tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636197422504156062024-03-14T07:01:40.529-07:00Kate's RamblingsUncommon thoughts on common thingsKatiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-80232519471865971912019-03-21T21:24:00.000-07:002019-03-21T21:24:38.339-07:00Let's Go To The Shops ......Is it just me, or are today's shopping centers so confusing, you have to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find your way out again?<br />
<br />
I suspect the reason you see so many elderly people sitting on shopping centre benches, is not because they love to shop, it's because they went n when they were young, got lost and now live in KMart and Target.<br />
<br />
In fact, I think I smell a TV show - Survivor Doncaster. Your challenge today is to avoid being stopped by any of the mobile phone sales people.<br />
<br />
OK the problem with my local shopping centre, is that I can never find my car, when I've finished. I really need to carry a NAVMAN just to find the bloody thing when I've finished shopping.<br />
<br />
I swear they rotate the shopping centre just after I walk in the automatic doors. And I'm convinced the car park levels whirl around on some sort of a rotisserie.<br />
<br />
And of course, there are no clocks. I renember the old days where the only thing you had to take with you when shopping in a mall, was a credit card, oh or cash. But now you need a comass, trail mix and, of course, a sherpa. By the way, the only instance where you'll ever see the time in a mall, other than you wearng a watch, is when you try to buy one. Be prepared, however, they're all set to London time or New York time or Hemmer time!<br />
<br />
But all that said, there's something completely compelling about a proper shoppng centre. It's an experience.<br />
<br />
I'll never forget when the first big shopping centre opened in the country town I grew up in. For the first few years of my life, if mum or dad wanted to buy anything, they would go to different shops in different places. But all that changed with the opening of the new wiz bang shopping center.<br />
<br />
The family was so excited when it opened. Thirty years lated, I still remember the TV adverts promoting it. "Where it's always 21 degrees and fine".<br />
<br />
You know the place hasn't got much going for it, when the best thing they can come up with to promote it was "we have air conditioning". I can still remember a hardware store that was promoting "we have doors you can walk in and out of".<br />
<br />
We've come a long way, I think.<br />
<br />
To change the subject, we're driving to Sydney and I asked them to stop the car so I could go to the bank.<br />
<br />
Now is it just me thinking this? Did the person who came up with the name 'banker' get the first letter wrong?<br />
<br />
Before I'm beaten to death with the 'next teller please' sign, I should clarify that I am not talking about the humble bank staff here - I realise that working in bank is like working in a strip club , you get to stare at the good stuff, but you can't take it home<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. More about this next month.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-84122785375146780672018-10-31T22:53:00.000-07:002018-10-31T22:53:56.738-07:00The Witch and the Vampire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm upset that as a child I never got to celebrate Halloween. I got so jealous of American kids who got to go trick or treating. Sadly when I was growing up. If someone you didn't know offered you lollies, it was time to involve the authorities.<br />
<br />
As a child I was fascinated by the idea it was totally acceptable .... errrrr encouraged ...... to go from door to door, dressed as a telly tubby and ask people you didn't know for lollies.<br />
<br />
When I was 8 or 9, I remember feeling ripped off that I was born in Australia, where if you went around asking for food, it's called 'begging'. I wanted to dress as Dracular, I wanted to bob for apples, or give apples to bob, or whatever you do with apples, carve faces in pumpkins and light candles in them. (Actually who would want apples when there are lollies around?)<br />
<br />
Sooooo I really wasn't surprised by the knock on the door last night. What did grab me though, is opening the door to be greeted by a witch and a vampire.<br />
<br />
Now either the Mormons were having a fancy dress party or I was being trick or treated. Turns out it was a couple of kids aged 5 and 6 who had just moved to Australia from the US and didn't want to miss out on Halloween. (I should point out that this info was conveyed by their dad).<br />
<br />
Anyway as they held out the pillowcases they were using as lolly bags, and screamed 'trick or treat' I began to panic. I knew for certain there wasn't any chocolate in the house. I knew this because I'd eaten it all about half an hour ago. What. In God'sake could I give them?<br />
<br />
I knew there were some dried fruit and raisins in the cupboard, but the kid inside me knew what crap tweets they would be. I rushed to the fridge - nothing. Well, there was a couple of bottles of wine and various condiments. Oh, and a 6-pack of beer for my friends.<br />
<br />
I briefly considered giving them the booze, but figured dad would appreciate it more than the kids. And the unopened jar of marinated garlic seemed just as imappropriate (errrr vampire).<br />
<br />
I looked at their faces and my heart broke. So I ransacked my place and grabbed whatever I could find.<br />
<br />
The witch and the vampire ended up leaving with their pillowcases stuffed with 6 CDs, a digital alarm clock and a $39 JB HiFi voucher I'd received for my birthday.<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-17263208819710292982018-08-24T21:25:00.001-07:002018-08-24T21:25:47.512-07:00Party TimeHi boys and girls,<br />
<br />
The other day I received an invitation and was really excited until I spotted the words that fill me with dread. Nope not "bring your own booze". Worse. "FANCY DRESS".<br />
<br />
Look, I don't mean to be a party pooper, but to me fancy dress means putting on my tracky daks and a t-shirt with no stains.<br />
<br />
While I do concede that fancy dress parties certainly have their moments, overall I find them daunting, particularly because I'm forever putting my foot in it. Put it this way, you should always check tha someone is in costume before you comment on their outfit.<br />
<br />
Plus, I have enough trouble recognising people at the best of times but once I've had a couple of drinks and they are dressed as the Incredible Hunk, it's a lost cause.<br />
<br />
'Hi, I'm Kate'<br />
<br />
'Yes I know Kate. I'm Paul from Staff Accounts. I hope you're remembering to keep your receipts or you'll make me angry, and you won't like me when I'm angry.'<br />
<br />
For those readng this who have never experienced the joys of a costume party, there are some things you need to know.<br />
<br />
Just like there's one burnt chip in every packet, and every boy band has an ugly member., there's always, always, a naughty nurse. Regardless of the theme, if it's aminals they're dressed as naughty grey nurse shark or religion it's naughty nurse who helped deliver Jesus in the manger.<br />
<br />
My next tip is, try to be a little bit original. It's bad rolling up to a normal party and seeing someone with the same outfit as you, it's even worse when you're both dressed as Supergirl! Oh, and they're costume is better.<br />
<br />
Another thing. If you are dressed as a horror character, you might want to arrange a lift home. You think it's hard hailing a taxi after a few drinks? Try it when you're dressed as Freddie from Nightmare on Elm Street. And with those hands, hitching might be a challenge.<br />
<br />
I'm thinking about it.<br />
<br />
Incidentally. Had a phone call the other day from a high school crush! <br />
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I'm not proud to say this, but I think there are a couple of boys I dated in school whom I'm technically still going out with because I didn't have the guts to break up with them. If you're one of those guys, I'm sorry and happy anniversary.<br />
<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-39152768886637549412018-06-16T20:49:00.000-07:002018-06-16T20:49:53.978-07:00Grocery Shopping ..... EeeeekI mentioned to my sister-in-law the other day, that I was bored. Jeez, on holidays in this great land, and I'm bored. Sheeeeesh!<br />
<br />
Why don't I do her supermarket shopping, she suggested. Ok, riiiiiight!<br />
<br />
Now I ask ... is it just me, or have others noticed that the world has become unnecessarily complicated lately?<br />
<br />
OK, item number one on her list is MILK. Easy. Yeah right. Oh my Lord, has anyone noticed lately, how many types of cow juice there are in the fridges these days? In the time it took me to walk the length of the fridges, most of the milk had passed it's 'use by' date.<br />
<br />
Milk with iron, powdered, goats milk, coconut milk. I really just wanted white milk! For the health conscious, there is 95% fat free, 96% fat free, 97% fat free, 98% fat free, long life milk, UHT milk (which is the sound people make when they drink it.)<br />
<br />
But it's not just milk that has gone option mad.<br />
<br />
Next on my sister's list, TEA. Easy! Errrrrr nope. For someone who doesn't buy tea very often, I had to deal with another half an aisle of choices.<br />
<br />
For starters, what the hell is English Breakfast? Is it supposed to taste like an English breakfast? Oh and Irish Breakfast - is this supposed to taste like Guinness and a punch on the nose?<br />
<br />
What about Earl Grey? Well I'm sorry but I can't drink Earl Grey. It always feels a little formal to me. Like it should only be for when you're having the Queen over for tea. It seems wrong to have it when I'm wearing tracky daks and ugg boots.<br />
<br />
Then there's camomile and Jasmin (which sound too much like strippers, to me) Russian Caravan, Finest Ceylon, Ordinary Ceylon and Not Quite Rght Ceylon.<br />
<br />
Bread.<br />
<br />
OK, don't get me started on bread. I remember when all we had Michael Jackson bread. Brown or white. (Think about it). Whatever happened to good old fashioned bread bread? Now we have sourdough, soy, rye, linseed, soda, whole meal,fibre added, fibre deducted, thick,both in, whole grain, multi grain, gran frm Spain blah, blah, blah.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry but whatever hapeded to god old fashioned white bread? The only decision to be made was sliced or unsliced.<br />
<br />
Now we get interesting. "Buy me some razors" said brother dear. Sure, how difficult is this? Okay - can we just skip to the razor that has 100 blades and be done with it? The first blade picks up the hair, the second one cuts it, the third goes out and picks up your laundry, the fourth goes to market and all the rest go wee wee wee all the way home. Soon you guys will have a seperate blade for every hair on your face. They are going to be like boy bands soon - the blade that can sing, the blade that can dance,the ugly blade, the nerdy blade and the gay blade.<br />
<br />
Next on the list was tissues. Christ don't get me started on these. <br />
<br />
I'm going home.<br />
<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-75852652505173449642018-03-19T18:25:00.000-07:002018-03-19T18:25:13.663-07:00Fighting WeightIt's official. Australia is one of the fattest countries in the world.<br />
<br />
Cool! When do they give us a trophy and more importantly, is it coated in chocolate?<br />
<br />
I guess someone should make an acceptance speech. Maybe it should be along the lines of "I'd like to thank Sam's fish and chips without which none of this could be possible. And of course, not forgetting our inspiration Ronnie McD and the Colonel?"<br />
<br />
Yes ladies and gentlemen, we used to be girt by sea and now we're girth by sea. Speaking of the sea, maybe the ocean levels are not rising at all. Maybe Australia is sinking because if all the fatty boombahs.<br />
<br />
If you haven't caught up with the news, according to a survey, Australians could challenge for the heavyweight champions of the world. They would give us a belt, but it wouldn't fit.<br />
<br />
Remember when Thorpie won all that gold at the Olympics? We were all so quick to say "go Australia, we're number one. Champions at swimming". My point being, as much as we liked claiming it as a victory, we had bugger all to do with it, whereas now we've been named as one of the fattest countries in the world, each one of us can look down at our beer gut, man boobs, love handles, and think "I helped".<br />
<br />
Now before we try to complain that we're all just big boned, retaining water in case there's another drought, or hoping we'll be super contestants if "The Biggest Loser" returns, we should look at the facts.<br />
<br />
Obesity is becoming a bigger problem down under than drugs. Forget crack addicts, we have Big Mac addicts. Maybe we need sniffer dogs at airports, not to check on people bringing in drugs but people bringing in Krispy Kremes.<br />
<br />
All jokes aside, with the rising cost of fuel forcing airlines to charge higher luggage fees, there have been calls for them to weigh passengers rather than luggage. While I understand the logic, this seems a bit cruel. Can't imagine standing at the counter and hearing "I'm sorry sir. You already have your excess baggage with you."<br />
<br />
Something else ......<br />
<br />
I'll turn 30 something in May. And here's to a few more years. Why, then, does it feel like the extended warrantee on my body ran out years ago? Lately it seems that everything has started to all apart.<br />
<br />
I first started to notice it when something like moving my body came with it's own soundtrack. Five years ago, when I got out of bed, it was done silently. These days it's accompanied by a groan similar to a Hungarian weightlifter competing in the clean and jerk crossed with the type of phone call that costs $5.95 per minute. (Are they still available?)<br />
<br />
I'm getting old. Till next time folk. Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-8191424156499025912018-03-02T00:44:00.002-08:002018-03-02T00:46:42.589-08:00Taxi Drivers - Love 'emClearly my mouth and brain, which usually work reasonably well together, have had irreconcilable differences and decided to part company.<br />
<br />
The final straw came during a recent blackout when I popped next door to find out if my neighbour's power, gas or water were working. Well that was the intention.. But when they opened the door, the first words I said were "do you have gas?"<br />
<br />
Going right off the point.<br />
<br />
I catch cabs often. That's what happens when you drink with breakfast. (Steady on, I'm joking.) So I've compiled a list of my worst worst taxi offences.<br />
