Semaphore

When I was eight  Mum and I moved to Semaphore.  At first Mum worked as a housekeeper as she always done before, but later she became a cleaner.  She would clean one or two homes a day and still be home for me to come home from school.  We lived in an old fashioned group of maisonettes on the Esplanade opposite the old bandstand.  This was wonderful during the summer as there would  concerts there and we could watch them from the front verandah.  I do not remember whether they had a concert on every night in the summer.  I now know that the compere of the concerts was a young Kevin Crease.  All the dancing schools around the area had their little pupils dancing and singing at these amazing concerts.  The crowd surrounded the bandstand and sat on a sloped grass hill that reached the Esplanade.  These concerts played to large crowds and raised money for different charities.  Mum had always trained me not to comment on people's appearance.  One of the nights we were down amongst the crowd and there were some really ugly women dressed quite strangely and collecting money.  I finally said, "Mummy you know those ladies, they are not very nice looking are they?"  Everyone fell about laughing as the strange looking women were actually men dressed in drag.  There you go, you try to be polite and then everyone laughs at you.  I think Mum should have been pleased that I was trying to be so polite. 

Before we moved to Semaphore we had gone to the beach every weekend so it was great to actually live there and get to spend lots of time playing after school.  That was in the days when kids got to go and play and not be packed in cotton wool as they are now.  It was an innocent age and therefore safe for us kids to do what we wanted until we heard our Mum's calling us for lunch and tea.  I loved to walk along the beach and pick up shells and stones and bring them home.  We also went periwinkling and came home with a feed.  All we had to do was soak the periwinkles in water and then boil them.  We always served them with vinegar and it was always a battle to get all the sand out of the shells as gritty sand did not make a good feast.  Lets face it sometimes it was all we had to eat.

Mum did not get paid very much for her cleaning so sometimes I didn't get to have a birthday.  One year we celebrated with two bush biscuits and a bottle of lemonade.  I knew that we were poor but as I was used to it, it didn't really matter.  Most of the time she was able to get me something for my birthday.  I always received ten shillings from the doctor where Mum had worked years before when I was four or five.  I loved to get this money because then I could buy Mum something for her birthday which was three days after mine. 
As my birthday was often at Easter I usually received an Easter egg from a lovely lady who was the doctor's washer woman years before.  Auntie Dossie would always give me something.  Now I look back I get mad because I only got the Easter egg.  Birthdays at Easter are like birthdays at Christmas you always get one present for two things. 

While we were living on the Esplanade I contracted rheumatic fever and was kept in bed for three months.  While I was ill I had to stay home by myself as Mum had to go to work.  I spent my time listening to the radio and reading any magazines and books Mum brought home.   My literacy improved in leaps and bounds as I mostly got to read the Readers Digest.  I was a great fan of It Pays
To Increase Your Word Power.  As we lived on the first floor when I was finally allowed to get up I could only go down the stairs two steps at a time and wait for about five minutes between each step.  We walked across the Esplanade to the top of the lawn and sat on the grass for a while and then went torturously up the stupid stairs one step at a time.  By the time we got up the stairs I was exhausted.  The reason I did not go to hospital for the whole of my illness was because the Children's Hospital had some kind of measles epidemic and it was thought I might catch it and get even sicker than I already was.  Once I went back to school I could only go until recess time and then come home in the first term.  In the second term I was allowed to stay until lunch time and finally stay for the whole day.

After I got better I could always get out of going to school by telling Mum I had a sore throat.  When she let me stay home I would get dressed and buzz off down to the beach and fossick around the piles of the jetty.  There was always a deep hole around them and sometimes I would find the best shells there.  The best time of course was to go to the beach after a storm because I never knew what I would find.   I would always have to back in bed before Mum came home and she was never the wiser.  I wonder why she was not suspicious when there were strange odds and ends of shells and bits of drift wood but I suppose I hid them under the bed. 

When I was eleven we moved further down the Esplanade where there were a few families with children.  We often played in the sea weed that washed up in huge drifts.  We made forts and used the jelly fish we picked up to pelt each other and then dive for cover into our possies. One of the times Mum had let me stay home I ran down to the beach in my chenille dressing gown and jumped down into our latest fort.  One of the strappers from the Hayes stable, (Hayes had a stable in one of the back streets in Semaphore) who excercised the horses along the beach rode back to me because he thought I had fallen and hurt myself.  There you go I had a knight in 'shining' armour and I was too young to appreciate it.  During the winter I used to walk back from the train on Semaphore Road and along the seaweed on the beach.  One time I sunk down to my waist in the sea because the sea weed that I thought looked stable was actually a trap for silly people like me.  Mum was less than impressed especially since she always thought I would get sick again and getting thoroughly saturated in the middle of winter did not please her. 

On one day I got out of bed and went down to the jetty to play.  There used to be a ramp on the side of the jetty to tie  up boats and it was extremely slippery with green slime.  I walked down the ramp and my feet slipped out from under me and I rapidly slid down toward the water.  As I couldn't swim I had to bring my knees up and crash into the fence across the bottom of the ramp.  I had two massive lumps on my shins which went black and then purple and later a lovely green.  Of course I couldn't say anything to Mum and had to try and keep my injuries hidden.

