The Kids Party.

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One-year-old’s cake. Gluten free. This is an adult cake if ever I saw one.

On the weekend I went to my very first kids party. Having a kid of my own means I get to do super cool things like that now.

It was brilliant. I think the parents were a bit confused about the purpose of the party, but it was still good.

My kid, being a whole 5.5 months old couldn’t have cared less about the party. She slept through pretty much all of it. And I think the kid who was having the birthday, being a whole 12 months old, couldn’t have cared less either.

But that’s not the point. If a kid can’t vocalise any of their opinions, I think it is safe to say they don’t have opinions. Unless they are mute. Mute kids can have an opinion; we just don’t know what it is.

I have discovered a little known fact and I think it needs to be clarified. Especially for the parents who hosted the party and for all other parents.

Kids parties are not actually for kids.

So the kids party, which I’m pretty sure had nothing to do with the one-year-old, was a lot of fun. There was cake and activities and vegans. There was also a swing but MJ said it was probably better if I didn’t swing on it. I don’t think he was saying I was too fat, I think he was saying I hadn’t had enough wine to really get the most out of the experience. Good old MJ, always looking out for me. Or for the small branch the swing was tied to.

According to MJ, the activities that were on offer were for the kids, not the half-drunk parent of one of the too-busy-to-sleeping-to-participate kids.

Exactly where is the legal disclaimer stating I was not supposed to decorate my own pet rock to take home? The sign said I could. It didn’t have an age limit on it, so I decorated two. I named them “Sugar” and “Sparkles”.

One kid tried to take one of my rocks so I had to put him down. There is certain behaviour that should not be tolerated and stealing a pet rock off an adult is one such behaviour. I don’t even know what he was doing at the party, it was supposed to be an adult only affair.

Kids at a kids party, what will they think of next? The party was so concerned with the ‘children’ element, there weren’t even any dogs. And the party was on a farm.  

Obviously the cakes were for the adults. Sugar is wasted on kids; they don’t know how to get the most out of the rush. I do have a serious issue with the fact the cakes were gluten free – my letter of complaint is in the mail – but at the end of the day, a cake is a cake. As long as it has sugar. But if they don’t have sugar they aren’t even cakes so it’s an irrelevant argument.

There was also sushi. Name one kids party that was actually for kids that had sushi on the menu. Exactly. None. Except weird kids on the upper North Shore who have a Japanese maid who only knows how to make sushi. Their kid is probably mute so he can’t say how much he hates it.

We also took a bag full of lemons home, they were on a very full tree. I asked if we could pick a couple, I was thinking they would be perfect for the tequila shots I was planning on having that afternoon. We ended up with 2 bags full. There is not enough tequila in the world to use all those lemons. But my point here is, I appreciated the lemons and took advantage of them being on the tree which was in the middle of the party. I didn’t see any kids picking lemons. They were too busy wondering what happened to all the sparkles that were used for decorating the rocks.

The presents were also more for the parents than the birthday boy. We gave him 3 books. One was called “How to be a Dinosaur”. A one-year-old doesn’t care about how to be a dinosaur, he doesn’t care about dinosaurs in general, unless one is about to eat him.

But I know the Dad and he would love to be a dinosaur if only he knew how. So really, the books were for the Dad.

MJ is still recovering from the out-of-control-party. Mostly from my wine induced behaviour and his decision to not drink beer. It turns out kids parties are my new favourite thing; so many things to eat and things to do.

The party gave MJ and I some great ideas for our own kid’s party. Ok, the party gave me some great ideas and gave MJ a lot of reasons to roll his eyes. There will be lolly bags and sparkles and cakes with extra sugar and extra gluten. There will be tequila with lots of lemon. People can be dinosaurs if they want to be.

The invitations will also state, clearly, that dogs are encouraged but, unfortunately, there will be no kids allowed.

 

Comic con cavies and Camellias

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Wow, a pink flower

Narrandera had a busy weekend. This tiny town of the Riverina hosted the annual National Cavy Show and the annual (not national) Camellia Show.

For those of you who are not well versed in guinea pigs, that’s what a Cavy is. It’s the alternate name given to what is typically a kids pet so adults can feel more mature when they need to admit they breed guinea pigs for a hobby.

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Oh look, more pink flowers

No adult who says they breed guinea pigs is going to get laid. Ever. Now replace ‘guinea pig’ with ‘cavy’ and the weird adult may be in with a chance.

The Cavy Show in Narrandera is the comic con of domesticated rodents.

I need to credit that last line, the only good one in this entire blog, to Paul from “The Mixed Tape” at Spirit FM. The only funny thing I was able to get out of a blog about the Cavy and the Camellia Show and it wasn’t my line.

Camellia’s are not a funny flower.