<br />
First the taxi driver who doesn't know where he's going. I'm not suggesting that they should know where everything is. Even God misplaces Guam occasionally. But there's nothing worse than getting into a cab at the airport and being asked the best way to get to where I'm going. Look I have absolutely no problem with the cabbie having to look up the address, but I'd rather he did so before starting the meter rather than halfway into the trip and then hand me the street directory and look it up for him.<br />
<br />
"Dude, I'm not your navigator and this is not The Amazing Race. Would it be easier if I drive so you can have a snooze? Although I expect you to sling me a couple of bucks for the trip and no, I don't have change for fifty."<br />
<br />
Then there's the driver who knows the most direct route, but chooses not to take it. "Hey mate, I'm no Miss Melways (street directory) but I'm pretty sure the most direct route to the MCG is not via the Sydney Opera House. But here's an idea. How about you ask whoever you've been taking on the phone to if they know the most direct route?"<br />
<br />
In their defence, taxi drivers do have to put up with incredible crap from the public. If cabbies he a dollar for every time someone asked "been busy tonight, mate?" , I might be able to get change for my fifty.<br />
<br />
And then there are the drunks. From the footy players who've mistaken the taxi for a clown car and are trying to cram fifteen people into 4 seats to the clown who open the door and asks the driver "Do you have room for 4 slabs, 2 pizzas and half a dozen souvlaki?<br />
<br />
That's why it's great when you get a cabbie occasionally who restores your faith in the entire profession. It happened to me recently when a taxi cane to pick me up and he was, ready for this?, towing a caravan.<br />
<br />
It was the most Australian thing I've ever seen. Turns out he was going on holidays and figured he may as well make some money on the way. His family were in the caravan and he was taking fares but only if they were heading in the direction of Queensland.<br />
<br />
What a guy. Right attitude.<br />
<br />
More next month.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-5883323846243546232017-10-29T00:47:00.001-07:002017-10-29T00:47:19.299-07:00A repair person I'm not!When it came to fixing things around the house, it's safe to say I was never a handy woman.<br />
<br />
When we were growing up, my brother and I were never really good at building stuff. In fact the only time I rubbed shoulders with someone in overalls, was when our parents took us to a K.D. Lang concert, the only carpenters I knew were in my parents record collection and the only time I'd used Selley's Liquid Nails was when I found some under the sink once and tried to bake a cake with it.<br />
<br />
For most of my life, I was the sort of person who was less DIY and more DIYTCAETRD (Do It Yourself Then Call An Expert To Repair Damage) type of person. Even Jesus had more luck around wood and nails than I did.<br />
<br />
In the past, the only thing I was good at was picking up the phone to call 'hire-a-hubby'. Shouldn't use the line 'is great doing odd-jobs around the house' and my name in the same sentence. I once got a flat tyre on my Holden Barina (hello young ladies), and when the RACV couldn't come for over an hour, I called my mum and she talked me through it. Yes as far as doing 'blokey' things I think I'm slightly behind Julie Bishop but way ahead of Malcolm Turnbull.<br />
<br />
I had to call a plumber because of a leaking tap. As it's not my place I called a couple and the first one to arrive was getting the job. As it happens, they both arrived at the same time, or thereabouts. So I was stuck with one tap and two plumbers.<br />
<br />
As somebody who chose air travel as a job because it's sort of indoors, and no heavy lifting (usually), I greatly admire people who actually work for a living. Plus, with plumbers, I feel we're kind of in the same line of work. It's just that I talk it, and they make sure it get's flushed away,<br />
<br />
Anyway, at the end of a long day with them working in the rain and me lingering awkwardly, I decided to try to bond with the bonza blokes (Aussie lingo) by getting them a bloody beer. (Sorry. Again I learnt this Aussie bloke talk from watching Alf in Hone and Away).<br />
<br />
So I went to the fridge looking for a good blokes beer like VB or Fosters, only to be greeted by a range of designer ales with names so complex they sounded like they were named after Angelina Jolie's kids.<br />
<br />
Anyway, to cut a long story short, they didn't want to charge me because 'you're a visiting Aussie. I love Aussues.'<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm Aussie. I love Australia. I couldn't be more Aussie if I was riding a kangaroo down the Main Street, eating a vegemite sandwich, drinking a VB and staring at a picture of Warnie.<br />
<br />
I reckon most Aussies would say that in certain areas, we've always seen ourselves as superior to the Brits. Weather immediately spring to mind. Oh, and sport! Sometimes I suspect we'd be happy to come second last in the Olypics, as long as Great Britain came last. Well actually third last, as we have to beat New Zealand too<br />
<br />
Remember when Britain beat us at the Olympics? It basically knocked all other news off the front page. Suddenly no-one cared about terrorism. Forget the bombs, we were beaten by the Poms!<br />
<br />
And beaten we were. Every mathematician in the country was pulled off important research to prove that we won more medals 'per capita' than Great Britain.<br />
<br />
I'm depressed now. Back next month.<br />
<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-86559265800439373952017-09-10T22:42:00.000-07:002017-09-10T23:23:24.153-07:00Ho hum ... Another coldOne of the most embarrassing things in life is when you become the thing you used to hate. That's why it absolutely pains me to admit that I drive a 4 wheel drive.<br />
<br />
Yep folks, I am one of those road-hugging, petrol guzzling, enviroment destroying, talk on the mobile while driving,<b> </b>complete and utter tossers who drive a<b> </b>4WD in the city.<br />
<b><br /></b>Hi, my name is Katelyn and I'm a tool. For some reason I can't remember, when I went and got ths car, I decided I needed a 'truck' to go off road in. I've had it for a bit of time now, and the only time I've come close to going off road, is when I stuffed up a reverse park and ended on the nature strip.<br />
<br />
Let's be honest here, the only bush bashing I've ever done involved an ex US president and the closest I have ever gotten to driving through creeks or busting through sand dunes, is when I occasionally forget to slow down for a speed hump. I feel increasingly stupid driving a 4WD, when I never take it into the country.<br />
<br />
Do you know, you can even buy spray-on dirt now so that you can give your 4WD that off-road look, even if you've never been anywhere near th back country?<br />
<br />
I live in the city. Why do I need a 4WD anyway? So I can get to the next set of traffic lights faster???<br />
<br />
Grrrrr<br />
<br />
I'm going off the topic again. I wasn't going to talk 4WDs. <br />
<br />
What I was going to mention, I've got a damn cold! I was going to the chemist to buy something for it.<br />
<br />
Have you ever noticed, when you get a cold, it's never really just a cold? It seems like I'm convinced for some reason or other, that I have bird flu. It's amazing how a cold can turn us into complete babies. <br />
<br />
I also noticed I've become really rude to people. "Oh, you've got a cold! Don't give it to me." Yeah, that's what I was going to do. I feel so great, I want to share it!<br />
<br />
What really makes me grumpy is that I can't believe, in this day and age, we still don't have a cure for th common cold. Surely our brainy boffins should spend a little less time trying to fit a camera, MP3 player and microwave into our mobile phones and a little more time trying to cure our colds. It's a screwed up world that offers more nasal sprays to give guys an erection than there are to unblock our noses.<br />
<br />
Of course, there being no cure didn't stop my friends suddenly thinkng they all had medical degrees.<br />
'You've got to eat more garlic' they advised. Oh, you bloody think so! I had garlic tablets and ate garlic mushrooms and garlic bread, but they didn't prevent my cold. However on the up side, I became totally immune to vampires. On the downside, males kept away from me.<br />
<br />
"Have you taken some echinacea?" What? It sounds like somewhere I would go for holidays.<br />
<br />
So finally after a few days of feeling sorry for myself, I dragged myself off to the doctor who took one look at me and said "Oh you've got a cold. Go back to bed."<br />
<br />
Well thank God I got a medical opinion! I'm going back to bed!<br />
<br />
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-75150152142964780902017-08-27T19:08:00.000-07:002017-08-27T19:08:23.135-07:00Natural Selection<br />
<br />
Is it just me, or are today's shopping malls so confusing, you have to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find your way out once you've finished with your shopping?<br />
<br />
I suspect the reason you see so many pensioners sitting on benches isn't because they need a break from shopping, it's because they came in when they were young, got lost and now live in Bras 'n Things.<br />
<br />
In fact, I think I smell a TV show here - Survivor:Westfield. You're challenge today is to avoid being stopped by mobile phone salespeople. Winner to get free mini muffin at Muffin Break!<br />
<br />
The problem with my local shopping centre is that I can never find my car. I swear they rotate the entire centre around the minute I walk through the automatic doors. I'm convinced that the carpark levels whirl on some sort of rotisserie.<br />
<br />
Anyway, going right off the point.<br />
<br />
What I was going to mention before being side tracked are all the warnings on packaging. I began reading them and honestly, couldn't stop.<br />
<br />
I was looking for some sleeping pills for an overseas flight - "warning may cause drowsiness". Really? Phew, glad you told me. It's like Asprin having a warning "may relieve the symptoms of a headache". Or on a Viagra packet "may cause grandpa to chase grandma around the kitchen table'..<br />
<br />
Then there was the electric power drill that comes with the warning - "not to be used as a dental drill". Who is that warning for?<br />
<br />
Or the hair colouring that comes with the warning - "do not use as ice-cream topping". Huh? Who is that for?<br />
<br />
Hair dryers used to come with the warning - "do not use while taking a shower". Again I feel like this one falls under the heading of 'moron'. At the very least, because using it while in the shower must limit its effectivness. 'I have it on high, but for some reason my hair is still wet'.<br />
<br />
This s right up there with the toilet brush that tells us - "do not use orally". I'm not going to go there.<br />
<br />
One of my favourites is the dishwasher with the instructions - "do not let children play in the dishwasher". For heaven's sake, they'll get wet. I guess you could always dry them off in the dryer. Or use the microwave it's much quicker.<br />
<br />
But without doubt my absolute favourite was the mattress that cane with the warning - "do not attempt to swallow". Now this warning both amuses and disturbs me for a couple of reasons - someone has tried this and how stoned would you have to be to try eat a mattress?<br />
<br />
I give up! Incidentally did you know that 31 Australians died while watering Xmas trees while the lights were on? Natural selection?<br />
<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-90643880476261893372016-11-28T21:43:00.002-08:002016-11-28T21:43:53.988-08:00Thank youHi all<br />
<br />
You probably know by now, the medical problems I've been going through. I'd like to say a few thank yous, if you'll allow me.<br />
<br />
I had my stroke while I was writing on Twitter, and I'd like to thank the person I was writing to for all he did. His quick thinking helped me a lot. Thank you. You know who you are.<br />
<br />
To the doctors and nurses at the hospital, thank you. You had 4 months of my life. You were wonderful. Thanks you again.<br />
<br />
To my brother thank you. Mum and dad would have been so proud. Thank you David, thank you Sue and also the kids.<br />
<br />
To my wonderful friends, Keith, Rebecca, Bella, Paul, Terry, Anna, Desi, Nikki, Carly, Katrina and all the others. Thank you for being there.<br />
<br />
To Qantas, thank you for all you did.<br />
<br />
Lastly to all my Twitter friends, a massive thank you for still being there. I missed you all.<br />
<br />
Thank you all, again, and I'll be back next month.<br />
<br />
KatieKatiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-21978739442423415862016-11-28T21:23:00.000-08:002016-11-28T21:45:29.886-08:00Chain Letter are great, right?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I got some great news
recently. It seems the wife of a former
Nigerian President had heard that I am “honest and reliable”. Pretty impressive, huh? It was all there in her email. I don’t know how she got my address, but it
was perfect timing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You see I was about to
apply for a load and I really needed some decent references. I was certain I’d get the cash because I had
the tick of approval from someone as impressive as the wife of the former
Nigerian President.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">OK, right. And I have a bridge in Sydney I can sell you!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another thing that irks me, aside from these spam emails, are chain letters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">OK, I have to ask, does
anyone actually fall for this crap? Is
there any mental giant out there who really thinks Bill Gates built his fortune by
sending $1,000 to anyone who forwards an email?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Surely if it were that easy
to make money on the net, financial advisors would be doing it: “Well, Kate, we’re going to put half your
money into blue-ribbon stocks like BHP Billiton and the other half in internet
chain letters. You should be living in a
gold house by the end of the month”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Personally, I think there
is a special corner in hell reserved for people who pass chain letters on,
especially the ones that promise bad luck if you don’t forward them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I mean, what sort of friend
sends you something that is basically a threat, saying “If you don’t do what I
say bad things are going to happen to you”?
