The Acidic Observer, Volume VIIII

First of all, let's get this out the way - the Duchess of Cambridge is in LABOUR! Hallelujah!

This is how I think it's going...

"Oh, bother it all, those contractions are just ghastly, Will dahling..." 

"Can I ask my manservant to ask the servant to get you some Finnish purified ice, Katie, my dove?" 

"That would be spiffy - could you put in the order for my epidural, these pains are positively BEASTLY!?" 

"Certainly, Harrington will fetch the doctor immediately, but it may be a few moments wait while we get the best anaesthetist in the world here..." 

"Stone the crows, motherfucker, get me my epidural now and shut the fuck up! Don't touch me! Rub my back! Get me ice chips! Stop touching me! Did I say stop rubbing my back!? Where's that fucking doctor!? Stop talking! It huuuuuuuuuuuurts!!!!!" 

"...????..."

Now Kochie can stop crossing to a live feed of Mel standing in front of a building trying to grasp for things to say and not look like Charlie at the window of the sweet shop, totally separated from the chummy, joy of those smug bastards on the inside.

Sucks to be the one who jumped ship first, doesn't it Mel?

Anyway, sorry for the impromptu hiatus of a couple of weeks. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you'll notice we got a new member of the family.

He's a Great Dane, Irish Wolf Hound cross. His name is Loki - after the Norse God of Mischief.

Some people would say we're tempting fate with a name like that.

It's like having a new baby but a shit load worse because I can't make him wear a nappy and he chews everything, including my TOES. It's apparently completely normal - but given that I'm not a dog person, I haven't a fucking clue.

The only positive I can think of is that he doesn't eat his own shit.

Loki is The Man's longed for family pet. The Man has put up with my love of cats, tolerated their tendency to shit outside the litter box when we lived in an apartment, their love of shredding the couch and the armchair in the baby's room and their long memories and the resulting revenge.

So I felt it was only fair for him to finally have a companion of the dog kind.

And he's bloody lucky he's a cute dog, otherwise I'd have an attractive dog skin rug in the lounge.

Speaking of cute, The Man led me to my burn this week by making a passing comment that, according to some woman in the UK, babies have to be more than cute, they also can't be a red-head, to be loved.

Sometimes I think there are people in the world who should be bitch slapped. 

Repeatedly.

Her name is Katie Hopkins and she is a UK reality star. Not that this fact gives me any fucking clue who she is - but if my reality were the same as her's, I'd swallow a cyanide pill and end it all.

Katie is just one of many people who should not be allowed to speak. To anyone. Ever.

She chose to share this gem on Twitter: "Ginger babies. Like a baby. Just so much harder to love."

Hang on...like a baby? How does red hair make a baby anything but a baby? Unless they're an orang-utan - but they are still called BABIES!

Katie, clarify this for me - you're saying that I should stop loving The Jellybean because she has a tinge of the ginge? That somehow she is a sub-standard child because she is lucky enough to inherit the Irish red from my side of the family?

To assume that any child is difficult to love is a shameful thing to say. To assume that a child is difficult to love because they have a hair colour you're not fond of? You're an ignorant, despicable human being.

If I were you, Katie, red hair is the last thing I'd worry about. My biggest concern would be that my dumb-arsery was hereditary and, therefore, my kids would be doomed.

And just in case she didn't waste enough oxygen sprouting that load of crap, Katie continues on in her 'wisdom' that you can clearly identify what 'class' a child comes from, based on their name - and anyone with a 'lower-class' name is not welcome to play with her children.

Well, I don't think she needs to be concerned about the 'calibre' of anyone wanting to play with her children - no mother in the world would let their children be exposed to the offspring of a total fuckwit.

Obviously, Katie hasn't opened a newspaper, gone online, or stepped outside her bubble and realised that a child's name has NO bearing on their background. In case everyone has forgotten, Kim Kardashian named her daughter North West. One famous actor and his wife named their daughter Reignbeau. They have completely butchered the spelling of a natural phenomena. A NAME DOESN'T GET ANY MORE BOGAN THAN THAT! And this kid comes from a background that Katie would sell her cheap, reality TV soul to be associated with.

