When good ideas go bad

It was a good idea.  In theory.  

It was the putting it into practice part that let us down.  That and the massive downpour of rain that had not long stopped when we got there that left the ground squishy and squashy and the water still running down the hill towards the lake forming at the bottom.

But, as the LOML says, once you commit to a solution, you can't pull out halfway into it.  And the commitment had been made.  Hence the outcome.

Luckily, my mum eventually answered her phone and was able to drive down (45mins one way no less) to pick us up.

That was on Sunday.  Today, three days later and no rain in between, we went down to pick the van up thinking the mud would have dried and it would be a simple case of driving on out.

Quite obviously the van and the mud had other ideas.  

Hopefully our neighbour and his 4WD will be free over the weekend to drive down and tow us out.

Some days all you can do is laugh.  Otherwise you'd cry.

One for the fellas.

Tonight my sister handed me the latest junk mail catalogue from the Shaver Shop.  

This page was towards the end...

Clearly, the hair free man is all the rage this December.  

As disconcerting as it was to see a picture of a male model with a shaving implement so close to his tender bits (careful!), it was this bit that left me lost for words.....(go on, click on it and make it bigger - no pun intended!)

The guffawing and not-for-young-ears-jokes that my sister and I then went on with sparked the attention of my too-smart-for-her-own-good 8-year-old niece who will no doubt be digging this catalogue out and trying to work out what we were laughing at.  And then asking her mother questions that shouldn't be asked for a couple of years yet.

I'm lost for words.

And I'm still laughing.

Noises in the night

Last night was one of the longest nights of my life.

I think I slept for an hour or so which was nice (not).  So right about now, after a full day at work followed by a friend over for dinner (why oh why), my eyes are hanging out of my head and I'm just a touch delirious.  Certainly the glass of red wine I had with dinner wouldn't be helping that any either.

But that's not the story I'm trying to tell.  This is....

There I was last night, all tucked up in bed and about to drift into deep dreams of restfulness when there came a noise.  And then it came again.  And again.  And then it kept on going until 5am this morning when I finally cracked the shits and went downstairs to find out just what on earth the problem was.  

Why I left it so long to do anything I'm not sure - truly, I could have gone downstairs when I first heard it, but I think it has something to do with my innate belief in there being some jobs for the girls of the family and some solely for the boys.  Investigating noises in the dark falls directly, unquestionably into the latter category.  There is a reason the big baddie bashing stick is not on my side of the bed.

So what was the noise you ask?  Certainly nothing scary - I knew exactly what it was when I first heard it but it was dark out.  And it's even darker downstairs.  And there is stuff everywhere and I would have walked into something for sure.  Plus, investigating noises in the dark is not in my job description.

The noise you ask, what was the noise?  


........

It was a kitten.

A kitten mewling.  

A little kitten mewling.  

A desperate little kitten mewling a desperate little mewl (?).  

I know, I know, how absolutely terrible and selfish and un-caring for animal welfare am I but it was dark, darker downstairs, with stuff everywhere and investigating noises in the dark is not in my job description.  And on principle, I wasn't going to be the one to get up and deal with it in the dark. That would just be setting a precedent that I wasn't about to start.

So instead I lay there and listened.  And  listened.  And listened.  For hours.  Hours.  While the LOML snuffled and snored beside me.  Not happy Jan.

Once the sky started to lighten and chase the shadows away I huffed and puffed and got up and made my way downstairs where I found these.....

...mumma puss and her babies.  

Not our mumma puss - we don't own a cat - someone else's mumma puss.  Why she chose our house to make her home to raise her littlies I don't know.  And how she managed to raise these babies for so long - clearly they are not newborn, they are big and their eyes are open, we're talking weeks - without me knowing escapes me.  Clearly neither the LOML nor I venture into that part of downstairs anywhere near often enough.  Hmmmm.

It turned out that one of the kittens (the darkest grey one on the left) had fallen off the makeshift nest mumma puss had made on top of all the stuff downstairs and couldn't get back up, hence the mewling.  Why mumma puss didn't get down and pick him up has me stumped but she didn't and instead he did not shut up all night.

All night.