One of the places we lived had a sleepout with sliding wooden shutters and lattice.  At night in the middle of winter I would pull back the wooden shutters and then jump into bed with the bedclothes up to my nose and listen to the sound of the waves.  It was very cold but I had plenty of blankets so felt as 'snug as a bug in a rug.'  I wish that I could go back in time and sleep in that lovely old house.  It has been knocked down now and the house that is there is valued at over a million dollars.

We lived in around Semaphore for many years and I only left for a while when I was married.  During up and downs of marriage and living interstate I was always pleased to move back to the only place I feel at peace.  I long to live at the beach again but the poor have been dispossessed and can no longer live on the Esplanade.  I know that if I win the lottery I will be back where I consider my home to be.  It will be on the Esplanade with the tangy smell of the sea, the sound of the waves and the different and beautiful faces of the sea and sunsets accompanied by the call of the seagulls.  I want to watch the sun go down and the moon light making a path toward me every night and when I die I want my ashes scattered at Semaphore beach at sunset or when the light of the moon strikes the waves.   

Researching Antoni Gaudi

I believe I have whinged enough about my  lack of numeracy skill and get back to something that I find relatively easy.  I am researching Antoni Gaudi.  If anyone watched the Olympics in Barcelona  would have seen Guadi's unfinished masterpiece the Church of the Sagrada Familia.  Even though Gaudi died in 1926 the church is still under construction.  Having been to Kuala Lumpur I was surprised to see that the Petronas Tower is almost a direct copy of the original steeples of Gaudi's church.  I wonder if the architect gave Gaudi  credit for the basic idea. Another of Gaudi's well known works is the Park Guell.  This enormous park has all Gaudi's signature curves. All the seats  and the buildings plus his dragon fountain are all finished in mosaic.  Judging by the size of the park it is probable that Gaudi did not do all the mosaic work, there simply wouldn't have been time.  However, I am quite happy to stand corrected.  As you can see I am most enthusiastic about Gaudi.  If you are interested in Gaudi there is plenty of information on the net.  I love research.

Censorship

The child of my loins has struck again.  Now she is actually reading my blog she is 'suggesting' that some of them are too risque. I am from the whole tell it like it is school and she is from the nice girls don't.  Imagine how mad she would get if I started telling stories of her baby and childhood.  She absolutely loathes that.  Every now and then when she is overseas and not censoring my blog I will slip a baby story in.  What do you think of that you silly goose?

Sears physiology for nurses

Our year 10 text book for physiology was Sears Physiology for Nurses.  After about a week the new books would automatically open to a page with an actual picture of female genitals.  I do believe that it was taken from the camera secreted in a toilet (this is only my idea by the way,) I am sure there is a much better explanation.  We found it fascinating and I was amazed as I had been brought up never to touch myself or try to look at myself.  Of course that would have been physically impossible because the only mirror we had at home was on the dressing table.  I just couldn't see myself crouched up there trying to sneak a peek at the forbidden.  Why would I want to anyway as I had the book. 

Now that is as maybe but the male genitalia was left more to our imagination.  There was a diagram of the penis but it did not enlighten most of us in the class except I suppose for girls who had brothers or nudist dads.  I had none of these, no father or brothers or uncles or grandparents so my grasp of male physiology was absolutely nil.  I remember going to a party with an Asian lad with buck teeth.  We sat on the floor listening to the new record, 'A Hard Day's Night' and kissing, kissing and kissing.  This was quite difficult as the buck teeth caused drool to flow down over my chin.  It was like having an amorous bath.  Anyway back to the subject of penis's.  When we stood up to dance I found there was an impediment between me and my Asian friend.  I had no idea that the penis actually got excited and stood to attention just from kissing.  I was totally clueless and still none the wiser as to what the penis actually looked like. 

After the whole Sears debacle I  later read 'The Joy of Sex' that left me even more confused than ever.  That too had no actual penis pictures.  When I finally did see a penis I think I was both horrified and amused out how awful looking the uncircumcised penis is.  I think a blind person with a pair of pinking shears could design a more aesthetically pleasing appendage.    No offence guys!!!!!!!!!!!!

Smarty pants and the automatic check-out

Ok I am such a clever claus that I decided to do all my main shopping and put it through the automatic check-out.  I took ages to do it because I thought it would be faster than going through the ordinary way.  Rosie took all her shopping through the check out and was finished before I even put my debit card in the machine to pay.  Oh well I guess it will be back to the check out girl for me.

Basically, basically basically

I am going through hell.  The teacher at school says basically all the time.  Now basically the essay is basically set out like this.  So basically all you have to do is basically set out your paper this way.  I have thought of making a little mark each time she says it and then hand it up to her at the end of the lesson.  I have basically decided against this because basically she is marking my work.

