Unblocking the drain...

(WARNING.  THERE IS LANGUAGE IN THIS POST.  BAD LANGUAGE.)

(WELL, BAD GRAMMAR REALLY.)

(And Words that aren't being polite.  

Words that haven't brushed their hair in ages and probably wouldn't know a razor if they fell over one.  

If you are easily offended by words and their potential interactions in an uncontrolled environment, look at the pretty picture of a kitten and click on like.)

oops...  I will try again, shall I?

I was only joking about the click on likes.  But really?  Now is the time to skedaddle...

V and I were arguing over discussing the relative merits of the great word “gotten”.

It feels a little grubby, doesn’t it, rolling this gem around in a sentence scenario, attempting to insert the little bastard of verbal expectorant?  But it is also oh so rich and creamy, and has a versatility that leaves more proper verb families aghast.

I know there is a smattering - perhaps even a veritable smattering - of folk who listen and read amongst us who would love to strangulate any possibility of such scat utterance.  I know because I have been known to don the sheep’s clothing – be it Merino or be it Dorset – and have heard their ear-felt pleas to peers.

But I also know that there are shedloads of instances when it feels like the insertion of a gotten gives the glue that a sentence requires.

 

I said shedloads there, didn’t I?  The auto-correct inside our brains immediately did the M rated translation, the word that she should have used but this is a family blog – you didn’t even have to manoeuvre yourselves through the labyrinth of why, your mind immediately put it there.

But what if I meant “shedloads”?  What if I was being as literal as possible?  What if I had done the maths, and worked out that a shed could hold a much larger amount of instances?   

Where does that leave the shortcut in our prehensile brain – dangling for want of an expletive?

Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to give heed to those who hold grammar in higher regard than those evolutionary theorists that walk the streets, natural preachers of the fluidity of speech.  We’re different is all.  But it’s also naughty and a little bit fun to take rules and flout with words graffitiing the walls of shrines.

 

Shitloads.  Really?  Thought about it?  I mean, what does that mean?   

What is the unit by which this measure is regarded?  Is it volume, density, profundity or potential of expression? 

Come on –unless you have medical issues about which I don’t know (and can only attempt to express the measure of sympathy required without full explanation of the details - I understand that it could get fairly awkward), then it is a pretty sure bet that you have your own load experiences to know what I might be talking about.  

 There is one thing for sure and certain, and that is when all is said (or unsaid) and done, you have an emotional response to that which we are not to discuss.

Is that why we love the word so much in every which way but, well, butt, you know…?

Whereas sheds…  How many here have sheds in their lives right now?  In their pasts?  In their myths about life?  

 So why are we so certain that “shedloads” is in some way even comparable to “shitloads”?

“We will have shedloads of fun”.   

No we won’t!  If our fun is to be measured in shedloads, we have already toned down for mother.  

 Mind you, there are probably some out there to whom the concept of shed equates to fun, be it mechanical or biological in nature, and good luck to you, good folk.  Love your work!

“I’ve got shitloads of housework to do”. 

 Now, that is an altogether different unit of measure we have to contemplate.   Perhaps with a good book, a cup of coffee or a surf on facebook.   

We get it.  Shit.  Loads.  Of.  Housework.

Let it go, I say.  Let all of your expectations about the enormity of the job in front of you float away and consider instead that perhaps this is a mantra, and we can correlate the requirement for cleanliness and its ability to assist in the void of the soul, unclench and regard “shitloads of housework” in terms of project management and finish with a smile on your face as you press the button on “finished”, flushed with success.

So when I reach for an easy “gotten”, I realise that there are worse things.  Far, far worser things I could say or do to get people off side.

A funny thing happened on the way to the bath...

I may have mentioned that we are in need of a bathroom renovation.

I have placed V in charge of the project - because (a) I am busy, and (b) I am crap at decision-making.

V would actually like me to assist him in making decisions on his project, though, and he dragged me to the table and tied me in place coerced me into assisting him on the weekend.

Unfortunately it didn't really go as planned, because...  well, lets just say, shiny things!!!

This was one of the first offerings I saw.

Now, we don't NEED one of these - I am pretty sure our house would IMPLODE if we got one, but what can I say but "Wow!!!"

You can get them with blue-tooth audio - man, you could have a disco in there!

 Now, this is a little more low key than the above.

The wierdest thing was that there were 220 people in the world watching at that moment. 

Can you imagine?  

220 people in the world who cared about this so much that they were watching, waiting for the moment that they could snipe the opposition and get this little beauty right at the finish line...

 Doesn't this say something?


Not exactly sure what it is, but it is speaking in languages that surpass several senses.






Watch out V!!!  grrrl.

 I aim to use the phrase "right side skirt" in as many conversations as possible in the next week.

I am wondering if there are only 10% left sided skirts in bathroom world...

  This holds a certain allure - and possibly a small child.

This is advertised as "used"
I want to know - did they walk out okay?

 I really think that they should feature the green flower with tears spouting from it more prominently in this ad...

That and the drink holder...

