you can SEE FOR YOURSELF what your offspring are doing. No, too difficult when you want to be your child's friend instead of their parent. What about those who don't have kids - why should they be forced to protect your children because you won't?

I'm not even going to get into the argument about how the truly nasty stuff is accessed via peer-to-peer file sharing or old-fashioned email, which these filters won't touch. Or how perfectly legitimate stuff will be caught in such a wide net. Or the opposite - garbage you don't want like the ads for penis enlargements that still end up in my email inbox. Or how the $44 million this is going to cost could be put to use on neglected infrastructure, hospitals, or schools. Or just give it to me - I can piss it away just as well as this plan will and will have more to show for it.

I'm so fired up about this that I even sent an email to my local MP, something I've only ever done once before (not counting that 5th grade class letter we sent to Senator Ted Kennedy). My consolation is that according to an online poll, 85% of people agree with me. Censorship has very short and slippery slope, and unfortunately Australia has no proviso for freedom of speech in its constitution. Allowing this to happen in even its mildest form is the thin edge of the wedge, and I think you'd be foolish to think otherwise.

I leave you with this quote from Clare Booth Luce:

Censorship, like charity, should begin at home; but, unlike charity, it should end there.

An Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

I'd like to offer you my deepest and sincerest apologies. I really must have pissed you off in order for you to drop a 12 kg/26.5lb box of sugar from the top of a roll cage onto my shoulder and back at work tonight. I'd been there, what, 10 minutes? That really freakin' hurt! Just tell me what I did and I swear I'll never do it again.

Fondly,
Mooselet

PS - to everyone else, I'm fine. Well, as fine as a person can be after a heavy box falls onto them. I'm sure I'll have some bruising, but as long as I can get up out of the bed I'm going to collapse into in about 2 minutes it's all good.

UPDATE: It's now after 8:30 the following morning and I'm pretty good. My shoulder is only mildly sore and while my back is much more tender and starting to bruise I'm as agile as ever... which isn't saying much. So I guess the Universe accepted my apology, although I'm still clueless on what I did. If I do it again, please know it's not on purpose and not drop any more heavy boxes onto my person.

Saturday Skinfest

Yeah yeah, super late. Sue me. You can have the empty rice cracker packet next to me - they're baked, no fried, are gluten free and are ALL TASTE. And like all rice crackers, persist in putting Japanese characterization on their packaging.

So here's the skin you've been waiting for:

I like how Daniel Conn looks all fuzzy around the belly. Gives new meaning to a Fuzzy Navel.

I admit I am not a fan of Nick Youngquest's new look. Trying to out-Beckham Beckham only makes you look second-rate, Nick. Still, he's got the bod that is a Skinfest requirement, perhaps the only Skinfest requirement... okay, I have no requirements, only my moods. Still not diggin' it - perhaps someone else?

OK, technically the only skin you'll see here are the well-defined legs of Billy Slater - or so I'm lead to believe. Could be anyone with nice gams. But I couldn't resist this picture of Cooper Cronk and Missionary Legs Man.

Speaking of gams, Marisa Miller has gams that go on for freakin' EVER! Damn!

More skin next week.

Photo Friday

A couple cups of tea and an instant Chocolate Mudcake Latte and I'm feeling almost human. Clive had a very rough night last night and so I didn't get much sleep. Most of that was curled up on the foot of Her Majesty's bed so Clive's shrieking didn't wake the rest of the house.

Ugh... maybe a fourth cup of caffeinated goodness would do me good... Anyway, here is your photo for this week:

I bet my mental state makes a lot more sense to you now, doesn't it? Ladies and gentlemen I give you Sparky, my whiter-than-white-bread wanna-be gangsta son.

Hmmmmm, perhaps a fifth cup...

Potpourri

I don't seem to be thinking clearly today, or able to hold on to one thought long enough to do a full length post about it. So here's a bit of what is rambling around in my brain. Maybe if I get it out I can think like a grown woman and not some brain-addled twit:

- I have had to change 3 poop-filled nappies before noon. Clive is now having peanut butter lunch in the hope it binds him up.

