Moving home

Never enter into a battle of wits with an automated program… you will come off second best. Today I had the happy news that I was offered a place at Griffith University on the Gold Coast studying a Bachelor of Communication. DRINKS ALL AROUND!

Student Concession Prices!! BOOYAH

I was a jubilant character for the next half hour until I decided that I was going to go ahead and enrol in my classes for first semester. You need a flippin’ degree just to sort out your timetable. Two phone a friends, one busted screen and several words that I am not at liberty to publish later and I still have a hole in my schedule… and while I am sure I will need the spare time to catch up on reading or whatever uni students do while not being uni students, I’m thinking that missing an entire subject is probably not a fabulous idea. Tomorrow I will make some very heated phone calls… stay tuned.

In other news… guess who is moving back home. BINGO. I am packing all my worldly possessions, along with my independence and my dignity into several large boxes and moving everything back to Mumsy’s house. That woman should really be in sales because when it came to selling her product (the spare rooms) she really made it hard to say no.

Roughly this is what it looked like:-

Are you tired of bills? Sick of wondering how you’re going to pay your rent? Don’t you just wish that there was some way to avoid all those hassles and just get on with living your life? Well here at Mumsy Inc. we believe that we’ve found the answer to all your problems. Move back home. This charming package comes with the large back bedroom next to the kitchen. The fridge being less than 10 steps from your bedroom door makes midnight snacking times even easier. But that’s not all folks. Move in before the end of the month and we will throw in the main bathroom, the other spare room for a study and all rights to the kitchen. Call now and we’ll waive the curfew and throw in free taxi service.

Clare: SOLD! Where do I sign.

But seriously, Im really going to miss my antics with my housemate. We really do make a lovely team. I am consoled however because I’m thinking of the amazing blog fodder living with Mumsy is going to provide. It’s going to be epic.

So I’m going back to school and back home all in the same month… wish me luck

Laugh Kookaburra Laugh

I stayed at Mumsy’s house last night, which is always an adventure in itself. Last night I had music practice which is just around the corner from where I used to live with Sister Dear. Since Sister Dear decided to relocate to the beach, I have lost my place to crash and my guaranteed breakfast the next morning. Mumsy, who providentially lives just around the corner from Sister Dear’s old house, has offered me the use of her pull out sofa bed for whenever I have need.

Given how smashingly Mumsy and I get on, you would be surprised to find out that this arrangement, while handy, is rather lacking in certain desirable features.

The Pantry at Chattel de la Mumsy is a sad excuse for a celestial larder. Mumsy is convinced that she is lactose intolerant, and gluten intolerant which means her victual stores look a whole lot like some sick and twisted health food shop wherein people force feed you lentils, polenta and freaky things floating in  purple coloured goop. After numerous raids into the depths of her freezer I finally returned with a packet of frozen veggies and some meat I hope came from a cow. Huzzah!

Secondly, Conversation isn’t exactly one of my strong points. I can Facebook chat with the best of them and MSN until the cows come home. However the bitter truth of the matter is that I prefer my own company and with the exception of a few people, I find it a tad onerous to carry on a fully fledged conversation for any length of time. Sister Dear and I had a fabulous arrangement. If we wanted to spend some quality time together, we would put on a movie and watch it together. We talked if we wanted to and when we didn’t want to, we didn’t. Mumsy does not understand this. In a bid to force us into conversation she sold the television so we have no choice but to sit there and exchange niceties about the weather. Gah

Thirdly, I am all for getting out of bed nice and early but Mumsy is taking early bird to a whole new level. I was camping out on her couch, blissfully unaware that anything existed outside of the land of sweet dreams and cotton candy. I was in that limbo, post sleep / pre wake place where you’re sort of aware of what’s going on but still semi sleeping, when into the living room shuffles Mumsy in her noisy slippers. I squidge open one eye and look at my watch. 4:30am?! I close my eye hoping Mumsy will see her sleeping daughter and, having pity on her, will shuffle right back into her room, shut the door and stay there until a more reasonable hour. No. The shuffling continues into the bathroom, followed by the sounds of showering.

By this time I have the blanket pulled up over my head and am trying to burrow my way into the couch. Devil Birds who live in a cage on the patio wake up and start squawking away. Mumsy emerges from the bathroom and shuffles into the kitchen where she turns on the noisiest kettle in the history of kitchen appliances. Cups rattle, every piece of cutlery is emptied onto the bench, tossed around the room and then one spoon is selected to clatter against the side of the mug a few times. The patio door is opened and Devil Birds are let out, the door closes and Mumsy shuffles back in. By this time I am wide awake and glaring at a spot on the ceiling waiting for Mumsy to come around the corner before I let lose the full force of my crippling gaze.

