Some people will just be Tools for Life.
In my special Caro-logic way, I have developed a new Theory of Shoes. It goes like this:
i) If one finds shoes on sale, one must buy them.
2) If one finds shoes on sale and buys any number of shoes, the total price being less than or equal to the original price of any one pair of the shoes purchased, one can be said to have only bought one pair of shoes.
c) If one's sale-related shoe purchasing goes above and beyond the original price of a single pair of shoes, one's purchases only equal two pairs of shoes. Really.
d) When the shoe rack gets full, see i).
I will create equations and pie charts to prove this, as my research progresses.
In the meantime, I would like to remind everyone to sponsor me in Febfast, whereby I, guided only by the power of my shoes and my associate addiction to Green & Black's Maya Gold chocolate, AM NOT DRINKING ANY ALCOHOL FOR THE ENTIRE MONTH OF FEBRUARY. Please sponsor me in this, because for once it's not all about me - it's about the youth with alcohol and substance abuse issues who we're raising the money for. Thanks.
I will leave you with this: For, something about the video here made me find it to be hysterically funny. Maybe because life is too precious, my friend. Maybe because of the hair. Maybe because of the tools...
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Hardcore Frottage
This afternoon a pair of teenagers were lying on the steps to my office building, getting down and dirty valentine's day style*. Most people were amused as they stepped around the writhing, some were horrified.
I was most astonished that they weren't getting sore backs from wriggling around on the stone stairs, but then again I'm not as young as I once was. I tend to think about whether it'll hurt or make me cold before I jump in these days.
Eventually somebody in the building decided to burst their valentines day bubble, about an hour into the exhibition, by calling security - four guards surrounded them and asked them to leave the premises. They wandered away red-faced. Ah, young love...
*Plastic rose lying discarded on the footpath beside them.
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Early Onset Dementia
This morning I spilt coffee all over my cute little dress. I was already late for work, so I ran into the bedroom and threw on a cute little skirt and cute little top. I had already checked that I was wearing underwear. Easy!
After I got off the tram, as I was working up the street in my cute little skirt and cute little top on my way to work, I was thinking to myself:
"I thought this cute little top had pockets."
"Lucky I remembered to wear undies today! This certainly is quite a short cute little skirt!"
"I could have sworn that this cute little top had pockets!"
"Undies really are good. Freedom of expression aside, they do keep my butt warm on a chilly morning."
"Didn't this cute little top have pockets...?"
...
...
"Oh my god I put my cute little top on backwards!"
Hanging my head in shame, I walked faster. As soon as I got to my building I dashed into the bathrooms and rectified the situation. Oh. My. Gods. I knew I was getting old (only 19 sleeps until 26 years!) but really didn't think I'd be feeling the effects so soon.
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Absent Minded
After I got off the tram this morning, as I was working up the street in my cute little dress on my way to work, I was thinking to myself:
Ooooh, it's a bit chilly this morning!
Oooh, it's a bit chilly! I don't remember putting a g-string on today!
Hmm, I don't remember putting a g-string on this morning! Silly decision, my butt is most definitely chilly.
Damn, I should have put warmer undies on!
I really don't remember putting a g-string on...
...
...
OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO PUT UNDIES ON!!!!
Luckily there are plenty of places during my walk to work between the point of realisation and my office where I could purchase some undies that would both retain my modesty, and keep my butt warm.
That will be all.
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Dinner Tonight
I found these today. Yes, they are blue. I'm going to make Yehia eat them tonight:
Does anybody know what spirulina is?
I hope they stay blue after I cook them.
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Work
I have been back at work for a full two weeks now, and already I am tired of it.
I work in a women's community organisation. I'm not a hairyhippyfemihairyweirdarse, I am in fact a nice person who happens to have a lovely bottom. Nonetheless, this particular organisation seems to attract what we in the welfare industry like to term "whackos".
Including but not exclusive to:
Man walks into office, "My son was born here 21 years ago. What do you think I should buy him for his birthday next week?"
Phone rings, "Hi, I'm from Adelaide but I want to have a shower in Melbourne. Do you have a place for me to take a shower?"