I find it ironic that the people who have the exposure, have the least to say to improve the world. Or just their own IQ.

Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that but not with all those flies and death and stuff. - Mariah Carey.

I've never really wanted to go to Japan. Simply because I don’t like eating fish. And I know that's very popular out there in Africa. - Britney Spears 

I'm not sure if it's funny or bloody frightening that, even with MENSA candidates like Mariah and Britney in the world, Katie is as close to being insightful as I am being announced as the new Queen of Atlantis.

Which is a shame because I've always thought I'd look good with a crown.

The Acidic Observer, Volume II

Hello Tuesday!

For a minute there I thought I wasn't going to have much, if anything, to add to this little ranty pants saga. I was worried.

First of all, Dan and Steph won the MKR finale - it was the best outcome I could have hoped for. Dammitt. And then, there were no drink driving celebrities, no one suing KFC because they don't serve Big Mac's and no new cars with cameras to replace our eyeballs.

But then, like a beacon of ranty hope, Channel Seven premiered their new show, Celebrity Splash.

Oh. Dear. God.

It was like a car crash - you know you shouldn't look, but the chance of glimpsing something horrific is just too tempting. And it delivered.

I was mildly confused for a moment because I couldn't work out where the celebrities were. I know I'm young-ish, but I like to pride myself on having been born in the mid 80's and, as such, familiar with a vast majority of past and present TV personalities.

However I'm not sure if the word 'celebrities' is as applicable for this show, so much as 'random people, some who used to be on TV before you were born'. But I agree, 'Random People Splash' just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Perhaps 'I've Run Out of Money Splash'? or 'My Knees Are Giving Out and I Don't Think I'll Make The Next Olympics Splash'?

Aside from the fact that it appears to be a bunch of victims people throwing themselves from the highest platform available, I'm not quite sure what the point is. There are plenty of belly flops that make you cringe...

Wait! That's it! I noticed they were mildly ambiguous about what the grand prize would be for the unfortunate, spandex clad winner, and it has just occurred to me. 

What this show should really be called is 'Reconstruction Splash'! By throwing themselves from a platform and possibly having their faces mashed and internal organs liquefied by the watery impact, the grand prize is an all expenses paid trip to the reconstructive surgery ward of the local hospital.

And we all know that the first step in reviving a long lost career in television (or a non existent one) is some brand new, well enhanced plastic features. And a body lift so tight, the surgeon uses your belly button as a marker for your new lips.

I know we've run out of ideas for movies and so we're rehashing everything we can (Titanic 3D, anyone?), and it's only a matter of time before we see Fay Wray being dragged to the top of the Empire State Building in 3D, but I honestly thought TV had a bit longer before we were dredging the bottom of the ideas pond.

Okay, let me re-phrase that. Dredging the bottom of the Dutch ideas pond. Because apparently we can't think of terrible ideas all on our own, we have to borrow some from the land of legalised marijuana. Which kind of says it all, really.

In the meantime, I am grateful for my Foxtel subscription - yes, it may be mostly re-runs and shows from the US, but if it means I can avoid the terror that is Free to Air TV, then it's worth every cent.

 

The Acidic Observer, Volume I

I've got my ranty pants on this week. Why?  Because the world has gone completely insane and I feel the urge to get on my soap box about it.

The title of this post is, hopefully, the first in a series of soap box posts. In my mind I see it as a newspaper edition - but instead of reporting current events from an all-angles, completely un-biased position, I am going to be taking the sarcastic, exasperated and outraged position and throw in some reductio ad absurdum, just to keep it interesting.

So beware world - if you make a stupid move, I'll be on your arse, ready to point out your idiocy.