“Morning Sweetie”, she says all cheerily
*Growl*
“Did you sleep well?”
*Another Growl*
“Would you like some breakfast?”

At this point I sit up, hair looking like I’ve stabbed a paper clip into the power socket and pillow imprints all over my face and say rather forcefully, “It’s not even 5 o’clock in the morning! I should be sleeping! And for the love of God could you please shuffle softly!”
*Stunned Silence* From Mumsy

After this I flop back down onto the couch and pull the blankets up over my head. I peak out and see Mumsy trying her hardest to shuffle quietly back into her bedroom, tea in hand.

Last but not least we come to Little Brother. The greasy haired cretin inhabits the back bedroom. Seeing as Monday night was his Formal and after formal party, I suspect that the boy was suffering from something akin to a hangover. *Rubs hands together gleefully*
Mumsy shuffled into his bedroom at 6am and calls out all sweet like that the time has come for him to get out of bed. There is nothing but silence and boy smell coming from the depths of his bedroom. Since I had been awake since 4:30am and was in something of an unpleasant mood I took it upon myself to extract said person from his bed. Anyone who hasn’t tried getting a seventeen year old boy out of bed when he is inclined to sleep until noon has no idea of the epic effort that this was.

On a brighter note, I was walking across the car park toward the office this morning when I saw a Kookaburra sitting on a lamp post teaching its baby how to laugh. It kind of made my morning.

Another one bites the dust

And so we come as we inevitably must to Little Brother’s graduation. Last night, Little Big Sister, Big Brother, Mumsy and I all got our formal freak on and journeyed down to the Gold Coast to watch the kick off of our youngest’s Grade 12 Formal.

Observation 1:
Invitations should not say hors d’oeuvre will be available if there are no hors d’oeuvre to be had. I did my hair and makeup, squished myself into a dress and heels and braved the throngs of glittered seventeen year olds under the impression that I would at least be treated to sub par finger food, and all that was to be had was orange juice with too many pips, apple juice, lemonade and Pepsi. Who even drinks Pepsi anymore?

Observation 2:
High Heels should not be worn if the wearer is unable to walk in them. During the 45 minutes I was there, I witnessed no less than 5 girls who were teetering about precariously in fickle footwear while negotiation the perils of hooped skirts in the confined of a cluttered dining hall. I had to restrain manic laughter every time I saw a girl grab at the nearest chair back/passer-by in an effort to remain upright when her shoes upset her motor skills.

Observation 3:
I don’t care how much Hollywood Tape you’re using. Dresses need more than an Iron Will to stay in place.  To the girl in the silver strap-less dress with the train that stretches a meter behind you. Someone is going to step on your dress and when that happens, I sincerely hope your dress stays where you put it.

Observation 4:
Teenage boys are hilarious. I was standing in line with Little Brother and various family members waiting for our photo to be taken and overheard the boys talking about their suits and exclaiming over the awesomeness of the inside pocket. Obviously for most of these young men, this was their first encounter with ‘The Suit’ and despite their best efforts to appear all nonchalant and sophisticated, they all looked rather a lot like kids playing with their cool new toy.

Observation 5:
Elevators are potential death traps. For some reason unknown to me, this particular formal committee felt the need to have their formal at the top of an 80 story hotel. Which meant that my family and I, along with 5 or 6 other formal going strangers, were stuck in a small box, hurtling up and down an elevator shaft at speeds previously not experienced in elevators during my lifetime. I’ve never been one to be afraid of heights, but it turns out that this particular elevator gives me the heebie jeebies something fierce.

Observation 6:
Strangeness runs in my family. I have realised that I am not the only odd ball in my gene pool.

Behold... Little Brother

Little Brother it appears either has some sort of repressed fetish for Kermit the Frog or he wanted to look like a Leprechaun on Acid. He pulled it off splendidly and turned more than a few heads. No-one even seemed to care that with the exception of one abominable dress, he had the brightest outfit there.

Friday is his official graduation ceremony *I am not crying… I have something in my eye* and then he’s initiated into the real world. He is going to be in for the shock of his life.

