Category Archives: Humour

Ryan Seacrest Is Now On The Carpet… For The ABC Blogging Award

A sense of humour is a beautiful thing. A sense of humour with a touch of irony is not only a beautiful thing but a match made in heaven. Give me a sense of humour, with a touch of irony sautéed in creative word play butter and I’m in orbit.

So having just landed back to earth and having waited for Ryan Seacrest to get his crispy clean tux back from the dry-cleaners after that OTHER award show, I am now in a position to pay the ABC Blogging Award forward. Some time back in April, Wendy from Finally…Wendy Wonders presented me with the ABC Blogging Award for Awesome Blogging Content. Not only did Wendy present me with the award, but she did so whilst I was partway through the A to Z Blogging Challenge and with a requirement that I have to make an alphabetical list of 26 things about myself (still laughing at that one) – that’s a home run into orbit, right there!!

Here is the award:

which I think is so much better dressed than these:

You’ll excuse me if I dispense with the alphabetical list of things about me with the paint on my Z post only having just dried. If you really want an alphabetical look into me, please read my Challenge posts.

So I have consulted with the PWC auditors, who have kept the results of the awards secret until now and they have handed me the envelope. The results have been audited and verified and well…let’s try and forget all about Enron, shall we?

I have come across some great bloggers in my short time here. You have made me think, made me laugh, made me nod my head and marvel at your talent. Whilst it is hard to choose only 5 blogs to receive the award, I hope you will agree with me the following 5 are mighty fine.

And the award goes to:

Fretym by Life With The Top Down – a fabulously fun blog involving wisdom, humour and a convertible that never fails to satisfy.

Of Glass and Paper by Sisyphus47 – a blog about writing, imagination and the soul written by a scholar and a gentleman who makes you think.

Wordsmatter by Tammy Davis – a well written family orientated blog that covers a diverse range of topics.

The Sound of One Hand Typing by John Holton – a really interesting blog by the fact king, once again covering a great diversity of topics with some baseball thrown in.

Grown and Flown: Empty Nest Parenting by Grown and Flown – a wonderfully wise and often times witty blog about life in the empty nest.

Please swing past and read these great blogs and maybe even leave a comment or two.

Congratulations to you guys and now a reminder that with glory comes responsibility. Compose a list of 26 things about you alphabet style and then pass on the award to five blogs which you consider are worthy of the title Awesome Blog Content.

May the fourth (which is tomorrow   – in my world anyway) be with you!

1 is for The First Day Of The 1 to 100 Day Blog Challenge

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leo reynolds'
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Ok, so here it is day one after the conclusion of the A to Z Challenge, wondering what I’m going to do with myself now that the structured impetus for daily blog posts is over. Wandering the wilderness of the Internet, looking for avenues to appease my blogging bug. Folks, I have now got it bad.

The 1 to 100 Day Blog Challenge means a blog a day for the next 100 days based on numbers. After that, I am moving to symbols and next colours (and we all know how good I am at those) …the Challenge possibilities are endless. All you have to do is stick with me for the next 100 days.

Day one: the number one, what a wonderful sleek-looking number it is. A powerful number and a common denominator for all. Let’s marvel at the number 1:

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I can hear the collective groan now, 100 days?

yep, 100 straight days of curtain raising posts

wisdom roast followed by a sinfully rich dessert of self deprecating humour

chicken soup for the blogging soul

88 is looking real good, excited about 25 too. 45 though, I think is going to be trouble – too many jagged edges.

I am kidding……there is no 1 to 100 Day Challenge!!

However, I do want to say a big thanks to those who joined my A to Z blogging Challenge party – no matter how briefly. If it were not for your readership, enthusiasm and support it would have been much harder going than it was.  Whatever challenges we may face (whether by choice or by circumstance), it is good to know that there are those who are prepared to share some aspects with us. For a novice blogger trying to make her way, this means much. For those who read my posts the whole way through, commented, liked or ended by following me you guys are numero uno!

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Thank you!!

Z is for Zumba: 10 Things Zumba Class Taught Me About Life (#atozchallenge)

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I come to this last Challenge post with a degree of excitement and a huge sense of relief. I’m not one to give up and well, here we are at Z. I’ll be writing more in a post containing my reflections on the Challenge next week after attending to some non-Challenge unfinished blogging business.

So with a great deal of ZEAL, I write my Z post.

I started taking Zumba classes about a year ago. Looking back at that first class, I can’t help but be transported back to that OMG feeling and the eternal question:

 “Just what the heck were you thinking?”

It was an introductory class, so at the END of it the instructors taught us some of the basic latin dance steps of the salsa, cha-cha and merengue. That’s when things began to look particularly bleak. Not sure where I was when they handed out the co-ordination gene, but clearly I was not in that line. My Zumba journey has been a real trip and keeping with the perseverance theme of this post, I bring to you my 10 points of Zumba wisdom.