Well, unless your friend’s email is – </span><a href="mailto:osama@hiddencave.com"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">osama@hiddencave.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And it’s always the
weirdest threats, like “Mr. John Smith of Made-Upville refused to pass on this
letter, and for the rest of his life, he suffered from really bad hat
hair. And a man from Darwin refused to
send on his letter and he still lives in Darwin.” Tremble at the power of the letter!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Another man decided to
throw the letter in the bin. Soon after
he was forced to listen to Cliff Richards over and over again. He was then stabbed in his sleep, which he
actually saw as a stroke of good luck because it meant that he didn’t have to
listen to Cliff Richards any more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What I love about these
stories, though, is how quickly someone’s fortune can turn around. “An oil tycoon named George received this
email and didn’t pass it on. He
immediately lost his fortune and was then captured by aliens who probed him and
then feasted on his brains until they dropped him back on earth as a brainless
zombie. Having been completely removed
of anything resembling intelligence, he decided to forward the email to all his
friends, and in two days he was elected President of the United States of
America.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, actually, now that I
think about it, that one could be true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course the question has
to be asked by anyone with half a brain:
if a person didn’t pass on the letter and then died tragically – as many
of these letters claim – how would anyone know?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve never seen that
episode of CSI: “Well we’ve ruled out
murder, accidental death and suicide, it can only be one thing. He didn’t respond to a chain letter”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">They are complete crapola,
and I don’t care how many dollar signs, capital letters or exclamation marks
you put in!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh, and whatever the letter
is about, it was always started by monks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And you know what? I don’t give a toss if it has been around the
world five times. So has Paris Hilton
and come to think about it – so have I, and I’m not about to send myself to 5
of my friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, if you enjoyed
reading this, please email it to 50 of your closed friends in the next 50
seconds or you will DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, maybe not even
next month, but sometime – in the next 100 years, almost definitely. Seriously, trust me!!!!!!!!!!!!! I mean would I lie to you??????????? The wife of the Nigerian President says I’m
honest and reliable$$$$$$$!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-14558475155327515442016-01-05T21:46:00.001-08:002016-01-05T21:46:09.452-08:00Christmas Has Been and Gone .... Next ....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">I’ve discussed a lot of important things here over the past couple of years – sex, religion, politics and even Harry Potter but I think this is by far the biggest: have you noticed how early they are putting hot cross buns in the supermarkets?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh yeah, eat your hearts out all you hard hitting newsmen, I’m the only one who isn’t afraid to go after the big targets! If I had a can of worms, I would be cracking it open right now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s been driving me mad ever since New Year’s Day, when I stumbled into the supermarket with my friends. All of us suffering a hangover so big it had its own mushroom cloud, only to be greeted by the delish sight of Easter buns?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a minute I thought “Wow, I really had a lot more to drink than I thought. I’ve woken up 4 months later. I’ve missed Aussie Day and more importantly, now I will never know if Kush will tell Shabs that Stacey's baby is, in fact, his on EastEnders.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even by the standards of supermarkets that seem to want to turn the 12 Days Of Christmas into the 12 Months Of Christmas Shopping, January 1<sup>st</sup> seems a tad early. Hang on a minute, is it because petrol prices are so high these days that Santa and the Easter Bunny need to share a ride?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I need to point out I’m not having a go at Easter here. Like everyone, I love remembering the death of the son of God in the traditional manner of eating chocolate eggs delivered by a magical bunny (you know just like it says in the Bible, although I think someone had been smoking the burning bush that day.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But do we really need 3 – 4 months of celebration? I mean, how hard are parents going to make the Easter egg hunt this year? Even Sam and Frodo could find them in 3 months. Let’s be honest, if you told kids that Osama Bin Laden had chocolate, most of them could have found him in a few minutes flat..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At least with Christmas pressies, the shops can justify that some people need time to shop and save?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I suppose what really bugs me is the complete commercialization of Christianity. Now, I’m no God-botherer and I have never been know to bash a Bible that wasn’t asking for it, but even I find it all a little tacky. I mean, if they are willing to flog Easter buns and eggs for 3 months, what’s next? “Remember this is the weekend that we solemnly remember the death of the Lord who died on the cross for our sins … speaking of crosses, we have massive discounts in the hardware section all weekend.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And you know if the supermarkets are making a buck, it won’t be long before the big corporations try to cash in, too. You can just see the ads: “We all love the story of Jesus feeding the masses with loaves and fishes. At McDonalds we will be celebrating that all month with our Filet-o-Fish McMiracle meal deal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would you like absolution with that?”</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember, I was watching a man set up a Valentine’s display in a shop window this time last year. It was just after New Year’s Day, but shop people need to get a jump on love, I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don’t get me wrong. Shop owners are fine people. They give us choices and keep us informed on the important holidays. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Think about it, how would we know it was Valentine’s Day or Christmas, Easter or Mother’s Day, if the shop people didn’t stay on the ball?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other group to count on, is kindergarden teachers. They always know about special days and when it comes to Valentine’s Day or Mother’s Day, what the kindy teachers set in motion, no shop person could ever hope to compete with.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which reminds me ……….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is kind of personal. It might get a little syrupy, so watch out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I’m talking about here, is something I think of as a ‘treasure box’ given to me by my nephew when he was 3 and made at kinda, of course.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once it was a simple white box and now it’s decorated with glitter, feathers, dried pasta, magazine pictures, shells and pebbles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s gotten a bit moldy now, but once you look inside, you’ll know what I mean.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are all these bits of paper with “Hello Katie”, and “Happy Volintime” and “I luv you Katie” written on them, and silly little red hearts everywhere. Stuck to the bottom of the box are exactly 23 “X’s” made out of macaroni. I’ve counted them more than once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are bead bracelets and a necklace, a ring out of a lolly dispensing machine, hand drawn ‘portraits’, favourite pieces of string, dead flowers, marbles, pictures carefully cut out of magazines and even a little favourite stuffed teddy bear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can honestly tell you, the treasures of King Tut are nothing compared to this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I cried when he gave it to me. I just think it’s evidence of love in it’s most uncomplicated and pure state.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He’s 7 now. He still loves me, though it’s harder to get direct evidence. It’s love that’s complicated by age, knowledge and confusing values.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yeah sure, this is probably the worst kind of simpleminded female drivel imaginable, and I’ve, more than likely, embarrassed us both by mentioning it. But it beats the hell out of anything else I have, for comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This box stands for my kind of love and I want to take it with me when, and wherever, I go.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy 2016 to all you wonderful people. xxx</span></span></div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-74445256432794479552015-12-01T21:57:00.004-08:002017-12-15T20:09:25.540-08:00Merry Christmas everyone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2vtwp0NoStEeA5jEroetL7R1amvLIlMNR1KaDdEK3yCUvVmLjlvnGGqtbXHD9CxTo_Wx9P6apGLLnhiT5KMkxKqGnEl1UrL1CPFK2QpzeZtZFECRmhIVxDDVZAKh7Etqf1pfcBLLKZ4/s1600/Christmas+gifts.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2vtwp0NoStEeA5jEroetL7R1amvLIlMNR1KaDdEK3yCUvVmLjlvnGGqtbXHD9CxTo_Wx9P6apGLLnhiT5KMkxKqGnEl1UrL1CPFK2QpzeZtZFECRmhIVxDDVZAKh7Etqf1pfcBLLKZ4/s640/Christmas+gifts.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">OK, this is going to get mushy, so be warned. It's about Christmas and presents. Well any gift giving day and presents, actually.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You guys want to know something? It's not true that what counts is the thought and not the gift. Our mothers were pulling our legs on that one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Come on, be honest, you are probably like me and have collected so much gift-wrapped rubbish over the years from people who copped out and hurriedly bought a little plastic thingy to give under the protective flag of "good thoughts".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was asked recently, what I would like for Christmas. I hadn't really given it much thought, but this is what I want -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I want to be 5 years old again. Just for an hour. I want to laugh a lot and cry a lot. I want to make a mess eating mum's spaghetti, I want to be picked up and rocked to sleep in my late mother or late father's arms.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No-one is going to be able to give me that, but I might give, at least, the memory of it to myself if I try hard enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By the way, this Christmas when you see an image of the Bethlehem manger, have a good, hard, long look at it. It's an icon of the supposedly perfect family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">OK so it doesn't even stand up to basic scrutiny. There's Mary, a teenage kid who has just had a baby in the back stall of a barn, and with some confusion as to who the father is. Her partner, Joe of Nazareth, is muttering about taxes and the fact that the head honcho in those parts, Herod, has opted for infanticide. And if that's not enough to think about, there's all this traffic of visiting astrologers, sheep ranchers and angels who keep dropping by with questions and proclamations. And there's the baby - </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jesus Christ, that cute little kid, is going to grow up to wander around the desert in a frock, cause enormous civil disturbance, vandalize a temple and come into serious conflict with the law, before being arrested, tortured and nailed to a tree.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I mean, they're not exactly the Waltons, are they?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">OK You know when you go to the office Christmas party and there's always some idiot in the corner that insists on dancing on the table with his pants around his ankles, and tops it off with a floral lampshade on his head? Meet Eamon, my next door neighbour.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I recently went to pick him up from his Christmas party - and yes, there he was!!!! Every year, without fail, he manages to make a complete and utter dick</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> of himself at the Chrissy party (and that even includes all those years he was unemployed and crashed Social Services' party).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Every December he promises himself that this year it will be different and then every year the Christmas spirit enters him followed by the Christmas wine, the Christmas beer etc, and suddenly he's back on the table looking like Ned Kelly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The cause of most of the problems can be traced back to 2 words - FREE BEER.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He has a formula for working out how much he should eat and drink. First take the amount of money you think you should be paid, subtract the amount you are actually paid, and the number you have left over is how much you can eat and drink in free booze and nibbles to get even.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And, he says, if he feels like a little bonus and the boss isn't forthcoming, he steals a bit of stationery on the way out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Next on my 'hit list' is Santa. Could someone please tell me ... how did he ever catch on? Wouldn't any healthy society have him locked up immediately? I mean, just hang on a second and let me get this straight ....... An ancient overweight Norwegian alcoholic in a stupid red suit and kinky boots with no visible means of support despite his massive wealth, is going to slither down my chimney in the middle of the night, creep into my bedroom and fill my stockings???????</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have a gun and I'm waiting fatboy!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally ......</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A couple of years ago I didn't receive many Christmas cards.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On a rather warmish February afternoon this troublesome realization actually came to me out of the back room in my head where all useless information is kept. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I didn't say anything, I can take it, I am tough. I won't complain when my cheap friends don't even care enough to send me a stupid Christmas card.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The following </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">August, I was mucking around in the garage trying to establish some order in the mess and found, in among the Christmas decorations, a box of unopened cards from the previous Christmas. As I was going to be away over the Christmas period, I had asked my housemate to put any cards I might receive, into a box and I'd open them at leisure. But I ran out of leisure in the usual Christmas panic so they got caught up in the "stuff-them-in-a-box-and-shove-them-in-the-garage-and-we'll-deal-with-it-next-year" syndrome.