Curdy Milky Bits

Being an avid... uh, let me rephrase that... vaguely enthusiastic participant in various weightloss programs, I've become a bit of an armchair expert on them. This brings me to my latest disappointment.

I've been on the Tony Ferguson weightloss program for around 4 months now and have quite happily lost 11 kilos. However, out of curiousity - and the convenience of being able to get supplies at a supermarket 24/7, I decided to give The Biggest Loser a go. I grabbed a pack of soups (just over twenty bucks) and a few chocolate shakes (nearly four bucks each) and gave it a whirl.

My first mistake was to take them to work with me meaning that, due to the fact I am literally in lockdown for eight hours, they were my only source of food for eight, long hours.

Now, with the Tony Ferguson shakes, I can add a spoonful of coffee, boiling water, stir and end up with a creamy, yummy vanilla latte or mocha coffee. Figuring the Biggest Loser shakes were basically the same, I tried making a mocha coffee with a chocolate one. YUK!

What's a nice way to say 'consistancy of ground rat droppings'? It was watery, and developed a crust on the top which, when stirred in, gave the impression that fibre glass had been finely ground up and blended in. I tentatively took a mouthful and gagged. I let it sit for a while hoping that it would all 'blend in' but it simply turned into a fibrous mess... it was like drinking something that had curdled.

So, this experiment was stamped 'DUD' and filed in the big white filing cabinet with the flip-top lid, in the kitchen.

Round two was a stab at the Roast Chicken and Vegetable soup - which I was hoping would be successful as by this time I was starving.

With the Tony Ferguson soups, my favourite thing to do is grab a single-serve bag of steamer veges, steam them, sprinkle an Asian Curry or Creamed Chicken Soup over the top and add boiling water. Stir it up and you have either a two-minute laksa or a chicken/vege stew of sorts. I figured it would be the same with The Biggest Loser soup...

I steamed up the veges and sprinkled on the soup. Upon closer inspection, it looked as if the soup was comprised of powdered glass! There were tiny little crystals of an unknown substance throughout the mix... weird. Throwing caution to the wind, I added boiling water and stirred... and the whole thing separated and congealed. It looked like a thin, curdled custard gone horribly wrong.

It was watery with little lumpy, milky-bits suspended in it. However, being as hungry as I was, I gave it a burl. It tasted like it looked... curdled and with a grainy texture. Little lumpy white fibres clung to the veges... so I filed it in the same cabinet the shake went into...

... and scammed half of my colleagues pizza.

In short, fantastic television concept... but it's no wonder they all lost so much weight... they starved.

Busted...

We all do things automatically... stuff you do every day without even thinking about it.

If it's something 'anti-social' - like scratching, picking your nose or adjusting yourself - you take a quick look around to make sure nobody is watching before proceeding. However... why do we throw caution out the window (literally) when we are in our cars?

On my trips home from work each morning, I'm amazed at the amount of people I see scratching, picking and preening, totally forgetting they are out in public. They wouldn't do it standing on the footpath or even in the middle of the road, yet they will do it in their car.

I found out just how public doing stuff in the 'privacy' of your own car can be this morning... and I will NEVER do it again!

Sitting in the traffic at a set of lights, I was waiting to turn right. The traffic was banked up both ways as either heading north or south will still get you onto a freeway heading into the city.

I was contemplating just how much the hot cross buns I had eaten earlier were bloating my stomach, when the need to 'pass wind' came on. Without a second thought - and as I had done on numerous occassions due to being the only person in the car - I decided I'd simply let one rip.

I lifted myself off the seat slightly, twisted a little for maximum effect and gave the appropriate facial expressions of a job well done. Excellent... I felt instantly better and relax back into the seat.

The 'bip bip bip bip bip' of a horn beside me from the traffic banked up in the opposite direction brought me back to reality...

I looked over and there are two council workers in a white Hi-Ace truck, hanging out the window laughing and applauding...

... oh... dear... god...