Admittedly fielding such requests is better than doing actual work, which is hard to do in January because it is right after the holidays. It is also better than popping out babies (which would hurt), or living on the streets as a crazy cat-lady. I will come back tomorrow.
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Giving my Liver a break!
I'm all for good causes.
If you are too, and even if you aren't, support me as I stop drinking for ALL OF FEBRUARY to raise money for young people dealing with substance abuse. All donations are distributed to the youth drug and alcohol service sector in order to help angry teenagers with their issues.
Take a look here for more info, and to support me (and my liver) please come and donate here.
Hooray! Thanks for your support!
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How I did Cope
I'm just too confused with celebrations. Eid-celebrating husband, Christmas-celebrating family and alcohol-celebrating me equals bamboozled Carolyn. I didn't know how to cope. So I did what I do best:
I got drunk (lots), and ate (lots).
This was all to culminate in an anti-celebration of the new year, but apparently my hedonist rampage decided to affect me* and I broke my back and couldn't get out of bed on Monday morning. It was either the hedonist rampage, or the other-worldly revenge of the 17,000 chickens and turkeys that I ate (respectively).
So I spent all of new year's eve day lying on my back in a valium-fog, while Yehia gave me worried looks. I ate curry, started ranting more than usual after one beer, and then my husband sent me to bed. I am so getting old.
*I am, after all, getting on - almost 26!**
**My gift list will be posted shortly.
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We have chairs to stand on! Volume II, et al
Last night The Cat was hissing through the window* at the neighbour's cat as it crept through the monsteria and caught ANOTHER MOUSE!!! Yehia got a little bit upset and wanted to rescue the mouse, and I was forced to give him A Look.
I have been practicing Giving Looks lately, because I am officially becoming a grinch, as I feel that festivity is overrated. For the last few days we have had Salvation Army fundraisers in the square outside our office, playing Christmas Carols on their trumpets and their trombones for several hours at a time, and my ears are bleeding. There are also lots of tourists blocking the streets, whose ankles I am very close to stamping down upon.
Although I don't have any neices or nephews (inclusive), I have decided that the only way to get through the festive season (it's also Eid at the moment, people, and well-wishes must be made!) is to act the part of "crazy mad old auntie" by drinking copious amounts of Pimms, waving my umberella at people and wearing inappropriate purple.
I'm off to buy a blue rinse.
*What's with cats and hissing? What exactly is it meant to do? It's not particularly scary or intimidating unless they have arse breath, which our cat now doesn't have since having its teeth removed.
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We have chairs to stand on!
Despite having a cat, we seem to have rodents.
Yehia told me a few days ago that there were "tree rats" in the monsteria in our couryard. I, of course, did not believe him. Why would I?
Until The Cat ran through our very civilised and grownup Sunday family lunch with a giant mouse in its mouth. Thank goodness these particular family members aren't too freaked out by a toothless cat holding a mouse. Albeit large (the mouse). Thank goodness said family members can assist the two of us to remove said mouse.
Just now I looked out the window and saw with my very eyes a rodent strolling up the monsteria. I think it's another large mouse.
How does one get rid of large mice living in a giant monsteria in the garden? Should one make friends and live in peace and harmony with rodents?
- Eeeek! -
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RawwaHet rasi!
Tuesday evening I was sitting on the couch, cramming for my imminent Arabic lesson. I couldn't figure out what one letter was, what with the whole different script thing, and asked Yehia for help.
Whilst I can swear like a trooper, narrate food and describe camels, donkeys and monkeys very well Yehia is enthusiastic for me to widen my Arabic vocabulary, and likes to help. On Tuesday evening I just couldn't figure this one letter out. Yehia couldn't figure out how I couldn't figure this letter out. As I leaned forward to pick up my dictionary, Yehia flung out his arm out wide to write the word in the air and I was knocked off the couch.
My darling, normally non-clumsy husband got me an icepack for the emerging bump on my head. I didn't make it to my Arabic lesson.
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A is for Addax, and it's not a goat at all!
There was an altercation on my tram ride home yesterday. An Angry Man started whacking an Annoying Man over the head with his newspaper. Passengers intervened, and the crisis was averted until Annoying Man started complaining because Angry Man had hurt him - this started Angry Man on another whacking spree until passengers re-intervened. I got off the tram before round three started.
