Anyone missing a couple of stuffed baked potatoes?

Yesterday I went to the supermarket to buy a bottle of wine and, you know how it is, whenever you go to the supermarket to buy one thing you inevitably come back with things that you had forgotten you needed.

I bought: one bottle of wine, a six pack of yoghurt and some hard crunchy pears.

I came home and pulled out of my supermarket bag: one bottle of wine, a six pack of yoghurt, some crunchy hard pears.................and two ham and tomato stuffed baked potatoes.

Now, I didn't inadvertently drop them into my basket because a) I think I would have noticed cause they were hefty wee numbers(and I don't eat meat) and b) there was no evidence of them on my receipt.

So now I am wondering if I am now living in some sort of random reverse Bermuda Triangle.

And I'm almost tempted to go back to the supermarket today to see if it happens again.

Now that's a RAT.

This is what happens when you share an office with a guy who is from South Africa.

He shows you photos like this.

*Turns and runs screaming from the interweb*

Please don't make me be a duckling slayer.

Dear Mrs Duck,

While I am sure you are very proud of your new ducklings and you can't wait to show them off to the world and around the neighbourhood, can I please request just one thing?

Would you please be able to refrain from walking them across the road? It's just if I'm driving down the road, and I suddenly see you all crossing I can't promise I will hit the brakes in order to avoid taking out your family.

I know this sounds all very selfish but it's like this - if there's a car up my derriere and, without warning, I hit the brakes chances are said car could crash into the boot of my car and before you can say 'Peter Rabbit for president' I will be wearing my internal organs on the outside.

Sorry to be a killjoy. Maybe just stick to paths and water ways.

Just a thought.

Happy waddling.

kate

Further to yesterday's post.

Regular readers of this blog will know that of the four seasons, there are two that I would happily live without (yes I am looking at you Winter and Autumn). However the same doesn't not apply to seasonal food.

I love seasonal food and all it signals.

Asparagus means summer is round the corner, strawberries mean Christmas is round the corner, oyster season means I'll be going over to the family-of-four-boys-six-and-under and making a pig of myself with oysters, whitebait season means I'm going to find me someone to cook me some whitebait.

I always think of seasonal food as a treat. I don't think I would feel the same about these foods if I could wrap my laughing gear around them twelve months a year.

Same with dining out. With work I tend to travel a reasonable amount which means eating out. I always find it's fun to begin with, but even after two days of buying breakfast, lunch and dinner from a menu the treat of eating out starts to become a drag. Not another freaking menu. Too many treats.

Now, I would like to apply this theory to Christmas. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas.

But in December.

If you start to torture me with Christmas in October, I will really resent Christmas by the time it eventually rocks around. And you will most probably find 'fucking' not terribly far from 'Christmas' in sentences that come out of my mouth.

And when I saw that full blown Christmas tree yesterday, I was not filled with the spirit of Christmas, no, I wanted to slam my head in the door.

Retailers, if you're listening, PLEASE DON'T RUIN CHRISTMAS FOR THE REST OF US BY GIVING US BLANKET COVERAGE FROM OCTOBER.

Please don't make us hate Christmas.

Cause I'd like to stay fond of it, if that's okay.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I saw a Christmas tree today. As in, a full blown I'm-a-Christmas-tree-!-Christmas-tree.

Shoot me now.

Things you would really rather not discover.

Tis a long weekend down here.

I received this text my sister this afternoon.

'We came home and let the cat out of the linen cupboard.'

I've just noticed something.

There are some people in this world who are very ordered and organised. They plan, they book stuff, they know that on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday they are doing this, this and this. And then on Thursdays they will do that. And that will happen because of children or the way they're made.

I, on the other hand, am not one of those people. I am spur of the moment. I make holiday plans at the last moment. I am a useless planner. I know I will generally do my GST the day before it has to be paid. I will get as close to a deadline as possible before I deliver a project.

Basically, unless I have to be organised, I will just plan as I go and do things when I please and I as I feel like it.

As far as something like blogging goes, I just do it when the mood takes me, or when I have an idea. I couldn't tell you how often I do it, when is the most regular time time of day I do it. I just do it, whenever.

