You learn something new every day...

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Yesterday, my sister and I had fish for dinner. Generally we have basa fillets because they're the cheapest at Coles, and when you chuck fish in a stew, the taste of the actual fish doesn't matter too much- it's lost amongst the broth, chilli and herbs.

Anyway, so we were scooping up the fish and I said:

"Are these basa fillets? They don't taste the same, hey?"

To which she said:

"Bizarre phallus? Wow that was quite clever of you to call the fish "Bizarre Phallus! You know what phallus is, right?"

To which I replied (perplexed):

"Naw I said basa fillet and I don't know what phallus is, anyway."

To which my sister mouthed the word that a phallus is otherwise known as, and we both started laughing hysterically.

Armed with this new knowledge I went to work today and recounted the events of yesterday's dinner to my workmate, Miss DB.

"... And so I said basa fillets but my sister thought I said bizaare phallus and then she told me that phallus means:...."

And I silently mouthed the word that phallus is otherwise known as.

Miss DB stared back- her eyes widened. She repeated "phallus" back to me and declared that she had never heard of such a word. I agreed and suggested that we google it. If this word meant what my sister told me it meant, that Google would obviously be the first to know.

So she googled "fallice".

Then: "fallus"

Then: "fallise"

Another work mate, Miss Tiny, chimed in and suggested some other permutations of how phallus could possibly be spelt based on our tenuous phonetic grasp of the word.

We hit a brick wall when Miss DB suggested:

"How about f-a-l-l-e....d. Oh wait, that's "falled".

As we fell about laughing I decided, enough fooling around- we needed to get the answer directly from the source.

A guy.

And so we pounced on Mr Funky Glasses and asked him whether he knew a word for that thing down there that starts with a "f" sound.

Without missing a beat, Mr Funky Glasses supplied: "phallic"

"As in "f"? I insisted.

"Nah, P-H" he explained, patiently.

The clouds had parted, we were ready to rock and roll.

Miss DB whizzed back around to her screen and googled "phallic" before being bombarded with all the variations of the word. One of which was "phallus".

Google kindly confirmed what my sister had alerted to me the night before and Miss Tiny, Miss DB and I retreated back to our desks, 5 minutes older, a little wiser and mildly mortified by what we had just discovered on a work computer that would most likely be screened by good old Big Brother up there.

It's hard to look suave when you're sporting a monocle...

George Clooney always looks smooth, suave and debonair.

My personal faves?

Out of Sight (with J-Lo) (1998):

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Ocean's Eleven (2001):



Pretending to be Clark Gable:

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But as this advertisement shows, all the debonair in the world can't a debonair man make when it comes to posing with a monocle stuck in one eye... all in the good name of endorsing one of the world's best watch brands:

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Still you gotta admit, George almost manages to pull off the serious/brooding/penetrating glare at the camera. If the monocle wasn't so distracting, this photo may have even received an honourable mention. Go you good thing!

The Chronicles of my Unhappy Belly

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The Chronicles of my Unhappy Belly started in December 2008. A suspected bout of giardia coupled with superstrong antibiotics to "kill off the good and bad bacteria so that you can build the good bacteria up from scratch" left my belly feeling battered and tired. Throughout 2009 I had more belly issues- mostly minor and always very annoying. Some days I could eat the rear end of a horse and my belly would be fine. Other days I would eat boring foods and I'd be running for the toilet. I ignored it until December last year when it all seemed to start again. (You can read about it here if you feel the urge).

When you have a stomach lurgy, you have only one friend. Or really, one friend who really matters. He goes by a number of names, most commonly:

"The Porcelain Throne."

"The John ("John")."

"The Chair with the Giant Hole in it that you had nightmares about when you were little." [In my case I envisaged a green hooded monster rising out from the bowl and chasing me down the corridor each time I flushed it].

Anyway, pet names aside, since last Thursday my stomach has not been a happy woman. The first two nights it gurgled, frowned, grumbled, roared and with each searing cramp I ran willingly into the arms of John. I would sit there for hours as midnight turned to early morning and early morning turned into breakfast time. I would complain to anyone who would listen: unwitting work colleagues, the blameless boyfriend, the sympathetic BigSister, the puzzled Parents. But no one could understand like John could. I thought it would pass- these things usually only go for 24 hours and then you're right as rain: eating feasts and basking in the afterglow of a full belly of food and a glass of wine.

But this time it wasn't to be- the lurgy grew into a demon and my stomach felt like it would never be the same again. Over the next three days I had to embark on the scary task of obtaining samples of my you-know-what (aka Number 2 samples). At the end of the three days, the receptionist at the doctor's surgery took my samples of you-know-what with an undisguised "yuck" face and I went home to clean the death out of my fridge who had had the thankless task of housing my containers of you-know-what over those three days so that they wouldn't lose their testability. Poor fridge, I will forever be indebited to you because I know you probably didn't sign up for that when you decided to become a fridge.