Realising that my fart had not gone unnoticed, I did the only thing I could... I rested my head on the steering wheel and pulled my hair around my face. I was mortified! I hoped that the traffic would simply move on, but no, it sat still for a few minutes more allowing my tormentors the thrill of watching me slide as deep into my sheep skin seatcovers as I could - all the while yelling, honking and giving me the big 'thumbs up'.

I started laughing and, figuring I might as well try and save the last shred of dignity I had left, I turned to face them and gave them the sweetest smile I could muster. The driver just grinned and gave me an 'okay' sign... then they drove off.

Slinking home, I told my other half what had happened and he just burst out laughing... I will never live this one down it seems.

Delinquent Pigeons

I was out the back yard this afternoon putting some stuff in the bins and have been bailed up by a pigeon. And not just any pidgeon, it was the Punk Pigeon of Death.

As well know... pigeons are known for being placid little guys who only really care about scamming free meals, crapping on anything of value and having bird-sex in the background of your carefully composed wedding photos. They scoot off when you approach and the most agressive thing they do is coo pigeon-abuse at you from a great distance.

But not this little guy... he was on a mission. Whilst the reasons for his full-scale attack on me will never be known, it has now made me wary of these deceptively passive guys. It's like being bailed up by a pensioner... with a pointy stick.

I was simply dumping stuff in the bin, when I became aware of a foofing noise and movement next to me. Looking down, I saw a pidgeon fluffed out to the max strutting back and forth, jumping at me and 'foofing' every now and then. I actually laughed at it and turned away to continue with my task - which must have annoyed it, as it took it's display one step further... it pecked my bloody ankle!

Spinning around I did what any normal person would do under attack - I kicked at it... further enraging it. It jumped up and made a swipe at my knee... then returned to foofing and strutting around my feet... WTF??!!... it's a pigeon for christ sake!!

I pretty pissed by now and picking up a plastic bottle, hurled it full-tilt at the little bastard. The bottle went right, he dodged left... which left my ankles open for attack again. Bugger this, I figured, you want war you little bastard... you'll get it!

I jumped at him with my right foot swinging and managed to connect this time. I punted him fair across yard, causing him to bounce off the fence. But did this stop him? Nooooooooo! He righted himself and got airborn, then literally divebombed me. WTF?? This - again - is a bloody pigeon!!!!

It landed back on the roof of my car and strutted back and forth, foofing and jumping... then flew off. So, here I am with a bloodied ankle standing under the carport wondering what the hell had just happened.

So.. be careful of those cute little pigeons with the punk-spikey-hairdo... the little bastards are planning global domination... one peck at a time.

Ninja Undie Attacks

What is it with men and washing machines? My other-half is pretty good at separating whites from coloureds and not putting fluffy towels in with work pants etc... but it's those BLOODY burrs that get me!

Anyone that knows me knows that we are involved in Tuff Truck and this means that for weeks prior to the event there is a lot of work to be done on the property to get it ready. Some of this work involves fencing and clearing, of which my other-half is an active participant.

The problem is that getting stuck into this type of work means that he has to walk through acres and acres of long grass and scrub that has these nasty little burrs - ones that look like little Ninja throwing discs. They are three sided and these little bastards are SHARP.

So, these nasty little pricks (take that anyway you like) have a habit of adhering themselves to his socks. When he comes home after a weekend up at the site, there are literally HUNDREDS of them hitching a ride back with him. A solution we used to have was our little 'prickle remover'... my rat, Fee Fee. These seemed to be the rat equivalent of chocolate, and if I laid out the socks for her (or if Greg was sitting somewhere with her) she would spend ages picking them off and stashing them in her 'pantry' to enjoy later. We no longer have Fee'... so the little buggers remain intact.

The problem lies with washing these socks. Greg has the really annoying habit of just tossing them in with the 'first' load of washing... which includes all my lacy bras and undies. Burrs + lacy undies = OUCH!