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I took the box down and in the middle of August, began to open my Christmas cards. Just to help, I put on a Christmas CD and pumped up the volume.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I opened the envelopes and set the cards up on the lawn. There it all was - angels, snow, wise men, candles, pine boughs, horses and sleighs, the Holy Family, elves and Santa. Heavy messages about love and joy and peace and goodwill. If that wasn't enough, there were all these hand-written messages of affection from my cheap friends who had, in fact come through.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I cried. Vary rarely have I felt so bad and so good at the same time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As fate always seems to have it, I was discovered in this condition by a neighbour who had been attracted to the scene by the sound of Christmas music. She laughed. I showed her my cards and she got weepy too, and we had this Christmas ordeal right there in my back yard, in the middle of August singing along with Neil Diamond to the final mighty strains of "Oh Holy Night" Faaaaalll on yourr kneeeeees, oh heeeeeear the angel voiiiiiices.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What can I say? I guess wonder, joy and happiness are always in the attic of your mind somewhere and it doesn't take a lot to set them off. And so much about Christmas is outrageous whether it comes to you in December or August.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'd like to wish my brother David, his wife Sue and kids, Ellie and Christopher a wonderful Christmas. Also to all my dear friends, who like me for being me and not in spite of it, and the wonderful friends I've made during the year. To my extended family -</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> all the incredibly nice Twitter people I've encountered - Merry Christmas and peace, happiness and good health for 2016.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh, and if anyone sees my parents wandering around, please tell them I'd love for them to come home for one more Christmas. I miss you mum and dad.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">xxxxx</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-51246892808976160402015-11-22T20:16:00.000-08:002015-11-22T20:16:06.484-08:00Noble Professions<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If I were Prime Minister for a day, the first thing I'd do - after passing a law that says Brad Pitt has to marry me - is to give teachers and nurses a pay rise.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It doesn't say much for our society, when a stripper who performs as a 'sexy schoolteacher' or 'naughty nurse' gets paid more than the people who actually do these jobs for real.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course if there are any kiddies reading this, I should point out that this does not mean the next time Miss Jones bends over to pick up the chalk in biology, you should try to slip your lunch money into her garter belt.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All jokes aside, I truly do believe that teaching and nursing are the most noble and important jobs in the world, and it really pisses me off that sometimes we treat teachers as though the only qualification you need to teach grade 2 is to have passed grade 3.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Look, we all agree that nurses are great, but I'm not saying that all teachers are good. There are certainly a few who found their way into it, not through a love of nurturing the next generation but through a love of having 6 weeks off at Christmas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">i had one teacher who was so bored, he used to stand up the front of the class and sniff the whiteboard markers all day long. (I have no real proof, but that's what I think). On the upside, he did always give me great marks, and once said that I was one of the smartest clowns he had ever taught. Errrr .... hang on .....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know this will come as a bit of a shock to most of you, but I was a bit of a brat at school. Almost every report card I received contained the comment "Katelyn will do well in life, as long as she stops trying to be funny all of the time".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My major problem at school was boredom. In most humanities, arts and language classes, I had more As than a Queenslander making a speech, but in Maths and Science, I scored so many Cs, my report card sounded like a Spanish couple on their wedding night. (Come on, think about it).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In year 10 maths, I remember being so uninterested, that a couple of us would sit up the back of the room, tear up our text books, throw them up into the ceiling fan and when they scattered down, we would sing Christmas carols. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In science, my friends and I spent most classes seeing how many things we could turn into bongs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't even mention economics. we spent every lesson trying to hide the entire class from the teacher. (Errr ... sorry Butch). Who says school is boring?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember one conversation we had .... naturally it was all about sex education. We all thought it was essential that kids should be taught about sex at school. Let's face it, they are already learning about plenty of things they will never need to know, like algebra and long division. How about teaching them some stuff that will actually come in handy later in life, like undo-the-bra and leg division?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the course shouldn't be restricted to simple biology. It should teach the things we really need to know about sex; like foreplay and how sometimes it's really helpful to recite the AFL ladder backwards in your head to prevent --- ummm how can I put this nicely? --- being like Thorpie and having false starts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">OK, let's talk about 'How to Undo a Bra 101', which should definitely be a compulsory unit. Sadly most men are more capable of completing Rubik's cube, making an origami swan or breaking into a bank vault.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jokes aside, a course like this would be great for male-female relations, especially if it's focused on the most important sexual organ of all - the tongue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now get your minds out of the gutter. I'm talking about talking. You see, I think men in particular don't talk enough about sex. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sure, men these days bang on about banging on all the time, but it's silly stuff. I know it seems like that's all they talk about, except for the occasional pause to check the cricket scores, and I'm not referring to yelling obscene stuff from building sites. But we need to talk to each other more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By the way girls on the other hand are a lot more open about their sex lives. To all you guys out there, I can guarantee that if you've been with your girl for longer than 15 minutes, all her close female friends would be able to identify your genitals in a line-up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway .... I digress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I would constantly get into trouble for things I said back in school. In one class (and this is not a joke) the teacher was so frustrated by my questions, she snapped "Well Miss Taylor, if you think you can do a better job, why don't you come up here and teach the class?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I did. I immediately sent her to the principal's office, cancelled all homework and asked everyone if they wanted to go on an excursion to the pub. Boy, they loved me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh, and I almost got expelled on my last day of school. At my school there was a tradition among year 12s, to parody the daily school bulletin. Unfortunately our version proved a bit too much for the teachers we targeted and they demanded we get kicked out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Imagine that? Making fun of those in power. Phew, lucky we grew out of that!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But while a good teacher can inspire you, a bad one can scar you for life. When I told one teacher, let's call her 'Mrs Brown' that I wanted to fly when I was a little older, she told me that it was never going to happen. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That day, I went home in tears. Pfffffttttt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm not going to make any jokes about nurses. I owe those angels my life. Just pay them whatever they bloody want!!!</span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-80620619180069887302015-11-10T20:03:00.000-08:002015-11-10T20:15:56.447-08:00Music Makes The World Go Round<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRXJRUljBSvPbTd8VDwTXFGlKdlOlfCf2kK-bOf8KBGK66Mve7gmuFcgMd4b_asFJE5W3Y0B_2-zMhjb0fU4ReTCyTv7gqwdST3pRKuB8W7dztJEM7F57No04QwIaWcBkepgQYy2_4v4/s1600/guit21.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRXJRUljBSvPbTd8VDwTXFGlKdlOlfCf2kK-bOf8KBGK66Mve7gmuFcgMd4b_asFJE5W3Y0B_2-zMhjb0fU4ReTCyTv7gqwdST3pRKuB8W7dztJEM7F57No04QwIaWcBkepgQYy2_4v4/s1600/guit21.gif" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went to see Stephen Fry the other day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not really much to say about it ... he was - well - Stephen Fry. Like him or loath him, there was a hilarious part of the show when he spotted a guy sitting in the audience and he asked him his name. The man looked back at him, slightly surprised, and in a softly spoken Aussie brogue, told him his name (I'm not saying who it was, but you Aussies would know him). One of Australia's top comedians.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Suddenly all the air was sucked out of the room as the audience held it's collective breath. But the worst was still to come. Not recognising one of Australia's most famous comedians, Fry pursued his line of questioning. "So, my friend, what do you do?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After looking back at Fry, the man paused and quietly replied "I'm a comedian. What do you do?" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've got to admit, I much rather prefer music concerts than stand-up comedy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember recently, some well-meaning (read - "idiot") friends took me clubbing. Sure, I love seeing the best bands in the world at huge venues, but sometimes I get as much joy from watching someone try to ride a wheelie bin as if it's a rodeo bull. Soooo we went to see an unknown band perform at a relatively small venue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When it comes to rock and roll and comedy, stand-up doesn't really stand up. For starters rock and roll is cool. Everyone knows the old saying "sex, drugs and rock and roll". Comedy, I guess, is more "sex jokes and getting the dole".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is no doubt that rock and roll is sexier than comedy. Despite girls often listing 'sense of humour' as an attractive quality, you rarely see us getting randy for Billy Connolly. A male rock star can get ear piercing screams for removing his shirt. Let's face it, there are rock drummers who, I'm sure, who have never owned a shirt. A comedy gig is about the only place you'll hear an audience scream for the comedian to put his shirt back on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Music can definitely make things sexy. You can take someone home, dim the lights, light some candles, slip on some James Blunt and let's ... get ... it ... on!! I'd somehow doubt you'd get the same effect if the CD was Kevin Bloody Wilson.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In rock and roll, it's expected that the musos behave as offensively as possible, but the same leeway isn't extended to the punters. In fact, I think we need a special version of the Ten Commandments just for gigs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now before I go on, I should clarify that I am not a religious person. Nevertheless, I like the idea of existence coming with a detailed set of instructions. God's version of "Life For Dummies", but perhaps I'm being a little demanding of the big fella to come up with commandments for gigs, so I asked my friends for their views. So here, in the name of making this crazy thing called 'life' a little simpler, are my 10 Commandments for concerts -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">1</span>. If you want to have a convo with someone, do it at the bar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">2. </span> If you're going to the mosh-pit, finish your drink first.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">3.</span> If you are going to sit on your boyfriend's shoulders, improving your view of the stage, but obstructing it for half the audience, take off your top so at least the male half of the audience has something interesting to look at</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">4. </span> Apart from the aforementioned shoulders commandment, shirts should remain on at all times. Thee obvious exception is if you are the band's drummer, in which case being topless at all times during the gig is compulsory.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">5.</span> If you are going to follow the lead singer's request to 'put your hands in the air and wave them like you just don't care', please make sure that you have applied a liberal amount of deodorant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">6.</span> If you must take photos, try to avoid pointing the flash in the artists' eyes. Unless, of course, that artist is Justin Beiber!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">7.</span> You must be 100 percent sure of the lyrics before committing to singing along. I'm sure Billy Thorpe wasn't singing "Boys on my bed". It was "Poison Ivy" people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">8.</span> When attending a gig, you must not, I repeat, you must not, wear a t-shirt featuring the band you are actually seeing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">9.</span> If you don't have fluorescent green hair in your everyday life, don't dye it fluorescent green for a concert. Chances are, sometime during the middle of the show the dye will start to mix with your perspiration and you'll end up looking like The Hulk's love child.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">10.</span> Earplugs should not be worn at any time. If it's too loud, you're too old. Go home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And here, my children, endeth the lesson. </span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-16212959729995975012015-10-23T20:35:00.002-07:002018-10-31T12:23:45.342-07:00Happy Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEM2xx1zEksJeui5R11Notj4PmSWI_d4emahZhDGHid37IJ4oypnePpGl2cLUuVfM-5Hf68u8jBFYMD_hAiREzodXXg_DIpR-MI3XaZKeug23O-asycSd2E2XXzbWdyCCYfbwjr7DRFs/s1600/image001-2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEM2xx1zEksJeui5R11Notj4PmSWI_d4emahZhDGHid37IJ4oypnePpGl2cLUuVfM-5Hf68u8jBFYMD_hAiREzodXXg_DIpR-MI3XaZKeug23O-asycSd2E2XXzbWdyCCYfbwjr7DRFs/s320/image001-2.