To begin this inaugural edition, I would like to start with the 22 year old student who is suing McDonald's because she spilled coffee on her leg and it burnt. Honey, if everyone who spilled their Maccas coffee on their lap sued them and won, there wouldn't be a bloody Maccas! She states that the lid wasn't secured properly by the staff, and I believe her - 99% of the time the 10 year old serving me a meal is barely able to reach the cup dispenser, let alone fully secure a lid to a steaming cup of coffee.

What I don't understand is the need to sue them. Okay, the lid wasn't on properly and you spilled your half strength vanilla latte with 2 marshmallows and whipped cream on your lap. It burnt. Badly - second degree burns are no laughing matter. But can we really go about suing organisations or people simply because a series of events occurred and you inadvertently got hurt?

They put massive warnings on the cup that the contents are hot and may burn - it's not an invitation to test out the theory.

If you were at home and made a cup of coffee, tripped on your cat/dog/hairless mole rat and spilled it all over yourself, are you going to sue your pet? Are you going to sue your Mum, or your boyfriend if they served you hot coffee and you accidentally wore it? No. Because it was an accident - and this is no different.

If you ask me, this entire situation is the coffee equivalent of 'I'm going to sue the condom company because I got pregnant and the box didn't say the condom was ineffective if applied to any body part other than a penis'.

Next on my hit list is an advertisement by Subaru for their new vehicle that has not just a reversing camera, but 2 cameras that look out the windscreen and will tell the car to brake so you don't run down an innocent pedestrian.

The reversing camera makes perfect sense. I have one on my car, and I love it because I don't have eyes in the back of my head (shhhh, don't tell Miss 4) and I certainly can't stretch my vision to the rear bumper of my vehicle and reverse at the same time.

I DO have 2 eyes in the front of my head that happen to be able to look through a windscreen and judge when I should brake to avoid an accident or killing an innocent bystander. My suggestion would be, if you don't have this ability, to step away from the vehicle and get your seeing-eye dog out of the driver's seat.

Lastly, my attention is drawn to the recent arrest of Reese Witherspoon and her husband - whats-'is-face. He was pulled over for high level drink driving, and Reese tried the 'don't you know who I am?' move. It backfired and she got arrested for backchatting the police officer. And he honestly had no idea who she was, so she was wasting her booze-soaked-breath anyway.

It's not the fact that she attempted to talk her way out of it that annoys me the most - but the fact that they were in that situation to begin with. Reese, I'm sure you've made enough movies and get enough alimony from Ryan to be able to pay for a taxi - you have more money available on your credit card than some people could possibly imagine, and yet you both decided to drive and risk the lives of other people on the road because you were too cheap, or perhaps you thought too 'special', to take a taxi that other 'normal' people use.

Just because she's famous doesn't make her husband's actions any less dangerous. It doesn't make them invincible. It doesn't make them any less responsible for their choices - even if Reese did think she was famous enough to talk her way out of it. If Reese and her family were involved in an accident with a drunk driver, you can bet she would be on day time talk shows to rant and rave faster than flies on a shit. She would be the face of every anti-drink-driving campaign available, and she would be burning crates of whiskey in the streets, just to make a point.

But put her on the opposite side of the story, and suddenly being famous means you feel you can operate heavy machinery while soused. Interesting theory - glad we didn't have to discover the ultimate outcome from that idea.

And so ends the first edition of The Acidic Observer. I hope you enjoyed my withering reviews, and I have no doubt I'll be back next week with equally scathing reports on some more of humanity's best cock ups from the week.

 

Kim & Kris: A Fairytale Divorce

Dear Kim,

It was all too good to last, huh?  Hate to tell you this chick, but marriage is hard work. Harder than flicking your hair and and pouting your lips in front of a camera. Harder than working out the best Kardashian product placement in a screen shot.

I guess you weren't prepared for that. I mean, I know you're almost 30, but did you really have to make yourself the poster child for 'Most Pointless Event of 2011'?