I had to enlighten the fruit of my loins that she was saying, "At the end of the day, it is what it is and I have to be honest."  Or "I have to be honest at the end of the day, it is what it is."  Once I had pointed it out and then made fun of her when she forgot, she has finally ceased to be honest at the end of the day.  She is working on it is what it is.

I often say, "I've had an epiphany."  Well really that is overstating the case.  Still I feel that if I have a particularly good idea it is indeed an epiphany.  Well it is for me anyway.

So folks I have to be honest at the end of the day it is what it is, basically repetitive.

My epiphany will be my idiosyncrasy and a very good one too, basically that is.

OH&S

It is a mystery why the new Woolies at Blake's Crossing has three coffee shops and 2 toilets.  I am not talking about two toilet areas but 2 actual toilets.  Amazingly the toilets have the latest fancy hand drier the same as they have at the airport.  So we have 3 coffee shops, 1 chicken shop, 1 nail shop, a sort of home and garden shop and a chemist.  The Woolies is large and I imagine has hundreds of shoppers and the shop owners who all at one time or another go to the toilet.  It is a complete conundrum to me.  I seem to think that there have to be a certain amount of toilets for every so many customers.  There may be a plan for enlarging the toilets but would it not have saved money if they just put in the correct amount when the shops were being built. 

The toilet question is actually of paramount importance but I am still fascinated as to why they have 3 coffee shops within metres of each other.   My favourite is the Angkor (something) shop where they know what type of drink I want and what kind of free biscuit to give me.  I love melting moments.  On the wall they have all sorts of certificates about their baking.  It is a lovely shop and the people are so friendly plus they do make the best Spicy Chai latte ever.  It is always a pleasure to go there. 

However, surely OH&S should be looking in to the toilet debacle.  I demand more toilets!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I stand corrected

I have been having a bit of a rant about words not being words.  This is chiefly because the child of my loins uses stupid and as I thought non-words in our scrabble game.  For instance wees is not the plural of wee.  I am putting her on notice that I will look up any of her fanciful words and force to her say that she is sorry, and that she will never do it again.

I used a word a few weeks ago that I was convinced did not exist.  Quod  was my word and I cleverly managed to get 105 points for it. Quod is an British slang word for the prison exercise yard.  So I was not clever or sneaky at all, so it is quite disappointing really.

I have wondered about some words as they do not seem to be used in every day speech.  Whelm means to engulf entirely.  So if you are underwhelmed you have not quite been engulfed and overwhelmed means that you are totally buried or engulfed past the whelm.  I must think of some way where I can absolutely say I am overwhelmed.  Maybe I could go down to the beach and get many people to cover me with sand and then I could honestly say, "I am whelmed today." 

On television last night someone said something about being disgruntled.  Aha! now that is interesting, I have never been gruntled and that is because folks there is no such word.  There is grunt which applies to pigs.  There is disgruntled  which means make sulky or discontented. However, there is no such thing as gruntled.  Ask the Concise Oxford Dictionary if you don't believe me.  So if you see me skipping along and singing to myself it is not because I am in pre-senility mode but that I am gruntled.  I love it.  Use the word every day and some day it might actually make it to the dictionary.

I fought the automatic teller and I won

I have had a few forays into the whole automatic teller field.  I am able to use the ones in Big W with no problem. I have with help managed the new ones at our Woolies at Blake's Crossing.  Today was a red letter day.  I pressed all the right spots of the screen, I weighed the fruit and asked for $50 out.  The machine obliged beautifully and I was so impressed with myself.  (Oh by the way the man in the garage told me not to use my everyday rewards card just to the get voucher on the bottom of the docket.  There is an on-going problem there somewhere.)  I left the supermarket full of my own hubris.  It is much fancier than swollen head.  Nothing like a posh word for having tickets on yourself.  Full of your own piss and importance.  See that is not anyway as good as having hubris.  Look in the dictionary you will find a picture of me.

I wonder

I wonder why you have a swollen head or a big head?  I wonder why you shouldn't go outside or the tickets will blow off?  I wonder why you would have tickets on yourself anyway? I wonder why one would think that their s..t doesn't stink?  The only thing I do not worry about is when someone is called FIGJAM.  Now that I understand.

I try to save money

Today Pura Tap came to change my filters, that cost $69.  Unfortunately I needed new tubing.  Or should I say 'supposedly' and that rounded the amount up to $99.  The nice Pura Tap man told me the tap would need fixing next time as it was leaking.  I knew it was leaking so after he went I investigated.  It was leaking worse than it had before and when I touched the actual tap it came off in my hand.  Sooooo after another phone call to Para Tap I then had a nice new heavy duty tap that cost $59.  I ask you why is it when I am trying to be really stingy that I have to lay out large clumps of my money.    I do try people but somehow the money leaks out between my fingers.  I am tossing up the idea of hibernating for three or four months of the year.  At least if I am asleep I cannot be spending any money.  If it is good enough for bears it is good enough for me.  Plus look at all the money I would save on food.  Yep that's it I am founding a new company, Hibernating for Pensioners.

