He's Just Not that into you Dave

Before moving to Sydney I had never been to an IKEA. We had never lived around one and funny enough as soon as we moved to Australia they opened a huge IKEA near our house in Florida; we've still never been to that one.

When it's time to go to IKEA we get a babysitter, because IKEA without small children is just so so much better-- it's like a big day out for us-- Date Day.

Last time we hauled ourselves out to IKEA, we picked up a new Swedish friend named Dave. One thing led to anothr and we decided to take him home with us; he could stay in the family room-- which he did, for about a month. Then one night, I brought him upstairs. He was only supposed to be coming up for a few minutes, but from that night on he basically moved into our bedroom.

After about a month, when I realized how much Dave meant to me and how much I loved having him in our bedroom I began telling my husband that he should totally get in on the Dave action. He was all-- yeah, yeah, at some point I will. And then that day came, and he did it for a few nights, but I think it's safe to say, he's just is not as into Dave as I am.

.
Dave, I love you... and if loving you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

Note: Dave is the table in the photo, not the man. (I don't actually know that man).

Moons Over my Hammy

In college I had food poisoning from sliced deli style turkey, since then I've become the pickiest deli meat eater ever. I'm a die-hard Boars Head girl, anything else scares me.

It appears that sliced turkey is no where near as popular in Australia, as it is in the U.S., and when you do find slice turkey here it's basically always smoked and highly processed, both of which make me want to hurl.

That all being said, I've recently become more open-minded to the wide world of ham, and there is no shortage of ham down under.

Norton St. Grocer, the local gourmet food store in our hood, has this amazing Mango Honey Glazed Ham. Not only does this ham look beautiful with a sparkling criss-cross pattern of charred sugar on the outside, but it tastes like a little slice of hammy heaven.

Last week when I arrived at Norton St. to reload, the beautiful ham I expected to find in all of it's largeness, was only a small end piece which no doubt would yield pitiful ham scraps instead of the enormous circular slices I had my hammy-heart set on.

The conversation with the girl at the deli counter went like this:

Me: Wow, it's so small. Can you possibly bust out a new ham?

Ham Keeper: We'll have to finish this one before we can start a new one.

Me: Can you slice a piece so I can see what it looks like? (angling for a free ham taste, yo).

Ham Keeper: Sure.

She comes back a few minutes later with a slice of ham the size of my thumb...

Me: Do you really consider those "slices" of ham??

Ham Keeper: Um, yeah. Well, how much did you want?

Me: Oh, I need a lot!!! Probably about a kilo. (Um, did I really just say "a kilo"-- that's 2.2 lbs., oh man).

Ham Keeper's co-worker: Just get a new one and slice it up.

What's a girl to do? Buy ham scraps, or buy enough ham to feed like all the Jolie-Pitt children for two weeks?

Ham and cheese sandwiches. Tomato, boccocini, and ham stacks topped with drizzled balsamic vinegar. Green eggs and ham. Pasta salad with ham, peas and ranch dressing. Moons over my Hammy. Ham on crackers. Ham roll ups. Ham. Ham. Ham. Did I mention we've been eating a lot of ham?

I think I've said the word "ham" so many times it looks like it's spelled wrong now. I hate when that happens.

The Dinner Party

We have real Australian friends here, yeah baby, we have arrived.

Last weekend we were invited to a dinner party at our favorite Australian friends' house. I should probably tell you now, I think we have a couples crush on them.

The wife is literally My Favorite Australian, she is freaking hilarious. She reminds me of two of my closest friends in Florida; she swears like The Fiery Redhead, and entertains me like my girl the Orlando Blonde Bombshell.

So I had high expectations for My Favorite Australian's dinner party, I knew it was going to be a good time, and was not disappointed. Our lovely hostess broke the ice by whipping out her Cute Banker Husband's early-nineties, teenage modeling portfolio for some pre-dinner entertainment. I'm hoping she won't mind it when I say my favorite photos were the series of him wearing a unitard with a hat strategically placed over his package. Neh, she probably agrees.

During all of the teenage-modeling-photo-excitement My Favorite Australian flawlessly crisped potatoes, and made a red wine sauce, and I think she also made a Bernaise sauce-- or possibly Hollandaise sauce? Which ever it was, she did all of this after drinking about an entire bottle of wine. This being said, she is my hero because the food was incredible, beef wrapped in ham and tied up like a present with red string, amazing potatoes, and rocket salad.