Even Brittney just did a Vegas job on the low-down with a quickie annulment. If you're going to waste a marriage, don't make a song and dance about it.

Maybe it would sting less if it was done quietly. I know it's not the Kardashian way, but there is this thing called 'low key' and it can make a difference when it comes to making a complete arse of yourself - pardon the pun.

Generally speaking, knowing someone for 6 months does not marriage material make. It takes 6 months to realise that no amount of deodorant is going to kill the smell of his shoes and that, yes, those weird looking people following you are, in fact, his friends. Personally, after 6 months it was just dawning on me that I was dating someone who ate tomato sauce and melted cheese on bread and liked eggs enough to no longer be aware of his own arse stench.

Disturbing realisations. And they would have been enough to make me run screaming for the hills. But I hadn't married him and I didn't live with him, so I had delusions of being able to change those facts.

Obviously, I was a fucking idiot. But more importantly, I wasn't living out my life on television and trying to create reasons for people to continue wasting precious minutes of life, watching me and my family embarrass themselves.

Because it is embarrassing. I would be mortified if people saw me doing half the things you and your family do. A sex tape would be less controversial.

I'm sure you watch yourself and think people are judging what you're wearing or buying or how big or small you look. Trust me, it's the last thing people are worried about. People (an no, I don't mean the magazine) are more concerned with the fact that a TV show is so important to you and your family's money machine that you would marry someone you barely know, just to maintain an audience share.

I knew money could be addictive, and people would do stupid stuff for it, but this puts you right up there with Octomum.

Thankfully, you didn't sign an endorsement deal with a fertility clinic to commence treatment at your wedding reception. That would have been beyond awkward. Even by your standards...maybe. After all, you are the family who proceeded to adorn your mother with incontinence pads.

Lucky woman. No wonder she likes flocked wallpaper - I'd need a padded cell too. But we regular people have to find other, creative ways to have some down time.

I'm currently sitting in a room, in our modest home, with the dust buster on full throttle. Not because I'm cleaning but, through trial and error, I know this sound will keep all men and children away from this space for at least an hour and I can have some 'me' time.

That and the fact I don't have a plastic surgeon, nanny, massage and beauty therapist on speed dial to make it all better.

Marriage is about trial and error, and it takes time and patience. These 2 practices may be unfamiliar to you, but they're worth Googling for the future.

The internet is abuzz with people making a mockery of your brief journey into marital bliss bling, but you have to admit that considering your wedding could have fed a small African Nation for a decade, to break things off 60 days later is just plain disgusting.

Magazines tell me that you regret the decision to marry so quickly and that marriage wasn't what you thought it would be. Can I ask - what were you expecting? You certainly don't have it difficult.

Was the challenge not being able to get your PA to schedule sex? Because that's number 2 on the list of things that will end your marriage. Number 1 is still being debated.

I suppose a look on the bright side would be that you don't have any assets to divide - you never merged anything and you bought your own rings. Wow, looks like your divorce is going to be over faster than your marriage.

And as a side note, I don't think you can claim your wedding as a loss on your tax, no matter how business orientated it was.

Good luck for the future Kim, the first divorce is always the hardest. I'm sure the other's will be far easier.

Cheers

You'd better not pout, I'm telling you why...

Santa Claus Obama is coming to town!

So it's now official. Obama has accepted the Prime Minister's invitation to visit the Northern Territory - specifically Darwin.

I'm not 100% sure Obama even knows what he's actually accepted, or even where he's going, so I've decided to put together a little guide for him to refer to while he's in town.

You never know, Tourism NT might pick this up and publish it!

FORGET NOONAMAH - WHERE THE HELL IS DARWIN? 

A personalised guide to the Northern Territory for President Obama, November 2011.

First of all, Noonamah is approximately 45 kilometres South-East from Darwin City. There's nothing there, so don't feel slighted if it's not part of your tour.

Now we've got that out of the way, we can get to the important stuff.

An excerpt from the travelnt.com website describes Darwin as "...the tropical capital city of Australia’s Northern Territory."

