Morning folks!

Well, here we are half way through the year (okay, nearly half way - don't get pedantic on me now)and we have been back in Australia for 3 months.

Soooo, obviously it's time to book another holiday! Yay! (What do you mean, you didn't see that coming....have we met?)

So, as of July the 21st, I will get to load up my incredibly fetching leopard print suitcase and hightail it back to the International Airport - whoooohooooo!

There's something about airports that I love....maybe it's the plastic food (that is really only one molecule away from high tensile rubber), maybe it's the people watching (all shapes, sizes and religious persuasions - love it!) or maybe it's that I'm not at home watching excruciatingly boring infomercials masquerading as entertainment....

Who cares why? I just know that its about 30 sleeps to go.......

More evidence of Aussie stupidity........

Mr and Mrs Joe Average were sitting on their brand new patio, built to accommodate the brand new solar panels, in their brand new 300m2 block backyard of their brand new First Home Owners Grant two story home (with under roof alfresco) – sipping their recommended no more than two standard drinks per day, basking in the glow of the light pollution where the stars used to be.
Joelene Average put down the paint chips she had been studying, asking her husband Joe “What do you think, darl’ – the white or the cream?” He swallowed his mouthful of mid strength low carb beer slowly, and rubbed his ample beer belly before replying, “Well love, whatever is going to make the new 3D TV look best from the new home theatre lazy-boy leather couches.” “Ah, yes” she nodded, “good point!”
A brilliant light appeared - more brilliant than 10 million solar paneled powered low emission eco friendly light globes would emit without leaving a carbon footprint. Even more brilliant than the recent insulation fires had glowed; this light meant business. An Angel of the Lord had appeared.
“Strewth” said Joelene. “Strewth” said Joe, as they gazed in wonder at the Angel. In the distance a heavenly chorus of Iranian and Sri Lankan voices could be heard – “Ozzie, Ozzie, Ozzie, Oy Oy Oy – I still call Australia hoooome.”
“G’Day” the Angel said, fluffing his reflective Safety to Australian Standard wings. “My names Kevin, and I’m the Prime Angel around here, oh, and I speak Mandarin if you’re interested”.
Joe and Joelene squinted against the glare, and replied with a shaky “G’day, Prime Angel, err – no we’re not interested. What can we do for you, Kev?” Joe, offered the Angel a beer. “Cheers, ta” replied Kev as he indicated to the brand new outdoor chairs – “May I?” Joelene nodded, shifted her not-obese-merely-politically-correct-curvy frame, and grasped Joe’s hand in hers.
“Well Joe, Joelene” Kev nodded to each of them, “I’m actually here with a delivery.”
“Huh?” exclaimed Joe, looking at Joelene and thinking of the most recent Stock Take Sales, “delivery of what – we’re not expecting anything.”
“Oh yes you are” smiled Kev. “Here, have a look” The Angel gestured into the darkness, and the sound of scuffling and muttered oaths floated over to the trio. A tired, worn-out and exhausted looking Nurse appeared, laboriously dragging a cot. Tripping from fatigue, she found her feet, and stopped to catch her breath.
Kev scowled at her, rolling his eyes and said in an aside, “Just between you and me Joe, these bloody nurses, honestly. Say they’re over worked, under paid – jeez, it’s not my fault I’ve been a little busy with the Choir lately. Diva types - require a lot of money and attention….Oh, and the Miners – don’t get me started…….you understand dontcha? ”
