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Friday, July 29, 2016

Suing the Government for Wasting my Time!

I tried the Pokemon Go thing and ran out of balls in 15 minutes.

I lost interest pretty much ten seconds after that and deleted the app before the bastards could find out stuff about me. 

I don’t want the FBI to know which pharmacies I go to buy my Nicorettes and hormone replacement therapy ointment from, thank you very much.

Frankly, I had more fun chasing the cat which appeared on my screen while I was chasing Shitapoo or whatever it’s called. I almost caught the cat mind you. Not that it was a challenge as she’s as fat as a butter ball lately.

But don’t get me wrong, I don’t think people who are playing this game are stupid...

But I do think if the players of Pokemon Go want to get paid for having lots of spare time for doing fudge all, they should spend their energy on getting a job at the Australian Electoral Commission so they can sit on their sweet heinie all day and play Pokemon Go to their heart’s incontinence* because that’s clearly what the people in the aforementioned public service department do there all day long in that silly, silly place.

I say this because despite sending the bloody updated information in February that we had MOVED RESIDENCE, we still received a notice of prosecution today for not voting in the recent elections from the STUPID idiots that run our previous electorate… even though we VOTED in the Tamborine (2000 kms away) electorate in MARCH and JULY and that is precisely our EXACT address where the FUDGEWITS sent the painfully knobbish infringement.

How hard is it to do your bloody job, twits?

I HATE the STUPID BUREAUCRATS who runs this dumb country! Now we have to waste our time telling them THEY'RE IDIOTS.

I hate that. I have far better things to do with my time.

It takes a lot of energy being angry and I think I’ll sue. I know people. In fact I know at least seven Sues who can be real bitches when they want to be. You should NEVER mess with a Sue. I say this from bitter experience.

I mean… how difficult is it to see you are sending a ‘failure to vote’ notice to someone who DOESN’T EVEN HAVE AN ADDRESS IN YOUR ELECTORATE? Surely that would ring a dingly dangly fudging bell? Even if the imbecile belfry was empty or filled to the brim with Gloria Jean’s cappuccinos and Krazy Kreme donuts (or whatever they’re called)… surely something would twig?

Who pays the postage for these ludicrously inane notices?

We do, that’s who pays my friend.

Who pays the incompetent public servants who have wasted their time publishing and sending these silly missives?

Us, the tax payer pays, that’s who.


On another note, does anyone know of any public servant vacancies because I reckon I’d be really good at it.

* I know.

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Five Months a Mountain Girl

Alpaca Farm 

Well, we’ve been mountain dwellers for five months today.

Since arriving here in God’s own country, I’ve gone deaf in one ear, had an elderly person’s disease and lost two teeth.

Ah… healthy mountain air, eh!

I have a flannelette checked shirt and a pair of Ugg boots so all l I need is one of those ear trumpets and I’ll look like a dead set hillbilly.

I had my hearing checked the other day and not only am I very bloody deaf in my right ear, it seems my left ear is well below the normal range as well.

I thought my hearing was pretty standard so it makes me wonder if I’ve just had bad hearing all my life and didn’t know it.

It would explain my off key, hideously abhorrent singing, my ability to sleep through a category four cyclone, and the way Scotto energetically recoils every time he gets in my car and the loud radio blasts his ears off.

The ear-tester lady asked me if I'd ever been near a violent explosion in my past. "Not that I recall," I replied hesitantly. I mean... I could have. Who'd remember that?

I did have a burst ear drum when I was little, and I also had a serious, untreated case of Scarlet Fever as a child… (which is known to cause hearing damage and which did stuff up me kidneys, hello neglectful parents) and a few weeks ago I had Shingles of the FRICKIN EAR… and yet this is the first hearing test I’ve ever had in my life.

I must add, my parents are pretty deaf too these days. Maybe we were all in a violent explosion and none of us remembers?

This is a typical conversation overheard when we go over for afternoon tea on Sundays.

Dad: Have you taken the scones out of the oven, Dorrie?
Mum: What?

Dad: Have you taken the scones out of the oven?”

Mum: Have I shaken the stones out of what coven?


Five minutes later.



At this point, Scotto and I usually say we don't really feel like scones anyway and just a cup of tea will be fine thanks very much.

We all used to laugh at my ninety year old Granddad behind his back because he was deaf as a bloody pole. Poor Granddad.

Clearly the deafness is hereditary.

But I’m only in my fifties!

What’s the next thing to go?

God… I beg you, please don’t take my liver.

Take my ability to speak if you must. That would be a relief to many.

But PLEASE not my liver.

I need it for livery activities… like drinking wine and eating fatty cheese.

Aside from my body literally (not in a non-teenage manner of speaking but ACTUALLY) falling apart, Scotto and I have thoroughly enjoyed our time on the Gold Coast so far.

From the Lamington Mountain plateau to the ten surf clubs we’ve lunched at, it’s been a delight. I must say that the Gold Coast and its hinterland is the best part in the world I’ve ever been to.

Freezing one day...

Last weekend up at O'Reilly's 

Bikini weather the next weekend...