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I was 8 or 9, I remember feeling really ripped off that I was born in Australia, where if you went around asking people for food, it was called 'begging'. I was as mad as .... well .... Halloween, and I simply wasn't going to take it any more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I watched American television. I wanted to dress up as a vampire, I wanted to bob for apples, or give apples to Bob, or whatever you're supposed to do with apples. I wanted to eat chocolate until I perspired nougat, and carve faces into pumpkins and light candles inside them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Yes, all of that!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I guess in these days of childhood obesity, the last thing we need is to encourage kids to go door knocking for lollies. On the up side, the walk will probably do them good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyhooo where am I? Oh yeah, Halloween.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now don't get me wrong, as an Australian adult, any area in which we don't slavishly copy the Americans is a ray of sunshine. Yo, you know what I'm saying, dude. Holla if you hear me bro.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And even though it's getting harder to tell them apart, I'm now so glad that Aussie kids are so different from the Yanks. Let's face it, these days in the States, the main reason they give treats to kids standing at their door, is not because it's Halloween, it's because they're holding Uzis.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last year - 31st October - I had just driven home from the airport, just walked into the house and was looking in the fridge, hoping there was something to eat, when a knock on the front door came as a complete shock.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was after 9.00 o'clock. Who the hell is visiting at this time of night? Hope they bought food.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was even more of a 'shock' when I opened the door and was greeted by a witch and a vampire. Now, either the Mormons were having a "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" theme night, or I was being trick or treated.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Turns out, it was a couple of kids aged 5 and 6 who had just moved to Australia from the USA, and didn't want to miss Halloween. (I should point out that this information was conveyed by their dad who was standing behind them. They hadn't just flown into Australia by themselves on some elaborate chocolate scam).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, they were holding out the pillowcases they were using as lolly bags - and yes, I did just chuckle when I typed 'lolly bag' - and proclaimed 'Trick or treat'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I started to panic. You see, I knew for certain that there was no chocolate in the house. I knew this because I had eaten it all 15 minutes earlier. Indeed in the past 5 minutes I'd resorted to eating Milo out of a can, with a spoon to get more of a chocolate fix.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">OK Katelyn, use your head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I knew there were some dried fruit and nuts in the cupboard, but the kid inside me knew what a crap treat that would be. It's trick or treat, not trick or healthy snack. I rushed to the fridge, but since I hadn't been food shopping for the week, this was no help at all. All that was there was a 6 pack of beer belonging to my next door neighbour, who had run out of space in his fridge, a couple of bottles of wine, various cheeses and cold meats and vegies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I briefly considered giving them the booze. but dad would have benefited. And the unopened jar of marinated garlic, seemed equally inappropriate given that one of the kids was supposed to be a vampire.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I looked at their hopeful faces and my heart broke. So, I ransacked the house and grabbed whatever I could find. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The witch and the vampire ended up leaving with their pillowcases stuffed with 6 CDs, a digital alarm clock and a $50 JB HiFi voucher I had received for my birthday. Oh, and some gold coins.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Riiiiiiiiiiight, are you all still wondering why I felt ripped off as an Aussie kid? Really looking forward to this year. Note to self ---- BUY CHOCOLATES!!!</span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-84944775296924034492015-10-08T16:30:00.002-07:002015-10-08T16:30:48.371-07:00Hello Telstra<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4;">I'm angry, and at the top of my 'why' list at the moment is the appalling level of service offered by Telstra (our biggest telco, for you non Aussies).</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seriously folks, I knew I had to do something about my phone when a friend called me from the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Serengeti recently and the line dropped out at MY end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">According to the adverts, Telstra is meant to have 98% coverage in this country. If this is true, the</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">other 2% must be between my lounge room and the kitchen. So recently, I bit the bullet, climbed </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">into the cupboard under the sink where the reception is pretty clear, and gave Telstra a call. An </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hour and a half later, I was still on hold.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">An hour and a half! Don't these organisations realise that most people have better things to do </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">with their time than be kept on hold? I mean, I don't, but I'm sure people with real jobs do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And while we're on the topic, let's talk about the 'hold' music. The music they play is ridiculous. I </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">could understand if it was 'Ring Ring' or better still 'Hanging On The Telephone' but all you hear, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">over and over again, is that bloody 'I Am Australian' song. After about the 18th time hearing 'We </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">are one, but we are many' you can't help but have some very, very un-Australian thoughts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even worse is when the interrupt the endless repeats of 'I am Australian' to remind you about </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">their 'fantastic products and services'. Really? Are any of these products and services related to </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.4;">actually answered the telephone? Because that WOULD be fantastic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you're going to keep me hanging on for so long, keep me up to date with Brad and Angelina or </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the Kardashians. Even Rob Patt and Kirsten Stewart (are they on again or off again? I have </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">trouble keeping up.) Hey, since we have plenty of time, explain what's been happening on the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">X Factor</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Isn't there something wrong with our society when the only time you get to speak to a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">representative from your phone company , is when they call you in the middle of dinner from </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">India? "Yes actually I would like to talk to you about my long distance service provider, thanks for </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">asking. And I have a couple of other issues too. Hang on, I'll go get my list'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, the non-stop fun doesn't stop when you finally get through. First you get the option </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">menu, which for some reason, never seems to contain the option you need. Then there's the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">computerised speech recognition software, that sounds like it was programmed by the Swedish </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chef from he Muppets.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually while we're on the topic of computerised voices, what the hell is it with Telstra and their </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">misleadingly named Directory Assistance Service?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First they changed the number from the very simple 013, to something that even Rainman has to </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">write on the back of his hand. The only way to be connected these days it seams, is to enter pi to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">20 decimal places.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that's not even the worst of the 'new service'. No, I'm talking about the new and improved </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(cough, cough) computerised voice recognition. My God, voice recognition is as misleading a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">name as Australia's Funniest Home Videos TV program.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just who is the mental giant who took a perfectly good system - where you spoke to a real, live </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">person, who would tell you the number you wanted - and replace it with a computer. At the very </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">least, is it to much to ask for a system that actually works better, rather than one which replaces </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">people's jobs with a machine, that makes a simple phone call more difficult than conversing with </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a drunk and dyslexic Alf from Home and Away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seriously, have you tried this craputer? You request something simple like "Qantas" and the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">technology translates it into "Purple Monkey Dishwasher Service". Errr no, I didn't ask for that, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">but by now I'm feeling like I'm on acid. Recently I asked for the number of Singapore Airlines, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and it replied "Do you mean Frankston Homosexual Midget Waxing Service". Ummmm, no I </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">didn't, but on second thoughts, put me through!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While it's novel to experience what it might be like to talk to Ozzy Osborne, I have become so </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">frustrated with this lack of service, this morning I tried to be clever and head it off at the pass. As </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">soon as the message kicked it, I screamed 'Operator', but the bloody computer simply replied </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm sorry, I did not understand your request. Please hold for an operator."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rest my case, your honour.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Forget the citizenship test, when new immigrants arrive in our country, just give them a pre-paid </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">mobile phone and if they can negotiate the security questions at Telstra, they're in, and deservedly </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I digress ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After being on hold for so long, I finally got through, and after giving my address, birth date, family </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">tree, star sign, mother's maiden name, best friend's nickname, Snoop Dogg's real name, shoe </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">size, butt size, five favourite films, secret ingredient in my nan's lasagne and DNA sample, I </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">finally got through to the department I was looking for.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is when I began to think I'd licked a Chinaman, or whatever it is you do with Chinamen, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Kicked, right KICKED!) because the lovely lady at Telstra - and I swear on the complete box set </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of Home and Away - said to me : "We can't help you with that, we don't really deal with phones </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">anymore".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okey and/or dokey, let's go through that one, one more time, so even the speech recognition </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">software can understand it : We ... don't ... really ... deal ... with ... phones ... anymore!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ummmm but aren't you Telstra? Isn't that what the 'Tel' bit in your name stands for? Or are you </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">just 'Stra' now?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was so stunned I even contemplated ringing Consumer Affairs, but with the day I was having, I </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was worried I'd spend 3 hours on hold only to be told that they no longer dealt with consumer </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">complaints any more. Grrrrrr</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-37856705500316437662015-09-12T22:48:00.001-07:002015-09-13T00:15:26.689-07:00For You<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We, my brother and I, are having a memorial service for my late parents. Depending on how this goes, I'll publish this post on the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My uncle recently gave me a card written by my mum. She had intended to give it to me on my birthday, but unfortunately passed away before she had the chance to give it to me. My aunt and uncle have been holding it for all these years. I want to share it -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> To my beautiful daughter, I love you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> You are a shining example of what a daughter can be. Loving and</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> compassionate. beautiful and good, honest and principled, determined</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and independent, sensitive and intelligent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> You are an example of what every parent wants their daughters</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> to be and I am very proud of you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I want you to always know that in good and bad times, I will</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> love you and that no matter what you do, or how you think</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> or what you say, you can depend on my support, guidance, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> friendship and love every minute of every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I love being your mother.