 On what planet?

It was about that point that V realised that the great "get Jeanie to assist with decision-making in this project" experiment was over, and nobody really won.

Nobody except the bathroom, perhaps.

So - what side-trips have you been enticed on this week?

The Family Meatloaf Recipe

There was a discussion about mixing meatloaf on a forum I wander into fairly regularly.

Which got onto "what is your family meatloaf"

and I thought, why not?

1kg cheap mince
1 chopped onion
2 cloves minced garlic
1 egg
1/2-1 cup grated zucchini
1/2-1 cup grated carrot
1-2 slices bread, wet in water and squeezed
1 good squirt cheap ass tomato sauce
splash worcestershire
marjoram - yes, there is something you can use that for!
if you have fresh parsley - couple of good tablespoons of that
bit of oregano
bit of thyme
stuff from the cupboard
leftover stuff from the fridge
(in place of last 6 ingredients, you could add dried mixed herbs a la the traditional family recipe)

Preheat the oven to 160-200 C.  Dependent on time availability and how tempremental your oven is, of course.

Wash your hands - ensure jewellery is on the ring stand above the sink and no fingernails are giving you gyp.

Prep the above.

Put all the above into a bowl and mix it through with your hands, squeezing it between your fingers, tearing the wet bread as you are doing so.  If too dry, add another egg.  If too wet, put in some breadcrumbs.

Put a slosh of oil into a baking dish.  You can use the spray stuff or lard or oil - whatever - bit of lube, the fat of cheap mince should provide the goodness.

Mould the mixture into thing loggy sort of shapes.  If your time is a bit tight, make it skinnier (because the aim of the game is really to cook it to the centre, not how you've got a bigger one).

If you want to get all fancy, you can wrap some cheap bacon around it.  If you want to look all health nut, try some seaweed or blanched cabbage leaves.  Gee, if you want to go vego, you could use lentils or well cooked any beans, if you want to go vegan, besan flour can hide most shortcomings.  Sprigs of herbs would add a certain frivolity to proceedings - just so long as it doesn't look like scorched earth when the dish is presented, I suppose.

Apparently some parts of the world even use a barbecue saucey sort of drench - each to their own, hey?  Best not to start a war over it.

Anyhoo - into the oven - we love roast vegies here, so will peel and put all sorts of vegetables around - generally I will give the meatloaf a bit of time in the oven before I add these, size of the veges determine the cooking time so adjust accordingly - depending of size and temp, it will take 1-2 hours and goes amazing well with gravy and peas (and corn and broccoli and mashies and salad and between two slices of white bread slathered with butter and tomato sauce).

Quite Augusting

I was having a good day.  I was doing the groceries with Paris after a lovely morning at a playground. 

Paris had decided that she was my horse, and I had been ordered to say "yaah" to go and "woah" to stop as she dragged my carriage (the shopping trolley) up and down the fairly deserted aisles.

As we exited the staples/tins and exotic products aisle, an old man took note. 

Unfortunately not an old man of the ilk that smiled gently and moved on.  This old man was more the Frank Barrone variety.  Slightly more hair, perhaps, but clothed by the same tailor and sang from the same song book.

As we "woah"ed to go around the corner of the toiletries aisle, he said (and this needs its own line)

"having a good day out, Nanna?"

Not having yet taught Paris the meaning of certain swear-words, I nodded politely and "yaahed" her right up to the far end of that aisle in record speed. 

Unfortunately I had toiletry needs that were located at the near end, but the mortification of a septuagenarian referring to me as "Nanna" blitzed all logical thought from my head.

We then "yaah"ed productively down the cleaning products aisle.  We were almost clear when he leaped (well, shuffled) out again, pretending to be a policeman and spooking my horse. 

As we all know, Paris is excessively shy, and so my gorgeous little horse shied beautifully and manouvred the carriage around Mr Plod.

My nod lost its polite, and any discerning fellow shopper would surely have read the swear words in my body language.

Alas no. 

I will give him this, he must have put on a bit of speed, because in the time it took for us to collect some cheese he had placed himself in the petfood aisle where he could not be avoided.

My horse slowed, unsure of her footing.  I "yaah"ed as gently as I could, and called out that we were currently invisible if he could please clear our carriageway.  He smiled like we were playing with him (rather than despite) and offered me another "Nanna" gee up.

Unfortunately I do not have any Elsa powers, otherwise the grocery store could have moved their fridge section across.

Into the last section, I remembered bags and toiletry requirements.  I left Paris by the ever so exciting stationary section and went back around the corner - and there he lurked.  I ignored very pointedly, but as he crabwalked towards me, I gave up my quest and returned to my carriage.

By the time we were at our final collection (frozen peas) he had caught up and attempted conversation.

"She must be such a delight for you, Nanna" he opened with.

My polite had left, and I delivered a rather curt "She is my daughter.  I am her mother."  The "and expletive deleted off" was unspoken but definitely in the delivery.

"Oh, well done" he said in a tone that reflected his belief that I had approached World Records in Geriatric Maternity.

