19 posts tagged “men”
I am disappointed with the world.
Again.
It never fails to disappoint me in disappointing me.
Every day I hope I move closer to my goal of escaping the world and becoming a recluse.
I've mentioned before that I live in a violent sort of town. 20,000 people, mining, army, farming, lots of testosterone, lots of bars, lots of beer, nothing to do. It doesn't lead anywhere good.
Last time I wrote about it a young man was bashed to within an inch of his life. Just down the road. And in the next few months, some other young men will go to jail for doing that to him.
Many lives ruined over what, five minutes of "fun".
No winners there.
A couple of nights ago another young man here was bashed and kicked to within an inch of his life. He's on life support with a fractured skull.
And I feel broken hearted about the whole affair.
Because everyone talks about it. And everyone says - oh, that was awful, oh poor guy, oh, they need their arses kicked.
But they don't really care.
People are so desensitised to violence that they say all the right words, but don't really feel anything.
You know what I thought about when I heard this had happened? I thought about his mother getting a phone call at 3am in the morning. I thought about her ringing the airline, booking a flight, making the trip to a shitty country town in NSW where her son was working, so she could stand beside his bed and watch him fight for his life, because twelve drunken idiots had decided his life wasn't worth anything.
Her beautiful boy.
Her beautiful boy come to this.
And if he dies, all he'll be to anyone is three or four lines in a newspaper.
A few years ago it used to be our teenage girls we had to worry about. And god, I still do, every time they leave the house. But now it seems to be our boys we have to worry about more. So much senseless random violence out there.
Kickings, bashings, glassings, stabbings.
Someones son, brother, father, boyfriend, husband.
Spare a thought for this young man. Wrong place, wrong time people say. Is that meant to be some sort of comfort.
man, things really fucking sucked big time for anne boleyn didn't they
she must have felt really cheated
betrayed
and what would we think of her now - in this day and age
we wouldn't even bat an eyelid
she'd be seen as an ambitious woman
maybe a politician
maybe madonna
maybe julia gillard
maybe carla bruni
sure she'd probably be on the front page of some glossy magazine every day
but she wouldn't end up with her head rolling around on the ground with a crowd baying for her blood
she is my person I'd pick to meet if I could
have a meal and a wine with
i can thank my father for that - he introduced me to her when I was about ten years old
but that Elizabeth - she showed 'em
i hope Anne was up there watching that somewhere
the mo flo that is
My shower has not been draining. I asked a friend about it, he asked a plumber, and he said
get the mo flo - it'll clear anything
So I sent Daz to get it but they didn't want to give it to him. Only for licensed plumbers they say. Too dangerous. And while he was telling Daz the story of a man who splashed some on his face and it burned a hole right through his cheek, an apprentice plumber came in who knew daz. And they had a chat and the salesman must have decided it was just as good to know a plumber as to be one, and gave him the bottle. Sealed in a heavy duty bag.
He said to Daz not to be silly when he used it and not to be drunk. And to wear a mask, goggles and a long sleeve shirt. I was feeling a tad nervous at this stage.
However he mo'ed and flo'ed and I think if the water ever ran into the drain it would indeed flow free. But the builder didn't put enough run on it and one day I stood in the shower and noticed the water running out under the bathroom door. So I now need to get a strip of something to block the water.
Getting rid of the bath and putting in a shower was something I was really looking forward to, but its just turned out to be the biggest piece of shit you can imagine. If I could afford to I'd rip it out and do it again.
Good news though is that I found a nice bottle of wine. I base my wine buying purely on the label. Shall definitely try it again. From South Australia this one.
My work is very boring - think accounts, tax, workers comp. You get the idea.
I was typing some quotes yesterday and at the end I put - Should you require any further information please do not hesitate to contact me. But I noticed on one I'd put - Should you require any further information please do not contact me.
Yep, because I couldn't care less.
Do you know whats more annoying than seeing a skinny chick who can eat meat pies and drink coke every day?
Absolutely nothing.
Two things come close though.
One is when you can't find the book that came with your camera. So you clean the lounge room from top to toe. It's cleaner than it's been for years. But you don't find the manual. I hate cleaning for nothing.
Two is when Daz sings in bed when he's listening to his ipod. So say it's 11.30pm and I'm just about to go to sleep and he bursts into song. But he can't sing, so it's more of a droning mumblemumble. Then he's quiet for a while and I start to go to sleep, then whoa, he's off again. I slapped him and said
you're going to have to be quiet, I can't get to sleep
why, what am I doing?
you're singing
no I'm not, I was asleep, you must be hearing the ipod.
oh, yes, because you are such a great singer, its easy to get confused
But I found the camera manual. As I was sitting in the lounge room admiring it's state of tidiness I remembered that it was in the bedroom on the table.