I missed work, stayed at home and got lectured by my mum all day long about the fact that I clearly didn't eat enough food during the day and obviously that's why this had happened. I rolled my eyes into their orbits each time she launched into her tirade, but as the days went by I had to admit- she may have been right. I ate and ate and ate and slowly the cramps at night are subsiding. I put on 2 kilos in 2 days.

Hurruah hurrah for good food, happy bellies and feeling better again.

Meanwhile in other news, last night I saw Ghost with Demi Moore and the late Patrick Swayze. Talk about romantic, heartwrenching drama. As Patrick Swayze walks off to heaven with the technicoloured background swarming all colours blue, orange, violet and red I sighed, sat back in my chair and considered that the simple love story will always be the best story. Get outta town all you action flicks with fake romantic interludes chucked in for the pash factor. The real love stories will always prevail.

Swoon.

Blackforest Chocolate

My sister got us this for dessert:

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It's my new favourite indulgence.

I'll admit, jelly bits and chocolate biscuit pieces combined with chocolate does not a black forest chocolate cake make.... but you gotta admit, the stuff is delicious.

Now, scusi while I go eat s'more.

Days 1 to 5 of 2010

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I spent New Years in Melbourne where the weather was being its usual obstinate self. Rain, thunder, rain, 22C, rain, should not have worn sandals. Rain. Come back to Sydney. Sunny. Next day: Sunny. Rest of the week: Sunny.

It infuriates me I tell you.

Meanwhile, I'm still pretty tired. Man from Mars and I zoomed back to our respective cities in the earlybird hours of Monday morning and I don't think I've caught up on my sleep debt. Here are the highlights of my week gone by:

1. Man from Mars' dad made satay on the barbecue and we ate them hungrily like the meat eating carnivores we are;


2. We watched Mary and Max on Foxtel. The sweetest movie I ever saw. Go you good thing, Adam Elliot (picture, above);


3. We watched Ironman on Foxtel. The onscreen chemistry between Roberty Downey Jnr and Gwyneth Paltrow was questionable at best;


4. Man from Mars bought awesome clothes with his Christmas gift voucher. I realised I forgot to bring work clothes for Monday and spent my gift voucher on a work dress. (Vouchers never really seem to go towards something awesome- it's always something comletely disappointing-- like a pair of cargo pants or an oversized beach bag or some body lotion with weird zinc incorporated so that you don't get sunburnt. Stuff I wouldn't buy if I was using my own money.)


5. We went bike riding in Jells Park. My crotch was in pain on day 2. In pain. Even sitting squarely on the seat of my pants hurt like crazytown after riding for 4 hours over those two days. I bow down in respect to those Tour de France cyclists;


6. Man from Mars' sister made quiche and we had it for dinner on Sunday. She's turning into quite the baker. And last but never least:


7. On the way back, I went through security at the airport, I took off my watch so that I wouldn't trigger the detector and then went to the airport toilets. Hooked my handbag to the back of the door, didn't hook it properly, bag fell down, watch fell out on impact and disappeared somewhere. I looked all around the cubicle, literally went down on my hands and knees and realised that it had gone where nothing deserves to go. That's right, behind the sanitary bin.

Cue: Conundrum.

Hygiene versus Watch of Great Sentimental Value.

I am torn.

I stare at the bin in horror. Must I touch that thing??

Then the alarm on my phone starts ringing, an announcement comes over the loudspeaker telling me to get to my gate for boarding and the queue outside the cubicles gets rowdy.

It's fight or flight time. I cringe, squint my eyes, hold my breath and shove the bin forward with the back of my fist. I clutch at the ground, straining to reach my watch and...

Success.

My watch is saved. I am officially a hero.

I bang my way out of my cubicle and scrub that jackass to high heaven. And as it gleams in the fluorescent lights of the airport I douse the whole thing in Dettol Antibacterial Hand Sanitiser for good measure.

What an epic weekend.

In other news, today I made the most embarrassing spelling mistake. I was trying to find the name of this hamburger bar Man from Mars and I went to in Federation Square. Guess what I googled?

"Federation Square" and "handburger".

Yes, handburger.

And the worst thing is, when I typed it I didn't even feel like I had made a typo.

That's it, I need to go back to Year 3 spelling. That, or I need to get myself a new brain.

Double digit years

Today the 21st Century turned 10 years old.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!

Question for you: Does it sound better to call 2010 "twenty-ten" or "two thousand and ten".

Man from Mars reckons the former feels better. I reckon the latter rolls off my tongue more easily.

Then I realised we didn't exactly walk around calling 1990 "one thousand nine hundred and ninety"-- we all said "nineteen ninety".

Anyway, it's all rather a matter of semantics and whatever floats your boat is good enough for me, but still... what's more right?