I first became aware of this factor during an important meeting. I was deep in conversation with a client and was suddenly aware of a sharp sensation in my... ahh.. 'nether regions'. I shifted in my chair to get comfortable and was met with a similar sensation elsewhere in my underwear.

Attempting to soldier on with the meeting, I spent the next 30 minutes shifting around in my chair (much to the odd looks of those around me), attempting to discretely deal with the sensation of having 1000 bull-ants in my undies. Once the meeting was over, I raced off to the ladies to try and work out what the hell was going on.

Bolting into the loo, I tore off my underwear and inspected them closely. There were literally HUNDREDS of tiny little burrs (unseen as when I dressed that morning it was still quite dark) imbedded in the lace and elsatic, that had slowly worked their way to the surface, inflicting what can only be described as the equivalent of 'chilli powder in your undies-type' injuries to my 'bits'.

I decided that I would take an early mark for the day and went home to deal with my injuries... you've gotta love Savlon... and spend the afternoon doing a major 'pantie inspection'.

To say there was some major lecturing on sock washing that evening would be an understatement.

Amen!

For some reason, I find THIS hilarious... I am SO going to hell!

A Dead Pussy in Her Drawers

First up, no cats were hurt when this happened... so all you cat lovers out there settle down. After writing my previous post, I remembered something that happened back in the nineties that, to Jo and I, was a source of endless amusement for years afterwards... know as the 'Dead Pussy in Your Drawers' incident.

Jo never had 'more than one cat'. In her own words, she had one 'major cat' and any others she owned at the time were referred to as 'minor' cats... and if there was only one 'minor' cat, it was always referred to as her 'Spare Cat'. She believed that everyone should have at a Spare Cat, in the event that a 'Cat Disaster' should occur - you would always have your 'Spare Cat' to fall back on. I never found out exactly what a Cat Disaster entailed, but Jo seemed to take the whole thing very seriously.

At the time of this event her Major Cat was a funny-looking ginger moggie called Rocky who had a fixation about driving in cars and sleeping on the ironing board while you were trying to iron. I can't remember the name of her Spare Cat, but she was a smokey coloured, fluffy little thing that Jo had taken in as a stray. They all lived in a little weatherboard cottage that Jo shared with a guy that we simply referred to as 'Some German Guy'.

Anyway, one Saturday afternoon she invited me over to assist her with the serious task of emptying two casks of one of those fruit-n-wine concoctions, something that we did with great enthusiasm as she had also made a 'cheesy-fruity-crunchy-platey-thingy' to go with it. Jo and I literally had a language all of our own going, much to the annoyance of our mothers as it allowed us to discuss things without them catching on.

So, we spent the afternoon getting stuck into this serious task and by the time we had completed our mission we were pretty much blind roaring drunk. Around this time, I happened to ask why I had seen Rocky around, but not her Spare Cat. Jo explained that she hadn't seen her for a nearly a year and had assumed that (like cats tend to do)it had decided to move out to greener pastures. It suddenly became obvious to us that finding this Spare Cat was paramount, in case we had a Cat Disaster happen!

We staggered around the house slurring "Herrrre pushy, pushy, pusssss... pushy pusss" - or something along those lines - for some time, looking under beds and in cupboards in case she had become trapped. Jo insisted that if that was the case, her Spare Cat was verrrrrry intelligent and would have found a means to survive. I figured that if the Spare Cat was verrrrrrry intelligent, she would have written notes and pushed them out under the doors to let us know she was there.

In our drunken stupor, we decided that this would have indeed happened, as she was a verrrrry intelligent Spare Cat, so moved our search out to the front yard.

At this point Some German Guy came home. What greeted him in the front yard was two very drunk women wandering around the front yard calling "Herrrrrrrre pushy cat... pushy cat... pusss pusss...herrrrrrre pussy". It was all very Monty Pythonesque and if it had been filmed would have probably earned us a large sum of money on Funniest Home Videos. Anyway, after watching us for a few minutes, Some German Guy asked us what was wrong and our reply about looking for the Spare Cat didn't seem as important to him as it was to us... so he went inside to escape the embarassment of being seen with us.