Mumma puss and babies are now with the city council animal management people who will try to find her owner to take her home.  I hope they are successful.  It was all I could do not to cave in and keep her and her babies.  She was a beautiful cat and they were beautiful babies.  However I wasn't sure how I would explain to the LOML that we now had four cats, surprise!....so I thought it best to go with no.  

Looking forward to an uninterrupted sleep tonight.

Why I'm not a doctor...

I love the Insanity Streak cartoons in the paper!  They are the only ones I read (really!).

Canine mutiny

This is my mum's dog Jack.  

He's a mini foxy who fails to acknowledge that he is not human.

I think he sometimes feels incredibly hard done by that he is not allowed to eat at the table, ride shot-gun in the car, join us on shopping outings, eat ice cream or chocolate cake, or sleep on the lounge.

And I'm sure he doesn't appreciate me pulling him into line and banishing him outside when the occasion warrants.  Aunty Shelley truly is a bitch.

Last night he took matters into his own hands (paws?) in an attempt to prove his human-ness.

He did this all by himself: jumped up onto mum's bed, snuggled himself under the covers and arranged himself so that his head was on her pillow.

Little shocker.  

It didn't work.  He still had to sleep outside for the night.

:)

Patience is a virtue

that I seem to be lacking.


Don't you hate it when you burn your tongue on that first mouthful.  Goddammit.  Now it's all gonna taste like crap.


At least it's not hot potato sticking to the roof of my mouth.  Now that one burns!


How old do I have to be to be old enough to know better?

False alarm

That's the trouble with cleaning up, you can never find anything again.

The other day the LOML went looking for the sledgehammer to break up some concrete that needs breaking up.  But it was nowhere to be found.  

Nor was the axe.

And there was wood to be chopped as well.

Minds were searched, as were sheds and cupboards and out-of-the-way hidey-holes but nowhere, nowhere were they to be found.

It was a dilemma of the financial and emotional security kind.  Had someone come into our home, into our safe space, and just taken them?  Who would be game enough to walk into our backyard, under our house, into our sheds and just help themselves to our things without worrying about who would see them, who could catch them red-handed?  How much would it cost to replace them?  Where could we get more of that quality for a reasonable (affordable right now) price?

It just couldn't be so, couldn't be.

Sigh.  Huff.  Sigh.

And then yesterday afternoon, the LOML found them.  

Hooray!  Hallelujah!  Cheers all round!!

In the spot where they are supposed to live.  Who'd-a-thunk it?

Not in the spots where they are usually placed after use, precariously perched behind wood piles and doors.  No, they were in their spot.  The result of a major clean-up of sheds and storage areas.

Phew!!  I'm going to sleep a whole lot easier tonight!

Funny cos it's true

Every day our local paper has a joke of the day.  

Most times they aren't funny at all.  Instead they make me question the humour of the person in charge of this particular segment.  I bet they think a good night out involves last year's tax receipts and a glass of non-alcoholic rose.  Puh-lease.  (not that there is anything wrong with immersing oneself in the joy that is taxation accounting nor the inherent feelings of sobriety-whilst-looking-like-drinking-like-a-fish....let's just say that these things are not for me....).

So anyway, this was in the paper the other day.  I found it quite amusing, funny even, simply because it is true.......The characters are American and Mexican but could truly be anyone really.  Them and us.  Anyone really.

Here goes.....

An American businessman was at a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked.  Inside the small boat were several large fish.

The American then asked what didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish?  The Mexican said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs.  

The American then asked what did the fisherman do with the rest of his time?  He said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos.  I have a full and busy life, Senor."

The American scoffed, "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you.  You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat.  With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats.

"Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery.  You would control the product, processing and distribution.

"You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.

"After 15 to 20 years of hard work and when the time is right you would sell your company to the public and become very rich.

"But the best part is that then you would retire.  Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos."

Funny, cos it's true.  I'm with the fisherman.

Is there a cure?

Sometimes I do stupid things.  Whether as a result of rushing things, not thinking things through or not following instructions the outcome is pretty predictable.  Doesn't happen that often but when it does all I can do is laugh.  Otherwise I'd cry.


Tonight was a doozy. 


I've had such a great day too, it's a shame it's had to end this way.  The weather was glorious so I spent the afternoon out in the veggie garden weeding, planting seedlings, mulching etc and then tonight we had a spontaneous BBQ dinner with all the family at our house.  A great day.