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you mum, and thank you dad. xxxxx</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know if you can read this where you are, but I just wanted you to know that it's people like you who make all the difference in the world, and I can cope with getting my heart broken a million times more, but the thought of you both makes me bounce back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are places within our hearts that can only be filled with memories and there are places in our souls that can only be healed by the gentle hands of time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my life, I have been befriended by some amazing people, most of whom I've never actually met, but who have changed my life forever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know if they know just how much they have helped me on days when I have felt discouraged, uncertain or simply sad. It could have been their smiles, their words or their real kindness that have helped pull me through.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How much I appreciate them, I am not sure they will ever know or understand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To you, my friends, who are reading this, dreams really can come true, but they are most often the result of hard work, determination and persistence. When the road becomes difficult and it feels like you will never reach the end, look deep within your heart and you will find strength - I did. Just believe in yourself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember, you don't have to be perfect to belong. You don't have to have all the answers or know the right thing to say. You can climb the highest mountain if you want to or just quietly imagine that you might one day. You can take chances or use safety nets, make miracles or make mistakes. You don't have to be 'proper' at all times to be strong. You don't have to be bold or brave or even know exactly what you want to be. You just have to be yourselves. And if anyone out there doesn't like that, or you, it doesn't matter. It's their loss. And there are many that will love you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you all, and you know who you are, for constantly bringing smiles into my life. I love you all. You're amazing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-19483428919201920992015-09-05T00:06:00.001-07:002015-09-05T00:06:57.070-07:00Early School<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every year, for many years, I set myself the task of writing a personal statement of belief. When I was younger, the statement ran for many pages, trying to cover every base, with no loose ends. It sounded like a Supreme Court brief, as if words could resolve all conflicts about the meaning of existence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s grown shorter in recent years – sometimes cynical, sometimes comical and sometimes bland – but I keep working on it. The inspiration for berevity came to me at a petrol station. I managed to fill my old car’s tank with super deluxe, high-octane go-juice. My old hoopy couldn’t handle it and got the willies – kept sputtering out at intersections and burping going down hill. I understood. My mind gets like that from time to time. Too much high-content information, and I get the existential willies. I keep sputtering out at intersections where life’s choices must be made and I either don’t know enough or know too much.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I realised then that I already know most of what’s necessary to live a meaningful life – that it isn’t all that complicated. I know it and I have known it for a long, long time. Living it – well, that’s another matter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate-school mountain, but there in the sandpit at pre School. These are the things I learned: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Share everything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Play fair.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't hit people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Put things back where you found them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Clean up your own mess. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't take things that aren't yours. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wash your hands before you eat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Flush. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take a nap every afternoon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Goldfish and cats and dogs and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take any of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or your government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think what a better world it would be if we - the whole world - had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had a basic policy to always put thing back where they found them and to clean up their own mess. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it is still true, no matter how old you are - when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Giants, Wizards and Dwarfs was the game to play.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My friend, Rae and I were recently left in charge of about 20 children – 6 and 7 year olds – at the local after school care centre while their parents were meeting with the staff. We mustered our troops in the main room and explained the game. It’s sort of like a large-scale version of Rock, Paper and Scissors, and involves some intellectual decision-making. But the real purpose of the game is to make a lot of noise and run around chasing people until nobody knows which side you are on or who won.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Organizing a roomful of wired up schoolies into three teams, explaining the rules of the game, achieving consensus on group identity – all this is no mean accomplishment, but we did it and were ready to go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The excitement of the chase had reached a critical mass. I yelled out: “You have to decide NOW which you are – a giant, a wizard or a dwarf!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While the groups huddled in frenzied, whispered consultation, a tug came at my jeans. A small girl stands there looking up and asks in a small, concerned voice, “Where do the mermaids stand?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where do the mermaids stand?????????</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A long pause. A very long pause. “Where do the mermaids stand?” says I.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes. I’m a mermaid.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“There are no such things as mermaids.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes there are. I am one.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She did not relate to being a giant, a wizard or a dwarf. She knew her category. Mermaid. She was not about to leave the game and go over and stand against the wall where the losers would stand. She intended to participate, wherever mermaids fit into the scheme of things. Without giving up dignity or identity. She took it for granted that there was a place for Mermaids and that I would know just where.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, where DO the mermaids stand? All the ‘mermaids’ – all those who are different, who do not fit into the norm and who do not accept the available boxes and pigeonholes?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What was my answer at the moment? Every once in a while I say the right thing. “The mermaid stands right here by the Queen of the Sea!” says I.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we stood there hand in hand reviewing the troops of Wizards and Giants and Dwarfs as they ran around in total madness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s not true, by the way, that mermaids don’t exist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know at least one personally. I held her hand.</span><br />
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-34649246929805242032015-08-24T23:03:00.001-07:002015-08-24T23:03:16.604-07:00Love Makes The World Go Round (Part 2)<span style="color: red;">FROM MY BEST FRIEND ISABELLA</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Before I joined the mad world of the airline business, I worked as a nurse in an aged care home. A lovely man, George, who had been placed in the home by his family, was a really sad story. Nobody ever came to see him. One day he stopped talking and refused to leave his room. He was co-operative enough with the staff and functional enough to take care for himself. He continued to eat and shower, but he became a mute recluse sitting alone in his room all day, staring out the window. The staff decided he had the right to live as he wished and left him alone.</span><br />
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A woman resident, Maggie, had taken an interest in George, and when he disappeared, she went to his room for a visit. He didn't seem to mind but he didn't respond either. She had started working on a quilt and bit by bit she moved her handiwork into his room. She spent her days sewing and telling him her life story, while he sat staring out the window. She had a million stories and was happy to have someone listen to her. No-one knew what he thought as the months went by.<br />
<br />
When Maggie finished the quilt, it was put on display and everyone commented on how beautiful it was.<br />
<br />
The same week the quilt was finished, George passed away.<br />
<br />
In a drawer in his room, staff found an envelope marked "To Be Opened When I Die" The note inside had one line "Tell Maggie I love her". When they told her, she cried for days. She had loved him too and had finished the quilt just as an excuse to sit with him every day.<br />
<br />
I believe he was buried wrapped in Maggie's quilt.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">FROM DAMIAN</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Kate, you wanted really short love stories. This one's long but small. I go to Bridge Road in Richmond almost every Saturday morning to shop at the market and carry on a love affair.</span><br />
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For four years now I've bought flowers from a young woman who is a refugee from somewhere in Asia. For one thing she has the freshest and most beautiful flowers. For another, she is a fresh and beautiful flower herself. I don't know her name, nor she mine. We don't speak the same language. To her, I'm sure I'm just another customer.<br />
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In Spring she's there with daffodils and irises. She's Summer with roses and sunflowers, She's Autumn with dahlias and chrysanthemums. And then it's over. In Winter, God I miss her.<br />
<br />
When we exchange flowers and money, I always try to briefly and slyly, touch her hand. I always insist she keep the change and she always insists on giving me an extra flower.<br />
<br />
Once I tried to buy all her flowers at once, but she vigorously shook her head. "No". I don't know why. Maybe she too is in love with someone and wants to be there to sell him flowers when he comes.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">ABOUT SAM AND MARGARET (my paternal grandparents)</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">My grandpop painted my gran's toenails. I was there when he started doing it. </span><br />
<br />
The entire family was up in the Dandenongs to celebrate my parent's wedding anniversary. <br />
<br />
Gran was always a beauty queen to us. She was really pretty. She liked facials and makeup and perfume. She always painted her fingernails and toenails. But one day when we were sitting out near the pool, I noticed that for the first time, her toenails weren't painted. I asked her why and she said she was getting too old and stiff to get down that far and she thought it was foolish to go to a beauty shop to get them done.<br />
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My grandpop was a big, gruffy, man's man who played rugby when he was younger. I was really surprised when he spoke up and told gran that he would be happy to paint her toenails for her. When gran asked him why he would want to do that, he said -<br />
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"It's because I love you, always have, always will, and I want you to feel beautiful as long as you live."<br />
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<span style="color: red;">FROM MY BROTHER DAVID</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">I don't know if this qualifies as a love story or not.</span><br />
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When I was going through puberty, I did what most young boys do. I got a pile of very sleazy and much used girlie magazines from an older kid at school and kept them hidden under my mattress where I was sure no-one would ever find them.<br />
<br />
One day I noticed that several of the magazines were gone and someone had replaced them with much newer and higher quality magazines. The girls were much prettier. I was really excited and also very embarrassed. Either my mum or my dad or my younger sister had done it. No-body ever said anything and I was too scared to ask. This happened every once in a while for a couple of years.<br />
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To this day I don't know who tended to my magazine collection. I guess I don't want to know. I like to think that anyone in my family loved me enough to understand my adolescence and not make a fuss about my normal sexuality or embarrass me.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">FROM MAL</span><br />
One of the pilots at work came to me one day and gave me an envelope. Perfumed. The kind used for personal correspondence. Remember that? He said "Kate, before you read it, you should know that I've had it for at least 20 years, that it was from my wife to whom I'm still married." Inside the envelope was a matching sheet of stationery with these words written on it ;<br />
<br />
Dearest Malcolm<br />
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you<br />
Respectfully, with all my love Anne<br />
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I looked at him expecting more. "Umm. That's it" He said and walked away.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">FINALLY ONE FROM ME</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">I was in my</span> twenties and had just gotten divorced from an abusive husband. I wasn't feeling very lovable or attractive at the time. I was driving to work.<br />
<br />
I pulled up at a traffic light and a newish grey car pulled up to the right of me. In the car was the most handsome man I had ever seen ... no-one ever looked that good to me.<br />
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I hoped he wasn't going to turn right at the lights. He didn't. He looked over at me and smiled. I was instantly in love with this man, but a few streets later he turned right and I turned left.<br />
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I then knew that there was life after divorce even if it was only a minute at a traffic light. <br />
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It's been a few years ago now and sometimes I will pass that intersection. Whenever I do, I think of the man who smiled at me. He'll never know he's so highly thought of by someone he only smiled at.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">Thanks again for reading these. They all mean so much to me. I hope you enjoyed them.</span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-23984192604627589502015-08-18T21:12:00.002-07:002015-08-18T21:14:56.178-07:00Love Make The World Go RoundSorry readers. I've walked away from 'funny' just this once.<br />