Other dinner party highlights included:

• Me learning the word "pash" after ignorantly nodding and smiling as if I had a clue knew what they were talking about. I finally was advised that in Australian, "pashing" is kissing.
  
• A gravyboat with an attached underplate, filled to the brim with creamy sauce, being disastorously free-poured around the table, and eventually becoming the object of ridicule for it's design and lack of serving spoon.
  
• My Favorite Australian getting hiccups, then going outside to the trampoline to do drunken seat drops to get rid of them. Yes, it was successful.
  
• Post-dinner, My Favorite Australian was inspired to show us her moves, which in all of their awesomeness, looked like a solo version of this:

Pulp Fiction - Dance Scene @ Yahoo! Video

Then there was more good wine.
There was a delicious chocolate tart.
There was cheese plate.

When I saw Vegemite on the cheese plate I became concerned that I would be double-dog-dared to eat some. What the hell is Vegemite doing on a freaking cheese plate? That's just wrong.


(photo of the actual cheese plate)

My Favorite Australian told me it was actually quince paste, and it would "change my life". I was so relieved, and she was sooo right. This is why I bow down to this woman.

And at some point between the Pulp Fiction montage, and my quince paste moment, everyone was chanting "do it, do it, do it" as My Favorite Australian tried to get my politically-correct husband to yell swear words. Just thinking of him doing it was hilarious enough.

If I told you anymore I'd have to kill you, so I'll leave the story at that. Needless to say we had a very good time and are planning to invite them, and their friends, to our house for the next dinner party.

This past week my husband and I have reminisced about what a great time we had at their house. One night, around midnight, my husband says, "Think I should call them, say ______(insert their aforementioned profanity here) and hang up?" See, this is why I married him.

So now we have booked a holiday (that's all Australian for "vacation") to go to the Blue Mountains with them. This time we'll probably avoid going here, needless to say, I think it's going to be a good time.

GlassBreaker, Wine Slayer. Don't You Mess Around With Me.

GlassBreaker--WineSlayer-- heartbreaker
Don't you mess around with me.

My friend from Orlando is finally here! She has come to hang with me for the week, then is flying back to Florida with me and da boyz next week. Our whirlwind week is half over and I'm secretly hoping she'll meet an Australian guy to convince her to stay in Sydney!

And not only is my friend fun... she's also a dangerous superhero, known to a privileged few as, GlassBreakerWineSlayer. Yo, the girl has mad superpowers.

In 1992, GlassBreaker and I met selling cruises together, we sat at adjoining cubicles; the nineties was a total boom for the cruise industry, and there couldn't have been a more amazing time to have our jobs. We've probably been on about twenty or thirty cruises together. Wild cruises and wild times.

My friend arrived Monday morning, Roger Moore was on her plane and the paparazzi were camped out in the international terminal. I don't know what that little tidbit has to do with anything except that I was wondering who the old guy was-- and was unsure whether to follow suit and take a photo of him. I didn't, but whatevs.

So we took a ferry around, picked up my little duo o' chaos (the preschoolers), then headed home. I'm not sure if we had even cracked open the wine yet, when I heard a loud pop-- the kind of pop you just know can't be good.

My friend had walked straight into the floor to ceiling window next to the door and her superhero-strength knee shattered the window; and well, her superhero forehead and lips left imprints too.

We were both like-- holy fuck.

Needless to say, this is how we spent the next morning...

'
(That's not actually us, it's the glass repair men).

The glass repair guys were chuckled as they told us that most windows are broken by being walked into, and it's usually the knee that does it.

And I was feeling really bad, because I didn't want her to feel bad.
Then she told me a story... and I cheered up.

Two weeks ago in a drunken moment of excitement at a friend's house, she thought it would be awesome to test the boundaries of intoxication by going all ninja on her friend who was sitting, minding her own business, enjoying a glass of wine. In her black, mirrored kitten heels she proceeded to throw Kung Fu kicks, then end it with a roundhouse over her friend's head as a grand finale. Upon her foot's descent, the heel of her shoe actually sliced the stem of the wineglass off, sending it shattering to the ground. Meanwhile, the glass stayed perfectly in her friend's hand unscathed. She said it felt like watching someone pull the tablecloth off a set table.

I was like... damn girl, you're a glass kicking fool.

So last night in our drunken stupor, while laughing so hard we seriously could not stop, we wanted to give my readers a little taste of what you're missing by not being here.
In the spirit of the Karate Kid, here is a demonstration of her moves...