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Holy cow, another pink flower

I don’t think there are any funny flowers. I even used my brilliant research skills to find a funny flower. I googled ‘funny flowers’. Google is stupid. And it turns out flowers are serious.

About 800 people from all over our eclectic nation came to look at, show off and buy new guinea pigs. About 20 came to the camellia show.

And people think Narrandera is boring.

Of the two intensely exciting events, I went to the camellia show. I had put two lavender twigs into pots the week before so I figured I can label myself as a gardener. May as well hang out with my own kind.

Holy hell. That was a lot of pink.

Instead of patting furry little balls of cuteness, I went to the camellia show, guessing it would give me the best material for a blog.

As you can tell, it did not.

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Could it be, more pink flowers?

I dragged my Mum along who in turn dragged 5 month old Beau along. Needless to say 5 month old Beau was not in the slightest bit interested.

Especially since she couldn’t rip any of the originally Chinese/Japanese flowers apart. Please note google not so stupid here.

After 17 minutes in a room filled with more variations on the shade of pink that I ever knew existed, I too wanted to rip them up.

But I’m not 5 months old.

So I only ripped up a couple.

At the end of the day it’s great that Narrandera gets to host events like these. They really put our town on the map, which is why so many of you know where Narrandera is and why you also new there was a comic con of domesticated rodents. (Thanks again Paul)

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Is it? It can’t be. Pink flowers

Cavy’s and camellias are people’s hobbies and they should be respected for being people’s hobbies. Weird people’s hobbies, but weird people are people too.

My hobby is complaining on the internet so I respect their hobbies for the fodder they provide and I’m not weird. But I am a keen gardener, as long as the plants don’t produce anything pink.

Why the ocean sucks

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I have seen all the documentaries about the ocean; Jaws, Deep Blue Sea, Sharknado. I have read all the textbooks about the ocean;  Megalodon: Deep Sea Terror, parts 1 through to 9.

I really enjoyed the fear they instilled in me and I leant a lot about the ocean’s true nature. Bathing or showering is totally overrated. Living in fear is much more important.

The ocean is the devil’s playground. It is hell on Earth. Poets made a mistake when they wrote about hell being all fire and brimstone. It’s salty water and sharks that exist only to eat people.

What I don’t understand is why the ocean has to be hell on Earth. Land roaming animals have a nice planet. It is solid, not salty and there are not weird creatures that can swim from nowhere and eat you.  It’s nice on land and the further away this land is from the ocean, the nicer it is.

Once humans start getting close to the ocean, the land becomes discombobulated and sandy and this sand gets everywhere. It makes me dizzy and itchy and really scared. These feelings are a warning that the ocean and its horrid ways are close. WARNING: wrong way, go back.  WARNING: there is no exit here. Do a U-turn as quickly as possible.  WARNING:  no dogs allowed 

That last one says it all because the shores of the ocean doesn’t even accept dogs and a place that does not accept dogs is not a nice to be. Plus, its home to evil, unnecessary creatures like giant octopuses and blow fish and sting rays that kill awesome people like Steve Irwin.

And worst of all there are sharks. People eating sharks. That’s all sharks do – eat people. They have no other reason to exist.

I lived near the ocean for a while. I wanted to try it out and so if I could beat it at it’s own game. This meant I would dip my little finger in and see if I got eaten. The chances were going to be pretty high.

Plus I needed a change and I had never lived with a surfer culture before, so why not? I also wanted my friends to come and visit me and they didn’t like visiting me in Canberra. I assumed my friends had not read all the textbooks and seen all the documentaries so they may have been fooled as to the oceans true nature. If this was the case I figured they would have come to visit me in this lovely, albeit dangerous, location.

They did come visit and no-one got eaten. But that’s only because I wouldn’t let them swim.

I treated the ocean like the lions in the open plains zoo that you hear about occasionally on the news; all pretty until you wind down the window and one eats you in front of your family.

But, mark my words, once I get rich (still on my list of things to do), I will seek vengeance for all the times I was afraid to have a bath alone because of your sharks and especially your famous sharks that share their stories in all the documentaries. Yes, my deep blue foe, vengeance will be mine.

Despite all the carry on, I did swim in the ocean once. I think I was drunk. And by swim I mean I went in as far as my ankles.

A blue bottle tried to eat me.

I decided it was time to move.

 

Weird things people insure. (Spoiler: one is a tongue)

I bet you didn’t kdreamstime_m_10879387now insurance could actually be interesting.

No really, I am being serious.  It is a fascinating world of risk management, asset protection and peace of mind.

Ok, so that part of it is really boring and in reality most of us pay A LOT for peace of mind only to have our peace obliterated when something goes wrong, and heaven forbid, we want to make a claim. And even before this we have to go through the trauma of deciding whether it is worth making a claim because it will mean our premiums go up. And if you are like me, you don’t like to think more than is absolutely necessary.

