Sniper cook...

Nothing much happening here…just another Saturday in Oz. Doing the laundry, cleaning, writing and making pumpkin soup. Yes, I have mentioned several times on this blog I don’t like to cook. I find it pukeable. But its winter here and I thought “I want pumpkin soup.” But not just any half-arsed soup. Cans of soup are okay for convenience but I want my kick arse pumpkin soup. No, I’m not one of those authors who have a recipe page. If I did it would be “go to freezer – pull out frozen meal – squint at instructions on packet - nuke for the required time in the microwave.” I can cook. I’m quite good at it but it’s not something I like doing. Cook and people will always expect it. Have take-away menus and people will expect that instead. So I’ll be making pumpkin soup. What’s in it? It depends on my mood. As grandma Elsie used to say, with a wink, everything but my fingernails.

I used to work with this woman called…um, er…Marlene. She was a sniper cook. What I mean by this is she would target someone at work, like my best friend Katie, and bring in all sorts of food for her to try. Marlene is a great cook. The problem is Marlene expects favours after you eat her food. I warned Katie this. I had been there and done that. Unlike Katie I worked all this out before I even had a bite. Some things are just not right are they? Anyway, Katie just thought Marlene was being kind…nuh-uh. After so much food, Marlene wanted Kylie to do things for her. Drive me here…drive me there. Go shopping for me in your lunch hour. Give me this. Give me that. Marlene was and probably still is a psychopath. The one time I denied her the food come on, she went off her head (nutso). Katie said ‘what do I do?’ Remember Nancy Reagan’s ‘Just say no’ campaign with drugs? Yeah, Marlene the psycho-chef needed to be told that. Once told, she hated you.

So food – it brings us together – it divides us. It’s the frozen goodness that makes microwave sellers happy or the oh-my-god moment when you just have to break down and make pumpkin soup because no other bugger makes it like you do. Cooking is pukeable but necessary when all else fails….and once every six months is okay.

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Be daring...read an Amarinda book

As weeks go…

TGIF it’s Friday morning in OZ as I write this before work. It’s been a weird arsed week. Nice things have happened, crap things have happened and just boring things that have required me jabbing a fork into my leg to stay awake.

All week I have been virtually asleep at my desk – I make no apologies. It’s been as boring as all get out – then suddenly – I’m thrust in charge for a couple of days. Talk about throwing you out of sync. It absolutely stuffs up my 'me' time at work - you know writing, gossiping, reading personal stuff and paying my own bills. Quite rude to do that to me. Note to self – stop looking responsible. Add to that 'T' the receptionist has gone on hols so her jobs have been split between all of us - when I say all - I mean those who can cross the road by themselves. Its scary how many people at work are about as useful as chocolate fireguards. Now that is a look I should cultivate.

I have been given the dangerous task of the mail. How is it dangerous? Ever used a franking machine? Oh hard. I hate anything that requires thought at work. I swear I am in constant danger of franking my fingers and sending them to China. For those without knowledge of said beastie, you have to punch numbers in and weigh things to ascertain the correct postage. How do I know it's correct? No bloody idea. Then you feed envelopes through the slot thingo which grabs the letters real fast and stamps them. Okay – so some stamps – maybe 87% - are upside down and on the back of the envelope and some letters are a little mangled. But they’re done. You wanted mail? You got mail. I’m blaming the post office if it’s all a tad messy.

Nice things that happened out of the blue – compliments from people I barely know about how kick arse I am looking. I even got flowers. Aww…it made me take a second look at myself in the mirror. Maybe this gym lark is working out even though it’s killing me. News is I can now lie on my back and lift 100kilos (220lbs) into the air. How is this good? Stuffed if I know. ‘Not like you can take that talent on TV and showcase it is it? And, to make things difficult, now when I stand like a hooker (genetic disposition see previous blog) my trainer is making me do squats – push ups no longer - to teach me not to do it. I had to do 150 squats last night…frigging hell…do not stand like a hooker… do not stand like a hooker…do not stand like a hooker…

Add the staggering amount of bills that have arrived in the mail, the bathroom renovation quote from hell, illegal office supplies sent through the post by Ethel and having to spray the storeroom with possum preventative without gassing myself at the same time and it’s been…well….you know, now that I think about it…chaos, pain, mayhem, dumb stuff, boredom…it’s actually been a pretty normal week for me.

