This is Lili’s older brother, Archie. The picture was taken moments before he successfully got a drink at the bubbler (and somewhat less triumphantly doused his coat in water).
My second ever Australian 100 pointer
2 days ago
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Little bear
This is Lili’s older brother, Archie. The picture was taken moments before he successfully got a drink at the bubbler (and somewhat less triumphantly doused his coat in water).
Hey everyone! I’ve discovered a cure for wrinkles!
If the name and the fresh appearance of the orchid on the front don’t convince you, there is an explanation:
“Normally our body can productively generate Collagen by itself until the age around 20.”
The thing is, you see, that our body stops productively generating and starts to unproductively generate collagen. And if you don’t supplement your lazy body, you will get “skin shrinkage and wrinkles”.
Don’t fret. Life is not over. According to the label you can substitute the self-generated collagen with that “from chicken skin, pig tendon, cow tandon or fish scale.” But you’d only do this if you hate your skin, because we all know that “the source of high quality and highly effective Collagen should be from deep sea fish.”
Which, happily, each bottle of this stuff contains.
If you are arching your brow in disbelief, there is a footnote:
“According to a piece of research study, the intake of extracted Collagen of 3,000 mg/day for 30 days can help increase skin moisture and reduce wrinkles.”
The reference for the footnote is Kasuaki Y and Yoshihasu M., “Efficacy of orally-ingested marine collagen peptideon dryness and roughness of the human skin” Fragrance Journal, 9.
I bet that was a doozy to read. Oh and, bottoms up, I’m only a quarter of the way into my (apple flavoured) deep sea fish collagen beauty session…
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
How I saved the world today…
When I was young I was taught that you should never (never!) leave anything on your plate. Food, no matter how green and brussels-sprout like, was there to be eaten. If you didn’t finish it, the sky would cave in, the world would end and you’d never be able to leave the table again. So there you’d be, strapped down for all eternity while your friends got to play in the doomsday meteorite showers. And how sad would that be?
This turned me into a human vacuum cleaner. You think your dog can suck up crumbs? You ain’t seen nothin’. I demolish crumbs. Crumbs quiver when I look at them. They hide. AND I EAT THEM ALL. That’s how unstoppable I am.
Aside from being slightly disturbing, this talent has made me into the ultimate dinner guest. You can put just about anything in front of me and I will lick it up. So let’s say you have me over for spaghetti bolognese: you put it down, turn around to grab the cheese, turn back and BAM it’s gone and I’m chewing on the dinner napkin. I. Will. Eat. Anything.
This turned me into a human vacuum cleaner. You think your dog can suck up crumbs? You ain’t seen nothin’. I demolish crumbs. Crumbs quiver when I look at them. They hide. AND I EAT THEM ALL. That’s how unstoppable I am.
Aside from being slightly disturbing, this talent has made me into the ultimate dinner guest. You can put just about anything in front of me and I will lick it up. So let’s say you have me over for spaghetti bolognese: you put it down, turn around to grab the cheese, turn back and BAM it’s gone and I’m chewing on the dinner napkin. I. Will. Eat. Anything.
Friday, July 23, 2010
I’m not going to tell you who…
I know. I’m a bitch. But seriously, you haven’t heard “the voice”. The voice is worse than Shelly Craft’s face. And that woman’s elastic smile makes me want to douse the world in sorbolene. Whenever I see her making toothy love to the camera, I wait for the inevitable moment when her cheeks snap and her smile is free to go on a stabbing frenzy. Sorbolene anyone?
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The cartoon me
When we were in high school my best friends and I dedicated a lunch time to determining which Disney princess each one of us would be. You know, just in case suddenly the world turned into a cartoon. You just never know.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Never again
Today I got into the lift and held the door open for a man who works on the same floor as me. That’s how the most awkward lift ride of the month – if not my life – began.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The impossible catch-up
Saturday I caught up with four people who will be able to tell you just how crazy I am well after I forget how to type and claim that my name is Gladice the Second; a group of individuals who goes by the collective of “my best friends and Sibell”.
My best friends – in alphabetical order Janu, Joanne and Sheree – and I met in high school, some time between going on rides on le petit train in Noumea and jumping out of boxes while swathed in bits of blue material. Let’s just say that we survived a rather strange formative period just to become even stranger as adults.