"Darwin was founded as Australia’s most northerly harbour port in 1869. Darwin... made world news when the city was rebuilt in the wake of Cyclone Tracy in 1974 - an event well documented at the Museum and Art Gallery of the Northern Territory."

"Its colourful history has contributed to Darwin’s cultural diversity - more than 50 nationalities make up its 100,000 population, including the area's traditional landowners, the Larrakia Aboriginal people."

It sounds so magical, doesn't it?  But let's look at the cold, hard facts.

The Northern Territory is very unique. It has 2 seasons rather than 4, both of which are nauseatingly hot, although 6 months out of the year you can freeze your arse off at night. The NT has managed to remain 10-15 years behind the rest of the country, and people seem okay with this. I've lived here almost 10 years and I'm still unable to accept that there is no Myer.

My therapist says I'm making progress.

Inhabitants like to build/buy homes for 3 times the cost of any other state and have it be smaller and crappier. They like to spend all their money on electricity, running air conditioners. Without air conditioning the entire NT would be used as one large, free-range prison.

You are not regarded as a local, or 'Territorian', unless a) you were born here, b) you've lived here for more than 100 years or c) you've been attacked by a crocodile and lived.

The NT has a disturbing fascination with crocodiles - and the 'newspaper' likes to feature them on the front page regularly. We also like to include pictures of tourists dancing on top of crocodile traps.

Without these tourists the crocodiles might have to start hunting for their food, again.

In fact, while you're in the NT, it's worth having some extra luggage that's empty. You'll most likely be leaving with a handbag and purse for Michelle, plus a wallet, shoes, hat, manbag, belt, tie, shirt, pants, jocks, socks, whip, toothbrush, toilet paper and condoms all made from crocodile leather.

Someone will probably make you hold a crocodile and take a photo. While you're wearing your brand new leather outfit.

Lucky you.

The NT is the third largest land division, but has the lowest population. It could be the climate that makes it unappealing. It could also be that it seems to have a disturbingly high murderer Vs. normal person ratio. I highly recommend you watch Wolf Creek before you arrive, and The Castle.

The Castle will offer you no insight into the Northern Territory - it's just a fucking good laugh.

Back to the subject - although we have all this space, we still seem to be inundated with wildlife. I'm not talking koalas, kangaroo's or even emu's. I'm talking snakes, spiders and cockroaches so big, I ride one to work. This could also account for our low population - we're fighting off murderers and every deadly reptile/arachnid/armageddon surviving beetle available!

And trust me, cockroaches this big must eat people. There's no other explanation.

Now, I mentioned the climate a little earlier and now might be a good time to discuss the topic of appropriate clothing. You should know it's prefectly acceptable to wear your bathers (I think you'd say 'swim suit') and a towel to shops, movies, restaurants, bars, and clubs. You can wear your thongs ('flip flops') anywhere and everywhere - but not to the casino.

If you want to loose all your money, you have to be wearing enclosed shoes. For a dressy evening it's deemed appropriate to throw a t-shirt over your bikini top.

Darwin has gorgeous beaches and they're lovely to look at, but that's about all. Your visit is in perfect co-ordination with the annual jelly fish migration. And, of course, there are crocodiles and sharks all the time - the jelly fish stings just make it more exciting.

Darwin's a bit of a party town and drinking is the number one past time. Second only to crocodile wrestling - but in all honesty, they are usually done in conjunction with one another. Secretly (or not), the NT hasn't been able to let go of the 'Crocodile Dundee' mentality. It's therapist says it's making progress.

With all this information, your trip should be an exciting one. It'll certainly be eye watering opening and you'll be heading back to the White House with more crocodile hide than you ever thought possible.

You're welcome.