Don't worry there will be more stories about our adventures together forthcoming...

Left Handed People Rule

My husband and I were lying in bed watching a docustory on ESPN's E:60 about Obama and his personal assistant, Reggie Love.

Husband (with great excitement): Look! Obama's left-handed!

Me: One day I'm going to do a blog post about your obsession with left-handed people.

Husband (smirking and strangely elated): Do your research!

Me (in my head): That's hilarious, you're a nutjob.

A few minutes later, out of no where...

Husband: Do your research! Do you know how many presidents are left-handed?

Me (now trying to get some good blog material): So what do you think it is that makes left-handed people so superior?

Husband: Don't mess with me. All I know, is that in business, science, and politics...

He is cut off by my uncontrollable laughter.

For 14 years I've been living with a left-handed man who is constantly impressed whenever he notices someone is a lefty; and I know that deep down he believes that left-handed people are just smarter. By the way, do you have any idea how rare a left-handed woman is?

For years he has informed, and then reminded me how almost all U.S. presidents have been left-handed. Actually it's only been in recent years that lefties have taken over the Oval Office, before that it was mostly just your old run of the mill righties.

And seriously, who cares what hand our President writes or throws a ball with, I'm more interested in whether or not she or he has any secret lovers or illegal drug habits. That's the stuff real presidents are made of.


Hopefully some of Big Daddy's left-handed brilliance will rub off on our right-handed children.

Taking it all Off

I remember when The Fiery Redhead (my bff) first got a Brazilian wax, she was scared for her husband to see it, cause her coochie looked like a six year old.

By the way, this is a girl who-- should you question her hair being naturally red, will offer to prove it to you, but I guess that's no longer an option. Hahahahaha.

When she read my blog about what big nads I have-- to be using Nads, cause some people just ain't got no right to be using that stuff without supervision (yeah, that would be me), she said this:

"After you get a Brazilian you just want to take your pants off and show everyone."

And that's why we're friends.

Amazing Rescue

There was a mother who was rescued this afternoon. Rescued from the chaos that is her own late afternoon, post-preschool mini-hell-- ah, the witching hour. Oh yeah, I'm that lucky mother. And lucky I am, because I finally took the advice of my pediatric acupuncturist sister, and bought this stuff called "Rescue Remedy".

It is safe for children, and my adorable children were about to be rescued from the evil spirits that overtake their poor little minds and bodies each afternoon... I was so excited.

Leaving preschool I tell them that I have a treat for them-- my three year old lives for "treats". I give them each a Rescue Remedy Pastille -- it was like a somewhat gummy, kind of yummy, somethin for your tummy wummy. I don't know why I couldn't stop myself from writing that. Anyway, I slipped them the so-called treats. This thing is kind of a crossover lozenge, gummy bear meets hard candy. My kids had not eaten either yet. They wanted to chew it- but it was too hard. I tried to teach them how to suck it (you are really sick)-- but they didn't really get it. After about 30 seconds they both spit the thing out (in my hand of course), and we moved on to plan B-- the Rescue Remedy spray.

I was pretty sure they would not be into having something sprayed into their mouths, but they were all about the spray-- freaking loved it.





On most days our car ride home is full of seat kicking, someone saying they want ________(fill in the blank with -water, cookies, etc.) over and over and over, and other random chaos. But today this was our ride home:


Ok, I know they look stoned, but what they're actually staring at is the Clifford the Big Red Dog movie. And they were really, really, really relaxed-- and it was sooo nice.

When we got home my little one was crying and demanding cake (which we never have, but he constantly asks for). Instead, they were doing this:


That's play dough they're playing with there. And that's peace and quiet I hear-- instead of our usual witching hour insanity.

Needless to say, I have a new best friend-- in a little yellow bottle.

And as a secondary little ditty for today:

On the Sydney radio station 106.5 today they had a "guest chef" who came on to tell listeners the history of Smores and how to make them. Apparently all Americans love Smores, and they are an American specialty which began with the settlers because they loved to camp. And the way you make them is, I definitely cannot type this without laughing...

"You take two chocolate chip cookies and put marshmallows and chocolate in between them to make a sandwich-- then you pop them in the oven for 15 minutes."

For a country which loves the "barbie" (that's Australian for BBQ) as much as they do, you'd think they would have been all over that more authentic method.

I love it, the official Smores recipes now involves chocolate chip cookies and an incompetent Australian oven...
ah, the little things in life.

