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Showing posts from July 25, 2010

Did You Get Enough Food, My Dear? Or Would You Like Another Ton?

Keeping with the Australian theme (unless you're absolutely traumatized by yesterday's post), today we tackle food & food etiquette.

Remember, I was a shy, nervous 10 year-old, travelling around a foreign country without my mother. Technically my father was there, but he was busy visiting old family and friends - like the Fosters and the Four X's (hint:XXXX in beer label) - and didn't really pay attention to the fact that it was his job to explain every little detail of what to expect to his anxiety ridden daughter. For instance, he should have forewarned me that the second I asked for ketchup I'd be asked to repeat it over and over and over again for no significant reason. (Around the 27th repetition I figured out they call it tomato sauce and ketchup is just a really silly word they liked to hear me say.) Then there's that whole biscuit is a cookie and french fries are chips but chips are crisps and well, it's utterly exhausting to be speaking the sam…

Toilet Training: Australian Style

When I was 10, I went to Australia. We flew for a very long time and landed in a small airport in northern Queensland, where my Father, older sister and I were met by some strange man who spoke in a very strange accent. I was nervous and shy. We all got in this man's car and drove "home."

"Home" was half a day's car ride away. Except I had never driven in a car for that long. Ever. I didn't even know it was possible. In my world, everything was located ten minutes away. Going to the grocery store? Ten minutes. Going to the bank? Ten minutes. Going to church? Ten minutes. So it made sense in my 10-year old mind that I would get in this car and ten minutes later, upon reaching our destination, would get out of this car.

Except we didn't get out. Ever.

Ok, not ever. We did stop at some dusty shack along the side of a dusty road where I was handed my first ever Cherry Cheer Soda (which I would drink 2,763 of during my six-week stay). Then we got back i…

Why I Never Took My Friends Up On Their Offer To Set Me Up On A Date

"Hey! I got a guy for you!" Suh-weet! I could use a good look-see. Whadyagot?

"His name is Kenny." Okay. Decent name. Better than Horrace.

"He's crazy! Absolutely crazy! A NUT!"  As in certifiable? Or like streak through the Summerfest grounds after spending 2 hours in the Leine's tent crazy?

"He's divorced - has two kids..." Well, I'd be the pot calling the kettle black on that one...

"His wife WHACKED him!" Whacked him? What the hell does that mean?

"Took him for everything he's got." Ah, so he's poor.

"He's a musician - never around - especially during the summer. Always playing gigs." Nonexistant. Super. Perhaps I could meet him when he rolls out of bed around 2pm.

"And boy does he like his vodka! Starts drinking at 7 in the morning!" Well, I guess that means he doesn't sleep in as late as I thought.

"In his 50's.... but he likes the young broads." Why are …

Not What Martha Would Do

We have a rule in our house that before a friend comes over or before you go to a friend's house, your room must be clean. The problem with this rule is that 9 times out of 10 I'm sitting at my desk in another town when the Bean calls up to excitedly ask if she can go to so-and-so's house, assuring me her room is most definitely clean. Then, when I get home and open the door, I realize I've been snowed. Again. She comes home, I yell, she giggles and says something like, "well, I didn't know you were going to actually check."

I know. The gall, right? Except she's snowed me over at least 27 times already so you think I'd be smart enough pick up on it. Hello! She's 15! She has no intention whatsoever of actually cleaning her room. I swear I'm as clueless now as I was in high school. (I swear I had no idea people were drinking vodka out of their McDonald's cups during those football games.)

Well, I'm not letting this little 15-year ol…

When is Too Much, Too Much?

Who on earth agreed to tattoo your nose?