Saturday, July 22, 2006

Well it made me laugh ...

When the winter blues arrive a Madcow should always have a friend like Darling David. Just when you think that things couldn't get any worse an email arrives from that dear boy that has me choking on the chardy in no time .... lawyers really do send the best jokes! This was one of the cleaner ones he sent last week.


The following are all replies that Sydney Western Suburbs women have put on Child Support Agency forms in the section for listing father'sdetails:
These are genuine excerpts from the forms.
1. Regarding the identity of the father of my twins, child A was fathered by Trev Munson. I am unsure as to the identity of the father ofchild B, but I believe that he was conceived on the same night.
2. I am unsure as to the identity of the father of my child as I was being sick out of a window when taken unexpectedly from behind. I can provide you with a list of names of men that I think were at the party if this helps.
3. I do not know the name of the father of my little girl. She was conceived at a party where I had unprotected sex with a man I met that night. I do remember that the sex was so good that I fainted. If you do manage to track down the father can you send me his phone number?Thanks.
4. I don't know the identity of the father of my daughter. He drives anExcel that now has a hole made by my stiletto in one of the door panels.Perhaps you can contact Excel dealers in this area and see if he's had it replaced.
5. I cannot tell you the name of child A's dad as he informs me that to do so would blow his cover and that would have cataclysmic implicationsfor the NSW economy. I am torn between doing right by you and right by the country. Please advise.
6. I do not know who the father of my child was as all soldiers look the same to me. I can confirm that he was an infantryman.
7. Bazza Smith is the father of child A. If you do catch up with him can you ask him what he did with my AC/DC CDs?
8. From the dates it seems that my daughter was conceived at Disneyworld
9. So much about that night is a blur. The only thing that I rememberfor sure is Jamie Oliver did a program about eggs earlier in the evening. If I'd have stayed in and watched more TV rather than going to the party at 146 Miller Drive, mine might have remained unfertilised.
10. I am unsure as to the identity of the father of my baby, after all when you eat a can of beans you can't be sure which one made you fart.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

The Hills Are Alive ...

He Who Shall Not Be Named says that I should hang my head in shame for buying this but for goodness sake .... it's the Sing-Along version!! I can just see where our office Christmas Party is heading. Dress as your favourite character and sing along - I have old curtains, we could do this! Just think, if I came as the Baroness (she was a baroness wasn't she?) I could wear my tiara.
I couldn't stop laughing when I found it at the music store. It didn't help that the 12 year old stick insect serving at the counter gave me one of those "oh my god, who let the nana's into the store?" looks. The fact that I also bought a Janis Joplin cd didn't seem to help at all. Doesn't it just make you want to give those snotty little chicks the finger and yell at them "Oh just go eat something bitch!"

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Questions for the afternoon ...

I do not have a large nose - slightly crooked admitedly but certainly not one of your big honkers - so how does something this petite produce such vast quantities of snot? Mmmm? Answer me that! I'm also not a large person nor a very loud one. Well maybe I am a loud one after a few gins but that's another story entirely. Still somehow this little 32b chest can produce a cough so loud as to wake He Who Shall Not Be Named from a beer induced coma (or so he tells me as he grumbles on his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night). Yes the dreaded flu has struck the Madcow down (does that mean it's the Cowflu rather than the Birdflu? Or perhaps Bovine-itis? As long as it's not BSE I don't really mind)
Whatever it's called it has made for a very unproductive couple of weeks. The bedside table is littered with tissues, drugs, lemonade & chocolate wrappers, (chocolate really DOES fix everything!), and my bed is no longer my friend. We've spent far too long in each others company and now we're bored with each other. Likewise the tv. When a girl can't even muster up the enthusiasm to watch the latest Chip Foose creation on "Overhaulin" the world is in a very sad state. Actually the world is in a very sad state when I even know who Chip Foose is! But my oh my, that boy is a genius and so lovely with it. Not like that totally disfunctional Boyd Coddington ... eww. No Chip is my man!
OK. So my mind has finally turned to slush. Further evidence is the baby jersey I was knitting. Remarkable isn't it how it looks suspiciously like a pair of mittens now! Despite all my best efforts at creative knitting the bloody thing kept expanding at a rate of knots. Rather than just fit a one year old sumo wrestler it could have covered an entire small town including municipal buildings. It was time to pull the needles and start again. Good old reliable mittens - easy enough to knock out a pair in an evening and in this weather none of the girls at work have turned them down.
Food has been another challenge. Given my culinary skill you would think an absence of tastebuds would be an advantage but instead it makes for some rather nervous meals. Of course by now He Who Shall Not Be Named has aquired a head cold and last night as we picked at our pasta dish, we kept trying to reassure eachother that it really did taste alright. Who knows? Perhaps it did? Nevertheless I have marked the container of leftovers for the freezer "Flu Pasta" so that we remember to taste it before trying to offload it on any unsuspecting visitor. For all we know it could have had the aftertaste of dishwash liquid & dustbunnies, which would be ok because that's what all my cooking tastes like.
To rescue us this evening though Leonie (the best nursey ever) has just brought us "Meals On Wheels" - Shepherds Pie. The handover of the said pie was rather like a hostage handover at a border control - I mean it would have been just too mean to breathe on her and give her this germfest after an act of kindness wouldn't it.
To finish this epic post here are some of my favourite photos of my dear friend "mum" who died last Thursday. Robyn's mum & dad have been a part of my life for as long as Robyn has, and although I tried calling them Joan & Owen it just never stuck. They have been "mum & dad" ever since. I'm not the only one - the majority of the girls the three of us scrapbook with have only ever known her as mum which I think rather tickled her. If you were to go through Robyns family albums you wouldn't find many photos of her parents when they weren't laughing - perhaps the secret to their 53 year joyful marriage, and it will be that laughter I shall miss. Even when Robyn rang that night to say she had finally passed we both had to laugh that of course she would have to go on the same night as "Li Mei" (the character she most loathed on her favourite soap opera Shortland St) snuffed it. I can almost imagine her saying "Oh isn't that typical. That Li Mei woman is just the sort to try and steal my thunder! Hmpph!"
Yes, the silly laughs and looking up from the crop table to see her & Robyn scrapping and bickering away together. Miss you mum.