I'm baking carrot muffins right now, and I need to go to the stupormarket to get more icing sugar because I have run out, and I refuse to eat them without cream cheese icing. It's a dilemma - I can't be arsed leaving the house, but I want muffins. What to do, what to do?
OMG I found out the other day why I'm scared of axolotls. Even ones called Andrew:
Here is something that was said a few days ago. I'm not going to say who it was said by, or who it was said to:
"I have never been more embarrassed than when you did that enormous fart at Footscray station. And you leaned forward. You. Leaned. Forward. It echoed along the platform. That man walked past us five minutes later, and he was still trying not to laugh. You could have blamed me, if it hadn't been for the fact that you leaned forward to do it."
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Bringing Camel Back
A man spitroasted a whole camel and I wasn't invited. Not only is this rude and disrespectful, but it means that now he won't be invited when I spitroast the world's largest quail. An eye for an eye isn't something that I say, but a camel for a quail is. And it's something I stand by.
In a random segue, I also stand by not killing bugs unless they are earwigs. I will defend a spider to the squish and transport it out of the building into a nice garden and I will move snails from the footpath onto the grass after the rain, but an earwig I will pulverise in one foul swoop. They scare me a lot - partly because they scuttle, partly because of those freaky pincers they have attached to their arses. I think that reading George's Marvellous Medicine too many times as a child made me scared that one would bite me on the tongue and never let go. Read the book and you'll understand.
Other things that I did too many times as a child are:
- Force my mother to cut my toast into 16 pieces;
- Not catch the ball and get hit on the nose;
- Not blow my nose, as obviously my brains would come out with the snot and then I would have no brains and catching the ball would be even harder;
- Bake chocolate chip cookies;
- Lick my sister;
- Rub mulberry juice all over my sister's black and white cat, making it black and purple;
- Hold my breath until I passed out;
- Sing "Man of Colours";
- Etc.
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Egg sandwich... Crab sandwich... Crabs lay eggs...
I just ate an egg sandwich. It was a proper egg sandwich from a proper egg sandwich recipe, with a little mayonnaise, salt, pepper and freshly picked from the garden lettuce and onion and a bit of mustard and pickled cucumbers and yum! A proper egg sandwich makes the world a better place, and I very much believe that they should be consumed with just that aim in mind. Everyone should eat good egg sandwiches, it gives the world a bit of perspective. This is something that I believe.
Another thing that I believe is that crabs can grow their claws back if they break off. Unfortunately I often have difficulties convincing other people of this. After doing some extensive research* I have discovered the an article in the well-renowned and reputable crabstreetjournal which thoroughly authenticates my hypothesis, and Proves Me Right. Thankyou crabstreetjournal.
I wonder if crab and egg sandwiches would be good?
I will not be ripping the claws off crabs to make crab sandwiches** because I don't think that's kind, and also because I think that then the crabs couldn't eat and then they'd die of starvation instead of growing back another claw. Poor little crabs.
Today is a day off work for me, so I am now determined to do something productive like sew a bizarre outfit, and then cook a feast for my lovely husband. And google things about crabs. And eggs. And sandwiches.
*typing into google the gramatically suspect "can crabs grow their claws back when they lose them?"
**Or to make crab and egg sandwiches, which I'm not really sure about unless the egg is in the form of mayonnaise. Speaking of which, an egg sandwich is really a double egg sandwich, because there's two forms of egg: in mayonnaise, and boiled. Weird, huh?
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Eye Sore
As a particularly young bride (there are a full five years between my husband and I!) I realise that I have a difficult and tough life ahead of me. As my husband ages I will remain young and beautiful, even ravishing, and references will be made to Anna Nicole Smith (but with a nicer bum and less cleavage), among others.
I had my first taste of palliative care on Sunday, when Yehia got dust stuck in his eye. Forcing his head back over the bathtub and pouring a jug of water over his face did not help. Pulling on his eyelids and squirting eyedrops in did not help. Telling him to get over it did not help.
Forced to get on a tram (nobody vacated the "special needs" seat for my dear husband) and go to the Eye and Ear Hospital, I led him by the arm down the street because the bit of dust was forcing him to look out the corner of his eye and trip over the things that were in front of his eye. At the hospital the triage nurse flipped his eyelid inside out and wiped it with a cotton bud . The dust was gone, and the life-threatening situation averted.
