Ode to Stormy Weather

Oh how I love you stormy weather

You’re why I’m wearing jeans

Not swimwear, sunscreen or even pleather

But Ugg Boots while eating beans

For you I carbo-load

But never go outside

And embrace anti-social mode

My heater’s deified

My doona is my best friend

Won’t you stay forever?

You’re my perfect woolen blend

Oh dreamy, stormy weather

Painefull Out

PDA Problem

I don’t have a major problem with Public Displays of Affection, but I think we all need to agree there is a time and a place. For example, if I walk through a park on a Summer’s day I have no one to blame but myself when I am assaulted by the visage of teens exchanging saliva. But I put it to you, that following a graphic rape scene during a screening of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo at a cinema, the desire to stick one’s tongue down someone else’s throat is misguided. Mildly disturbing in fact.

Is it worse that I knew the offending PDA-prone couple?

Yes. Because it severely limited my ability to bitch about them straight after the movie – I had to wait a full five minutes until we parted ways.

Please do me a favour people. While you’re watching a violent, somewhat disturbing tale of the hunt for a serial killing rapist, please don’t lovingly stroke your partner’s knee. It’s not a good sign.

If you do this, then ask during the climactic finale who ‘Martin’ is (a good part of the world should already know who Martin is, having read the book, but the rest of you should know because by this point in the movie he’s been around for a while) then someone may slap you. It might be me.

You have been warned.

Painefull Out

The Domestic Tourist

I attended my 4 year old nephew’s birthday party over the weekend, and it was an eye opening experience. I was standing at the time machine wound forward by 10 years. It was like receiving a visit from the Ghost of Domestic Future, where people are ruled by a midget race of dirty-faced toddlers. Truly, they are the masters of the universe. An alien examining the human race would note that the first class citizens are the ones who’ve recently passed toilet training – everyone else is busy racing behind them with a wash cloth and a handful of lollies.

My housemates Jim and Mick came along. Because that’s what fully grown, adult men in their mid-20’s do right? We concocted a backstory that would make their lingering presence less creepy:

Me: Oh, hi Blah blah (of the Manly Blah blah’s), these are some gay lovers who are negotiating with me to be the surrogate for their child.

Retrospectively I’m not entirely sure how this justified their presence, but at least it created a talking point. In the heads of those around us I’m sure it also managed to make me the edgy, bohemian younger sister who makes interesting life choices and lives in a squat

Thankfully, as with all family gatherings, there was booze. Mum was working the room with a pair of giant wings on her back, and a cocktail jug in hand (for the kids and the adults respectively). There was also a jumping castle (see, children are gods these days), which was 3 times bigger than my sister thought it would be (her spatial reasoning is… absent when online). Oh, and Indiana Jones was there (though his accent was sloppy and his whip skills needed work).

Hold the above scene firmly in your head, then add a soundtrack featuring Flo-Rida singing Low (“shorty got low, low, low, low”).

Around the edges, furtive parents sipped wine (I imagine hot topics included ‘Nanny-cam: friend or foe’, stain removal technique, and the approximate deadline until all of them could reclaim their lives). Then on cue the witching hour came, and en masse children proceeded to lose their shit collectively. It was a beautiful thing. There was screaming, there was howling, there was even an Iron Man costume that took 5 minutes to remove during a full-on bathroom emergency.

I can only imagine how all those tiny people coped with coming down from their epic sugar high. I certainly wasn’t there for it – I had a wine sodden dinner party to attend, with not a child in sight.

They are lovely little things – easily taunted, hilariously moody, devious beyond measure – but seeing as my maturity level has me sharing several of their features (a penchant for lollies, the need to nap and filled with stupid questions) I think they can wait. Contraception has never been so amusing.

Painefull Out