My best friends – in alphabetical order Janu, Joanne and Sheree – and I met in high school, some time between going on rides on le petit train in Noumea and jumping out of boxes while swathed in bits of blue material. Let’s just say that we survived a rather strange formative period just to become even stranger as adults.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Hooray!
Here’s a little hint. Never ask me about healthy eating because my philosophy on food and life is “eat what you want in moderation (still working on that one myself) and exercise”. That’s it. Don’t stuff yourself full of fried crap but don’t deny yourself something just because it has carbs. Food is there to be enjoyed people!
I’d like to introduce my violent side
A few years back, when I was still at uni and had some free time on my hands I was right into Tae Kwon Do. And I mean all in – training five times a week, competitions and drunk displays of my skills* at uni parties. But since a career in journalism means that I will never have free time again, this commitment to training has waned and my relationship with TKD has become rocky.
For a few months every year I get motivated/delusional and work over weekends and into the nights so that I can spare an evening to training. These months are beautiful but fleeting, because it turns out a human body needs sleep if it is to function without drooling and snoring on public transport.
For a few months every year I get motivated/delusional and work over weekends and into the nights so that I can spare an evening to training. These months are beautiful but fleeting, because it turns out a human body needs sleep if it is to function without drooling and snoring on public transport.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A story
On Sunday I got up nice and early, got into the car ready for my day to start and then got so bogged down in traffic that my socks are still wet. And I wasn’t even wearing any socks.
That has nothing to do with my story, I’m just still a little angry about Sunday drivers lumbering along at ten kilometres below the speed limit and getting in the way of my plans.
My story actually comes courtesy of my sister.
Kate and I share a fear of public toilets. Not only because of the menacing thought that someone’s arse has been there before (and even if you are the master of squatting, your naked arse is still occupying the same space that some foreign naked arse occupied mere moments before), but because you just never know what state you’ll find them in. Walking towards an unoccupied public toilet is one of the most unnerving things on the planet.
That has nothing to do with my story, I’m just still a little angry about Sunday drivers lumbering along at ten kilometres below the speed limit and getting in the way of my plans.
My story actually comes courtesy of my sister.
Kate and I share a fear of public toilets. Not only because of the menacing thought that someone’s arse has been there before (and even if you are the master of squatting, your naked arse is still occupying the same space that some foreign naked arse occupied mere moments before), but because you just never know what state you’ll find them in. Walking towards an unoccupied public toilet is one of the most unnerving things on the planet.
Muffin
Welcome to my head, Beethoven
Do you ever have those moments when you think life has just settled into a rhythm and you accept that your life has chosen Chopin as an inspiration (and you don’t mind because Chopin was a genius and he was Polish and you can remind people that “hey Chopin who plays the rhythm of my life has a statue in the Royal Gardens in Warsaw” and that’s not a bad thing for your life-music to have) and then BAM all of a sudden Chopin is replaced by Beethoven and you find yourself teetering on the edges of a crescendo and life picks up a new dimension?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Pin cushion
Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a pin cushion? No? Well let me tell you anyway because right now I'm sitting in a bar, waiting for Mark so we can commence today's plans and people are throwing pins and daggers at me from their eyes.
But first the context. A couple of weeks ago good friends of ours asked Mark and I whether we could go over to their place and try our best not to kill their baby while they had their first date since becoming The Coolest Parents in the World.
We pledged to do our best and plans were made. Tonight was to be the evening on which we pretended to be grown ups. We even packed an overnight bag. Responsible!
Except one half of The Coolest Parents in the World caught the plague - or something similar - and had to cancel on the date. The other half of TCPITW offered us the tickets to the show they were going to see, so that they wouldn't be wasted.
So plans changed from me meeting Mark at his work to him driving into the city to meet me. I grabbed a desirable table seat at the bar, ordered a wine and waited for the flawless plan to play out.
But aren't we forgetting something? Traffic. TRAFFIC! PEAK HOUR TRAFFIC! So Mark has been trying to fulfill his side of the bargain for over an hour while I've stubbornly held onto the table.
This would be manageable if I hadn't finished my wine. But I did. I slurped that bad boy down like a maniac. And the staff took my glass away. So now I can't go to get another one because the table vultures will steal my seat, but every minute that I sit here without a drink (and it's been quite a few minutes), I feel a silent mutiny forming. The people on stools are out for blood. They want my table and all I can do is sit, busy myself with my iPhone, keep all fingers crossed and collect the vibrant glances like a good pin cushion should.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
But first the context. A couple of weeks ago good friends of ours asked Mark and I whether we could go over to their place and try our best not to kill their baby while they had their first date since becoming The Coolest Parents in the World.