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Be daring...read an Amarinda book

Where is the love?

I have to tell you I am quite relieved that the Viagra email snipers have found my email address once more. I was a little upset because I felt they no longer cared about my penis. Okay - yes – sure, I don’t have a penis but the thing is I was feeling a little left out. You know you get inundated with crap email telling you how much they care about your length and width – and then nothing. They disappear. Where’s the caring and sharing gone? But now they’re back and their offers are so whizz-bang exciting that I only wish I had an appendage I could try the “miracle penis thickening pills,” the “power in your hands exercises” (seems you don’t need a partner for that one) and “make her yours cream” on. I reckon if you have to go that far, it’s a dead cert she was never going to be yours.

Since we’re on the subject…

Scientists find 'world's oldest willy'

Australian scientists have confirmed the oldest penis-like structure in an ancient fish specimen.

We were surprised because it's so big," she says. "We were expecting something smaller."

http://au.news.yahoo.com/a/-/newshome/5724099

Hmmm…isn’t that last sentence usually said the other way around?

Nope, size does not matter. It’s all about heart and imagination. Go be imaginative and dazzle someone with whatever equipment you have.

www.amarindajones.com
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Be daring...read an Amarinda book

Oh push off…

I have this terrible habit that is killing me. The worst part of it is it's a habit I've had since I was a kid. In fact all Jones women have the same habit. I see it in all the family photos. I never realized how bad this habit was until someone pointed it out to me. Now I’m paying for it and it hurts to go cold turkey and not do what I normally do. Add to that, there is an ongoing crap penalty if I do not break this habit.

What is this terrible Jones family curse? I have a habit of putting all my weight on one leg when standing - usually my left – then some on my right leg - then I swing my left hip out to the side and put my hands on hips. No, I didn't think it was so bad but my trainer Hugh says it is because I am displacing my weight incorrectly. I gave him my standard eye roll and too-bad-so-sad-who-gives-a-rat’s-behind look. His response - apparently for my own good – ‘can’t work it out how it is yet - he makes me do ten push ups every time I stand in my habitual manner. I frigging hate push ups. I have girl arms - not boy arms - and it's killing me. Sure, I'm getting good at them but they are pukeable to do. And yes, it's easy to say 'well don't stand that way' but it's traditional for Jones women. It's like saying don't flout authority, don't eat Tim Tams, don’t be bossy, don't buy junk that clutters your home. It's just what we do. We stand with attitude.

And you’re probably asking 'how' he makes me do push ups. He guilts me into it. First he tried – “do you want one leg more muscular than the other?” This got just a shoulder shrug from me. Care factor? Zip. Now he's says "if you’re not up to the incredibly simple challenge of changing your life by correcting the way you stand….." Bastard. I can’t ignore a challenge or a dare.

I forsee many more push ups in my future. I blame the first Jones woman for passing on the genetic tendency to stand like a hooker.

I’m also here today talking about Fear of Being...

www.amarindajones.com
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Be daring...read an Amarinda book

Bright. Shiny. Objects.

Oh lordy, I had the concentration of a drunken gnat at work – any bright, shiny object diverted my attention – and everything required way too much thought. What’s that about? Why ask me hard work questions? I don’t know the answers. I’m the woman who decided it was too hard to buy paint for the bedroom and settled on buying low-fat yoghurt and flowers instead. What do I know? Okay, sure, technically I should have known something at work but you have to be in the mood to be knowledgeable and not be swayed by bright shiny objects. Hmmm….Bright. Shiny. Objects. Pretty.