I wouldn't have a clue how often I do it, either. I just do it.

So you can imagine it was with horror this morning that I noticed how many blog posts I have done each month of this year. (Take a look to the *looks at hands to see which hand has got the mole on it*right).

Out of nine months, there have been SEVEN months where I've blogged exactly twenty-two times.

Holy shit Batman! My subconscious is organised.

Now, if only I could channel that organisation to my conscious state, I think I would be a hell of a lot more productive.

Today I illustrate just how unfunny I really can be. It'll stun you.

Recently I was staying at my cousin's house and I had the craziest of dreams. It took dream-crazy to a whole new level. Cause I really didn't think it was a dream.

I had gone to sleep in my room (we used to flat together and even though she has moved twice since, married, had two children, I still have my own room, okay?) and when I woke up I was in a different bed, different room.

I had absolutely no idea where I was. I was now in a single bed but in a completely different house. I was quite freaked out, so I got out of bed and went to the door and looked out. I was downstairs and I could hear someone talking. I looked up the stairs and I could see my not-yet sister-in-law talking. Except she looked different.

She was a teenager.

And she had a perm.

And I suddenly worked it out. I knew exactly where I was!

I was in my not-yet sister-in-law's mother's house.

And it was about 1989.

I had gone to sleep and woken up in 1989!

And do you know what my first thought was?

'Wow, this is cool, I am going to win so many bets.'

Fortunately I was dragged back to 2009 by my cousin's small daughters who were burying me under a mountain of pillows. If anyone wants to start an euthanasia service, I can put you in touch with the perfect little workers. You could call it Snuff Princesses.

Now isn't that a business opportunity to die for ?

Hah, I am killing myself here!

Okay, enough with the lame one liners, I will stop now.

Happy Friday.

Now, for dessert.....

This morning I was listening to National Radio and heard the headline, 'Man found not guilty of manslaughter or murder after shooting his friend after a dinner party'.

Now I don't know about you, but immediately my (maturity-of-about-a-six-year-old) brain goes, 'What? The guy got to the end of dinner and said 'That was shit!', reached for his rifle and BOOM!

Obviously the real story is horribly tragic and not like that at all but, I'm sorry, you give me a headline like that, and that's what I'm going to think.

The guy who was killed obviously had serious issues (not to mention no manners can't you be serious for a moment?), he was awaiting trial for slashing a man's face at an Auckland nightclub, he had assaulted his girlfriend on a number of occasions and had been involved in a road rage incident.

The night he was killed he had charged through the house, attacked five others and left another party-goer semi conscious and attacked the hostess. So you can kind of understand how the evening ended up in the ugly mess it did.

But that headline, maybe if they'd left 'dinner party' out of it, possibly my brain may have processed it with a little more maturity ?

Things i have learnt this year.

#1. Best always to take a pee before going underground in a coal mine.

You're welcome.

Just in case you've been too busy to head over to http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/ (thank you Fat Sparrow, again) I thought I could do a public service and bring peopleofwalmart to you. Cause I'm good like that.

I wonder how old the owner of this car is?

Whoever it is - they're classy, very classy.

And next up, a shot that leaves me at a complete loss for words.

Anyone?

'Nother conversation.

Me:' Hey Nine Year Old, shall we get up to mischief when your parents go out tomorrow night?'

Nine Year Old: 'Yeah ! We're gunna burn the house down!'

Fast forward - tomorrow night.

Parents walking out door.

Door: 'Slam!'

Me yelling downstairs:'Hey Nine Year Old! Where are the matches?'

Nine Year Old: 'Nah, I don't want to burn the house down. I'm busy -watching a film.'

Killjoy.

Conversation

Me: "Such and and such is happy as a clam."

Nine year old: "Why is it happy-as-a-clam ?"

Me: "Don't know, maybe clams seem contented?"

Nine year old: "Well, why don't they say happy-as-a-hungry-lion-eating-a-human?"

He has a point.

People, prepare for some time wasting.

Regular commenter Fat Sparrow has just alerted me to a new website, which is truly truly glorious.

http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/

Do not pass go, do not collect $200, but just go there right now.

