Because that's how I roll...

Today I sent my sister an email saying:

I got a poppy seed stuck in my teeth so I tried to get it out with a piece of hair, but it kept breaking. Then I tried to use a post-it to wedge it out, but then post-it got stuck in my teeth (like real pressure so I could actually feel it in the gap) so then I got a tea bag and used the string as floss. The string broke in half, but at least it got the poppy seed out. Now I'm drinking tea I made using the broken tea bag. Yeah.

For the record, the strand of hair was from my head and for the second record, it was clean because I washed my hair last night and I washed it before using it as quasi-floss.

My sister replied drily with:

You're a retardo.

I'm tired man. Today cos the courier couldn't get the silks folder to us fast enough I had 10 minutes to merge and chronologically order 2 large white lever arch folders with each other. I think I pulled a knee muscle!

Clearly, there are more pressing matters in the world than the poppy seed stuck in between my two front teeth, but I gave myself kudos for the improvisation and ultimately, success in dislodging the slippery little seed.

Hunter Valley, Fundraising and Paint...

Wine? Check.
Beautiful weather? Check.
Perfect location? Check.
Work people? Che-- Work people??

Yep, you better believe it. It was like the world's perfect date-- without your boyfriend. Such was the scene on Friday morning as we trooped onto the bus. The mood was boisterous and positive. The aim: to boost work morale and team bond. On Friday, our office was placed on hold for the day as we all traveled down to the Hunter Valley for a day of drink, food and rejuvenation. We wined. We dined. We talked. We took crazy photos with Camwow. We snoozed. We sang. We laughed. It was a phenomenal day.

The next day, the Daphinator's fundraiser for her little niece Eva, was held in Kensington. People dug deep and volunteered huge amounts to help this little baby get better and get the medical support she needs. The Siosinator danced with her troupe (such flexible hips!) and Mr Hussy, Jathon, Abs, Miss KC and I tore up the dance floor, busting out shoulder rolls, Zumba moves and robot jerks. It was a top night.

[Mr Hussy and I:]

[Jathon, Abs and the Daphinator:]


[The Siosinator and her dance troupe:]

[Glitter ball. Turn the beat around:]

And finally today, Ms CalmFarm and I sat amongst the fun and vibrancy of little kids (My dad's a hundred and twelve!" -- the dad this child was referring to only looked about 35), and painted our chosen ceramics at Colour Me Mine. I'll show you the before and after shots when our masterpieces come out of the kiln next week-- build up the suspense-- the ultimate cliffhanger ending.

To be continued...

Oprah...

http://www.oprah.com/showinfo/Talk-Show-Hosts-Together-for-the-First-Time_1

Today Channel 10 aired the third last episode of Oprah ever.

At the end of the episode Tom Hanks bellowed out at least three times "tune in tomorrow for the second to the last episode of Oprah!!"

Have I been saying the wrong thing all these years? I swear I've never heard anyone say "second to the last". Ehrrm, "second last"?

Besides that minor conundrum, I'll miss Oprah a lot. Remember how in 1993, day time television was crammed with not only Oprah, but also Ricki Lake, Phil Donahue and Sally Jessy Raphael? Where have they all gone?

When wild hearts abound...

This morning when I was walking to the station, I came upon a row of heart shaped leaves lined up against a brick wall.

Quaint, whimsical and romantic all at once.

Deblightfully Reunited...

This weekend I thanked Facebook for reuniting me with Miss Deblightful. A true book smart brainiac and a real wordsmith, Miss Deblightful was the top of our school and is actually the smartest person I know.

She's relocated to Melbourne for her job and we caught up for the first time in nine years. That's right, I haven't seen her since 2002 when we graduated from high school. Like most of the momentous reunions that have happened in the last couple of years, they've all come about because I've noticed something on someone's details on their Facebook page (in Miss Deblightful's case, the fact that she had moved to Melbourne) and it's prompted a comment, which has led to a conversation, which has inevitably brought about a lunch.