Joe gave a half hearted dip of his chin, frowning at the scene before him.
“Ozzie Ozzie Ozzie” drifted melodiously over the backyard, “Yep, they’re about the only ones who like me really……they think I’m a great bloke”, Kev continued, his chest puffing out in pride.
The Nurse straightened up. “Here you go” she crooned, moving to place the baby gently in Joelenes’ arms, and taking a deep breath, she staggered back into the darkness.
“Hey, wait a minute” exclaimed Joe in surprise – “What’s this then?”
“Oh yeah, Joe, remember when I got pregnant 9 months ago – this must be the baby!” Joelene excitedly replied, pulling the blanket down to gaze into the infants sleeping face.
“Eh? It’s here already?”
“Yes honey, it’s been 9 months” Joelene tickled the sleeping babe under the chin. Kev took another swig of beer, looking around the backyard, “hey, great solar panels” he belched, pointing to the roof. “Got insulation?”
“Yeah, got the Government rebate on those babies, insulation was great till it caught fire.”
“Ah yeah, bit of a problem across the board, that…..” Kev hurriedly changed the subject, “Sooo, waddya think of the baby? Cool eh?”
“He’s beautiful” Joelene snuggled her face into the new baby smell, inhaling like a vacuum.
Joe turned back to Joelene “But…….but that means that you can’t go to work on Monday if you have to look after it.” Joe blanched at the thought.
“Oh” Joelene stopped in surprise’ “yeah, that’s right. It’s Monday tomorrow, so it’s Interest Rate Hike day, bugger!”
Kev shook his head, and held up his hands pleadingly “Look, don’t panic, it’s not a problem.”
Joelene and Joe looked at each other in alarm, as Joelene squinted frantically into the darkness for the nurse.
“But we can’t keep it” Joelene whined, “I still have to work, ya know, to pay for all the new stuff we’ve got.” She swept her arm widely to indicate the Jamey Drury recommended Buddha statues, the water wise mondo grass and stainless steel BBQ with side wok attachment.
“Listen” said Kev, leaning forward with his hands on his knees “You ordered a baby, right?”
“Well.. yes” answered Joelene. “But in all fairness, it was only 9 months ago, oh – and the year we planned for it….anyway, we sort of haven’t really gotten around to saving up yet – it’s not like I’ll get a payment for keeping it.”
“Actually, you will” Kev intoned seductively “……and you know the nurse delivery charge just then?”
Joelene nodded .
“Well, I’ve picked up the tab for that too.” “Ooooh, really?,” she squealed .
“Yep,” smirked Kev, popping his lips on the P sound, “and here’s a little bit of info for ya – tell ya what. I’ll give you free medical for it, till it’s 16, oh, and I’ll throw in dental too…..oh, and a child health nurse, and hospital…..vaccinations?”
“Yeah, keep talking”, said Joe, narrowing his eyes.
“Ok, what about free education, with ummmmm, a tax deduction for any out of pocket expenses like another laptop, uniforms, books, internet access and that crap.” Kev was on a roll now.
“Hmmmmm” said Joe, nodding noncommittally.
Kev leant back and thought for a moment. “Hey, you guys don’t earn that much do you?”
They both shook their heads emphatically.
“OK, then I’ll throw in paying Joelene to stay at home for a couple of months to look after it too, and pay her the federal minimum wage….”
Joe and Joelene looked at each other, and Joe nodded. “OK then Kev, we’ll keep it, but only ‘cause its not going to cost us anything, okay?”
Kev laughed, slapping his knee in hysterics. “Joe! Don’t be stupid. Why would anyone expect you to pay for your own baby? Jeez mate, be reasonable. “