- Her Majesty had a 10 minute sobfest a short time ago when I told her that she'd have to wait 30 minutes for lunch. This after she'd just eaten 2 pieces of left-over pepperoni pizza not 30 minute prior. She carried on like I'd just tossed her favourite blanket in the trash.

- Sparky is an idiot. Have I ever mentioned how the boy looses EVERYTHING??? When is he ever going to learn? This morning it was his wallet. Again. He claims Clive had it last night after Sparky left it on the counter. Why it was on the counter and not in Sparky's backpack like it supposed to be was not explained. I have been cleaning today and have not yet found it. Not happy, Jan!

- How in chocolate's name is Miss Thing ever going to manage getting herself through international airports, including customs and immigration, by herself when she still calls me in a panic because her backpack broke at school? "What am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?!" I will not rest easy until I get a phone call from the States telling me she made it in one piece.

- Is it really only Wednesday? Fuck! This week is going slower than snail sex.

- I bet snails have sex more often than I do. So unfair.

- Why is Westy sleeping like this:

Shouldn't his head be on the beanbag and not his rump?

- Payback is a bitch. I was deathly afraid of thunderstorms when I was kid. It wasn't so much the storm as the thunder - I never liked loud noises and thunderstorms can be really loud. And naturally I became afraid of the lightening as it precedes thunder. Guess which 5 year old kept shrieking and getting herself worked up into a frenzy during the small storm we had yesterday afternoon, setting off her little brother who really needs to excuse to scream?

- The storm yesterday was a disappointment for us at Chez Mooselet. The worst of it went to the north and south. Not that I want a lot of damage, but some really heavy rain to top up the pool would be much appreciated. We're supposed to get more rain today. I just hope it waits until I'm done driving around, or it rains in between trips.

- Headline from ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corp): "Man shot in head dies". I wonder how much they pay someone to come up with headlines like that! Tomorrow's headline: "Sun rises in east". Seriously, I'm sorry for the man's family that he's dead but can't you people at ABC come up with something less obvious?

- Said Sparky to me last night, "I think outside the triangle." Please let him be deliberately joking like he claimed.

- I'm really enjoying the miniseries John Adams, being shown on Showcase on Foxtel. It was shown on HBO back in the States. Miss Thing even watched the end of part 2 with me last night. I try and remember that, after 6 years of living in Australia, she knows next to nothing about early American history when she asks me things I think should be very obvious to a 17 year old. I never would have thought of Paul Giamatti as John Adamsbut now I can't picture anyone else. So far so good!

- This counters my huge disappointment with the screen adaptation of The Other Boleyn Girl. Now the book was extraordinarily kind in its treatment of Mary Boleyn and took lots of liberties with history, but was essentially factually accurate. But the movie... ugh. It was horrible. It felt very rushed and not only took liberties with history, but out-and-out rewrote HUGE parts of it. I wished I rented this first before I bought it outright. If you have never seen this movie, don't waste your time. I'll lend you my copy of the book instead.

I think my brain is pretty empty now. Still feel a bit like a brain-addled twit. Crap.

The Absurdity of Science

Mooselet here. Unless you are brand spankin' new to my blog, you are familiar with my mother, Momma Mooselet. MM has had her share of medical issues since a work accident several years ago, and she shared one of her tests with me back in July. If any of you have had to have extensive tests, or think you may in the future, you will appreciate this. It's long, but so worth it. Enjoy:

I had to do an overnight sleep study last night and figured you would appreciate the experience. I have had problems sleeping for several years but they got so bad recently that I was getting 2-3 hours a night and stopped functioning like a human being (not that I did that before the problems) and kept forgetting things like where I worked). It was a lovely night.