Here is what Zumba participation has taught me about life.

1. Nobody is born an expert, not even an expert smart-arse. Becoming an expert takes time, training and a whole lot of missteps along the way.

2. Introducing a new routine inevitably increases the chance of missteps. It takes a couple of weeks to feel comfortable with the routine, but once you break through that comfort barrier, it becomes a whole lot of fun. Only you and hard work can break through that barrier and when you do… oh what a feeling! New routines keep life interesting.

3.Nobody focuses on your missteps other than you. Everyone is more worried about their own. There is no spotlight or microphone highlighting that you zigged, when you should have zagged (note the rather topical consistant use of Z words). You think your missteps are so good ? Ha, I’ve got news for you. Ditch the self – consciousness and get out there!

4. Bring your own style to anything you tackle, don’t worry about what to wear, how you look. You can’t do worse than my original outfit of baggy T shirt and old bike shorts. Individuality is exciting and interesting. Remember this also in the context of rule number  three.

5. Everything is more fun with a latin beat ………jajaja!

6. Pitbull is a Zumba class favourite and most of his songs have a great beat that can motivate you to do housework, blogging and other activities …. “two worlds English…Spanish….”

7.  The salsa, cha-cha and merengue are highly technical dance steps. Zumba is not the latin dance championships and you will not be scored on technical merit. Usually, keeping up the energy and your legs and arms moving in something that loosely resembles dance moves is enough. In other words, give yourself a break and just enjoy life’s experiences.

8. The intensity of each routine varies. There is a slow build up starting with the warm up moving to high impact, then a slow catch your breath number, another build-up and finally a warm down. Life is not about being at full throttle all the time. Down-times are permissible and absolutely necessary.

9. Break each routine down to its basics. Start with the leg movements then add in the arms and then put it all together. Sometimes we all just need to get back to the basics and take small bites rather than try to eat the whole pig, which will probably cause you indigestion anyway.

10. A hot looking Brazilian bloke in line next to you makes the hour go faster and sends the energy levels soaring.  Always carry a hot Brazilian looking bloke around with you if you can or if that’s not possible hold onto the idea of something or someone who motivates you.

There you have it, rules and skills for life according to Zumba Zen. I still don’t know how to properly do the salsa, cha-cha or merengue and I’m glad the technical aspects of all of that did not distract me from the bigger picture. I’m moving, sweating, having fun and mixing it with some great people and that to me is more important than championship ballroom technique.

And so with that, here endeth the Challenge.

X is for XY Chromosome: Missing the Refill/Replace Gene (#atozchallenge)

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I live in a house full of males, in a veritable tsunami of testosterone. Those who are familiar with my blog, know that I have sons. For His own reasons, the dear Lord did not see fit to bestow upon me the gift of daughters and sometimes I can’t help but wonder what life would be like if He had. A whole world of Barbie dolls, pink fairy wings and tulle has passed me by.

Boys are a whole lot of fun. Boys are the gateway to cheeky play, physical nonsense and unrelenting banter. We bond over computers, cars, baseball, soccer, laser tag and we wrestle. I am lucky I have always been something of a tom boy so enjoy all of these types of activities and of course, the bond between mother and son is a rather special one. Male to male bonding is also fascinating to watch. I have observed that the more a male is bonded with another male, the more likely he is to playfully tease said other male. Guys’ currency tends to be mild teasing banter and I can mix it with the best of them. I suppose it’s why I have always had a lot of plutonic male friends.

Life in my house can get rather interesting and at times I do feel like it’s three to one. Me thinks there is a slight conspiracy going on around here. Me versus them in a battle of the chromosomes. The battle is the battle of the refill or replenish and the gladiators are merciless. The battle goes something like this:

    1. One of the drinks of choice for the boys is cordial which is akin to Kool-Aid. Cordial is made up of flavoured sugary syrup diluted in water, about 1 part in 10. As a mother I would of course prefer that my sons drink water or other healthier alternatives, but let’s not turn this into a health debate, because then you’ll miss the point of this post.
    2. The cordial resides in a two litre bottle in the fridge and the boys happily help themselves.
    3. At about the quarter bottle full mark, the boys start pacing themselves with the cordial and carefully watch the reduction in quantity.
    4. They will each take only so much such that there is always some quantity above negligible left in the bottom of the bottle.
    5. The object of course is not to be the last to drink from the bottle to avoid having to refill it and to maximise the chance that I will instead do the job.

This battle is all about precision timing and precision measurement. It’s a game of stealth  and strategy. Who knew that the boys possessed the skills of a scientist without the use of scientific instruments? Skills for life, people…skills for life!