We had several bunnies in Bali - this one is Sandy. They were about $6.00 each,(as the Bunny Seller explained to me - they breed like rabbits, so very cheap! Good for teaching children about life.) The boys absolutely loved them. Imagine my shock, when I went to the pet shop the other day and was told that rabbits are $65.00 dollars each, $120.00 for the hutch, and $28.00 for pellets........Guess they can look at rabbits on the internet for now.....

http://flavorwire.com/95206/john-waters-10-best-pieces-of-advice-for-functional-freaks">

Thought this was great - I am sooo off to the bookstore to see if I can get it.

And I thought I looked bad first thing in the morning......

Not famous – nope, have done nothing of worth

Not rich – Hmmmmm, struggle to buy groceries

Not particularly good looking – still have own boobs, cellulite, and occasional whisker

Not sports star- can’t even watch it on TV

“Great” thought Paris, “haven’t got a shit show in hell, basically”

She shut down the computer, wandered into the kitchen and poured herself yet another glass of Chateau de Crap. Sipping as delicately as a dehydrated Bedouin, Paris asked herself the serious question. Capital S, capital Q.

“Is it worth it”.

The little voices in her head immediately began replying…..worrying really, when you thought about it. Isn’t that called borderline personality disorder? All vying for attention, she had to do some serious refereeing. The most vocal of course, was Ego. Ego immediately glossed over reality with a dulcet golden syrupy “Of course it is, you’re amazing”. It was how Paris imagined it would sound if George Clooney was speaking directly at her, over a candle lit dinner – after the oysters. Pure heaven, however as likely as evading her council rates and keeping her house or losing her muffin top in a week without exercise, or booze.

The other voices that managed to get a word in were slightly more realistic, damn them. The whiney arsed voice of Reason piped up next – God, how Paris hated this one. “Well really” it shrieked “Will you for the love of all that’s holy, finally get OVER it!!!” This was in fact the same voice that invariably drowned out all others eventually. Paris was as used to its mutterings as she was the effects of gravity on her face. It didn’t matter how much you wished it wasn’t there, sorry honey – it was a fact of life.

The more timid members of her brain were also making noises. There was Ever Hopeful, who came in really handy in a change room – it was the optimistic voice that thought that perhaps sizing’s had changed, and that there was still a chance that Paris could squeeze her ample thighs into that skirt, or that maybe, if she were nice enough, she would be universally loved. Paris generally dismissed her services after Reason and Ego had beaten her into a bloody pulp somewhere before midday, and Common Sense took over.

Common Sense was by far, the hardest to ignore – all the voices had their attractions – however, they also all had their agenda’s. Common Sense unfortunately was as pure as triple distilled vodka, and had the same painful after effects.
Paris drained her glass, rinsed it and left it upended on the dish drainer. She looked around the kitchen, decided that she would leave it all for the morning, and switched off the lights.

Making her way to bedroom, Common Sense was making headway with Reason, something that was unusual. Common Sense was dealing with numbers.
Paris was not a numbers person. She struggled with balancing a cheque book. She could be persuaded that $300 for a dress was a bargain. She thought that a Tax Return was a multiple choice quiz, where if she just got the right formula – like Suduko – she would win. That one of her voices was chunnering on about numbers, was a definite first. Common Sense kept talking.

While Paris gave her sagging face a perfunctory rub with a cleansing wipe, she listened to the voice. “Honestly Paris, “it started “so what if you’ve received 90 rejection letters”. Paris could feel Ego pricking up its ears. “So, out of all the people in world who are writing – what makes you think that yours wouldn’t be one to plucked out of the slush pile? After all the stuff you’ve been reading on blogs – a hundred people were picked out this week. Australia alone publishes 1000 books per month. You DO still stand a chance.”

Ego was sidling into the conversation now. “Yeah” he purred “Listen to Common Sense – for once, I agree…..by the way, have I told you you’re amazing lately”
Paris was in her jimjams now; fluffy socks donned, and ready to jump into the wide cold bed that dominated the room. She shook her head, pulling back the doona, and spoke out loud to all of them. “Thanks guys, I’ll talk to you in the morning”, feeling Ever Hopeful shrink back, knowing that come sparrows fart, she would be nursing more painful hematomas.

Another chapter....