I had to be there at 7:30. Since I rarely even attempt to go to bed before 11, that seemed a little early to me, but I have learned how to follow instructions. With 3 1/2 hours of sleep the night before, I forced myself to stay awake all day. I didn't drink a sip of coffee after 11, so staying awake was a strain but I watched Shep put the truck mat into the new truck, made lists of things I need to put into the trailer for next week's tryout and managed it. I took a shower, washed my hair and packed my bag. Out the door at 6:30 and on the way.

Arriving, I took a seat in the waiting room as instructed. A nurse came by, took a picture of my insurance card and had me fill out a form. Then the technician called and Andrea and I were off to the "hotel room" as advertised. The room had one bed, two chairs, a TV up on the wall, and lots of lovely looking equipment. I was handed another form to fill out and instructed to change into my pj's and crack the door open when I was ready. Following the instructions I filled out the form (questions like how likely are you to fall asleep while reading ... talking.. driving a car), donned the pj's and cracked the door. As you are aware, I never wear anything to bed because I am an extremely active sleeper and twisted clothes do not help with sleeping, so I was already figuring that this was not going to happen.

I hopped up on the bed (typical cheap hotel room concrete block with two stiff as a board pillows - JOY!!! now I am sure to get sleepy!. I changed channels and found Jeopardy in time for the second round. They had a whole category on sleep studies - go figure. Just before Final Jeopardy, Andrea came back in and I got to answer lots of questions - what medications do I take (answers on the card in my wallet) when do I usually go to bed, when do I wake up, any allergies and my personal favorite, do I mind the smell of airplane glue. That last one got me thinking about the time you and a half dozen cadets were working on your aerospace project in your hotel room and got high on the glue because no one thought to open a window, so I burst out laughing. Strange look from Andrea, but it would have taken to long to explain, so I just listened as she told me that they attach the wires with glue and some people have been known to get sick from it. Then the standard, Any questions? How many times do people who do this study fail to fall asleep? seemed like a logical question to me. Hardly ever according to Andrea, who then left promising to return and attach the wires. I couldn't get Comedy Central for The Daily Show and Stephen Colbert, so I switched to NCIS and settled down.

Sure enough, she came back in half an hour with a cart full of lovely looking wires which she proceeded to sort out. She first demonstrated the mask for me to try out. As a child, I had my tonsils out and in those days they used ether which stunk and was administered through something very much like this mask, but this one had a harness that fit over the head. Boy I was really styling. She turned on the machine and told me to keep my mouth shut and breath through my nose. I obeyed, but it was awkward. The damn thing covered most of my face and felt slimy although she did say they were sterilized after every use. She explained that if I seemed to have apnea, they would put this on me during the night. What did I think. She asked so I answered - do you really expect me to sleep with that thing on my face? Well, maybe I wouldn't need it. Let's get working.

Step one - stand up and drop this set of red wires and two pads down the right side on my pj's top, inside the waist band and down my right leg. Got it!
Step two - do the same thing with this white pair on wires for my left leg. Handled that one, too.
Step three - lift the left side on my pj top so she can attach another wire also threaded through the top, to the left side on my rib cage. Okay...
Step four - repeat on the right side. I am beginning to feel like a primitive robot, but we manage that. Now take a seat in the chair. Andrea proceeds to glue the leg leads, and for extra security tapes over them. Luckily, I did shave my legs so this worked. But she was right, it did smell like airplane glue.
Step five - the face. OMG, she glued leads next to left eye, along the left side of my jaw, and behind my left ear. The airplane glue smell is getting stronger.
Step six - repeat on the right side. We've got to be almost done by now. But wait....
Step seven - lets glue some more to both sides of my throat.
Step eight - just for kicks lets part your hair in six places and glue some more wires - lots of pretty colors emphasized by the overwhelming smell of airplane glue. Please tell me we are done!
Step nine - let's put this strap and sensor around your middle on top of the boobs.
Step ten - lets put another one around the body and over the belly.
Step eleven, lets try one more strap with a sensor about the size of a TV remote around the body between the others so Andrea will be able to tell if I'm on my back, my side or on my stomach.
Step twelve - sit still while I attached each one of the wires to this dinner plate size contraption, and we'll be done.