We pledged to do our best and plans were made. Tonight was to be the evening on which we pretended to be grown ups. We even packed an overnight bag. Responsible!
Except one half of The Coolest Parents in the World caught the plague - or something similar - and had to cancel on the date. The other half of TCPITW offered us the tickets to the show they were going to see, so that they wouldn't be wasted.
So plans changed from me meeting Mark at his work to him driving into the city to meet me. I grabbed a desirable table seat at the bar, ordered a wine and waited for the flawless plan to play out.
But aren't we forgetting something? Traffic. TRAFFIC! PEAK HOUR TRAFFIC! So Mark has been trying to fulfill his side of the bargain for over an hour while I've stubbornly held onto the table.
This would be manageable if I hadn't finished my wine. But I did. I slurped that bad boy down like a maniac. And the staff took my glass away. So now I can't go to get another one because the table vultures will steal my seat, but every minute that I sit here without a drink (and it's been quite a few minutes), I feel a silent mutiny forming. The people on stools are out for blood. They want my table and all I can do is sit, busy myself with my iPhone, keep all fingers crossed and collect the vibrant glances like a good pin cushion should.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:A bar
Mournful
This is our office dog Chino mere moments after he had accidentally stepped into the back of one of my colleague's knees and made her trip over. Have you ever seen an animal so apologetic, woeful and resolved to meet its fate? He actually has stress lines and wrinkles. (Lines and wrinkles you can see even through the fuzz of the shot; a fuzz that was caused because he was pacing from paw to paw and nervously shaking his tail as if to say, “Please don’t turn the vacuum cleaner on, I’m sorry!”)
Here he is a few minutes later, awaiting his sentence. He got loads of patting on the head and scratching under the chin and loads of people telling him that it wasn’t his fault. He has since taken refuge in the publisher’s office because you just can’t trust media types.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Nothing shouts "move!" quite like a fork up the arse
There is very little in this world that irritates me, that causes me to loose my shit, as much as slow people. I may have mentioned this before or maybe I haven’t, but if this internet relationship is going to go any further, you need to know that I am among the most impatient people on the planet.
I hope you can accept me for who I am. A part of the blame goes to the genes my mother gave me, a part to my neuroticism and finally a part to logic because, really, who needs to move that slowly? If you need ten minutes to mount one step at the train station, I suggest you inch your way towards the middle of the street and ease yourself under the wheels of a bus. Or I might just ease you there with the use of a kitchen utensil.
Too brutal? Let me tell you a little story that may make you look a little more kindly on my dark soul:
I hope you can accept me for who I am. A part of the blame goes to the genes my mother gave me, a part to my neuroticism and finally a part to logic because, really, who needs to move that slowly? If you need ten minutes to mount one step at the train station, I suggest you inch your way towards the middle of the street and ease yourself under the wheels of a bus. Or I might just ease you there with the use of a kitchen utensil.
Too brutal? Let me tell you a little story that may make you look a little more kindly on my dark soul:
Monday, July 5, 2010
Black Russian
I ordered five.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Hater of feet walks
I’ve tried to devise witty ways to say it, but I think the original is just the best. I quit my job. I quit. I resigned. I am unemployed. I am a worthless unemployed bum hoping to find success in the kindness of others. And I am gleeful. Filled up to my nostrils will glee.
It wasn’t always this way. An hour before I made my announcement I was in absolute nail-biting compulsive-emailing agony. For me telling an employer that I’m leaving is just about the most horrid thing in the world. Almost as horrid as feet.
It wasn’t always this way. An hour before I made my announcement I was in absolute nail-biting compulsive-emailing agony. For me telling an employer that I’m leaving is just about the most horrid thing in the world. Almost as horrid as feet.
Johnnie rejected yet again
Howard who is known to both watch cricket and occasionally power walk around the neighbourhood in his tracksuit, said he was outraged to have been blocked from the opportunity.
“D-d-d-on’t these p-p-people know I-i-i-i ruled Australia?!” he stuttered agitatedly.
The rejection has come from the Asian and African factions of the club, including India, South Africa and Pakistan, and while the ICC has not released its reasons for the decision, overseas media commentary has speculated that the former PM’s “closet racism” was to blame.
Howard expressed surprise at the accusation saying that the national Australian cricket team had led him to believe that racism was a prerequisite for the job.