I think this song sums up the day for me. It was just my dumb day…and yeah, maybe I have a few of those…



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Be daring...read an Amarinda book

Ass – u – me

Assumptions allow the best in life to pass you by -- John Sales

Recently someone made an assumption about me that was so wrong. He was under the impression that anyone who wrote erotic romance was some wild sex craved woman who lived only for sexual gratification. Uh huh…he was disappointed but hey, life goes on. Why do you think we make such assumptions?

Why do we think overweight people are lazy? Nine times out of ten they’re not and they could run rings around a thinner person. Why do we think a thinner person is lucky because they are slim? Many times there’s a story behind the lack of weight that’s not a happy one. Why do we believe a beautiful woman is bound to have men falling at her feet? A lot of real beauties don’t because they can be found intimidating. In the same token, someone you or I may consider unattractive is not necessary so. No one can assume what is attractive can they? It’s not like you can physically look into someone’s mind and see beauty.

A charming man, in small bursts, may seem like the ideal lover but when dealing with him on a one to one basis for an hour or more, is not necessarily as charming as you assumed him to be and maybe that superficial layer is something he hides behind. I’ve often noticed the biggest man in the gym cannot lift the weight I can. I can’t assume body mass equals strength. Heart and endurance is more important. And what about the tough man who cries? Is he less of a tough guy because we assume men like this keep everything inside and forge on regardless? Should we assume the loudest person is the most correct? Is the quietest the least interested?

What I am meandering on about is I reckon we make a lot of assumptions based on what we want to believe or need to feel. There’s something in us that wants to see a picture, a person and make a decision that neatly places that person into a nicely boxed up category so we feel safer and more in control. It’s got nothing to do with the actual person. I reckon most of the time we get it completely wrong with our assumptions and we miss out on knowing some amazing people.

You must stick to your conviction, but be ready to abandon your assumptions -- Denis Waitley

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Be daring...read an Amarinda book

The Dolores dilemma…

In a new quest to change shake up my life and chi and karma and all those spiritual/new age thingies, I decided to rearrange the furniture in the house in a sort of half arsed feng shui way. Head slap. What a task that was. My bedroom alone took forever. I have the heaviest furniture - most of it dates back to the 1930’s – and dust – where the hell did all the dust come from? I don’t understand how dust gets under things because in theory if you cover something with a bed or a fainting lounge – don’t get me started on how heavy and awkward that is – then how does dust get under it? Hmmm?

Then there’s Dolores – see picture. I bought Dolores when I was 13. She is a 1960’s dressmaker mannequin. I don’t say ‘dummy’ because I feel Dolores may consider that negative. Isn’t she stylish? She’s dressed in a 1960’s Thai silk beaded dress and my hand embroidered 1920’s robe that I also bought when I was 13. Yes, I was odd back then too. Anyway, once I rearranged the bedroom, I realized there was nowhere for Dolores to stand and look glamorously stoic, as she does. What a conundrum. For the moment Dolores is standing in the middle of the bedroom until inspiration strikes me or I walk into her in the middle of the night…whichever comes first.

So, as I sorted through stuff I found really useful things on my bedside table like 1930’s opera glasses, a tin toy taxi, a dish of Anzac badges, three pens that wouldn’t work, a plastic fish, a collection of earrings and an unopened box of coloured condoms. As I have sworn off men, I was contemplating what to do with the condoms. I found these uses on the internet –

1. Hair tie
2. Slip 'er over a payphone to avoid "NASTY" germs
3. Bathing cap (if you stretch it in the right manner)
4. Neat travel case for your toothbrush
5. Wet suit for a ferret
6. Finger puppets
7. Travel size shampoo and conditioner holders
8. Use it to store that urine sample next time you go to the doc for a checkup
9. Latex toe warmers
10. Stuff, and use to stop drafts under doors
11. Fill with rocks and use to as a weapon in a crisis situation
12. Makeshift sandbags in the event of a flood
13. To keep candles dry when camping
14. To quickly fill water pistols
15. Change purse
http://www.tasgreetings.com/condom.htm

I’m liking the wet suit for a ferret thing. Now, I just got to find me a ferret….

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Be daring...read an Amarinda book