If you're a touch busy saving either babies or the planet to be arsing around on the internet right now,here's a wee taste of some of the gold you'll find over there.

First up, Obama's limo.
I mean where's Top Gear when you need it?

And here's someone who I'd just love to introduce to Pink Hair from Tuesday's post.
Let me count the ways I love the internet.

Oh, just because I can.

It's Awkward Family Photo time again, people!

I have been sitting on this one for some time.

I'm sorry, but there are no apologies for doing this to you.

Just questions. Many, many questions.

I love people - just as long as I don't have to spend Christmas with them.

A friend of mine sent me this story. It's an article from the Northern Territory News and it features this woman.

And that's all I'm going to say about it.

Oh, okay. I will just give you just the one quote. It's from Pink Hair.

"It may have looked bad when police first arrived as my girls were hanging out all over the place. I also had a $5 note wedged between my boobs so they probably just assumed I was a sex worker or something and he'd already paid me.But $5 is a bit cheap for a head job."

I'll leave it up to you to follow the link, or not.

Over and out.

The weirdness, I have it.

Over the last little while, on a few occasions - after a perfectly normal, merry old seven-eightish hour sleep -I have woken to find my clock radio not sitting on the table beside my bed, but on the floor.

Now, unless there's some rogue dwarf squatting in my wardrobe that I'm not yet aware of, the only person the finger can be pointed at is, um, myself.

I don't have any answers and I don't want to think about this too much, otherwise I will think I am crackers. So, to make me feel at home with my crazy sleepself, could someone please out-abnormal me with a better story of sleep adventures?

That would be triff, thanks.

Yours crazily,

kate

*wonders if furniture should be whitewashed and tossed in neighbour's swimming pool*

Delusions of grandeur. I think the cat thinks he's a boxer.

I particularly like the swing at 1'09.

I knew a cat with a similar attitude. I once had to haul him off a collie after he had attacked, screaming, 'GET OFF!!YOU'RE A CAT! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED OF DOGS!'

Just another day at the office.

By lunchtime on Thursday I had travelled in: two cars, a plane, two boats and a helicopter.

But I didn't meet this guy and his mates until after lunch.

Remind me not to save any owls, anytime soon.

This from Acid Cow.

So a great horned owl was found walking on the side of a freeway, in the middle of somewhere. Some people discovered him, scooped him up, put him in a cardboard box, took a photo of him and moved him to state park.

This picture says one thing to me, and one thing only.

Be very afraid.

Disneyland Dwarves

Coming in at 1'60, or 5ft 3 ins, my friends take great delight in taking the piss out of my height. I have one bastard friend who often says, 'Don't dwarves die at thirty? ( If they do, then I am a miracle.Oh, that's right, I'm not - technically - a dwarf.)

However, did you know that discrimination has sent a community of dwarves to set up their own village in China?

In order to join the mountain commune in Kunming in southern China, you gotta come in under 4ft 3ins tall. And if you're a dwarf, and always harboured a desire to be in either the police force or the fire brigade but never could cause you never made the height requirement, well, this place is for you - cause they've got their own police force and fire brigade for all of their 120 residents.

And the enterprising little buggers have turned themselves into a tourist attraction by building mushroom houses,living and dressing like fairy tale characters and performing musical numbers.
As you do.

BIG questions I am asking myself.

Why is it that the days I spontaneously decide to go shoe shopping always seem to coincide with the days that I am wearing mismatched socks?

We saw a real live island.

My sister was driving passed Lake Taupo with the five year old and the seven year old. 'Ooh Mummy!' exclaimed the five year old, 'a floating hill!'

It's almost as good as the time (yes, I have banged on about this before) when, she bought her back a camel from Dubai when she was two and she looked at it and cried, 'A horse turtle!'

From the show Wife Swap. Don't judge me. ...

...cause I am really not lying when I say I don't watch the show. I don't.



And the question is, what will that child do when he grows up?

?

Samoa, American Samoa, Tonga, Sumatra, Vietnam, the Phillipines, Cambodia.

What the fuck is going on in the world?