Polly Dolly: Red Carpet Rendition

Red Carpet Rendition by Kel001 featuring sequined evening gowns

There were many, many dresses that I loved at the Oscars this year - but for me, Gwyneth stood out. I think because it was such a simple dress, and yet it clung to all the right spots (although she doesn't possess a wrong spot anywhere!) and her hair and accessories were simple too. The small belt with flower details just gave it a touch of bling - but it was understated and classy.

For me, the poor choice was a toss between Anne Hathaway and (sad to say) Nicole Kidman. Anne's dress looked terrible with the large puff at the back. It looked like she was trying to either avoid or be gentle on her haemorrhoids by sewing a pillow to the back of her dress.

And Nicole, the white I didn't like much and the front looked too geometric for my tastes. I prefer something with flow and movement. Nicole's dress looked stiff and thus so did she.

Anyway - I've done my version of Gwyneth's look - and I gave it a vintage feel with the bracelet as my dress didn't have as much detail and prescence as Gwyneth's. With the low necklin I chose a simple necklace and some bling on the ears. The make-up is a 'barely there', dewey look with some cute pumps for a peep of contrast when walking.

And, of course, where would we be without our satuette?!

Playing along with Danimezza's Polly Dolly Challenge

Polly Dolly - Audrey Hepburn

Audrey Hepburn - Day to Night by Kel001 featuring bow shoes

This week Danimezza has challenged us to dress our dream celebrity. For me, Audrey Hepburn has always been the epitomy of feminine beauty. She is so graceful and had such a big heart...

So for me, I chose 1 dress and gave her 2 looks. One for casual shopping with the girlfriends, and then to Central park for lunch.

She decides to spend more time with friends before heading out for dinner, and makes it home in time to throw on a cute jacket, some classic jewellry, a touch of makeup and some heels.

With her cute pixie cut, her hair is quick and easy to manage and she runs out the door looking like a million dollars.

If only it was that easy for me...

Playing along with Danimezza's Polly Dolly Challenge

What's in a name?

So I've been thinking about names recently. I always think about names - potential names for the next potential member of our family. But I have also been smacked in the face by a 'WTF' moment when I read the name of Jamie & Jools Oliver's new son.

I mean, they have certainly been creative in the past with 3 daughters named Poppy Honey Rosie, Daisy Boo Pamela and Petal Blossom Rainbow.

I like how for the first 2 they obviously tried to incorporate a reasonable name. And then Petal just lost out because it obviously got too hard.

But personally, I don't think I've ever woken up, or been sitting at my desk and overcome with the desire to bestow a name like Buddy Bear Maurice upon my child.

Seriously. W. T. F.

I know, I know  - I'm being judgmental and awful. And it's every parent's right to name their child what they want to. That's the beauty of being a parent - all those names you really wanted to be called as a child you can now use for your own family.

But never - like, NEVER did I have a friend who said to me 'oh, I wished my name was Buddy Bear Maurice so I'm going to use that for our new baby'. Usually, as a kid, you loved to pretend your name was something like Superman, or Spiderman or Tinkerbell (and if you were me you fell in love with the idea of being called Periwinkle. Yeah, don't ask...) but at the end of the day you knew they were actually names better left to the superheroes and faeries.

Or not.

If you happen to be the child of Nicholas Cage you could actually score Superman's name. And not just his crappy hero name, but his actual birth name (yeah, who the hell knew Superman had a 'birth name'!?).

Kal-el.

Yup. That's it.

And while we're on names with a hyphen in them - I thought I'd share this little pearl with you...

How would you pronounce this child's name?
 She spells her name..... "Le-a"

So... how would YOU pronounce her name?

Leah? No


Lee-A? Nope


Lay-a? Still nope


Lei? Guess again!

This child's mother is irate because everyone is getting her name wrong. She says it's pronounced................."Ledasha".

When the Mother was asked how she came up with that....... she said......."cos the dash don't be silent!"

So, if you see a name come across your desk like this... please remember to pronounce the dash.

You are now a better person for having this knowledge and you'll no longer struggle to work out where you can insert a 'dash' into your child's name without adding all those pesky letters.