She then packs up and leaves the room after explaining the intercom system. I am to call out to her when I am ready to try going to sleep and she'll come back to plug in the dinner plate.

So there I am, smelling like airplane glue with 20 wires glued to my body and three sensors stepped to it, in a pair of hateful pj's, lying on a concrete bed with two cement pillows trying to get sleepy. I did bring my squishy leg pillow though, so at least my knee is comfortable. My eyes were pretty heavy, but every time I moved, a wire or sensors caught on something and back to wide awake. 3/4's of a book later (about 11:30), Andrea calls and suggests I try to go to sleep. I agree and back she comes to plug the dinner plate to a box on the wall, turn off the light and exit stage left.

So, now I am lying in the dark trying to relax and fall asleep while staring at the red sensor on the wall where the video monitor is located. And after several sessions of relaxation exercises I do manage it. Unfortunately, every time I move I am awake again, but I did get close to 4 hours in. As I am lying there staring at the red light some more, Andrea calls over the intercom and says it is now 5:30 AM and it doesn't look as if I am likely to go back to sleep, so I want to call it a night. OK by me!

Andrea arrives and proceeds to pour a solution that really, really reeks of airplane glue over each sensor as she peels it from my body. Most of that wasn't too bad, but my hair was drenched and by now the smell has ignited a whopping headache. You are welcome to take a shower here, she says but the water is only lukewarm at best and the water pressure is awful. You can just get dressed and shower at home if you prefer, but please fill out this last form before you leave.
I wander into the bathroom thinking that an immediate shower is the only option, but I turn on the shower and get nothing but cold drips, a quick pee, face splash and I am back in the bedroom getting dressed. I fill out the form, cram everything back in my bag, grab my squishy pillow and try to find the exit door. I finally make it out of the building and stand there for a minute breathing the wonderful fresh, but soggy air as it's raining.

This building is located on the back side of Worcester in an area that used to be manufacturing plants and warehouses, so I was amazed to see the Toyota (Shep's old truck) in one piece right where I parked it. Toss the baggage in the back, struggle up into the driver seat( no steps in this one and my right leg is the bad one) and shut the door. Big mistake - the smell hit me all over again. Jam the key in the ignition and open the window. A lot wetter, but air smells so much better than I do. It's now almost six and with any luck I can be home in 20 minutes and hit the shower. Optimism does not always work out.

I start back the way I came the night before, but oops - no left turn to get back to the main highway and no signs telling me how to do it. No sweat - I'll just head in the right direction and there will be a sign. Ten blocks and six stop lights later, still no signs. My head is pounding and I am driving before I've had a cup of coffee. Someone is likely to be killed. At the next traffic light, I see a lot of cars heading off to the left (which is the general direction of the highway) so I decide to follow them. Halfway down the block the sight I have been longing for. The highway, right! Wrong, a Dunkin Donuts. I pull into the lot, shut off the engine and make a beeline for the door. Get in line at the counter and notice that people seem to be looking at me and backing away. Can't say as I blame them - my hair is wet and I smell like a glue factory. Well they'll just have to live with it because I NEED this coffee. As I push out the door with my coffee in my hand I look back and several people are waving hands in front of their noses.

Back to the truck, several large swallows and I am ready to try again. Ouila! Another block down the road and there is an entrance ramp for the highway. I made it home in close to record time, hobbled up the stairs and straight into my own shower. Clothes on the floor and into the exquisite hot streaming shower. Three shampoos later and the smell is finally gone. It is now 7 AM and I have time for more coffee and a bagel before I have to leave for my physical therapy appointment.

I should hear in a week or two from the doctor after he analyzes the readings. With any luck, he can tell me why I have trouble sleeping.