And now that everyone has gone home I've decided to complete a task that has been on my to-do list for a week or so - dye a pair of my jeans a darker blue.


I was being so careful - managing to get the dye all mixed up and jeans soaking without making too much of a mess - certainly making sure not to get any on my clothes.  I was being so careful.....


And then I pulled off my gloves....

Must make sure next time that the gloves don't have holes in them.


Anyone have any solutions for removing dye from skin?

Dump lip

WARNING: This is not a pretty post.  It is quite embarrassing, a little disgusting and yet very funny.  Trust me, I know, it happened to me.  And I'm still laughing.

This is not dump lip.....

Firstly, some background information.....
On the first Sunday of every month our local dump (refuse tip/ waste transfer station - whatever you call it - to me it's the dump) gives away free mulch.  This mulch comes from all the greenwaste people dump at the dump - all chewed up and mulched.  It then sits in a pile (big pile) for a month, composting away, until freebie Sunday.  


When you go to get a load you are given a piece of paper that has the potential to scare you off it - may contain noxious weeds, metal, glass, chemicals, household waste etc.  Nonetheless, it is free.  You can't expect great things for free.  And there is some serious heat in that big compost pile - you can see the heat waves coming from the top of it - that surely that will kill the weeds and their seeds ? ? surely.  


Next, setting the scene.....
On the Sunday just gone we went and got a load of dump mulch to put around some trees under which nothing but weeds grow.  Anything to stop the weeds.  On Monday my challenge was to get it out of the trailer and under the trees.


After some amazing trailer manouvering on my part (I have never reversed a trailer before so what better time to have a go than when no one is around to watch and laugh) I got it into position.


Now for the story......
There I was, happily wheelbarrowing stinky dump mulch (it doesn't just stink, it reeks.  It is after all, dump mulch) out of the trailer, making a good dent into the load (it was a BIG load).  I got to the end where I couldn't reach far enough to drag the last couple of barrowloads from the back the trailer into the wheelbarrow (had to use my hands (gloved) because the shovel wouldn't go into it) so I jumped into the trailer with the intention of dragging/pushing/pulling the mulch towards the back of the trailer where I could reach it.


So there I am, crouched on my heels, weight on my hands as I used my body weight to push a big pile away from me.  Unfortunately for me I was getting so close to the end of the task and my body was feeling very tired and worn out that it stopped talking to my brain.  This meant that my feet neglected pass on the message that the trailer floor is smooth tin and the potential for slipping is great.  And that's what happened.  My feet slipped out from under me.  And because  my centre of gravity was forward on my hands as they pushed away the pile of mulch, my face broke my fall.  On the pile of dump mulch.


I jumped up with lightning speed, flicked of my gloves to wipe my eyes - all the while spitting the dump mulch out of my mouth and saying "yuk, dump mulch, dump mulch....eeeewwww'.  Swiftly I made my way upstairs to the bathroom (spitting and swearing all the way - I'm such a delicate flower) to wash my face and survey the damage.  Nothing too bad, just some red marks across my forehead and cheeks to indicate the force with which I face planted and a little blood where my lip had split (and not much blood at that.  I must confess I was like a little kid squeezing my face to make it bleed - you get WAY more sympathy from others if there is blood!).


After making sure that I wasn't permanently disfigured (a frighteningly real possibility - my sister and BIL pulled a bucketful of broken glass and twisted metal out of their last load) I then froze - did the guys working next door see me stack it?  They were awfully quiet when I came upstairs.  Oh no, I bet they saw!  No, surely they didn't see....?  How embarrassing if they did.  


I slunk back down and finished the job.  This time kicking the mulch off the back of the trailer with my feet.  There was not going to be a repeat of the face plant.  


The epilogue.....
Anyway, it's been 4 days now since it happened and I haven't come down with any scary dump disease and my lip has recovered just fine.  The only thing still bruised is my ego but that will come good in time.  This isn't the first time I've done something stupid and it certainly won't be the last ! 


Don't feel bad about laughing - it's a funny story and I haven't stopped laughing at myself.  Neither has the LOML.  He was sympathetic of course (at first) but he laughed almost as hard as I did when I told him.  Just another day in the comedy that is my life.....