The skills learned in the cordial arena are also applied to kitchen paper towel refill and of course to paper refill in the bathroom. The golden rule seems to be NEVER use the last sheet for he who exposes the cardboard roll will be put to unthinkable effort.  Never mind that there are full rolls within easy reaching distance.

At one point I put up a sign in our kitchen proclaiming “changing the roll will not give you pimples”. It didn’t work.

I’m still changing rolls and making up cordial and have firmly come to the conclusion that the refill/replace gene just does not appear on the XY chromosome. Either that or I have a battle of Darwinian proportions on my hands!

W is for Whiffs Of Warmth and Whimsy: The Nose Knows(#atozchallenge)

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The power of the nose and the sensation of smell. They all pass by us from odious odours to appealing aromas. Today’s post focuses on the latter, those memory triggering whiffs of warmth and whimsy.

When I was a kid, my mother cooked. Mothers did that a lot more in those days – they seemed to be less harried than now, but then again I was probably just oblivious to the frantic paddling of feet going on under my mother’s lake. You know that whole gliding swan phenomenon, looks all smooth and in control on top of the lake with the hard work taking place below the glassy surface. I know it’s a different species, but “just keep on swimming….” seemed to be my working mother’s motto. One of my strongest childhood memories is of my mother frying onions. Most European dishes seem to start with the frying of onions. Every time I smell them, I conjure up memories of home, warmth and family. I love the smell of frying onions which together with the sweet sizzling sound envelop me in their promise.

Here’s a list of my other top sensory whiffs and what they conjure for me:

Baking things – is there anything like it? Baking bread is particularly high on the list – so powerful it can sell real estate. Cake and biscuit (cookie) baking also rate highly. These smells are too good just to be contained in the kitchen! Thankfully, there are no calories in odours, so I can indulge until I’m giddy from inhaling. These smells are full of warmth and whimsy and conjure up images of a jolly, robust bakerwoman in a red and white checkered apron.

Coffee beans – Arabica, Kona, Robusta, I’m not fussy as to type, I’ll take any freshly ground coffee bean. Aromatically sensual and warm this smell says friendship and relaxation like no other.

Frangipani – not only a ten in the smelling stakes, but also right up in there in the best dressed flower category. For those of you hungry for facts, frangipani was the name of an Italian perfume used to scent gloves in the 16th century and named after its creator, the Marquis Frangipani. When the frangipani flower was discovered its natural perfume reminded people of the scented gloves, and so the flower was called frangipani. Conjuring up images of Hawaii, hula girls (and boys!), holidays and summer days, the frangipani  odour is sweet and whimsical. I can never go past a perfectly formed frangipani fallen on the ground without picking it up. They are hardy trees too. We once had a frangipani growing in a pot which survived the death plunge off our second story balcony and lived to flower the tale.

I took this one!

 

Fresh Strawberries  – if you have ever picked your own strawberries, you’ll know that I mean. When I was young, my family used to travel to the country and pick strawberries from strawberry farms. The smell is sweet but subtle and oh so seductive and brings a promise of sticky juice, sinfully small seeds and yes, whimsy. As a child it was hard to resist not popping the fruit directly into my mouth rather than the picking bucket. Also, being fresh and ripe, no sugar was required. Occasionally I can find that smell in store-bought strawberries, but it’s hit and miss.

As you can tell, I’m a big fan of whimsy….

What smells float your nasal boat?

R is for Reality: When Realities Collide (#atozchallenge)

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I have been married to the Italian Stallion for more than two decades. When we first met back in the dark ages we spent some time comparing our respective realities and decided that we were a pretty good fit. The big items were all processed and ticked (checked) and the courtship culminated in a marriage proposal….eventually…..after seven years and well, it was a leap year. We were married nine month’s later, went on our honeymoon and then we started to live together.

That’s when each of us REALLY got acquainted with the other’s reality.  The first decade of our marriage was about whose reality was better. Ah, young love…aint it grand? The next decade was about making our own new, bigger and better combined reality, something we have done with moderate success. The third decade is still a work in progress but involves consolidating and building on that combined reality and helping our children create their own.

Let me give you a pictorial sense of our reality on a few of the more significant marital issues:

Pets

His Reality                                                                                                 My Reality

Our Reality 

Holidays

His Reality                                                                                                My Reality

Our Reality

Romance

His Reality                                                                                                      My Reality

Our Reality

Housekeeping

His Reality                                                                                                 My Reality

Our Reality

What happens when realities collide? Apart from the smoke and ash that eventually settles, it’s not really the black hole that one would think. Life is certainly not dull and we all bring our prespectives to the household.