Love, Mum

Saturday Skinfest

I'm not going to post this til, well, Saturday, but I thought I'd better get it done now - Friday night - as the Hermit told me I should "sleep with one eye open" after he saw today's post. It's all in good fun, honey!

Anyway, let's get to the skin:

I know I said previously that Billy Slater's a wanker, but I had no idea he'd go and show us that - literally! If that includes shrinkage then... damn! ;-)

Not only is Denan Kemp a great footy player whom I will miss at my beloved Broncos next year, but he's a hottie!!! Yummy thighs.

Reni Maitua jumps over things very well. Another hottie.

I give you the former Miss England, Danielle Lloyd, and a bunch of other Pommie chicks at the opening of Danielle's new modeling agency. Because one always opens ones new business half-naked.

More skin next week!

Photo Friday

Ok, so I didn't fool anyone last week. It was me. The drool gave it away, didn't it? I'd also like to know why Momma Mooselet continues to make the claim I was bald until I was 2; that photo was taken when Gabe was about 6 months old (I have other photos with both of us) which puts me at just over 2 and I have a hell of a lot of hair! Please explain, MM.

Now this week - from the "he's going to kill me when he sees this" files:

Weren't the 70s great for fashion? If by "great" I mean "so hideous it makes your eyes bleed". It wasn't your fault, Mother Hermit; at least he's smiling!

Beer Ads

I really need to do a post about how Clive took at least 10 years off my life on Monday, but since I'm not quite over it yet I thought I'd give you this instead. Aussie's love their beer and have lots of ads to prove it:

My brief thoughts on each (without giving them away in case you read before you watch) -

Number 10: The song is the VB music, and I think we've all done the bottle-blow (god that sounds wrong) on occasion. Cute ad, and fairly recent.

Number 9: Kinda gross, but it's got a good beat.

Number 8: Meh. Don't hate it, don't love it. Maybe because I don't have a penis.

Number 7: Pretty funny, but not the funniest of the Hahn ads along this line.

Number 6: Very cute and good choreography. I love the look on the truck driver's face.

Number 5: All about the Aussie shout. Very blokey.

Number 4: Love this one... except for the flying crotch shot. Could do without that, but overall it's fantastic.

Number 3: Another favourite. The sight of the flying animal - elk, caribou, whatever - as it zooms into the clouds cracks me up. I don't know why, but it does.

Number 2: OK, Bundaberg Rum isn't technically a beer, but it's a great ad. "We wouldn't suck at sport." Hee! Personifies the Aussie attitude toward the English.

Number 1: I've said it before - Best. Beer Ad. Ever. It's freaking huge.

And no, I don't drink beer.

Letting Go

I can be a bit of a control freak at times, especially when it comes to personal stuff. I wasn't always like this, but looking back I think it comes from ending my relationship with the Bastard. I became pretty determined to not let anyone control certain aspects of my life - my career, my personal life in relation to my family and friends, and my money. I also have an overblown sense of responsibility - everything in my personal sphere is my responsibility somehow.

Lately I haven't had the time to devote to the family budget like I used to or should. The Hermit and I are on the same wavelength when it comes to money, or we started out that way. I don't even know how we got into the routine we did, with me taking over the bill payments and day-to-day finances and then dealing with all matters money. However ever since Clive has come along I've really struggled to keep up with it all, and paradoxically have been fighting to keep control of it ever since. See, I used the word 'control' when I meant keeping the responsibility of the household finances.

Which is stupid, really. Discretionary spending by both of us has gotten way out of hand because I wasn't able to stay on top of it. Not that we're on the verge of destitution or anything, but I kept giving the Hermit vague answers when he wanted specifics. I kept playing catch-up and refusing to give it up to the Hermit, despite several offers from him to do so. I told myself I was sparing him, as he's got enough stress to deal with at work.

But really, it was a control issue. I wanted, needed, to be in control of it, to keep responsibility of it. But I wasn't, and I was being, well, stupid. And stubborn. Because these types of matters in a marriage shouldn't be controlled by one person or the other - they should be shared. Shit like this destroys marriages.