Got Nads?

A couple of years ago my mom attempted to teach me how to use this:



I had almost forgotten Nads is an Australian product, damn law of attraction-- I waxed my legs and now I live in Australia. You can't stop that stuff.

Sadly, I wasn't good at it then, and apparently I'm even more horrible at it now.

It seems that Original Nads and Strawberry Scented Nads are softer and formulated to be used without warming, however Sangria Punch Scented Nads needs to be heated prior to application. The stuff was pretty stiff when I tried smearing it on the first leg, it never occured to me that it needed to be warmed, so I just kept on keepin' on.

Seriously dude, sometimes I am an incredible dumb ass.


Lesson learned: Overly ambitious, would-be self waxers should not be permitted to walk out of a store with waxing paraphenalia. In the wrong hands DIY waxing produces nearly identical results to rugburn topped with an acid peel.

Make no mistake, there is a reason this should be left to the professionals.

Going Down the Drain

Note to Readers: My children know with all certainty that they cannot fit down the bathtub drain.

About a year ago...

Them: Mommy, could we go down the drain?
Me: No, you are too big to go down the drain.
Them: Yes we can.
Me: You are too big to fit down the drain, you couldn't go down-- even if you wanted to.
Them: Yes we can.
Me: Yes, you could definitely go down the drain.
Them: No, we don't want to go down the drain! No, no.

Is it wrong that for the last year I've gotten my kids out of the bathtub by saying, "You'd better get out now or I'm going to open the drain." ?



Shockingly enough, he loved this water toy exhibit at Sydney's Powerhouse Museum last summer.

The Easy Way Out- My Love Life

One of my more brief, yet amusing relationships is still a topic of conversation whenever things get dull around here..

In 1994 I met Hometown Jewish Zealot Guy at a party. Now I'm Jewish, but basically do none of the things required of a real Jew-- like celebrate holidays or force the religion upon my children. However, you can bet your sweet ass I'll spin that dreidel anytime if there's Chanukah gelt involved.

Quite to the contrary (hence the name) Jewish Zealot was an Orthodox Jew; an Orthodox Jew who loved to party hard and keep Kosher.

A few rules of Orthodox Jews:

• They must not eat meat and dairy at the same time.
• They do not eat pork or shellfish at all (except in some families where it is acceptable if eating Chinese food :).
  
• They must use separates dishes for eating meat and dairy; they have two sets of dishes.
  
• They must not drive, cook, or talk on the phone from sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday. Harsh man, seriously harsh.
  

I really liked Jewish Zealot Guy, he was cool, smart, and fun-- but the religious stuff was way too much for me. We dated for a few months, but it was obvious that his commitment to all things Jewish was never going to work with my apathetic lack there of.

Having mentally moved on from Jewish Zealot, I started getting to know - in the biblical sense- this guy I worked with, we'll just call him Company Superstar. Company Superstar and I started secretly dating. Is there anything more silly, yet satisfyingly naughty, than secret office dating?

Warning: If you don't want to know how fickle girl I was then stop reading now and click here for something less offensive.  Otherwise, please continue...

I was heading down to South Florida, where Jewish Zealot lived, for a quick cruiseline-sponsored weekend of ship tours. My secret lover, Company Superstar, was going to be with me and I needed to extinguish Jewish Zealot's Shabbat candles with one quick and painless blow.

It was a Friday night, and knowing Jewish Zealot could not answer, nor speak, on the phone on Friday nights, I left him a break up voicemail. Oh yes I did, judge me if you like, that's totally fine. I know it was wrong on so many levels, but that's what I did.

Four years later I married Company Superstar, and am now free to eat all the bacon cheeseburgers I want and never go to temple (by the way, he's a slacker Jew just like me:).

Can I See Your ID?

Three years after moving to Dallas, my Florida license expired and I finally gots me a Texas drivers license. Unfortunately, a) when at long last I got it, I was nine months pregnant, and my face resembled a blowfish, and b) about a month later, I noticed the gender field on my license said "M", as in "male". Wow, sucks for me.

Eventually, I came to terms with having an ID in which I looked like Chris Farley, and due to sloppy data entry, appear to be a cross-dresser.

Today, I noticed that my drivers license, in all of its awesomeness, was missing from my wallet. I wasn't surprised, as I had recently removed lots of useless crap, and was left with stretched out card slots. Needless to say, things were a little loosey-goosey in there.