Anyone who has lived in Indonesia can tell you that they are the masters of DIY. No one is necessarily qualified to do the job required; however, they don’t let a tiny thing like that stop them.
Pa Putu was, of course, Paris’s general handyman – despite the fact that he had been asked not to on several occasions, this had done nothing to dampen his enthusiasm if there was a “fix it job” around the place.
Where the Australians excel in the use of fencing wire and duct tape, the Indonesians take a more traditional approach, with lashings of bamboo, string and more bamboo. In fact, it would appear that if it couldn’t be mended with a few lengths of bamboo, then it needed to re-built completely so that it could, and that included electrical items.
As just about everything that was purchased in Bali, of course, managed to render itself US (Un-Serviceable) within the space of a week or two, there was quite a list of items that Pa Putu had turned his hand at repairing (rather than have Paris buy a new one) – everything from mops (new bamboo handles, or new bamboo pivots for the heads), ladders (new bamboo struts and steps – not particularly stable but Pa Putu seemed to trust it), door handles (little bamboo bits inserted as spacers), garden taps (string tightened with bamboo to hold it on the outlet), even down to the doorbell, which threw itself off the wall one day to ricochet off the tiles a few times, and stopped working. It now boasted hand cut, tiny bamboo braces glued to hold the loose wires and speaker in place again – Paris didn’t have the heart to reveal to Pa Putu that it only cost $6.00Au in the first place, especially after he had spent a good two hours with tweezers and a razorblade imitating a surgeon.
This one mindedness also extends to jobs around the home that we in Australia would not think twice to call an expert.
In the front yard of our villa, there was a large coconut tree that was strategically planted so that it grew directly under the house electrical wires, which were connected to a huge substation 3 meters away on the main road. This meant that the tangle of thick cables carrying all the electricity for Jimbaran, Kuta and more than likely Ubud, passed directly in front of us, with a snare of lesser, slightly less lethal volt carrying wires branched out at random intervals and passed over our front garden. Luckily, they had the coconut palm to rest on, or they would probably have dangled into our yard.
Paris had pointed out the stupidity of placement of both the tree and the wires ad-nauseum to Pa Putu, and explained the danger while tut-tutting over the whole deadly scenario daily.
One afternoon, after Paris’s regular inspection of the front yard, and associated beef session about the tree, Pa Putu stated he would go and do some “farming” – his word for gardening. Paris was not surprised to see Pa Putu disappear down the back to where he kept his favourite “sharpening stone”. He often spent hours sharpening knives, gardening equipment and other metal objects, and so this was not an unusual thing.
What was unusual was when Paris ventured out to the front veranda, she found Pa Putu, aluminium pool extension handle with a razor sharp machete tied to the top in hand, hacking away at the coconut palm and by default, the electrical wires.
“Crap” yelled Paris “Don’t do that – you’ll get electrocuted!” cringing as Pa Putu was still blindly hacking away, yet turned to face Paris.
“Tidak apa-apa” beamed Pa Putu, resting the machete on the wires for a break while mopping his brow, “machete very sharp, Mrs., will cut easily”
“That’s what I’m worried about” Paris muttered, staring in disbelief as pieces of coconut palm leaf showered down on Pa Putu, who was still in one piece, and didn’t at this stage resemble anything fried.
When Paris finally convinced Pa Putu that he had cut enough away from the wires, he delivered a final flourish of the machete, and a small young green coconut landed at his feet.
“This one good for drinking, also for hangover Mrs – you drink coconut water, feel better langsung (immediately)” he stated deftly slashing the top off it and taking a long swig.
“Excellent” thought Paris “I’ll need one in the morning after watching you do that”.

It's a worry...

I met a mouse the other night.

Sitting alone at the kitchen bench, Googling various bits and pieces; I was waiting to be tired enough to go to bed. Out of the corner of my eye, there was a fuzzy movement, that wasn't one of the children getting a drink. I looked down, and there he/she was. Dark brown, twitchy nosed - just staring at me.
So I stared back.
After a few minutes of this mexican standoff, he/she must have realised that I posed absolutely no threat, especially as I just went back to the computer.
No screaming. No jumping on the bench. No chasing him/her around the kitchen. Nothing.
I feel sorry for the mouse now. I hope I didn't offend him/her. I didn't mean to be so off-hand, but after living in Bali, and meeting his/her slightly larger, meaner, aggressive cousins; really, it was all a bit pathetic really.
I was not in the least bit shocked, intimidated or frightened. Sorry Mickey.
Bugger.

Some snappy insults I never tire of.......

1. The fact that no one understands you doesn’t mean you’re an artist.
2. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ll bet it’s hard to pronounce.
3. Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.
4. I have plenty of talent and vision. I just don’t care.
5. I like you. You remind me of when I was young and stupid.
6. I’m not being rude. You’re just insignificant.
7. I’m already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth.
8. I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.
9. It’s a thankless job, but I’ve got a lot of Karma to burn off.
10. How about never? Is never good for you?
11. I’m really easy to get along with once you people learn to worship me.
12. You sound reasonable…Time to up my medication.
13. I’ll try being nicer if you’ll try being smarter.
14. I’m out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message…
15. It might look like I’m doing nothing, but at the cellular level I’m really quite busy.
16. You are validating my inherent mistrust of strangers.
17. I see you’ve set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public.
18. Someday, we’ll look back on this, laugh nervously and change the subject.
19. If you find it hard to laugh at yourself, I would be happy to do it for you.
20. Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of how awesome I am.