You could have cut the air with a knife

I used to be quite volatile but Mum was a sulker.  Sometimes I would come home from school and you could literally cut the air with a knife.  I must have done something but usually had no idea where I had transgressed.  This atmosphere usually hung around for a day or two.  Oh she did speak, "Teas ready," "Time for bed." Time to get up."  She managed to take her sulking to greater heights when I started to go out with some of the lads from my work.  I would bounce in and tell her I was going out and she would stop speaking.  This usually went on for about three weeks.  By the time she was ready to speak again I would have another date and so on and on it went.  I have worked out that probably she only spoke to me for three or months out of the whole year.  I must be fair and say that I had an extremely bad temper which flared up every few months.  It was a real whiz banger.    This usually meant that she would not speak to me and I would have a sore throat from yelling so much.  I am pleased that now I have reached pre-senility I am extremely mellow.  Don't knock pre-senility folks it is great.  I am not the girl I was and thank goodness for that.  It is a pity that I couldn't be mellow but be young again.  Yes that is just about right.  I would like to know then what I know now and still be a calm and sunny youngster.  This is Woulda Coulda Shoulda Land.  Toooooooooooo late!

Too fat for radio

I have just realized that I am too fat for radio.  This is infinitely worse than being too fat for television.  This is apropos because
the dietitian rang me today to make an appointment.  While she was talking to me I was inhaling Haighs chocolate.  I wonder if the actual dietitian will be able to get me to eat sensibly.  I know what to do and I know I have done it before but getting myself to do it at the moment does not seem possible.  A very small part of the reason is that I am still torturing myself doing the numeracy component of my SACE.  As I have explained before the only way for me to tackle numbers is to stuff myself with chocolate.  If I hanker for chocolate now just imagine how much I will need to eat to get me through the PRE-test.  I PRO-test the PRE-test.

At school the joy of my life was going in to the classroom and learning how to do decimals.  It is not quite so hideous as long division that I still do not quite get.  I am really impressed by the teacher.  He has not picked up a chair and hit me over the head with it nor run screaming from the room when he sees by my face I have not understood yet another concept.   He is always so cheerful and easy going.  I'll have what he is having.

Tomorrow is my nice day.  I am doing the research project so I can read books and look things up on the internet.  This day is absolute gold.  Yay for research I say.

I must need my head read

Some of my friends cannot understand why someone with a degree cannot do maths to save themselves.  By the way I don't know from what people want to save themselves.  It is not as if you are going to be be-headed because you get a sum wrong is it?  I tell them every time that I received my degree for Arts.  Not the arts as in painting, I hasten to add.  Many people think an arts degree is knowing how to paint.  No people, I slaved away for years writing essays and sitting exams.  It took me a long time to get the degree and not once did I need to do hideous, horrid, horrendous maths.  I would do the whole degree over again if it would help me pass this dreadful Numeracy subject.  It is also expected that people with degrees are clever.  Well let me knock that on the head straight away.  I am not the least bit clever.  However, I am good at reading, researching and writing essays that answer a set question.  I am not practical, often I cannot give the correct money and trying to add up a list of numbers usually takes a couple of goes.  I might add things up three times and get three different answers.  I have a theory however, that if a maths examiner worked out sums the way I do they would get the same answer as me.  So maybe I am too evolved and my maths are from a higher plane or maybe I am just some knitwit who hates arithmetic and wants to run screaming into the hills.  I must have my head read doing this stinky subject.

Long division the mystery of my universe

I know the other day I was so happy because I finally worked out long division.  Unfortunately it was a short lived happiness.  Today I went back to the not knowing what the hell to do and getting so muddled one would have thought that I hadn't learned anything.  Rosie had left me homework so I was ploughing slowly through the sums but not getting anywhere.  She dropped in today and must have wished that she didn't even know me.  We went through the whole process again.  Other than the fact that I just don't get maths, I really think I am dyslexic with numbers.  I transpose the numbers and end up with sums that don't make any sense whatsoever.  I am trying to set out the division better by lining everything up.  If I don't do that I get completely lost.  Let us hope that tomorrow when I go to the class I have not forgotten what I have learned today.  I get the same sinking feeling as I did in high school when I did two to three hours of homework and then on the Monday I would have every sum wrong.  God I feel ill, it is a rotten feeling and I hate it.  I really think I should be rewarded for all my work.  I figure that if I get all my sums wrong in the exam at least I will get something for all the working out.  I am aiming at a number more than zero.  I should get A for effort.

Old lady brain strikes again

I took my bags to the supermarket and left them in the car.  Needless to say I had to buy the plastic bags from Woolies.  After I went through the check-out with said bags I found the other bags in the crook of my arm.  Ok so as everything comes in threes I have one more old lady moment to come.

Too late!  I took my prescription into the Chemist and then came home without them.  Yay no more old lady brain for me because that is the third one in a row.  I obviously need a keeper.