I have mixed feelings about losing my Texas drivers license. My plan was to not get an Australian license, because that's how I roll-- literally. I like to drive illegally in new places until I am busted or facing dire straits.

Looking on the bright side, this is an opportunity to embrace the newer and blonder me in an official piece of Australian documentation. And the bonus is, I will be driving legally and should I ever encounter the Deranged Rover again I will be more prepared.

It sucks that I take photographs of every useless crap day, and never snapped one of my license from hell.

Looking Through the Rubbish

Growing up I had this set of stainless steel Disney flatware, which was always a sentimental little slice of my unusual childhood. When my kids were ready to move beyond shoving the food in their mouths with fingers, I asked my mom to send them to me.



A few months down the track (that's Australian for "down the road") one of the pieces was mutilated by my garbage disposal, and I was pretty devastated. But being the internet whore that I am, I went on eBay and found replacements.

The point of all this reminiscing is that, in my nanny-smoking-cigarettes-in-the-house story, (posted a few days ago) I forgot to mention the straw that broke the Camel Lights back...

When I went rubbish bag diving to find the cigarette butts she idiotically left in her room, I mean come on-- leaving them in your room??? anyway, guess what I found -- my freaking Donald Duck spoon. Who knows if I could have gotten past the smoking bit, but tossing my Donald spoon out?

If that spoon went missing, I probably would have spent months searching every corner of this place looking for it, and I would not be happy

Wow, the drama.


Captain Chaos.


Captain Calmness.

Save the Drama for your Mama

This week has been so annoying that I thought it needed a recap along with our newest untold dramas.

Here are the events, in the order in which they unfolded:

1. Tuesday night: The whole nanny smoking cigarettes in the house episode.
2. Wednesday morning: Four year old is sick.
   
3. Wednesday night: The heat goes out. The house was freezing. Cold air was coming out of our reverse-cycle air conditioning, I'm not sure if this is an Australian thing, but I don't remember ever seeing it in the U.S. Basically, air always comes out-- but the temperature of the air seems to be the temperature you set it at (instead of just blowing "cold" until the rooms reaches what it's been set at).
4. Friday day: A very weird man (the kind you wish you didn't have to let in) comes to fix my a/c-heat. He tells me that he's been here before when the old rich guy, and his heroin addict son lived in the house. He went on to inform me of the 10 "sausage dogs" (I'm guessing that's Australian for dachshunds/hot dogs?) that lived here, which they "never cleaned up after". Thanks dude, for brightening my day.
5. Friday night: I'm trying to upload a video of my four year old prescribing me "rash" medication. My internet was c--r--a--w--l--i--n--g. I had to start the upload over three times. I started thinking, do I have a virus?? Omigod, do I have the ILOVEYOU virus, or possibly the Melissa Worm?
6. Later Friday night: I remembered Big Pond, our internet company, mentioning something about "you have blahbity, blah, megabytes every month at something mbps", after that your service will slow down.  And then it hits me... have I run out of internet service?
   
7. Saturday around 6am: Three year old who slept in underpants for the second night, came to tell us the bed was wet-- and, he was naked.
8. Saturday: Took in Disney on Ice at Acer Arena (formerly known as the Sydney Superdome, next to the Olympic Park). Those 101 Dalmations can really ice skate... unfortunately they're kind of freaky... I'm surprised the Disney people let this fly.
   

Maybe "kind of freaky" was an understatement.
These are Disney On Ice's 101 Dalmations. Scary.


My four year old leans over and whispers to me, " Why are those people attached and dressed like dogs?".

Big Pond, our internet company, said that upgrading from the $89 plan to the $99 plan, could not be done until our next billing cycle in two weeks. Are they insane? After about forty-five minutes of unproductive conversation about this, the guy says-- well you can change your plan now, but you'll have to pay the full $10 for this month- that's already half over. Are you joking moron? Of course we'll pay, just turn our freaking internet back on--- right now bitches.

Telstra may want to let their employees in on a little secret... most anyone would pay $10 to get their internet working again, instead of it being slower than a dial up for the next two weeks. Hello???

That's it, I'm done. It will probably take 15 minutes for this posting to go through. Goodnight.

This Is How The Pope Rolls...

I was sitting at a red light this afternoon, it was approximately 2:30pm, I was taking the World Youth Day (the longest freaking day ever) detour into downtown when traffic was stopped.