Archers to the ready

Magpies, the root of all evil

 

Alright everyone. As you are all aware September is upon us. Spring has unleashed hell and parks everywhere are under threat from the Magpie Menace. 

As one of those crazy people who are terrified of birds at the best of times, September is a particularly unpleasant month for me.

They're on to us... RUN FOR YOUR LIVES

This is possibly stemmed from early childhood memories of being forced to parade about the place wearing an ice-cream bucket on my head with eyes painted on the top to keep the black and white beasties at bay.  School play-time rules changed from No Hat No Play to No Ice-Cream Bucket No Play. Tag is so much more fun when your being chased by whoever is it and being bomb dived by the resident Mummy Magpie as well.

 

Mumsy, bless er heart used to buy us safe passage from the magpies who lived in a gum tree in our front yard by leaving dried dog food on the veranda railing all year. That worked a treat untill the boy down the road decided to use their nest for target practice one year with his new sling-shot. The cease-fire was over. Bloody battle ensued. 

The hero in this sorry tale is my brother Ickle. He used to hide in ambush with this knobbly piece of a tree and wait for one to swoop him. He would then leap from the shrubbery with an awful cry and clobber the bird on the head. 

When he wasn’t doing this, he would ride about on his bike wearing a re-enforced bike helmet. He would scope out where the magpies were swooping and then ride about in the late afternoon. He would stand up on his peddles, crouch his head down into the handlebars and when the magpie was flying over head, he would swing his head up and using his helmet like war hammer he would knock the bird out cold. The bird would recover after a minute or so and stumble drunkenly off the road before they can see straight enough to fly so no permanent damage was done. I do suspect that there is a price on Ickle’s head. I tend to avoid him in September. 

All our technology and this is the best we could come up with?

 

Everywhere people are fixing zip ties all over their bicycle helmets in a freakish looking attempt to ward off magpie attacks. Dog walkers all over Brisbane have branches that they walk around with, hoping that the birds will mistake them for walking trees with pet dogs and not go for the kill shot. While these methods may seem adequate in protecting people from this epidemic. I think more drastic measures need to be put in place. 

I would like to see Magpie Patrols all over the greater Brisbane area. People should be able to hire an armed guard to protect them from this menace. The government should hand out helmets with rear view mirror attached. For a small fee you should be able to have a missile launcher installed with sights and in Magpie problem areas giant clear fly paper should be stuck up to catch them mid-flight. 

Say hello to my little friend

 

Also everyone should be given a Nerf Gun. Just because I really really want one. Plus I would like to see any birds come at me while I lie in wait with one of those. 

So dear readers. Stay safe this Swooping Season and if there happens to be any animal right activists who have stumbled across my blog and have been offended by anything that I have written, please email me and let me know. I might want to offend you again later.

Land of Make Believe

“Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds. Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands maybe.” ~Neil Gaiman~

 I love this. As soon as I read it I started remembering. All of the times when I was a kid running around my yard pretending that I was in my own little world. Crawling into my cupboard and closing the doors pretending that I was a princess locked away in a tower. Sitting at my desk in school staring out the window laughing on the inside at scenes that only I could see. And sitting on the computer at work thinking about characters and plot lines that have become as real to me as the person in the desk behind the partition.

See, the first time I saw this I went back to the days of make-believe; when my brothers and sisters were rival nations in our own back yard battles. When the river at the bottom of my best friends property was the ocean, and things that the world thought impossible happened every day in our minds. But the more I thought about it, even though we act on our make believes less as we grow older and more privy to reality, we never stop having them. I might not run around wielding a stick believing that I’m riding a white stallion and about to challenge my younger brother in a jousting tournament, but I still sit at my desk and dream.

Many people think that the time for imaginary friends and knights in shining armour ends when your old enough to know better, but when I’m on the train looking at the man sitting at the other end of the carriage, I wonder where his mind is wandering. The girl sitting across from me looking wistfully out the window with a smile playing around the corner of her lips could be reliving any moment of happiness spent with someone she loves, but then again, she could be a dreamer just like me.

Imagine what kind of world we would be living in if more people stopped ignoring their imagination and trying to stuff it into a box with the rest of the childhood fancies that were discarded with their coming of age. Let yourself for just a moment go back to the days when fairies danced in your garden and cowboys and indians were your alter ego instead of a theme in a dress up party. People a little more rational than me will scoff at me and my dreaming, but I will just smile to myself and wonder where their mind is going to escape to when they least expect it.

Second star to the right and straight on 'till morning ~Peter Pan~