But. Did you know;

John Harrison, the official taste tester of an ice-cream company (how does one get that job?!) has his tongue insured for $1 000 000.

Golfers in Japan purchase insurance at AUD$170 per year for coverage in the event that they sink a hole-in-one, in which case tradition dictates they must buy gifts and drinks for all their friends.

Some business insurances in Australia have the added extra of insuring against a shark or crocodile attack.

And the best one yet; over 20 000 Americans have purchased Alien Abduction Insurance.

So they are the most interesting things about insurance. Generally, insurance is something people sweep below their under-insured floor rug as they pay the premiums without too much thought.

Therefore, insurance is only useful when you are the abducted by aliens or eaten by a shark.

Now, assuming I am not about to be abducted by aliens, I have to get back to deciding which insurance is best for my baby. You guessed it, I’m shopping around for pet insurance and yes, he will need cover against a crocodile attack.

 

Zoey gets arrested for murder. Again.

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This is not the face of a murderer

Ok, so the terms ‘arrested’ and ‘murder’ are a little over the top but there’s nothing like an enticing headline to draw people in. The truth is relative.

Last week I was asked to write a character reference.

For a dog.

She was in lock up for killing a chicken.

Again.

I kid you not.

Luckily I once read a book about Public Relations. I was all over it.

The owner of the now dead chickens didn’t take the murder to well and reported Zoey to the local council. The council decided they were going to declare the little fox terrier to be a dangerous dog.  Look at her face. Is that the scary face of a savage dog?

The canine in distress needed a good character reference to save her. If declared a dangerous dog, Zoey would be sentenced to a life of muzzles and she would never know the freedom of being off lead outside the confides of her back yard ever again.

She would never feel the wind in her hair unless her owners are really fast runners. Which they are not.

The chickens were roaming free in the street, the attack taking place on a side of the road that neither dog nor chicken dominated. It was free range. And yes, the chickens crossed the road.

Zoey being the compassionate canine that she is, didn’t question why they crossed the road. She dreamed of living in a world where chickens are free to cross the road without being interrogated. Innocent, well-meaning chickens anyway. Not these malevolent/deserve to be dead chickens.

We will never know the intricacies of what happened on that fateful day, or those fateful days because unless you are a mental patient, then you don’t speak dog.

So how do we know that Zoey wasn’t doing the world a favour by disposing of the two chickens? It is most likely they were evil masterminds, hell bent on world domination and Zoey saved us. Or they could have been perpetually bullying her through the common fence and one day the poor terrier just snapped. Happens all the time. They were probably crossing the road for dubious reasons.

There were witnesses, the surviving chickens, but they are unwilling to talk about the incident. I propose its because they know Zoey is onto them and their evil plans. Or, it could be because Dr Doolittle was unavailable to translate on account of him being a movie star and not interested in 2 dead rural chickens.

At the time of writing the superhero/bullying victim fox terrier awaits her trial. She is in good spirits, considering. It seems the chicken dinner has nourished her enough to keep her head up as she is vilified by the humans who keep her in lock up.

Let’s hope the character reference is enough to ensure Zoey can go on saving the world, or disposing of its bullies, with the freedom to run fast enough to feel the wind in her fur.

Feel free to comment to show your support for this little foxy.

 

Bow ties are for everyone but poetry isn’t.

I’ve been worried about myself.

At first I thought I had an issue with Lesbians wearing bow ties. But I worked through it and I’m cured now.

Bow ties are for everyone, not just weird science teachers and clowns.

Then it was mentioned that I may have an issue with tea drinkers. I am not willing to work on this issue, I simply have too much on my plate; wash clothes, eat chocolate, complain I’m too fat, wash clothes, You know, the usual.

But tea is for everyone. If you are weird and like to do things really slowly and relaxed – the opposite to being jacked up on caffeine. Weirdos. Maybe you should get some bow ties.

Finally, I think I may have an issue with poetry. It hurts my brain. Poetry hurts my brain more than my brain hurts when I try to read Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Versus and that is like trying to read cement.

But the poetry issue is one that I have been working on because poetry is considered cool and people who read it are considered to be smart. I want to be cool and considered smart.

I don’t think I am getting very far with my poetry issue though, especially if it doesn’t rhyme.

So I have started reading Emily Bronte to Tiny Monster because I firmly believe that 5 months is old enough to start learning about death and poetry. 6 months is when she will learn that poetry is death. Just kidding.

We have also been reading Wordsworth and Shakespeare . And the poor thing cries every time. She never cries through Dracula or All quiet on the Western Front so it’s not death that makes her sad and frustrated.

It’s poetry.

And just when I think I will never be able to come to terms with my issue regarding poetry, I read a poem that changed my world.

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