So today I gave the responsibility for the budgeting and tracking of expenses over to the Hermit. I admitted I can't keep up with it - another big thing for me, admitting I can't do something I feel like I should be able to do. I'll still pay the non-regular bills - all the regular ones get paid automatically - and spend the money, but the Hermit gets the rest.

Do I feel better for doing it? Yes and no. Yes, because now it'll get done when it's supposed to. The weight of responsibility is off me and is being shared with the Hermit. And no, because part of me still feels like I should have done it. That I just wasn't good enough to keep up with it, and if I had tried a little bit harder then I could have kept that responsibility.

Did I mention the stubborn and stupid part of my personality? Yeah, it's being given a stern talking to by the more rational parts of me and told to knock that shit off. It's time I took responsibility for that side of my nature.

Saturday Skinfest

I miss footy! When is the off-season over? What good sports are there to watch now? Cricket? Bah - baseball on Prozac. Too little coverage of US sports to help matters. Soccer? Or yet another 'footy' as we're supposed to call it now? Maybe... they do pull their shirts up over their heads, right?

Ok, let's get to the drool-fest:

The only thing the Grand Final was missing, other than playing shirtless, was more shots of weeping Storm players, especially Billy Slater. As good looking as he is, he's a sook and a wanker and I so wanted so see him cry like a girl.

Footy players are the only people who should be allowed to wear budgie-smugglers. In fact, it should be compulsory for them.

Matt Cooper looking all golden and studly in the surf. Tasty!

Tom Brady, you lucky bastard. I do hope Gisele is taking good care of you after you went and injured yourself. I suppose just looking at her makes you feel better.

More skin next week!

Photo Friday

OK, who is it? Miss Thing? Sparky? Her Majesty? Clive? Or maybe the Hermit, or even Yours Truly! Or some other family member... ok, I wouldn't do that to you. Or would I??? Give it your best shot. And avoid the temptation to wipe the drool from the child's chin.

Oh I Don't Think So!

Nobody messes with moose. Not even vapid VP candidates:

In case you can't make it out, it says "Real Women Hunt Moose"

The only moose this Real Woman hunts is chocolate flavoured and can be purchased in small plastic tubs. I'm sure it tastes a damn lot better too!

Now someone send a Real Moose to go and crush her car.

Sock Monkey - Corruptor of Youth?

Last night I read the story Sock Monkey Boogie-Woogie to Her Majesty and Clive. If you aren't familiar with sock monkeys, then you are deprived. Get thee to your nearest search engine to investigate. Clive is fortunate enough to own his very own Sock Monkey from Mother of Hermit.

In Sock Monkey Boogie-Woogie, Sock Monkey, now a famous actor, needs a partner for the Big Celebrity Dance. His friends, Blue Pig, Froggie and Miss Bunn are all going out of town - what's a lonely monkey to do? Sock Monkey holds auditions but none of the other toys are suitable. After receiving some gifts from his out-of-town friends, Sock Monkey gets an idea and makes himself a partner!

A fellow monkey partner.

A male monkey partner:

Sock Monkey and his new fairy cake-bakin' partner, Sock Buddy, practice a variety of dance movies before heading off to the Big Celebrity Dance and get down and funky on the dance floor in their spiffy disco suits. When Sock Monkey's friends return they are introduced to his new "partner" Sock Buddy, who is quickly accepted into the group. No doubt helped by his fairy cakes:

Matching disco suits, matching aprons, photos on the wall... yup, Sock Monkey is definately embracing an "alternative lifestyle". Especially when I discovered that in another book, Sock Monkey Rides Again, the plot revolves, in part, around Sock Monkey's unwillingness to pucker up to his female co-star. To quote Marge Simpson, Sock Monkey "prefers the company of men".

I wonder if Sock Monkey Boogie Woogie is on Sarah Palin's banned-book list? Doesn't seem to be. Perhaps I should shoot her an email...