First came the flashing light police motorcycles. Then came about 10 white "people movers" (that's Australian for mini-vans). Mini-vans... really? Wtf?



Hmmm, look what came next.



Cause you know, that's how The Pope rolls (in a Rolls). He was on the way to the "Boat-a-Cade" festivities. Talk about being in the right place, at the right time.
I sure can whip out that camera when necessary.

A Survey About Me

Sometimes when I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy, I like to give people a little insight into the real me. My blog friend, Co-ree-nuh (that all Webster for Corrina) had this on her site, and when I saw the question about cantaloupe-- I knew I needed in. When your sister barfs cantaloupe all over you at the tender young age of 5 or 6, you never get over it.

Here I am, the one that you love, asking for another daaaay---
sorry, did I just sing that outloud?

First off, what’s your name?
Laura

How old?
36 and a half (I even had cake on my half birthday, thanks honey).

Where from?
Originally Chicago, grew up in Florida.

Who’s the lucky someone?
Well, I'm not sure if we'll call him lucky.

Who’s the bff?
The fiery red head and the lone New Yorker.

Who’s the hero?
Jesus is my hero. I know you’re shocked- it’s cool. (edit: this was accidentally left over from the person who originally filled in the answers-- though, as some of you know-- I'm all about Jesus-- like in a funny way, since of course I'm Jewish-- WWJD right?)

What’s the eye color?
Grayish blue

What’s the hair color?
New and improved blond, better blond.

How many times have you been in love?
Third time's a charm.

Do you plan on having sex before marriage?
I am definitely planning on it.

Do you drink?
Sometimes.

Do you smoke?
When necessary.

Would you call yourself confident?
Most of the time.

Have you ever given into peer pressure?
I am the peer pressure.

What is the vacation you’re most looking forward to?
Trip home to the U.S.

Watermelon or Cantaloupe?
Watermelon, duh.

Mango or Peaches?
Peaches, but only when they’re hard. I don’t like squishy fruit.-- I'm so with Corrina on that one.

Raspberries or Strawberries?
Both if sweet, neither if sour.

Peppers or Tomatoes?
I like both.

In middle school were you the “popular one”?
The most popular kids probably thought I wasn't, and the unpopular kids probably thought I was.

What is your future dream job?
Supervisor of nada mucho.

Have you taken any steps to achieve that yet?
Yes.

What exact time and date were you born at?
I was born at 12:02pm, just in time for a fancy lunch.

Name one comedy show we’d find you laughing at:
The Colbert Report.

What other shows do you watch with some of the same actors?
I have no idea what that means.

What is your favorite thing to eat with a cup of coffee?
I let my coffee stand alone.

What is the thing we’d find you ordering at Starbucks?
If in the U.S. a iced peppermint mocha with 1/2 of the syrups. If in Australia, nothing-- because Starbucks here tastes like ass.

What brand does your wardrobe mostly consist of?
Not mostly anything.

Do you have all your teeth?
Got rid of 4 wisdom teeth-- so no.

How about braces or a retainer?
Never had either.

How is your eyesight?
20/20 baby.

Any glasses or contacts?
I wear the +1.00 reading glasses in poor lighting or if reading at night.

How many birth marks?
None that I know of.

What was the last song you listened to?
Put Your Records On by Corrine Bailey Rae

What was the last show you watched?
Big Love.

Who was the last person you talked to?
My husband.

Who was the last person you had a phone conversation with?
My mom I think.

What was the last thing you ate?
Awesome Chinese delivery food.

What was the last thing you drank?
Water.

When was your last shower?
Yesterday.

When was the last time you stopped to exercise?
Last month before getting sick, I was in the zone.

After this, what will you be doing?
Watching the rest of Big Love

Australia honors Jack Wagner

I'm not really sure why Jack Wagner is on the Australian $10 note...
Okay, that's really a woman! I still look at this and crack up.

Anyone remember Frisco & Felicia? He really was all that, and a bag of gravy chips way back when--- click here for a stroll down memory lane

Weekly Battle of the Choirs--why, why, why???

While it's hard to watch, it's also entertaining in a this-is-so-corny-it-should-be-illegal kind of way.

So I assumed everyone would want to know what kind of bizarre hilarity was being belted out on this week's Battle of the Choirs!



I actually think the commentary is funnier than the singing!