But my favourite thing to do is to create a story out of the celebrity child names I come accross...

The Fluffy White Kitten.

Frank & Gail Zappa - Moon Unit, Dweezil, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan and Diva Muffin. One day a little girl bought a fluffy white kitten and named it Diva Muffin.

Sylvester Stallone - Sage Moon Blood.  Sadly the fluffy kitten was mudered by a rival gang of short hair kittens. The little girl became Sage in her mood. She looked to the Moon for guidance and saw Blood.

Penn & Emily Jillette - Moxie Crime Fighter. So she took this sign and became Moxie: Crime Fighter. Her mission? To defend all fluffy kittens and to avenge her fluffy kitten's death. Short hair kittens....beware...

Jason Lee - Pilot Inspektor. Once the little girl's knees gave out after all the building jumping and short hair kitten hunting, she took on a new job. Her crime fighting days were over, but her Pilot Inspektor days were just beginning.

John Mellencamp - Speck Wildhorse. In her new job, her code name was Speck Wildhorse- 'cos if you didn't let her in'Speck you properly, she'd go Wildhorse all over yo' ass!

The End.

So there you have it. What's in a name? If you have (un-hinged) famous parents, a story.

If you have every day parents...well, chances are you'll simply avoid getting a permanent super-wedgie at school because your name is Ruby and not Periwinkle.

OMG OMG OMG...

So the Guru called...

Apparently we just bought a house.

Why is that so exciting and yet nauseating at the same time? Oh, that's right - we're half a mil in debt for the next 30 years.

On the bright side I can hang anything I want, wherever I want and those stupid 3M hooks can kiss my arse. No more falling pictures in the middle of the night, no more sobbing when something that looks so fabulous is too freakin' heavy for a stupid 3M hook.

I can get rid of palm trees instead of tolerating them shedding fronds all over our yard, get new lawn and have the garden we want.

No more pointless rent - hello worthwhile investment.

Did I mention it has the most amazing pool...if I was the owner I'd be kicking myself for putting something so awesome in a property that I sold less then 2 months later. But it's ours now - mwahahahahahaha!

The Toddler is going to love us - she isn't worried about the house, she's a water baby and as far as she's concerned we just bought her some serious dollars worth of pool water. We are super parents -yeah!

I've just looked up and noticed that Cindy Crawford is hawking something that keeps you young and that they test on melons to keep them from rotting. Interesting. If I ever have a complexion equal to that of a rockmelon peel, I'll be lining up for that stuff. It will stop mouldy holes appearing in my face. Which is always a bonus I think.

Shame it doesn't make that mole on her face disappear. It's cute from a distance, but the close up's are scary.

Martha Stewart, Snuggies and the Flu

Well, looks like I've joined the crew and signed up for my own blog. Good grief, I've no idea what to put on here!! This sounded like a fab idea when I first had it...now it's gone a bit off track. But what do I expect when I'm taking advice from a Martha Stewart episode - it's punishment for paying attention to anything that's aired on day time TV. Next thing you know I'll be ordering a snuggie and one of those ladders they keep barking on about on The Morning Show.

It could also be a side effect of the flu and the panadol and throat gargle I've been taking. Either way.

I could be very clever and post some articles I wrote for a wedding website a couple of years ago - they're humorous and (possibly) interesting. Maybe I'll do that later - I just have to track them down.

We're trying to buy a house, and have found one that would be very, very suitable, and within our budget which is a very, VERY good thing according to my husband. I think for the purposes of this blog I'll need to create an alias for Hubby and our daughter. I think the Guru (as apparently my husband is the authority on all things, regardless) and the Toddler (because that's exactly what our daughter is) are ultimately suitable.

So the Guru is phoning around today to see if we can buy this house, or at least get a contract on it so no one else can buy it. Worst case scenario I could always drive over there in the night with my own Under Contract sticker and slap it on the sign. Very wrong and completely immoral, but this is a property war and all bets are off.