No, I wouldn't do that. I really don't give two shits who Sock Monkey dances with. Or who Albus Dumbledore shares his wand with. Or who any man or woman, real or fictional, chooses to spend their life with. Adam and Steve want to get married? Go for it, dudes - marriage is tough and if you crazy kids think you've got what it takes then what the hell do I care? Are you a good person? Or do you beat your kids, get drunk all the time, mooch off hard working taxpayers, strangle puppies, commit insurance fraud or one of a myriad of other social ills that will hurt people? Because I will take an entire neighbourhood of fairy cake-bakin' Sock Buddies over a neighbourhood of hetrosexual assholes any day of the week... and twice on Sunday.

More Photos

I finally finished uploading and putting captions on the cemetery pictures from the 2007 road trip. You can go and see them here, or follow the link in the sidebar to all my photos.

You'll also see a new picture of Yours Truly over there, albeit a very old one as I have very long hair in it and now have very short hair. It's my Facebook picture! I mentioned the other day having to sign up for a Facebook account when Miss WTF put her photos up there as it was the only way to see them. Then I found out Mumfies, the only woman I know of my age bracket who is more technically behind that I am, had a Facebook account. Now I've been "found" by several relatives and long-lost cousins; so lost that if we passed each other on the street I'm 100% certain we'd not know we're related. I will, therefore, be staying on Facebook. If you have a Facebook account and want to add me as a friend, under my real life name no less, click the picture. If not I'll never know and will not think any less of you because you rejected me. I always knew you were like that.

I See Dead People

Note to self: when you promise your teenager that you will help them fund an end-of-school year trip if only they avoid Schoolies, be more specific about where that trip will be taken! If you're not Australian, I recommend you follow the link and read about Schoolies and you'll see why I'm so keen to avoid Miss Thing going. If you are an Aussie parent, well then I don't need to explain. You understand. So when I made the offer I had a trip within Australia in mind; Miss Thing chose the US. I tried to talk her out of it. I told her she had to save half the fare - she did. I warned her she'd have to navigate airports, including customs and immigration, by herself. No sweat.

So I guess there goes any tax refund I'm getting from both countries. Ugh. At least we avoid Schoolies. And I have learned a very important lesson - be specific! Sparky will not be getting the same deal.

What does that have to do with dead people? Not a thing. But I'm so drained trying to find a flight that I won't have to sell an organ for that all I've managed to do tonight is to upload the pictures from the Bundaberg Cemetery that I took back in June/July. Go check them out if you'd like; there are only a few of them. I have many from the Central Queensland trip in 2007 that I will get around to posting, with luck sometime this week.

Especially if I hit the lottery.

Saturday Skinfest

I worked til 1am last night so I could have tonight off, and since Clive woke me up just after 6am this morning I'm still not with it. So I'm afraid the witty banter you quickly skim through in order to get to the Skinfest will not be available this morning. Don't everyone weep at once. At least you have the skin:

Ok, so Melbourne have moved onto my shit list and I will be hoping they go down in flames tomorrow in the Grand Final. That doesn't mean I think their players, like Cooper Cronk, aren't F-I-N-E!

Damn Craig Wing is so nice to look at. Go on, just look... now clean up that drool.

Not the best picture of Steve Menzies, but seeing as the Beaver... geez, the jokes write themselves when you have that nickname.

If you don't know about England's famous Page 3 girls, please get thee to your nearest search engine now and enlighten yourself. Unless you thought Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction" was the worst thing ever and are scarred for life - then why the hell are you here??? I wish I could rock those outfits.

More skin next week!

Photo Friday

So, how have I been? You tell me:

Shark Attack

It started out like this:

It was her first time ever in a swimming pool, back when we moved in to Chez Mooselet in October 2004. Several months later she was doing this:

Her Majesty was just a couple of days shy of her 2nd birthday and while she doesn't look terribly happy in the photo, I can assure you it was the presence of the male photographer rather than a dislike of her swim lesson. She took to swimming like, well, a duck to water and has been having lessons twice a week for years. If I could afford it, she would happily go more often.

