worth a thousand words...

i cant help it...i just find these sooo amusing (not laugh out loud funny, just good for the occasional immature snigger)

i'd like to thank brisbane for supplying endless smirk inducing signage

and of course my more than willing to be humiliated models

the universe has the last laugh...

and i guess it serves me right for getting all ' i look much younger than i am'. When i had my eyes tested on sunday for the first time, and not before time, the results came back that although my distance vision is outstanding (overacheiver), my close up vision is atrocious and 10 years ahead of where it should be = (

it all evens out in the end...

straya day 2010...

was very quiet this year. The middle one, the boy and I had our 'very nearly almost straya day' bbq on sunday - and it was almost a barbie thanks to the wasp nest which has appeared down by the bbq. Still, it all tasted just as good cooked inside (lamb marinated in vegemite, honey and rosemary - sounds disgusting, tastes AMAZING)
So Andrew and I had a late brekky tuesday and went off to see sherlock holmes - robert downey jnr - need i say more ;) Then we pottered off to Port Willunga (one of my favourite beaches) to watch the sunset...aaaahhh!

the 'f' bomb...

yep, one of my clients dropped it today. She's 78 and is on her second go round with cancer (first time ovarian, this time stomach). She was telling me a story about some baking she was doing for christmas - she'd got all the shortbread and rumballs done and was mixing her puddings, and for some reason she glanced at her hands. 'Bother (or something to that effect)...where are the bandaids?' Apparently she spent the next hour rummaging through her rubbish bags to find them. She found one of the two...

stuff like this reminds me that my clients all had lives before they met me - lived, laughed, loved .... and swore!

if i'd WANTED to know about a ruptured ovarian cyst i would have googled it...

yes. well. having spent yesterday in the local emergency department in huge amounts of pain and with 500 of my closest friends piled moaning and crying in beds throughout the hallways, i have decided a couple of things.

nurses and doctors are amazing (how do they keep smiling and caring?)

public hospitals suck (which reinforces the first point)

if, as i was warned may be possible, this happens again next month, all those girly bits are coming out! (they're old news now anyway as everyone within a 12 mile radius of the hospital had a look up there yesterday)

oh, and as a ps i'd like to say that andrew is the best boyfriend in the world xx

and ppss - the bright spot in an otherwise grey day was the orderly looking at my chart, then at me and saying '42' in a VERY surprised voice!

lets schedule some time to be spontaneous...

Sometimes getting older creeps up on you. I was being a good citizen, using my handheld, trigger nozzled hose to water between the defined hours for our area and started the mental checklist for the day. Bike ride (trying to get fit and stay limber) - check, watering before 9am - check, then better have breakfast before I start cleaning the car so I dont pass out at 11.30. See. You'd think that was the inner voice of someone twice my age. Better get out the crochet hook and get that knee rug finished in time for Murder, She Wrote.

she started it...

Kids are sooo embarrassing!
I posted yesterday (it's addictive, ok) about picking my daughter up from work in full abba regalia and at the time a friend mentioned that it might be a bit unkind given her 'sensitive' age. 'Pshaw' I replied (or something like it) 'she started it'. When she was 4 we were in our local woolies and spotted the new recruit for the local basketball team heading down the aisle we were heading up (who knew they could afford an american?)
'That's what I call black' she pronounced at the top of her voice - they never say those sort of things under their breath or even in a stage whisper - everyone has to know.

And then there was the time when mum and my sister were waiting in the queue at the local post office - Helen was all of about 3 as the story goes, when a man on crutches joined the line. He may have been a veteran or the victim of an accident which had lost him a leg, and whether or not he had a prosthetic, he wasn't wearing it this day. 'Where's his other leg, mum?' Helen yells, as my poor mother tried to quietly distract her. She thought it had worked as Helen had given up fidgeting. I know you know it didn't! When she turned back to look there was my sister - lying on the floor, on her back looking up the empty leg of his shorts...