I am trying to make Rosie crazy.  Last night we had a lovely tea and then she spent hours trying to teach me how to do long division.  I finally seemed to pick it up.  Today I am going to try to do some by myself.  She has left me some problems and I want to make her proud.  She gets so frustrated trying to explain things so I can understand them. I just couldn't get the reason for the multiplying and adding to do division.  I like things to be logical.  We have to understand that my brain will be chugging along happily when it shuts down completely and I have no idea what I am doing.  Old lady brain again! 

I am desperate to pass this subject.  Later in the semester we can use calculators.  We always have to show the process to get the answer.  It is no good putting down the answer when you don't show how you went about it.  I was good at that at school, putting the process or formulas.  It is a pity I didn't know what to do with them. 

For those of you who do not have old person brain I congratulate you.  There is a warning on the bottom line though.  As you proceed into old personhood you will lose you compus mentis and  have the lights on but no-one home syndrome.  Sorry folks but that is how it is.  Admittedly, some people do not lose their wits I just wish I was one of them.

Old dotty ladies

Today my friend and I caught the bus to go to Mawson Lakes railway station.  We produced our Seniors cards and were given a little paper ticket suitable for old people.  Then we had to validate them.  There lies the rub.  We couldn't get the ticket validater to work.  We put the tickets in this way and that way but nothing.  A lady leapt out of her seat to help us and then the bus driver got up to help us.  Finally after we had wasted enough time for the bus to miss the train and for everyone to be peed off with two dotty old women our job was done. 

 I don't know what happened, I have gone from school girl who was so annoyed by older people having a problem getting on and off the bus, to be the annoying old woman on the bus.  What the hell happened?

On our way home I was amazed when high school kids from Prescott schools, actually gave up their seats.  This has not happened in years.   I am going to ring their school on Monday to say how pleased my friend and I were.  In my day we gave up our seats without question, however, it is absolute gold to meet well mannered kids.  Thanks kids we really appreciated it.

Automatic checkouts at the supermarket

Everyone thinks that I am technologically challenged.  However, I know how to go through the automatic checkout at Woolies supermarket.  Today I did have a little hiccup.  I had my rewards card upsidedown when I scanned it.  Don't do that, the machine hates it and then it goes crazy and the checkout lady has to come and rescue you.  Anyway, we managed to fix it and then I even put fruit through.  This is a little more challenging than most other groceries.  I also wanted cash out but forgot how to go about it (enter the lady again.)  I took money out the other day at Big W and it was fine, however today not so successful.  So all in all I did pretty well.  What you loses on the swings you gains on the round-a-bouts.  I embrace technology.  Well I embrace technology that I understand which actually means I really have no idea.

Luddites of the world unite

I am obviously being tested.  I don't mind being tested in an exam or for blood pressure or cholesterol, however, when a machine tests me just to screw me over I protest vigorously.  For some reason this beloved (see I can be nice) computer tried to make me crazy by telling me I was not online.  It told me I was not on my wireless connection.  I spent some time going out into the kitchen to plug the blue cord in so I could tell the computer that yes I was connected.  After about an hour I finally found somewhere to put my pin.  Of course I couldn't remember my pin so that was a joy.  I probably have a different pin for almost all of my apps.  This is great to stop anyone from being able to log on to my stuff but sometimes when the old brain has a freeze it makes things a little hairy.  Anyway, I finally gave the computer what it wanted and it let me log on to my internet. 

I have some good ideas for computers that do not let me do what I want to do.  A. Smash computer with jack hammer.  B.  Drop computer into a large trough of water while it is still connected to the power outlet.  C.  Pour honey over the computer and put it in the backyard near an ants nest.  D.  Drag computer behind the car for a trip to say, Alice Springs.  E.  Take computer to the zoo and get an elephant to stand on it.  F.  Hang computer by the cord from a very high building and wait for the cord to break.  Well I am sure you get the idea. 

I know you all thought I was a lovely little old lady but don't let the gray hair fool you.  I am an extremely viscious  person who holds a grudge for years and years and well, forever.  Like an elephant I never forget.  So computer if you know what is good for you, don't screw with me any more.

Why do numbers not make any sense to me?

I am totally incapable of understanding maths.  I don't understand long division or rounding up and down.  I can add and subtract so that is a blessing.

I don't understand written problems.  I remember years ago having a question that went something like this.  If a climber took several things of different weights in his rucksack how much chocolate could he take with him.  I was extremely logical and said if he took a friend with him the friend could carry a rucksack full of chocolate.  As for the old apples and bad apples question;  my answer would be don't buy apples that are damaged.

If by any chance we have to do algebra I will immediately take evasive action and run screaming from the classroom and take shelter in a darkened room at home. 

Needless to say I do not expect to pass the numeracy module of my SACE.

If by some miracle I do pass you will be the first to know.

LONG division versus SHORT division

Today we learned how to do long division.  Of course I just couldn't figure out what the teacher was doing so I did it my way.  I got the right answer so I was happy.  I just couldn't figure out why he kept putting all the numbers underneath and then adding and multiplying.   He was doing long division (that appears to be a totally closed door to me) and I was doing short division.  I suppose if I was trying to divide some huge number by some equally huge number I wouldn't be able to do it my way.  However, at the moment I will proceed slowly and surely and then get Rosie to show me how to do long division.  I seem to understand better when she shows me.  I want to learn how to do it the right as we have a couple of tests coming up. I gather I should actually do the sum the way I am supposed to.  Why is it that the right way is hard and the easy way gives me the right answer?   Life is a conundrum! 