So it was no real surprise yesterday when she was, once again, moved up to the next level - Sharks - in her classes. This means that, while she still can't stand flat-footed in the deep end of the pool without the water being over her nose, she'll be learning how to "develop breaststroke arms & timing, dolphin kick, reinforce freestyle and backstroke skills". She's FIVE, people! She still can't buckle her own seatbelt, for heaven's sake, but she'll be learning how to do a butterfly kick alongside kids twice her age. Go ahead, be amazed - I certainly am! Hey, she's my kid on my blog - I can brag all I want:

I know it's not a recent swimming photo, but do you have any idea how hard it is to get pictures in a pool with Clive tearing about? Do you???

I give the credit to Momma Mooselet and her very athletic genes that obviously went all recessive in me and Gabe and landed squarely in my offspring (except for Clive... I reserve judgement until he's old enough to show interest in a sport other than competitive eating) and especially in Sparky and Her Majesty. Thanks for the genetics Mom!

Cranky

Bring on Thursday! Or to be more exact, next Thursday.

I love Thursday's. It's the day all 4 kids are gone - Miss Thing and Sparky to school, and Her Majesty and Clive to pre-school/day care. I've kept Clive at the child care centre in order to keep him used to the place so when I have to do 8 weeks of clinical prac next semester it isn't such an ordeal. So on Thursday I get about 6 1/2 child-free hours.

Bliss. Except for these last two weeks, when I have some kids home all the time.

So when school holiday's end next week, I can look forward to having my Thursday's back. Because I seriously need some alone time.

Especially when my computer is giving me such fits I want to chuck it out the nearest window. The 'net nanny' program we installed some time ago to prevent a certain 13 year old boy from surfing for images that don't belong on a family computer doesn't like my AVG security suite, so every third page or so I get an error message. I've been trying to look at Miss WTF's photos on Facebook - something that I had to sign up for (no I didn't have a Facebook account - dinosaur, remember?) - and the computer isn't loading certain pictures. It's been doing that for other things as well. Damn computer.

At least it behaved itself long enough for me to pay the bills this morning - something that always makes me cranky. I don't like giving other people our money.

Speaking of money, I'm now reading that the US Senate is trying to pass a "compromise" rescue package that offers huge tax cuts! 'Scuse me? How is the country going to pay for a $700 BILLION spending program - because that's what it is, spending money - by LOWERING revenue? This whole situation sucks. Not only do Australian markets - and markets everywhere - get hammered, but as a US citizen I'm obligated to file and, if deemed necessary, pay taxes every year. So as a taxpayer I still have a stake in how this plays out. I only hope that in the aftermath of this the whole financial system is overhauled, but since most politicians lack any kind of balls to make those kind of decisions I predict the system will revert back to a very similar model of what it was.

And did I mention the Bastard is being a pain in my ass again, telling Miss Thing and Sparky that the money they get from Social Security - the Bastard managed to get himself declared permanently disabled - is theirs? That I should be handing them $100 a month to piss away on whatever they deem fit instead of me using it to, oh I don't know, pay for clothes? Or food? Or medical bills? Or any of the many needs they have that the Bastard has failed to help provide for over the past 13 years, instead leaving that to myself and the Hermit? Miss Thing understands this, but I have had to have conversations with Sparky that, quite frankly, I didn't need to have at his age.

So between the kids bugging the hell out of me over these school holidays, the computer issues, the paying of bills, my fucker of an ex-husband, and the fact that countries seemingly have BILLIONS of dollars to bail out companies who made piss-poor decisions yet have no money for social service programs... I am NOT happy. In fact, I am downright cranky. Or did you figure that out already?

I need... well, what would really do the trick should not be discussed on a blog that's read by one's in-laws. So in lieu of that, I will settle of large quantities of chocolate and time to myself. Then I can be calm and rational... Or at least calmly irrational.