On our way home we bought Vietnamese food.
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Not burning bras...
Next week is "Week Without Violence", and for my work I'm holding self-defence and self-protection workshops for young women, and being all happy and non-violent.
The highlight of the week is badge-making. I'm making badges with feminist slogans and badges with anti-violence slogans. Only problem is that I can't think of many slogans that aren't boring. Also, my favourite, "I'll be post-feminist in the post-patriarchy", isn't really teen friendly and it makes me look like a big geek. Anyone got any ideas? A couple so far:
It’s simple Brad - either use condoms or beat it
Feminism: my favourite f-word
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In which I eat too much, and then complain a bit.
Last night's birthday celebrations involved Yehia and I eating a lot. It started well, which could be translated as badly but won't be because food is good, when my duckliverparfait was way rich and filling. I had already ordered a 500gramsteak (who eats a steak that big? I mean, really?) to eat after the duckliverparfait. I was concerned, and rightly so. For after we finished the desserttastingplatterincludingthechocolatenemesis, my stomach was injured and we had to walk home, during the whole 40 minutes of which I complained about my injured stomach.
In other complainey type news, the Australian government are a pack of turdmonkeys. They have decided that because African refugees have a lot of trouble assimilating* into Australian culture** that they won't accept any more into the country until at least July 2008. Not only is this, in my*** opinion utterly racist, it's just totally ignoring the point of refugees. Which is that they need refuge for a reason.
Something that makes me happy is my latest obsession with Jonah Takalua. If you don't love him already go to Summer Heights High and download and watch every episode, and you will. It's not disruptive, it's entertainment.
*I mean, what did the government expect here? That they'd prance out of the refugee camp that was their "home" for ten years and go have a bbq? I mean, really!
**I mean, really, define that. Stupid.
***humble
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Melody Tunes
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Bra Purse
Don't ask me how I found this:
Ok, if you must ask me, it's here.
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Random Lebanon
We had lots of adventures in Lebanon. Many involved several bottles of vodka, mountains, chicken, coffee and sweets. I totally love custard apple icecream dipped in pistachios.
Anyway, here are a few more photos:
Me smoking:
Yehia's least favourite vegetable:
Yehia dancing a tribute to his national icon:
My favourite fruit:
A soap, with a portrait of Hariri:
The biggest peach on the planet, eaten on the bus on the way home from lovely Tripoli:
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We're ba-ack!
Ok so we're back in Australia.
And at work.
If I can be arsed, I'll put a few more Lebanon photos up. Just in case I can't be, know that we went to Tripoli, visited lots of mountain homes and ate 18,501 chickens each.
We went and saw Die Hard 4.0 the other day. The annoying computer guy in it looks like Dave Grohl, who is an arse and quite annoying. Interesting. The movie sucked.
I only told Yehia afterwards that I have never seen any of the other Die Hards. Neither have I seen Rambo, but he knows that. I look forward to the day when we do a Rambo-a-thon, because the Rocky-a-thon gave me a love for all things Balboa.
In a fit of married nesting, we bought a bbq. Now for the 18,502nd chicken (each)!
It really bugs me when people leave the keypad tones on their mobile phones. Why do they do this? Surely they're bugging themselves as well as me? Can't they see on their screens that the keys are being pressed, without having to hear at the same time? Furthermore, why would someone want to INCREASE the level of their keytones? Is it to watch me as I rip my eardrums out?
I also don't like it when people clap when the plane lands. Don't congratulate the pilot as though it's special! It's normal! It is what is supposed to happen! Freaks!
I've had enough now.
Time for chocolate.
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Raiheen 3a Beirut!
We're on our way to Beirut! Apart from the felafel and cedars and friends and family, I am quite looking forward to experiences involving individuals such as this gentleman:
Filed under Adventures in Deliciousness, EEEEeeekk!!!, Heeheehee..., Stuff, Super Dooper, WOW, Waiting
Because I don't have enough happening in my life
With all the "Getting Married" shebang, and the "Going to Lebanon and Meeting all of Yehia's Family and Friends for The First Time" thing happening, I decided that I needed something more stressful on my plate. Coz this isn't enough.