Rainbow Bay on Saturday

Aside from the scenery there are different exclusive shops here too, like IKEA and Aldi and Christian Louboutin and Domayne and Calvin Klein Underwear and Tiffany’s and other stuff I never go to (mainly because they’re too posh for deaf, toothless, flannelette-wearing hillbilly people).

I’ve travelled to the east and west coast of the United States, been to the Netherlands, Belgium, France and all over the United Kingdom. I’ve visited various places in Asia, but nothing compares to the Gold Coast and its hinterland.

I think we’ll be staying here.

And I can always get a hearing aid. I wonder if Aldi sells them in the middle aisle?

What’s the best place you’ve ever lived?

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Who Are You According to Facebook?

So I just did a Facebook quiz which promised to tell me who I really am. I really wanted to know because I’ve always wondered who I am so I did it and I was very happy with the result. I know which Friends character/Game of Thrones character/Colour/Punctuation Mark I am… but I wasn’t sure who I really am. You know, who I REALLY am.

I knew when I was answering the questions… (particularly the one asking me if I self-tan or not) that it was just a trick to find out more about me so that ‘someone’ could target their advertising more accurately, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to know who I am.

I’m a thirtyish female.

Blonde, apparently.

I wonder why idiots such as myself have an irresistible urge to even click on these rubbish things.

Is it because we are looking for answers to the relentless and tedious journey that is our lives? Or is it because we get drunk and silly and just want a release from watching Border Patrol?

All I know is that I really wish I looked like that chick.

Anyway, three things happened this week that were quite dramatic;

1. My daughter, Lulu dropped in for a few days. The tall, skinny, filly of a girl managed to eat her way through quite a lot of food in three days, shocking and delighting my parents at the same time what with her Viking-type appetite and Amazonian presence. She’s a tooth girl that’s for sure.

2. Speaking of teeth, I visited my periodontist who said, “Relax, don’t be nervous, I won’t be doing anything today.” And then ten minutes later said, “So we’ll be pulling three of your teeth out today.” And then I lay back in the chair and sort of thought about it, and then I sat bolt upright and said, “Yeah… no. That won’t actually be happening, buddy.”

And it DIDN’T. I thought dentists were supposed to save teeth????

3. I got a proper job for a bit. Teaching a real class normal stuff. I start tomorrow so I’m sure I’ll have lots to say about it later. I put a Harmony Auburn rinse in my hair this arvo in anticipation.

I’m still deaf in one ear (which I neglected to mention in the job interview) but I bought a corporate style type of pants thing and a jacket, two new tops and a felt hat from Portmans in Harbour Town to make me appear more professional and to make up for my hearing impairment.

I’ve also been investigating a few dodgy websites on how to be a fairly good teacher.

Wish me luck for my first day tomorrow. Bleeaarrrrghhhh.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

Medical History of a Wine Drinker

I finally went to a doctor on the mountain the other day because over the last few weeks I've lived with an ear that’s pretty much one hundred per cent deaf… plus I’ve had an itchy, brown spot which rudely appeared near my eye six months ago which I’ve been watching with suspicion, plus a red spot on my nose emerged which I assumed was a skin cancery thing and my nose would have to be unceremoniously removed toot sweet. 

Not that I'd miss my nose on an aesthetic basis.

after some frantic, medico-google-research I eventually deducted I had a severe case of filthy ear wax, plus a life threatening melanoma, so I booked in for a skin check and an ear syringe job. 

No biggy...

What I didn’t know was that this doctor was one of those annoyingly ‘thorough’ types. You know, the ones who do their jobs properly and take your blood pressure and insist on blood tests and stuff.

Plus he asked me some highly personal questions about how much ‘akahol’ I drink.

I tried to remain resolute. “Three drinks a day!” I declared with a certain doe-eyed innocence.

“Every day?” his eye brow was raised as he typed the information into the manifesto. “You know that’s too much for a woman. Sometimes men drink that much because they’re… not feeling good about their life…”

“I love my life,” I retorted indignantly. “I’m not depressed. I just love the taste.”

All this time I was strongly suspecting he was doing what most doctors do and tripling the amount I admitted to drinking in his head.

I know they do that.

Good news: no skin cancer. 

Apparently my brown spot is merely a barnacle (his words).

It seems I’m growing barnacles now.

What next?

He looked in both my ear holes. No wax. My eardrums were all out there, shining like dew-encrusted mushrooms.

That’s not very good because… why am I deaf in the ear hole?

So now I have to go for hearing tests.

The deafness could indicate glue ear, nerve damage from the recent shingles attack, or maybe a brain tumour.

Surprisingly, I’m suspecting nerve damage. I feel a brain tumour is very unlikely because I haven’t had a headache for years.

I told the lovely doctor I most probably wouldn’t go for the blood tests he wanted to prescribe because I’m afraid of medical tests and doctors.

He looked a bit pissed off. “We aren’t here to hurt you, you know,” he said.

“I know,” I nodded with expert contrariness. "You doctors are all lovely." 

“Why are you afraid, then?” he asked, his face a picture of befuzzlement.

“I’m just scared of the results,” I mouthed silently.

“But that’s just silly. We can’t make you do anything,” he cajoled. “Even if your liver is shot to pieces you could still have one drink a day.”
“I know,” I agreed. “Print out the tests and we’ll see… maybe I’ll go.”

Maybe I will.