I then realised that, not only was he being gobsmackingly rude in assuming my role in Paris' life, this was his attempt to pick me up.

At the supermarket.

On a Friday afternoon.

Maaaaate.

A. The wedding ring was on.  Out of bounds.
B. Old enough to be my father.
C. Not only out of my generation, out of my LEAGUE.

Yeah.  But the roots - definitely due a touch-up, it seems!!

A Little Thursday Adventure

Yesterday, at 1/2 past way before the Sparrow stirs (1) I arose, grabbed my exceedingly well packed backpack, boots and overcoat, and tip-toed out the door for an adventure.

After an event-free drive to the train station (and I swear, that is because there were no events to behold and NOT to do with the fact I was on all levels bar the valuable car-driving level possibly technically unconscious.  Well, I am pretty sure), I boarded a train and sat down in D17.

See how organised I was?  BIG green water bottle!

So, for those of you playing at home and thinking "hang on, Jeanie, you have escaped our shared reality zone and I am not sure what before the Sparrow stirs looks like, let alone the view of a train station platform from D17" -

and you are welcome.  Its a Public Service I am happy to provide.

Of course, we live in a modern world, and its not all about what goes on beyond our immediate environment these days, you know...

I could have actually even put in my earplugs and listened to the accompanying silence to that graphic of where we were in relation to where we were intending to go over the next 5 hours - but I chose to remain unplugged for the initial leg of the journey...

and for all that before the Sparrow stirs offers in way of entertainment out there in the world beyond the train, you will not actually be given the opportunity to view it, as there is a strict policy of keeping all the lights on at all times and therefore only offering a never ending view of ourselves reflected rather starkly back to us - not a pleasant vision for some of us who chose to eschew the beautifucation process prior.

Eventually, that magical moment of the passer pepedi (2) comes, and in terms of all the moments of such that I have witnessed, it wasn't too shabby.

Sure, a little mute of colour, but then dawn is not as flamboyant as dusk.  The promises of the day ahead are certainly subtly made.

and as the landscape changed around me as we chugged our way South, glimpses of brilliance were mentioned.

The reality also dawned on me that the cheap seats that I had scored were perhaps deemed extra cheap because the show on offer on the sunny side also had to contend with the sunny side

and there is only so many laws of physics that you can bend with a mobile phone - and overcoming such an obstacle is indeed beyond the mobile phone.

 

On top of that, there just aren't the money shots on the cheap side of the train.

I mean, sure, there are hints at possible beauty, but when you look over

and look at what the guy opposite is sleeping through,

well, its a $28 saving each way, and its only a theory anyway.  Right?

---

Still, 4.5 hours do pass, and eventually my way wended towards the ultimate destination.

There are increasing glimpses of civilisation,

indeed, it seems as if civilisation is trying to creep up towards me!

And in such a hurry, it seems!.

Sure, it doesn't always show its prettiest side towards the tracks,

although you do get surprised when beauty thrusts out at you,

sometimes it seems like we are travelling through wormholes in time as well as civilisation on the morning train...

a lot of these people perhaps think so, as they are sucked up daily from the farflung corners of this urban empire for whatever purposes or service lubrication needs of the intricate cogs and wheels.

Maybe.  I think I need coffee.  More coffee.

People live here.  I used to live here.  Well, not here right THERE here - but here in this metropolis.

Doesn't really feel like home, any more...

although there are bits where I get a tug of nostalgia - I don't think I really remember being at this platform, but there was a New Years in the late 1980s when I caught the first train from this station home after a night out.

Ah, to be young again.

Yeah, see, and then this one just reminds me of temp office roles and petty office politics and doing the time and mannequinning the moves and dreaming of not being there.  Youth, eh.  Not always what it appears on the surface.

Breathe.  My city is the city of coffee shops and cool bookshops and hip friends and share houses and good food and weekends, but that isn't the city that I am visiting today.

Exactly, mobile phone technology.   Sometimes you just need to turn away and refocus.

try and sneak up on it at an angle.

try not to gawk (3) , and just enjoy the fact that I don't need to contemplate driving and highway road tolls and petrol prices and other drivers and city navigation and traffic and parking.  I can just hop off at one platform, go across and hop on another, run into a friend from Paradise on the same train (because it is indeed a very small world), get on the next train, travel for 4 minutes, get off at the second station, ask a worker for directions, walk up a hill, enter a large building, enter a lift, press a button, walk down the halway and get to see

my beautiful sister.

And spend ALL DAY WITH HER.

What an awesome blessing - and indeed a grand adventure.

The return trip?  Well, that is another story for another time.

---

1. and 1/2 hourly intervals before then for several hours - what is it about alarm clocks that I do not trust?

2  Unfortunately, my good friend Google was unable to offer me the true Latin translation of the beautiful Australian phrase, Sparrow's Fart.  I did the best I could.  All pedants will be held down and we shall offer them to the Passers to pepedi them all they want.  'kay?

3  or if you are going to gawk, do it from a different perspective