Once we had scoured the front yard, we moved our search to the back yard - stopping to grab a bottle of wine from the fridge to assist us in 'maintaining our focus on the serious task ahead'. After checking every nook and cranny in the yard (as much as you can when you are blind drunk) we came upon an old chest of drawers. These drawers, explained Jo, were chock full of memory-stuff-goodness-and-bits that she couldn't fit inside. We decided that this was a good time to go over this memory-stuff-goodness-and-bits, so opened the top and middle drawer. There was nothing inside... this caused Jo to burst into drunken tears, as she couldn't even remember what exactly had been in the drawers in the first place.

Then we opened the bottom drawer... and there was the Spare Cat, curled up with her tail around her nose, sound asleep.

Jo was extremely pleased about finding her Spare Cat (she was now fully prepared for a Cat Disaster) and began calling and cajoling her to come out. To which, the cat ignored her and continued its slumber, so it all went something like this:

J: That cat is ignoring me. I've spent the last few hours looking for her, and she ignores me.
S: That's the thing with Spare Cats, they are so ungrateful.
J: Really? Spare Cats are ungrateful?
S: Yup. I've heard it has something to do with only being a Spare Cat, emotionally devastating to them.
J: Where did you hear that? I can understand being an underling to a Major Cat could be traumatic... is that the same as being devastating... to a cat, I mean?
S: Yup, and being a verrrrrry intelligent Spare Cat with an extended vocabulary, it would have been even more devastating. In short, your Spare Cat is angry at you and is ignoring you.

At this Jo began to cry. She sat down in front of the chest of drawers and began to tell her Spare Cat how much she loved and appreciated her, and how important she was in the grand plan of being prepared for a Cat Disaster... and still the Spare Cat ignored her.

S: She's a verrrrry deep sleeper
J: Hmmm, maybe we should yell at her?
S: Okay, like in the Pet Shop skit then?
J: Yup

So, we began to do Monty Python's Pet Shop skit about the dead parrot... very loudly. This resulted in Some German Guy coming out to see what was going on. After explaining that we had indeed found Jo's Spare Cat (thus ensuring that everything was in place should a Cat Disaster occur) Some German Guy wandered over to the half-open drawer and peered in.

SGG: Uh, Jo... your cat is dead
J: No she's not, she's just sleeping
SGG: No, Jo...your cat is definately dead... mummified and very dead.
J: Nope, that cat is definately sleeping.
S: Yes... Spare Cats tend to sleep verrrrry deeply, it's a trait of theirs.
J: Really?
S: Yup
J: I never knew that. Maybe that's why she has been missing for so long, some form of cat-apoenea or something? Good thing cats don't drive, she'd probably fall asleep at the wheel.
S: That's a good thing, probably one of the gooder-rest things I've ever heard.
J: What's that?
S: That cats can't drive, they'd have accidents as they wouldn't be able to stop
J: Why is that? I'm sure cats would be verrrry responsible drivers - if they could drive!
S: They wouldn't be able to reach the brake pedal...
J: Ah! That makes sense.

At this point, Some German Guy decided that we'd lost the plot and went back inside, with a parting comment that the cat was indeed... dead.

Jo was going to have no part of this, so picked up a broom and began prodding the sleeping Spare Cat. It still didn't move, so I offered to prod it in the head, to teach it a lesson about ignoring people. Jo reluctantly agreed, so I prodded the sleeping Spare Cat right between the eyes, all the while yelling "Wake up Spare Cat, wake up!"

The broom went straight through its forehead... and out the back of its head.