So we decided to move house. We're mid-move now. We're getting married in 9 sleeps.
Family are beginning to arrive, with Yehia's father landing in Melbourne at 1:30 this morning.
We are having 505 square inches of baklava at the wedding.
What more excitement could I add to my life? Maybe I should start a political party, or begin a PhD. How about I get fired, get pregnant, move country and go to jail? I think I need a new challenge...
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We're gettin' Married!
"I should have been a dancer. If only you had been more supportive of my dreams."
"But the Backstreet Boys AND NSync already have their moustachioed badboys!"
"Why do you mock me so?"
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Friday Procrastination
Last night us classy art savants went to a gallery opening. The Angry Teenagers have been painting and they're very proud and excited and so am I - one of them turned up whilst an Important Person was speeching yesterday and shreeked "Hippy Lady!" when she saw me. Anyway, anyone in Melbourne needs to go and have a look at the stuff that the Angry Teenagers have painted, and buy some of it too because although they're angry they're really lovely kids. More information here, it's open until 8 July.
This morning, after the excitement and culture of last night, the tram was horrific. Squished like little squished fishies we were, staring googlie-eyed out the fogged up windows. Screeeech went the brakes, and we were so jam-packed that nobody was able to fall over. Because we were all supporting each other in our verticality. How very community of us. Pity about the morning breaths.
In other news, this evening we have an exciting visitor coming from far away lands: Yehia's mother is coming from Saudi Arabia. We look forward to frenzied cleaning of the house before we pick her up, then her frenzied cleaning of our cleanliness when she arrives. This woman puts clean freaks to shame. Unless, that is, her phobia of cats continues and she spends the days standing on the coffee table while The Cat runs laps around it, howling. It will be an amusing weekend, either way.
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Help!
We're inviting David Bowie to our wedding, but I don't know his address. Anyone? Anyone?
How does one even go about finding something like this?
Anyone? Anyone?
(Dust? Dust? Anyone? Anyone?)
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Now I know what a Tag is...
A lovely lady tagged me today. This means that I have to reveal 8 things about myself:
1. I was convinced, until I was about 10 years old, that I had the ability to fly. I just chose not to use this ability.
2. The town in which I was born, Ararat, is often described (by me) as a butthole. It's quite ironic that when I gain dual citizenship and get a Lebanese passport this word, in an arabic accent, means "f**k". This word will be on my passport.
3. I tried life modelling when I was at university. It was slightly cold, and somewhat boring. Out of the things that you can get paid to do in the nude, this is probably the least interesting. Sorry.
4. I have four pairs of red shoes, and one more pair with red on them. I am not obsessed. They do make me go faster, though.
5. I have a deformed floating rib. Doctors often think it's a lump on my liver, until I tell them what it is. Often they don't believe me, and subject me to a barrage of tests, then don't apologise.
6. I am unashamed of my love and respect for Dolly Parton.
7. I am somewhat obsessive-compulsive, and will often spend hours concentrating hard on useless things.
8. I got a new job!
Apparently I'm meant to tag someone else. Ummm... Can't be arsed, so tag yourself if you want to do it.
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Passionate Stance #88809553327134467
Like the bizarre lovechild of Chuck Norris and Paris Hilton, my wardrobe has been roundhouse kicking it's drunken way out of the cupboard and all over our apartment. It tries to make excuses for itself, saying "you need me!", "you love me!", "I'm so cute!" and "When you're in Texas look behind you" - but I have Had Enough. Considering that our apartment is the size of a thumbnail, room for two people and a cat is precious and thushenceforthwith I did a cull this morning of Unnecessary Items, sending them off to charity.
Following this and the subsequent freak-out I had at my evil consumerist beastly materialism, I am Making A Stand. From now on I am only going to either make my own clothes, or buy them secondhand. No more impulsive buying of random skirts, pants and blouses (unless they're secondhand). I am Officially Declaring, as of now, The End*.
*Small print:
Declaration valid for the next three months, just in case it's too hard.
Due to hygeine/practicality, the following items are exempt from this Declaration: underwears, bras, socks.
Shoes are not included as clothing.
Filed under Exciting Acquisitions, Stuff