This Is Just So Wrong

I'm all for seeing 20 catty, and sometimes deranged girls try to rope in a dumb, and not so cute, guy because they think he's a millionaire, why not-- that's not bad television, it's just good ole clean fun. And at least some of the really bad TV has shock value and is good for the nights when there's really really really nothing on and all the tivo'd stuff is watched and deleted.

But there just is no reason-- let me say it again, there is no reason-- for this:



And here's what the local paper has to say about the show-- note the caption under the article's title, um... they must really like it? Or this article which gives the show 3.5 stars (is that out of 4???). Wow, this is seriously the corniest thing I have ever seen-- and I don't take corny lightly.

From the comments under the articles, it appears the show is extremely popular with the enormous population of people who are actually in choruses and choirs.

Omigod, just in---
While researching this amazing television spectacle, I just saw there was an American version which lasted 4 episodes called Clash of the Choirs with Nick Lachey... and nobody told me??? And I call you friends? Maybe frienemies is more like it-- just kidding--you know I love you.

The New Cah

We have a very bad track record in the cah (that's Australian for "car") buying department. Even if I wanted to, I would not be able to compile the pathetically long list of cars and SUV's (that's American for 4-wheel drives) that I/we have owned. Though upon further reflection, there were a few which were so fantastic, terrible, or bizarre that they deserve a shout out right about.... um... here.

So how about a little tribute now, if I pay my last respects here maybe I can have some closure on my checkered whorish car-buying ways and finally move on.
And the first award goes to:

• Best Value Car Owned By Me- 1992 Honda Prelude-- In 1995 I purchased this used with about 12,000 miles on it from my friend's friend-- well I think she was actually sleeping with him (you know who you are:). It was a sweet ride, and even though it was kind of pimped out-- white exterior, white leather interior with black piping and trim, I felt right at home in it.
• Best Free Car Owned By Me- 2001 BMW Z3-- Well since there was only one free car, it would be the obvious winner in this category. And they don't just hand these things out-- I won it for being salesperson of the year at the company I had been with for 11 years... yep, I was pretty much thinking the same thing... I rock, hard.
• Most Dangerous Car Owned By Me- 1996ish? Grand Jeep Cherokee-- This car was purchased new, and definitely goes into the What the Hell Was I Thinking category (there were a couple members in that special group). And it was the most dangerous vehicle because every time I got out of the car and went to shut the door, I got shocked! Like seriously shocked! It was crazy... and of course, painful... wtf?
• Most Ridiculous and Short-Lived Car- 2004 Lincoln Navigator-- don't know why I thought I needed this beast, which incidentally won a real award for worst reliability. This vehicle lasted 3 months with us.
• Most Practical Car Owned By Me- 2005 Honda Odyssey Touring Edition-- seriously this car is the shit. Black with tan leather. DVD player (what? do you have another way to stop the chaos?), about 50 cupholders-- alright seriously, I think there's 18 or 20. Minivan (that's American for "peoplemover") style doors which slide open, so I can stop dinging people's cars, I'm actually a better person when I'm with these doors, they complete me. I know this cars sounds like a dream-- and it is. And for the low, low price of about $23,000 (or best offer) it can all be yours-- no seriously, it's still in my driveway in Florida and it gots to go.

And sadly, these were just the ones which stood out in my mind as the really wrong or really right. I can barely even remember the boring ones, and there were plenty of those. There were the expensive German ones, which I remember fondly, but were often lacking in the cupholder department.

Oh, I almost forgot-- there was the expensive, but unreliable one (my husband's) which I sold on eBay before we moved to Australia--- in twelve hours-- cash deposited right into our bank account! I should have made it an award for Most Easily Offloaded Car.

Okay, I know this is going to be shocking, and I really was fer sure that we would not be playing musical cars here in Australia.... but guess who after one year here, went for the trade in--- well, it wasn't me. And that's because I already knew you couldn't drive two preschoolers around in a convertible with a backseat built for people with no legs. Right-- not short legs... NO legs.

My husband has a new cah. And what he doesn't know, is that I'm gonna steal it-- and listen-- DO NOT GO TELLING HIM. He thinks he's just going to take my car in to be fixed (from the DeRanged Rover accident) and I'll use the new car for a few days-- but he really should know better. And the best part is that I already let him read the draft of this post, and know he is much too busy to reread it.




So far, I think we've done a good job instilling the need to constantly change what you drive depending on your mood. Yep, you probably know what I gonna say-- start 'em young.

Seriously?

Well, I hope you didn't have your eyes on this beauty.



Because...


Is that really necessary?