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For some years I've been asking friends and my family to tell me a love story. Not one that they've read or heard, but one that they've lived. In all honesty, I expected gooey-sweet Hallmark greeting card stuff, but I got nasty love and crazy love as well I expected sunshine and warm love, but I got stormy love with lightening and hail. And I received quite a few.<br />
<br />
It all came about some years ago. I was invited to a wedding and my partner was going to be best man. We called around at the groom's parents home for dinner and his father showed me a letter that his son received:<br />
<br />
"Dear Stevie. If you don't say you love me and walk to the bus stop with<br />
me I will kill myself and beet you up. I love you and want to marry you<br />
soon. Lizzy"<br />
<br />
They were 8 at the time.<br />
<br />
I was shown the letter 2 days before Lizzy married Stevie when they were both 26.<br />
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My date at the time shared the letter with guests during his wedding speech and everyone had a good laugh and a sob when he asked Liz to repeat after him ....<br />
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"I, Liz, promise you, Steve, never to kill myself or beat you up."<br />
<br />
If the marriage lasts as long as her love for this man .... the odds are looking good for a 'happy ever after'.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">FROM MY LATE DAD</span> ...<br />
<br />
When I was midway through high school I was studying English literature and in particular, the writings of DH Lawrence. I know that sounds stupid, but I thought this was about Lawrence of Arabia. I'd seen the movie and I wanted to be him. I don't think I was fully awake at high school.<br />
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I went to the library and got just about everything they had. I was a little surprised by the titles. Women In Love, Sons and Lovers, Lady Chatterley's Lover. There was a side of Lawrence of Arabia I didn't know about. The librarian explained. WHOA!!!! Bad news!!!<br />
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Like a lot of students, I borrowed these books in the hope that someone had borrowed them before me and made notes on the pages. Save me from reading them. And they were. I flipped through and read some of the paragraphs about making love. I was blown away. This stuff was hot. To hell with the other Lawrence and the desert. This Lawrence was my kind of guy. And I decided that all the girls who read his books are my kind of girl.<br />
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One one of my trips to the library, I met a woman who was also a fan. She was not a girl, but a retired University professor. She invited me to her house. Whoa, again!! She said she would explain about Lawrence and tell me how to pass the course.<br />
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We liked each other right away. She lived alone and her eyes were failing. She said if I did her grocery shopping once a week, she would tutor me in Lawrence. During that year, she woke me up about love, sexuality and women. No, she never made advances or laid a hand on me. I spent a lot of time with her and I think I'm a better man because of her. I told here back then, if she was 20 instead of 80, I would have asked her to marry me. She said she would have accepted. She's dead now. I still have her incredible wisdom. And I got an A for English Literature also.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">FROM MY LATE MUM ...</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
This is my mum's story, but she would have been too shy to tell you herself. However, it explains why my brother and I owe our existence to peanuts.<br />
<br />
When mum left high school, she had everything going for her. She was pretty, smart and came from a well-to-do family. But she was terminally shy especially around men. Boys didn't like to take her out much because although she was very beautiful, she was so quiet.<br />
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She came to Australia from Greece. A cousin dragged her to a party and she sat out the night at one end of the room, in a corner by a table that had snacks on it. She ate a lot of peanuts out of nervousness.<br />
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She began to notice a guy who seemed to be as nervous as she. He never said anything, but he was taking extra care of her. He kept her glass filled with non-alcoholic drink and he kept bringing her bowls of peanuts. From time to time their eyes met and they smiled at each other.<br />
<br />
When the dancing started and the party got loud, she walked out of the back door to escape, and as she was walking down the street she heard "Wait, wait, please wait". It was the young man running after her with a paper bag in his hand. They stood in awkward silence, just smiling. Finally he reached into the bag, pulled out a can of peanuts, gave them to her and said "I only wish these were pearls".<br />
<br />
He ran back to the party.<br />
<br />
Twenty years later on their wedding anniversary, he (my dad) gave my mum a sterling silver can marked "peanuts". She thought that was the gift and loved it so much. The memories came flooding back. But there was more. When she lifted the lid, inside was a string of pearls.<br />
<br />
Ni gift ever made her as happy. She wore those pearls as her only jewellery for years.<br />
<br />
When they were killed in a horrific accident, my brother and I put the silver peanut can in dad's coffin with him. And mum was buried wearing those pearls.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THESE. A COUPLE MORE NEXT TIME. IF YOU HAVE ANY REAL SHORT STORIES OF LOVE LET ME KNOW. MY EMAIL IS : katetaylor149@gmail.com</span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">I'D LOVE TO PUT ALL OF THESE TOGETHER SOME TIME.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">THANKS FOR READING</span><br />
<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-87395969405440630972015-08-10T22:43:00.001-07:002015-08-11T17:37:32.489-07:00Blades, blades and more blades<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was having some unusual headaches recently, so made my way to my home away from home (doctors) only to have him examine me and say ... "Sorry Miss T, but I have some bad news for you. You're losing your hearing."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"WHAT?" I yelled</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"YOU ARE LOSING YOU'RE ............"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time, but I've always wanted to use that joke."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tinnitus was the diagnosis. Mist likely caused by standing too close to speakers at rock concerts and listening to music too loudly in my headphones. Of all the things that have gone wrong, this one sucks the most, because if you think about it, he was basically telling me that I ruined my hearing by hearing things too well. Yep, it sucks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, he was wrong actually. It was sinus problems which have since been addressed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm glad this doesn't happen with other senses. Imagine eating a really good meal and then completely losing your sense of taste, or walking past a bakery in the morning and losing your sense of smell !!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually, now that we are discussing it, the thing that's making me feel really old - aside from admitting that I'm never going to win Masterchef, is not really the above. It was when some well-meaning (read 'stupid') friends decided to take me night-clubbing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Note, the first thing I need to point out, is I've never really enjoyed going to night clubs. Even when I was younger. I'm more of a pub girl.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The second thing to note is that these days, going clubbing is not as simple as rocking up to a bar for a couple of drinks. Oh no. It's more like an off-your-face amazing race where by the end of the night, I had so many stamps down my arm, it looked like I'd been sharing a cell with Chopper Read. (A baddie for all you overseas folk).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although, on the up, it is really handy the next day when you have a hangover and you are trying to piece together just exactly what you did last night. (And believe me, you WILL have a hangover. These days kids don't sip drinks, they scull them as if alcohol is being banned at midnight).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next thing you need to know is that night clubs these days have better light and smoke shows than Bon Jovi did in their prime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, I digress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stayed the night at a friends and I needed some asprin, so made my way to the bathroom cabinet. Now, I really think my parents dropped me on the head when I was young and something broke in my brain, because this is the sort of thing that kept me awake all night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Signs and labelling pander to the already dumb, but there are entire industries that depend on drawing out the dumbarse in all of us. Like product development and advertising.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For example, can we just skip to a razor that has a hundred blades and be done with it? I say this because I noticed an unopened razor in the cabinet which had this printed on the packaging. "Soon to be released - new razor with 5 blades"!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once more for the cheap seats - 5 blades. Apparently the first one picks up the hair, the second cuts it, the third goes out and picks up your dry-cleaning, the fourth goes to market and the fifth goes wee, wee, wee all the way home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So the question has to be asked, just how many blades does the man need? If they keep going like this, pretty soon you guys will have a different blade for each hair on your face. Seriously guys, why could you possibly need 5 different blades on a razor?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Are razors like boy bands now - the blade that can sing, the blade that can dance, the ugly blade, the nerdy blade and the gay blade.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm all for progress, but it seems to me that any more than 1 blade is a little unnecessary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think it's sad when there are more blades on your razor than in my entire kitchen. These days you're better preparing dinner in the bathroom than in your kitchen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's a vicious cycle. One company adds a blade, so the other adds an extra blade, so the first adds another blade etc etc.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And while I'm having this razor rant, who is naming these things? You have The Mach, The Fusion, The Champion, The Turbo and The Quatro. It sounds less like the names of razor blades and more like a casting call for the return of Gladiators.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now I see you can get razors with batteries that vibrate and even have something called a 'lubra-strip'. (Jokes galore here, but I'm not going there.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Further, the packaging said it was "The best a man can get". Really??? I would have thought that phrase would have been in the same sentence as Angelina Jolie, or Cameron Diaz or lap dance!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The thing that shocked me most after reading this was that this particular razor has it's own website. Somehow, I guess that's not the site most males expect when they typ</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">e 'hot' and 'shaved' into Google. But think about this for a moment. With all the infinite possibilities offered by the internet, how bored would you have to be to look up the website for a razor blade???</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So anyway, I looked it up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And check this out, not only does it have a website, but it also has a fan club. I am not making this up. Let's face it, if you are the sort of person who joins a fan c</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lub for a razor, I'm not really sure you should be handling a razor with blades. I'm not sure you should be trusted with anything that close to your face that isn't made of ice-cream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Crikeeeeee ..... why don't you guys just grow a beard???</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">JUST WANTED TO SAY THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READS MY BLOG. LEAVE ME A MESSAGE OR A COMMENT AT THE END OF THE BLOG, I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. THE LAST ONE. FOR A WHILE AT LEAST. LOVE YOU ALL. xxxxx</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-44833755566896679032015-08-03T20:44:00.003-07:002017-10-19T21:07:51.456-07:00The Letter<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px;">I was sitting in a coffee shop the other day and was just about to put pen to paper, when the pimply teenage waiter arrived at my table and asked the question. Not the question I was expecting, mind you. I was expecting something along the lines of "Can I get you a coffee?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px;"><br />But instead, he asked "What are you writing?"<br /><br />It really was quite a simple question and confident I knew the answer without thinking music or phoning a friend, I responded simply – "A letter."<br /><br />He stared at me blankly. Clearly I hadn’t provided all the necessary information.<br /><br />"You know. A letter! Words on paper. When I was a kid, this is how we used to communicate. OH. MY. GOD. Did I just use the expression "When I was a kid"? What next? Was I going to start banging on about how things were better in my day, and then complain about this noise they call music? "Sorry, mate, you know letters, right? Envelopes? Stamps? Any of this ringing a bell?"<br /><br />"Oh yeah," he replied. "I know stamps. Look at all the ones I got at the club last night, the DJ was awesome!"<br /><br />"You might call that music," I said, trying desperately to catch the inevitable words before they tumbled out of my mouth, "I call it noise."<br /><br />Damn.<br /><br />"But I don’t mean those stamps," I said, moving on before I started suggesting all the world’s problems could be solved by a good dose of national service. "I mean the ones with the Queen’s picture on them, and you lick her back!"<br /><br />"Why would you want to lick her back?" He asked.<br /><br />"Do you know, it’s a little-known fact," I said warming to the topic, "that every time you lick the back of a stamp with the Queen’s picture on it, the real Queen feels it."<br /><br />He paused for a moment as if actually considering it, and then said "Nah … don’t be stupid. And anyway, I know what a letter is. I just wanted to know why you were writing one."<br /><br />Why? The thought had never occurred to me. He seemed to sense I needed mor information and continued – "I mean, why would you write a letter when you could just send an email?"<br /><br />"Well you can’t avoid paying your bills by telling someone the cheque is in the email, can you?" I joked.