Lizzie said to me
do you know what song daz wants played at his funeral?
what
It's a Beautiful Day by U2
is that a joke?
no
jesus, people will think I'm a cold bitch, playing It's a Beautiful Day at my husbands funeral
what sort of bloody idiot gets a bobcat going at 8am?
the sort that lives across the road from me.
and daylight saving started today so even though my bedside clock said 8.01 my internal clock said 7.01, and anyway it's sunday, even 8.01 is too damn early. He must have been sitting there with his hand on the key just waiting for 8am to click over because thats the noise regulation law here - no noise before 8.am.
you know it arrived yesterday, on the back of a large semi - which aren't even allowed up our street mind you - and I knew it was going to be unpleasant
and his wife is unpleasant as well while I'm at it. She never acknowledges us. I don't want to be her bloody friend but a nod or a wave when we pass on the street would be nice. And the reason I'm cranky at her is because she hasn't come down and yelled at him yet for being an idiot. Any good wife by now would have stormed down the stairs and yelled at him and sent him off to do something else for an hour.
so thats why I'm up so early - even by day one of daylight saving standards
you know we got it wrong for years, we used to put the clock back instead of forward. And we'd turn up places and have to wait around for hours for them to open.
you know I thought I'd try this header with the koala because it was the only australian one I could find but I don't like it as much this morning as I did last night after a few vodkas. It's the wrong colour, we don't have murky browny pink dirt, it's red. Very rich red.
Last night, the dog across the road howled and whined and cried all night.
At 1am I thought, he'll go to sleep soon.
At 3am I thought, I'll have to go and shoot him soon.
At 5am I thought, ok, maybe he's hurt, or been run over, or caught in a chain, or locked in a tiny cage with spiked sticks poking into him.
At 6am I woke Daz (because he sleeps through anything), and said, go across the road and see if the dog is hurt.
So off he went, came back and said - he's ok, he was happy to see me, but he's ok.
I guess the people who own him decided it would be ok to go away for a few days and leave him home alone, in the dark.
He's a black labrador. A big goofy kind of dog. He steals shoes. I woke up early one morning when I heard banging on the front verandah. When I went out I saw him running away with a pair of Lloyds joggers. He took them across the road and added them to a pile of our shoes he'd already collected.
So by 10am this morning I'm delirious with lack of sleep. I don't sleep well at the best of times and any extra noise really throws me. Especially when its a dog that sounds like its just had a couple of legs broken. I don't think I can handle another night like it.
So this afternoon I rang Daz and said - bring him home a bone. We'll give it to him tonight before I go to bed and it might keep him occupied for a few hours. Daz and Betty just went for one of their walks (8pm) and he said I'll throw him the bone now. And I said - no, no, not now, someone might see you and think you're trying to bait him.
So thats why,when I went looking in the fridge for a drink just now, I saw two huge dog bones. One for Betty and one for The Black Labrador Who Lives Across The Road.
Tomorrow night he'll probably be sleeping on the lounge here.
BETTY'S GOB. Bone crunching keeps your teeth clean
Kimba came home for a visit last night.
As soon as she walked in the door she said
Why does the house smell like a dirty old fish market?
And I fed it to him three days ago. Lucky he's not dead.
Daz bought me home some chocolates yesterday but it seems that he's hidden them now, so I can't actually have one. He had his hands behind his back and said - pick a hand, so I said - right one, and he went - ohhhh, as if I'd picked the wrong one. But the one I picked had $400 in it and the other had a small box of lindt chocolates. Go figure, another example of how the male brain works. Well the one I live with anyway. Guess I didn't pick them so I don't get them.
Now I was going to say this is the best soup I've had. But I eat a lot of soup so, hmm, maybe not, but definitely up there. And easy. And thick - I like thick soup. Not a fan of the consomme.
And I even kept the recipe.
Broken Pasta Soup
2 teaspoons oil
1 large brown onion
2 garlic cloves
2 medium carrots peeled, chopped
1 medium zuchinni chopped
2 celery stalks chopped
2 x 400g cans val verde diced italian tomatoes
1 litre chicken stock
50g dried thin spaghetti broken into 6cm lengths
2 tablespoons parsley
basil pesto to serve
You know I never know why they just don't say 800g tin tomatoes. Anyway
Heat oil in large saucepan over medium high heat. Add onion and garlic, cook stirring three minutes or until onion has softened. Add carrot, zuchinni and celery. Cook stirring occasionally for five minutes. Add tomato and stock, cover, bring to the boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer stirring ocassionally for thirty minutes or until vegetables are just tender. Season with pepper, add spaghetti and simmer uncovered for fifteen minutes or until spaghetti is tender. Stir in parsley and serve topped with pesto.
Sorry Christine you won't be able to have it.
I didn't have it with the pesto.
I'd really like a lindt with my coffee. I'm going to have to get my little ladder and go looking.
I think the plumber broke something when he came here last week to unblock our pipes. I think he broke something and charged us almost $400 for breaking it.
I was standing in the bathroom one day and heard water running, non stop in the pipes. I said to my husband - did you leave a tap running around the side.
No.
Well come here and listen to this.
So he came and listened (not his strongest quality), nodded wisely and said - hmm, that noise is coming from the next door neighbours kitchen.
And thats when I felt like head butting him.
Because he said it in that annoying way that men do. As if there is no other option. They really believe what they are saying is the truth. And they can almost convince you because they say it with such conviction. So I was willing to consider that the neighbour may have some reason to run their kitchen tap for twenty four hours, but when I could still hear it the next day I thought it was time for investigation.
So I went out and searched. Searched through that long grass around the side of the house that never seems to get mowed, through the sheets of lattice we seem to be saving for a future unknown project and the rotting, rusting garden tools that have never been used. And I yelled out
I thought you said you had a look around here?
I did.
Well what the hell do you call that? I said pointing to a large puddle of water bubbling away like a mountain spring.
I'll call the plumber he said.
And men wonder why they don't get more sex.
Of course the plumber couldn't come for four days, and he didn't cause the problem. Of course not. But he may have loosened something apparently. My wallet I'm guessing.