I screamed... Jo screamed... and in my panic, I staggered back with the broom still in my hands. This resulted in the - now obviously deceased - cat, swinging wildly about as it hung on the end of the broom handle, making a terrible 'crunchy' noise as it did. I raised the broom in the air, intending to get the offending Dead Spare Cat as far away from me as possible, but this resulted in it sliding down the broom and onto my hand, which went through its head. Screaming, I threw the broom in the air, which completely dislodged the Dead Spare Cat so I was now wearing it like a crunchy, furry boxing glove.

I went into a crazed dance - hopping around and screaming - until I managed to fling the Dead Spare Cat off my hand, which resulted in it flying off directly at Jo.

What resulted was lots of drunken running around the yard screaming, Jo crying as her Spare Cat was indeed dead... and that she was now unprepared for a Cat Disaster. The noise caused Some German Guy to come outside, which at this point saw him coming across Jo, myself and a mummified Dead Spare Cat sitting on the back lawn crying (not the Spare Cat though, as it was dead).

SGG: What the hell are you two doing???
Jo: My Spare Cat is dead
S: Yes... it is indeed dead. Jo now has no Spare Cat
SGG: I told you that while it was still in your drawers, Jo
Jo: Oh... so you knew it was dead while it was in my drawers?
SGG: Yes Jo, your pussy cat is dead
S: Jo...
J: Yes...
S: You had a dead pussy in your drawers...
J: Uh... I had a Dead Pussy in My Drawers, didn't I?
S: Yup

We both collapsed with laughter about having a Dead Pussy in Your Drawers, totally forgetting that Jo was now indeed, Spare Cat-less. Some German Guy grabbed a shovel and quietly disappeared with the now deceased Dead Spare Cat to give it a decent burial in the garbage bin, leaving us rolling around the ground laughing...

Once we had sobered up, we mourned the Dead Spare Cat... and opened another cask to give it a wake of sorts. Funnily enough, Some German Guy declined to join in, instead muttering something about needing to get away from this madhouse, as he grabbed his keys then drove off.

To this day, somewhere in Germany, I'm sure he stills thinks we are nutters.

1800 Jerk My Chain

My best friend of 35+ years passed away late last year, and I am still mourning a loss that is going to break my heart until the day I die. Jo was my bestest-estest buddy and we both have a rather obscure way of looking at things, so she would fully understand the amusing side of the following post.

I received a phone call a few days ago from ****** finance company, in regards to a credit card she had that I was listed as a reference for. To say that the guy who called was persistant is an understatement, but he was a source of amusement to me on a subject that saddens me. And there is also something oddly satisfying about poking another human being to see how long takes to make them explode...

T: Hi, my name is Toby from ******, may I speak to *****?
S: That's me, how can I help you?
T: I'm calling in regards to Jo ******, we need to contact her urgently.
S: Mmmm, I have a fair idea where she is, but not exactly.
T: I'm sorry? So you have contact details for her?
S: Nope...
T: So, you can't get in contact with her then?
S: Not by what you'd call normal channels, but I do believe it can be done...
T: So, do you or do you not know where she is, we need to speak to her urgently.
S: Umm... depending on what your personal beliefs are, she may speak to you... yes.
T: Look, can you get her to contact us urgently?
S: What's your address then?
T: I will give you a number to get her to call.
S: Hmmm... far as I know, she won't have her mobile with her.
T: Can you give me her home number then, so we can call her?
S: Even I don't have that one
T: What about a work number then?
S: Wow... if I had her boss's number... damn, I'd be a squillionaire!
T: Sorry? *long pause* I don't understand? This is not a joke you know!
S: Okay, how about I give you my personal opinion on where I think she may be?
T: Thank you, that would be a great help.
S: Okay... there are fluffy white clouds, a dude in a long gown with a flowing beard and lots of little guys with wings flying around and...
T: Are you jerking my chain? This is not funny...
S: No Toby, death is not funny
T: Death? What do you mean death?
S: Jo passed away late last year, dumbass...
T: *long pause*
S: Are you there?
T: Umm, sorry. It *pause* seems our records are...
S: Yes, out of date
T: CLICK!