Attached to mammary glands

I have just finished reading a google article about women who are angry about men looking at their breasts.  Years ago when I was working at Customs and Excise the Invoice Room Officers all looked at my breasts.  I had made a really nice dress that did not fit properly across the chest.  When I leaned over to get invoices for said officers they had a really good view.  I liked the dress and wanted to wear it so I used to stick it to my chest with false eyelash glue.  'Problem Solvered.'

I do remember having nice breasts.  I could put a biro under my breast and it would fall out.  Now I can hold a whole phone book and it stays firmly wedged.  While once my nipples pointed perkily up they now point straight down and I cannot even see them.  Too sad really! 

Amazingly my breasts are still judged to be too dense for the mammogram machine.  That is a plus because when they get to be 'un-dense' it means they will be so saggy like big droopy dugs.  I will be able to roll them up and put them inside my bra.  I wear a bra  now because I can incase the breasts inside them and it still looks like I have some kind of bust.

So no, I do not get annoyed when men look at my breasts.  I would be stunned if any man gave them a second glance. I do believe Julia Morris calls breasts fun bags.  So girls take all the stares and the glances while you can because the whole fun bag structure will sag and move south only too soon.

My final words are young boobs are beautiful.  Love them, display them and accept any admiration that comes your way.

sheer genius NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A week or so ago I saw one of the girls at school with a pencil case made out of zips.  She had purchased it in Neds.  I had a good look at it and I thought it was a great idea.  I went into Spotlight and bought many zips.  I paid for the many zips and it cost multo multo money.  I am sure the Ned's pencil case did not cost her a fortune. 

My pencil case has not only cost a fortune but is also not finished because I am not logical and cannot for the life of me work out how to even up the ends of the zips plus line the inside so you cannot see the rough edges.I am reduced to begging someone to come and help me finish it off.


In spite of my great enthusiasm my actual sewing ability is zero.  I even had to fight the machine by putting different feet on it and it still played up.  I probably would have been better off sewing the whole thing by hand.  Although what would be the point of sewing something by hand when I have a nice machine to do it (better/faster) well you get the drift I am sure.

No matter how many times I think I am clever enough to do stuff I need to take a reality check.  Repeat after me, I am NOT a genius, I am NOT a genius.  I am NOT a genius.

whadda ya do

Whadda ya do when ya wake up at 5.30am.  Weeeellll you can sit up at the computer covered in a blankie and talk to the computer.

You can make yourself breakfast even though you know you will make another breakkie later in the day.

You can send an email to the child of my loins who will be flying from Chicago to LAX, so it is unlikely she will get it.

You will hope that if the person in question can access the internet at the airport but is unlikely to.  She may or may not be cooling her heels because her plane did not make the departure time of her aircraft to Australia.

They had better not do that because for a little person she is extremely assertive, not rude, more like exquisitely polite.

She will have them begging for mercy.  They will  probably upgrade her to first class.

I would like to have one tish of the assertive she is but sadly I was behind the door when God handed out that talent.

So whadda ya do, ya do this.

Blah blah blah 

Suffer people suffer.

chocolate treats for maths

I bought two large blocks of chocolate and have eaten nearly all of them.  Why did I buy chocolate?????  Well you might ask.  I was doing some maths and naturally that brought chocolate to mind and when there is chocolate, there is me eating it.  I am going to have to find a low cal answer to my maths stress.  Nah nothing is as good as chocolate.  Either I continue to do the maths and eat all the chocolate in Australia or I give up the maths.  Well I guess you know the answer.  It is what Americans call a 'no brainer.' 

Complaints

I have received some complaints about how I set out my emails 

It has been said that I should really set things out more clearly

So from now on I will set things out for people who have the attention span of a gnat

and write a whole sentence or part of a sentence

in the above manner

I seem to remember from school that a sentence is a thought

a paragraph is a series of sentences (thoughts) about the same thing

I believed that I was doing this

I will have to edit my words

However, I say in my defence that

during the depression every scrap of paper was used

As we are no longer in the depression

and I am not actually wasting paper

I have taken this criticism to heart

and will endeavour to correct this oversight

on my part

Actually I will continue to write up my blogs in my usual manner

but make sure to have lots of commas, semi-colons and etc

I know I know you want me to continue in this style

but I say to you just SUFFER.