<br /><br />He didn’t laugh and the thought suddenly struck me, why was I writing a letter? I mean, no one writes letters any more. Even the kid we sponsor in some hick country has an email address and a Facebook page. What was so special about a letter?<br /><br />"Why?" I said half wondering what the next thing to come out of mouth would be, "let me count the reasons why. For starters, a love email will never be as romantic as a love letter, will it?"<br /><br />He thought about this for a moment, nodded and said "What if you put some emoticons at the end? A smiley face or I could show you how to do a love heart with an arrow and a 3."<br /><br />I felt like I was losing him.<br /><br />"Well what about this then – if you get stuck on a desert island, it’s going to be hard to stick an email in a bottle."<br /><br />"Unless you’re on Fiji" he countered "I went there with the boys at Christmas and they had a business centre with a printer and everything."<br /><br />"OK then" I thought desperately, hoping I had another point, "what about spam? I have so many offers in my email for cheap Viagra, I could get the Tower of Pisa to stand up straight."<br /><br />"There’s a tower somewhere made out of pizza?" he asked with amazement, and then just as suddenly seemed to pull himself back together. "Ok, I get why it’s better than email, but why then don’t you just use your phone?"<br /><br />"OK mate" I said "letters are so much better than a phone. A letter won’t wake you up on a Sunday morning when you have a hangover, a letter won’t disturb you by going off in a movie, you can still understand a letter if you read it in bright sunlight, and it’s really hard to send a drunken smart arse letter to your mates in the middle of the night.<br /><br />He laughed and I knew I had him I just knew we had found the same wavelength finally, so I motioned him closer and said "Do you want to know the real reason I am writing a letter?"<br /><br />He nodded.<br /><br />"The truth is I’m writing it to keep a tradition alive. You see, my most prized possession in the world is a letter written to me by my mum just before she died."<br /><br />"Wow" he said "do you still have it?"<br /><br />Of course and I read it often.<br /><br />"Cool story, love," he said. "I’ll let you get back to it, but before I do, can I ask you something?"<br /><br />"Sure" I said, suddenly sentimental.<br /><br />"Can I get you a coffee?"</span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-51144083411026395022015-07-10T16:19:00.001-07:002015-07-10T16:19:34.374-07:00Fatty, fatty boombah!!!!!<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-5782825373197188378" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 818px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was young, I could pretty much eat whatever I wanted, but since entering my 30s, I seem to be putting on kilos in my sleep. And I know it's only going to get worse.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was having visions of myself, lying on the couch at home eating Pringles while watching The Biggest Loser, and then being lifted out of my house by a crane, live on Jerry Springer. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I even had a recurring nightmare in which "A Current Affair" was doing one of those hard hitting reports into dodgy diets and when they cut to the slo-mo stock footage of all the big beach bums bursting out of their bikinis, I recognised my own bum!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OK, the first thing I did was join a gym. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now before I continue, I've got to say, I've never been a gym junkie which is a weird term now that I think about it. It conjures images of people standing outside the Fitness First gym saying "hey fatty .... have you got 50 cents. I need a quick walk on the treadmill?" </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In fact the only time I've attempted a gym workout, I woke up the next day so sore that even my eyelashes hurt. Plus it always seemed stupid to pick up heavy things, when if there's something heavy at my house that needs picking up, I pay someone else to do it.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So it was with some trepidation, that I went to my first assessment session. Walking through the door of the amazing brand new gym. I was pulled aside and introduced to the chiseled Adonis who was going to show me around. It didn't help my nerves that he looked m up and down and said "Hello, my name is Attila".</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Attila? Attila?? Attila???</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To cut a long story short, as it was, Attila turned out to be an awesome bloke. He was a former triathlete who tried to design a gym that wasn't just exercise equipment, but it included heaps of fun stuff like rock climbing and boxing and there was even a DJ, although I did wonder if it was a good gig. "Hey dude, where are you playing on the weekend? Playing at the Big Day Out?" "Nah, love. I'm on the Wheels of Steel down at the gym." Well, I guess in both places there are plenty of sweaty people drinking bottled water.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But i digress.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were two of us newbies - the other being another chiseled Adonis who really didn't look like he needed any exercise. I filled in my forms. Just doing the paperwork made me break out into a mild sweat, and then it was time to do some real exercise (and there was I thinking that's what the paperwork was)!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seemed that the first item on the agenda was - wait for it - pulling a car using a rope. Huh? At least I think that was one of the exercises. Either that or Attila needed a jumpstart and he was taking the piss. I was ready to collapse in fright when I realised he had this planned for my newbie male friend. Phew!!!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From there we moved onto push-ups. Attila had to see how many we could do it a minute. A minute?????? Ok, I admit, I didn't make the entire minute without stopping. Neither did my newbie friend, Jason. Should this be an indication of his performance in the bedroom. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">T</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hen there were sit-ups, bench presses, holding the medicine ball above my head while stepping through tyres ((I'm sure this one is going to come in handy next time I need to hold something heavy above my head, while I step through tyres).</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next I got to swing on the monkey bars. (I'm not sure if this was one of the exercises or just recess). After that came a great one where Attila made me sprint up a flight of stairs but take the escalator back down. (The perfect time to sneak in a quick smoke, I thought).</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally it was time to jump into the boxing ring so Attila could see how many punches we could throw in a minute. To be honest, by this stage, my arms were trembling so much, I struggled to put the gloves on in a minute, but luckily my manager was Don King and he had paid off the judges, so I won by a nose.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At last, I was done. Sweaty, sore, stretched an broken, I resolved then and there to come back. But not for at least 12 months when my body had stopped hurting.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only other time I'd been in that much pain, was when I went on a skiing holiday with some friends. Growing up in sunny Melbourne, my family didn't do much skiing, so when a couple of friends suggested we go to the snow for a week, I leapt at the opportunity. Little did I know it would be the last time I would be capable of jumping or even walking, for the next month.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see, I didn't realise that some people see skiing as a wonderful way to spend a couple of weeks, I didn't.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While my friends had a really good time, I spent so much time face down in ice and when I wasn't face down, I was bum up. I think they made a mistake by attaching the skis to the bottom of my boots. They should have just strapped them on to my bottom, seeing as that was the part of my body that made the most contact with the snow.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also ended with my ankles behind my ears so often, it looked less like I was skiing and more like I was auditioning positions for a new Kama Sutra. I spent so much time doing the splits, even Miley Cyrus would have thought I looked a little trashy.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Foolishly, I thought the trip might be an opportunity for romance, but the only body my legs wrapped themselves around was my own (plus at the end of a day on the slopes, my body was so bruised and broken, that the only person I wanted touching me was a licensed medical professional or possibly, a coroner).</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All jokes aside, I returned from that trip convinced that skiing was invented by the same person who came up with Candy Crush, colonoscopies, and the Crazy Frog ringtone. It's entertainment for masochists while their dungeons are being cleaned during Spring. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the way, my skis contained secret magnets at the end. Try as I may to keep them straight, they would go in the complete opposite direction. Elton John has more chance of going straight than I did.</span><div style="clear: both;">
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763619742250415606.post-65611522204163352782015-06-22T02:00:00.002-07:002015-06-22T02:00:48.728-07:00Does My Stupid Look Big In This????<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes I think we have stopped evolving as a human race. If you need evidence simply read the instructions on the back of almost anything you buy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I purchased a packet of peanuts recently, and just reading the labelling made me despair for humanity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First it was the big bold letters that said "Warning - May contain traces of nuts" - well, duh - but it was the second line that really pushed me over the edge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It simply read "Open Packet, Eat Nuts" Phew lucky the put that there!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it's not just nuts that have gone nuts. I bought a glass biscuit jar the other day, and it came with instructions. Think about that for a minute. Bloody instructions? I'm sorry, but if you need instructions to open a glass jar, I really don't think you should be trusted with glass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is there truly anyone out there who looks at a glass biscuit jar with a lid on it and thinks - "But how do I get the biscuits in there? Damn, I wish this thing came with instructions."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It gets worse. I got some sleeping pills for a holiday flight once and on the packet it said "Warning, may cause drowsiness" Really??? Well I'd better have a few cups of black coffee and a couple of Red Bulls to take the edge off then!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's like having a packet of Aspirin that reads "Warning may relieve the symptoms of a headache" or a packet of viagra that says "Warning may cause Grandpa to chase Grandma around the kitchen table."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is actually an electric power drill that comes with the warning "Not to be used as a dental drill". Yes, it's time RPA meets Better Homes And Gardens. "Look, we have used the drill for the pergola, now let's use it for that pesky molar." I'm sorry, but if you need that information on your power-tool, then you are the real tool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or the hair colouring that comes with the instruction "Do not use as an ice-cream topping". Uha ... although to be honest, if you are stoned enough to think that is a good idea, you are ;probably stoned enough to eat it too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then there was the pepper spray that apparently comes with the disclaimer "Caution ... never aim spray at your own eyes." Now, I have to admit that this does sound like sensible advice. Maybe you've heard of the hair dryers that now come with the warning "Do not use while taking a shower". Again, I feel that this one comes under the heading of 'moron' - at the very least, because using it while in the shower must limit it's effectiveness. "Ummm, I have it on high, but for some reason my hair is still wet."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is right up there with the toilet brush that comes with the warning sticker "Not to be used orally".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OK, first, unless you have teeth the size of Larry Emdur, who thinks a toilet brush is a good idea for dental hygiene? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my favourites was the dishwasher that came with the instruction "Don't allow children to play in the dishwasher." Although, I guess if you provide them with some snorkles, it would be a pretty quick way to get them clean. But please, whatever you do, don't dry them off in the oven.the microwave is much quicker.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without doubt, my absolute, absolute favourite was the mattress that came with the warning "Do not attempt to swallow"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now this warning disturbs and amuses me for as couple of reasons. First, it is so random that you know the only reason that it is there is because someone has tried. Secondly, how stoned do you have to be before you try and eat a mattress?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean there are not enough marijuana filled boogie board bags in the world to try to make me eat a mattress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Honestly, idiocy is all around us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you want any further proof, check this out ... I read somewhere that in the last 10 years , 31 Australians have died from watering Christmas trees while the lights were still plugged in. What's worse, at least a few of these were watering plastic Christmas trees!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I don't want to seem callous, but to me, that's not a tragedy. That's natural selection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see, from what I can vaguely recall from science at school, when we weren't sitting up the back trying to turn household items into bongs, there was this bloke named Charles Darwin who came up with this Theory of Evolution. (And to reward him they named the least evolved city in Australia in his honour.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In basic terms, it was Survival of the Fittest. In every generation the strongest and most intelligent would survive, they would breed together and we would evolve. Well, no more. We have stopped evolving as a human race. It's no longer Survival of the Fittest, it;s now Survival of the Idiots.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And why have we stopped evolving? Well, it's simple. All these warnings are keeping the morons alive. And today, I haver three words for you ladies and gentlemen .......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">LET ..... THEM ..... GO </span><br />
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<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07652205770749324310noreply@blogger.com0