And so the story goes, we arranged to meet for some pizza at +39 in Little Bourke and found ourselves presented with same but different versions of our 18 year old selves. She was as I had remembered: kind, smiley, highly articulate and warm. But with time comes confidence and along with her cute Mod Squad bob, her voice has rounded out, she has a different kind of poise and a willingness to admit that even though we're 26, it's okay to actually feel like you're a 12 year old at heart. Some pictures to show you what I mean:

[Before the pizza, and a glimpse of Miss Deblightful and her inner 12 year old:]


[Pretending to be mature ladies catching up for a dignified lunch:]

[Post lunch and the 12 year olds come out to play and we choose this laneway to skip and play:]


[Then we have to act like dignified ladies again because pesky pedestrians come walking past:]

[Miss Deblightful:]


[Our photographer: The long suffering Man from Mars:]

We plan to catch up again when I'm next in Melbourne- it better not be in nine years' time because Miss Deblightful might find that my inner self has regressed and I'll make her skip and play in the middle of the street, without the privacy of our very own laneway :)

Lizards caught out in blizzards...

As a diminutive lizard living out in the big wide world, I imagine that a windy night would feel closer to a blizzard of gigantic proportions. With no warm bricks to scamper over and the baking sun long gone, Mr Lizard would be out of its depth- uncomfortably cold. Kind of homeless.

This evening as I hung my towel behind my door and shimmied into my pyjamas with the heater on full blast, I spied a Mr Long Lizard (and I mean looong, like an anaconda) wedged up in the gap where the carpet meets the wall.

I momentarily freaked out because lizards are so unpredictable when they zig zag across the floor. And then I realised that he had trekked all this way to try and find his home away from home-- a toasty warm bedroom fit for human slumber.

I'd love to say that my inner empathy for the lizard's plight won out over my fear for all things creepy crawly, but I admit, the prospect of having a lizard entangled in my sheets was too much, and I shuffled it into a cardboard box and put it outside.

I'm sorry little lizard, I hope you're okay out there !!!!

Iphoneography...

On Thursday night, the Apple Store held an Iphoneography Exhibition. Ollympic Runner had a starring role, making the introductory speech, showing off some iphone apps that make your great photos look phenomenal and had some of his stunning pictures on display.

Miss Tiny and I spent a lot of our time craning our necks trying to catch a glimpse of the tutorial. We're both pretty short and the tall man in front of us kept hoisting his approximately five year old daughter (far too old to be carried in my opinion) on his unsupportive hip. She wasn't even watching and just kept saying "When are you going to speak, Daddy?" It turns out that this guy (Alexander Kessellaar) is another prominent Iphoneographer who's even published his own book of photos. I guess given his importance to the whole exhibition, he had a right to be juggling his child left, right and centre at the very front of the audience.

All in all, a suitably artistic night. What an impressive bunch.

[Ollympic Runner doing his talk:]


[Ollympic Runner's pictures on display:]


[Miss Tiny and Miss CreamyCheeks before we had pizza:]

Autumnal Brilliance...

This afternoon, I sat in the sun and stared up a tree. It was colourful, meditative, and put a shimmer on the sparkly Sunday that was.

Australia in Autumn is almost as good as Canada in the Fall.

[Australia:]


[Canada:]

Contagion...

As a chilly spell travels through Sydney, the lurgy season is starting up.

This morning, a man behind me sneezed his lungs up and the afterwhoosh was so cyclonic that it steamrolled through my hair and fanned my fringe out from against my forehead. I frowned and resisted the overwhelming urge to comb antibacterial handwash though my hair.

Was it so wrong of me to feel like this? I'd probably make the world's most germaphobic nurse, but if I was a bald doctor doing my rounds in a hospital, lathering antibacterial handwash all over my shiny, smooth head would be a totally workable and hygenic solution .