Dentists

I often wonder why a person would choose to be loathed by the general public.  No-one wants to visit one and you enter the waiting room and hear the drill blasting away you certainly don't want to stay there.  My dentist is a perfectly nice person, he smiles when you enter his room (this is because he is a sadist and enjoys inflicting pain on people) and he has a casual little chat.  Then he covers up his face with a mask (this is so your cannot see his daemonic smile) while he x-rays and then sticks huge needles into you gums and perhaps the roof of your mouth.  The needle to stop it hurting, hurts!!!!!  He tortures you by checking out which drilling implement is the largest and then sits there smiling to himself while he waits for the needle that hurts to deaden your gums.  Once the nurse has inserted the loud sucky thing into your mouth he asks you questions.  Chat, chat, chatty chat chat.  I don't know about you but I cannot talk with all that hardware in my mouth and plus I have a morbid fear of my tongue slinking over to the tooth and getting drilled.  The nurse is now using the sucky thing to take little bits of old filling and tooth out of my mouth.  With all the stretching of the mouth and the water in the mouth I cannot breathe.  I have to keep trying to swallow the backed up water but does that stop the sadistic, let us say, (prick) oh no, he thrives on it.  I always seem to score a dentist who  wants me to open my mouth wider and wider.  I don't know about you but if I am in pain I tend to grit my teeth so the dentist is asking me to do the opposite to what my body is telling me.  It is saying shut your mouth, he cannot get at you if you just refuse to open wider or even open at all.  The worst bit about being a dentist is that it is extremely expensive.  Even if you are in, let us say Bupa, you still have to pay huge amounts of money just to be tortured.  I think the man should pay me.  I didn't bite him, did I?  I didn't punch him or hit him over the head with his stupid metal tray.  I was good plus I paid mega amounts of money for the honour.  So what makes a person a dentist?  Either they enjoy inflicting pain or maybe it is just the money, the huge amounts of money that they get paid.  I rest my case.

No no not the chocolate

Why did I buy the chocolate before my next numeracy lesson?  Why oh why does it call to me from the fridge?  Rosemary came over and explained  the sums in my sort of language and I actually managed to answer a whole lot of the questions.  I am going to try to do some work on my questions every day.  Maybe by next Monday I will be a whiz at the whole rounding numbers thing.  Oh dear I hear the chocolate calling me again.  Damn that chocolate.

RSI

RSI repetitive sums idiocy.  Yes folks I do suffer from RSI.  I spent hours doing my maths homework but really did not achieve a whole lot.  You would think that three days of trying to round things up and down would be enough.  The teacher came back to me twice today so that he could explain everything.  When he was writing on the board I just couldn't follow it.  RSI could mean repetitive slow intellect.  I just don't get it and even if I do understand something I only have to wait for five minutes and it is gone.  Do not even think that this is a problem of age.  No it is not, I have never been able to do maths.  I have decided to take chocolate to school next week and eat a square or two every time I cannot do something.  By the end of term I will be twice my size.  Maths to me just screams chocolate.  I could perhaps think of something else to eat but hey chocolates do it for me.

Helpful hints about using a photocopier

Ok you have never used a photocopier so here a few hints.  Do not try to put the piece of paper to be copied into a top slot.  Address the machine, lift the lid, there is an actual handle to do this.  Put the piece of paper inside the copier. Line the paper with along the lines on the glass top.  Press the buttons for get the size of paper you need, how many copies you want and then press anything that vaguely looks green.  Above all, if there is a sign on the wall that says Photocopies 10 cents you should look for a coin slot.  Put the money into the coin slot and then and only then will the machine print your copy. You will know if the machine is working because you will see a bright light moving under the cover.  Do not open the lid the in the midst of photocopying.  It is bad for your eyes.  If you are in a public library your library card is used to pay for the copies after you prepay at the desk.  It is not scary to use a photocopier so ask someone in the library (if that is where you are copying) there is always a librarian to help.  Do not ask me to help because I am far too busy watching you make a complete idiot of yourself.  I do like it when someone looks a little more confused and stupid than I do.  There are not a lot of technical things that I can do so it really gives me a buzz when I actually know something.  Remember there is always someone more stupid than you.  Today is my day to be a know-it-all.  Yay for me.

Maths not my favourite word

I have a great problem with maths.  I don't know if a person can be dyslexic with figures but I seem to be.  I might be able to do a simple problem right the first time but then I think about it and do it again and end up with the wrong answer.  I am undertaking a numeracy subject at my Adult Campus and have to complete a work sheet with simple arithmetic problems. I am having a hard time working out rounding out numbers.  This should be extremely easy but I got lost along the way somehow and now have to stop for a period of time so that my brain re-sets itself.  When I was in high school I used to take two to three hours to do my maths homework and have every sum wrong.  I managed to top myself in year 10 when I received 14% in semester one and 11% in semester two for arithmetic, and this was after being coached for a semester to improve my score.  Ho hum!  I must just keep plodding along but from previous results I do not think that this will be my finest hour.  I would like to be able to say at the end of this semester veni vidi vici, I came I saw I conquered.  I think however, that my final result will say YOU FAIL AGAIN GRASSHOPPER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dabble in scrabble

The scrabble game on facebook is ridiculous.  I have tried to use ordinary words and had them knocked back by the silly thing when the fruit of my loins plays words that are definitely not words.  Today I played a word that I really don't think is a word and scored 105 points.  Sheer genius I know, however, it does not exist in the dictionary.  Luckily I had a q and landed on a triple word score square.  To whom do I protest, the scrabble Gods; who?   Well of course I am not protesting my word, that would be foolish in the extreme.   My last word on the subject is, when the fruit of my loins next scores on the non-word I will boycott the whole game and not play anymore.  IT IS NOT A WORD PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Inventions

In Stone Age if society at the time waited for me to invent fire we would still be sitting around eating raw meat.  Let's face it I wouldn't even have figured out how to make a club.  I would never have invented a fork and people would still have been using their fingers to eat the raw meat that I hadn't figured out how to cook.

I wouldn't have invented cave painting,  or a written language.  I doubt I would have thought of using animal skins to write my non-invented language on.  I definitely would not have invented paper or ink.  I wouldn't have invented glass to make monocles to read the written language that I hadn't invented because I was still sitting around eating raw meat.  Of course because I hadn't invented fire no-one could have used sand to make the glass that was the pre-requisite of the glasses made to read the writing that I hadn't invented because as I have said before I am still there in the cave waiting for the men to bring in the dead animal to not cook because it was my job to invent the fire.

 Someone would have invented knives but if it was left up to me I would never have thought of making forks. Why would I need a fork when I could just stab a bit of raw meat on my blade and eat it bloody and raw.   Now maybe if I had a knife I might (just might) have thought of tying two knives together to make scissors. However, why would I need to invent scissors when there was nothing to cut with them I hadn't invented paper yet or using the animal skin to write on plus there would have been no charcoal because I have said before everyone was still waiting for me to make fire. Thank goodness evolution was not left to me, I wouldn't even have given monkeys opposable thunbs.  Well that is really biology but still I am sure you get the idea.

 Assuming that the Stone Age people have given me the sack for not inventing anything to help society go forward, someone would have done my job with the fire, then invented the wheel and then paper, ink, glass and glasses.  Just think all I would have had to do is rub two sticks together or hit two rocks together and voila there would have been fire.  Then I would have been on a roll and invented Red Heads matches, cigarette lighters, dynamite, lasers and so on.  How sad then it is that I would still be sitting in the cave by myself wondering where everyone else had gone.  Not only would I not have a fire there would not have been any cave men kill the animals that I would have eaten raw.  Civilization would have stopped with me all because I had not invented fire.

Da Da Da Dum

When I was little I thought that when the radio was on I was the only one that could hear it and I felt a bit mean that no-one else could listen.  I also thought that dogs were boys and cats were girls.  Of course horses were boys and cows were girls.  As you can see my construct of biology was a little at odds with the real world.  Now this is cute when you are under five but when you get to be in your twenties and thirties the same cannot be said.

The first cat that we had when I was married was a girl and she got really sick so we took her to the vet.  I described the symptoms to the vet and he gave me such an old fashioned look.  You see the cat had hurt her back so she was in pain and yowling plus her tail was sort of over to one side and she couldn't walk properly.  You guessed it, she was on heat.  I didn't know.  My first cat had been de-sexed long before this happened to her so I of course had no idea what was going on.  Now you see the da da da dum.

One of my best dum dums was when I bought an air stone for the aquarium that didn't work.  I took it back to complain and the man asked me if I had attached it to an air hose.  Oooooookkkk.  I just thought you put it in with the fish and it bubbled.  OMG how embarrassing is that?  The best is yet to come.

Now I have aged a little I am capable of much more embarrassing behaviour.  I have tried to get money out of the ATM using my drivers licence.  This in itself is bad enough but worse if someone is watching.  To be vague is fine if someone does not witness that vaguery.  I have also found that panicking and trying to go out through the supermarket gates only serves to give them a nervous breakdown and not to work for anyone else trying to enter.  The worst and last thing to reveal is that the other week when I was preparing to go to the toilet I went and sat on the lounge chair with my knickers down.  I have never leapt up from a chair as quickly as I did that day.

Surely by now the da da da dum is going to wear off and I will just be a little vague.  Just enough to be cute for an older lady but not so confused that I go out to the letter box with nothing on.  I hasten to say that that has not happened yet.  So I would rather think I am not so dum but definitely ditzy.  I am fine with ditzy.

Never Ever Buy A Sleeping Cat

One of my life mottoes is; 'Never buy a sleeping cat'.  Remy is the sole reason for this life lesson.  She was black, fluffy and tiny in the little cage at Pets Paradise.  The most important point however, she was asleep.  When she woke up at home, I found out she was almost feral.  Imagine, you can buy a schizophrenic cat from the local pet shop, you don't every have to go to Cat Glenside.  She had rules; she would sit next to you and allow you three pats: on the fourth pat she sank her teeth and claws into your hand.  It paid not to lose track in her case. The safest thing was not to pat, stroke or talk, or even move so much as a finger.   Sometimes, she would even sit on my lap.  Remy's rules: when sitting on said lap, the sittee should remain completely still, and not even try to breathe  Failure to follow those rules will lead to retribution, so you don't even want to go down that track.  Lesson learned!  So folks, never, I mean NEVER buy a sleeping cat.