And now, taking my tongue right out of my cheek, I am hoping to make this the best decade yet with the Italian Stallion and to continue to carve out our new reality in middle age. 

Q is for Quirkiness: It’s Quite The Thing To Celebrate (#atozchallenge)

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I have a set of those magnetic word fridge magnets in my kitchen. The ones where each magnet is a word which can be combined to form sentences or thoughts or anything else that takes the author’s fancy. I thought having a set would promote creativity in my sons and communication within our family to assist with inventory control – there is much to take from a one word sentence: “milk”. Plus, I was just plain curious what my children would do with them.

The magnets have been used to comment on the garden, the weather, my sons’ self proclaimed awesomeness (well, they are teenagers) and my wisdom or rather lack thereof (well once again, they are teenagers). The other week, I woke up to find the following stuck on my fridge:

My initial reaction was laughter. My thoughts then drifted to the message being more of the same said self-proclaimed awesomeness variety and I found myself asking exactly to what apparatus was this referring? As far as I knew, my sons had not had a working chemistry set for at least five years. The thought then crossed my mind that in fact it could be my husband’s message. Well, I have to confess I have had more romantic overtures but for an attention grabber this scores about an 8.5.

I then paused and concluded that this was my younger son’s work, he of the quirky nature. I say this with a great deal of motherly love and affection for I love this quirkiness in him. Whilst this was on my fridge, to me it was totally off the wall. This type of humour for an almost 13 year old?  I’m not one to brag incessantly about my children. In fact, I survived mothers’ groups with my infants without once proclaiming they understood the theory of relativity at the age of 4 months. Oh, the pressure!

But, it has made me realise I am drawn to quirkiness and that parenting a quirky child is not without difficulties. The school system generally does not rate quirkiness highly, relying on pushing students through a mass transit system. A lot of teachers don’t value and just don’t know how to deal with difference. In the jungle of the schoolyard, there is a tendency for quirky kids to be ridiculed and abandoned. Tweeny boys look for and bond over similarities. It has been that way since the cavemen starting comparing their clubs.

My desire is that my quirky one enjoys his high school years and looks back on them as a positive experience. But I am conflicted, I don’t want him to lose his quirkiness, his uniqueness. I have this sense that as an adult his quirkiness will hold him in good stead and that it will make him stand out in the competitive crowd in positive ways. In my adult world political correctness, conservatism and uniformity abound. But ironically, it tends to be the few who are truly innovative which leave a mark on that world. And how does the innovative adult’s journey usually begin? As a quirky child.

So, on this Q day I celebrate quirkiness. May my son’s apparatus continue to rock the storm throughout his life.

N is for Notifications: 14 Notifications I Would Like to See in Real Life

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Hello little red/orange light. You shine out at me in a comforting glow and envelope me with your promise. I’m glad you found your way into my day. You beckon to me with that cute little number which signifies action and attention, a shift in the cyber universe, whilst the real one was spinning. I yearn for your presence everyday and today you have found me. As I reach for my mouse, my heart starts to pound, who…what? One click and you are gone to reveal your secret beneath. And your secret today…. Chris requests that you help him make two thousand pancakes at Cafe World, after he harvested and milled the two thousand wheat crops he grew on Farmville.

Facebook notifications, you gotta love them!

But what if real life came with notifications? What if that blinking, bubble of a red light appeared with really useful information in real time?

Here are fourteen notifications I would like to see in real life. The characters referred to in these notifications are purely fictional to protect the guilty and I have taken these names from lists of unusual children’s names. I apologise in advance if your name or a relative’s appears on this list.

The clerk at the dry-cleaners found your sunglasses which you left there yesterday and has sold them on E Bay.

Kermit pushed his supermarket trolley into your car whilst it was parked at the mall and caused that big dent in the driver’s side door.

Kermit has no money to speak of and he has a wife who is a mean lawyer.

Decimus knows the obscure word which is the answer to  twenty-two down to complete that five hundred clue crossword that has sat on your coffee table for two months.

Puck is jealous and is stalking your every move in real life and on-line and looks at your profile every hour on the hour.

Laviszia has no intention of calling you, despite kissing you on both cheeks today with a breezy, “so great to see you, we must get together, hun, will call you.”

Although he denied it, Macky put his finger through the chocolate frosting on that cake you have been icing for the last hour and saving for guests.

Macky commented that it tasted delicious.

Goncalo placed the television remote control on the sofa cushion next to him and it has fallen behind the sofa where you will never find it.

Your bum really does look big in that.

You sat down at this computer three hours ago to check the timetable for the bus which in fact left two hours ago .. why are you still here?

Kerripaula just white-anted you.

The dog just let off gas.

No, trust me, it really was the dog this time.

These I think would be most helpful.

What notifications would you like to see?

L is for Lyrics: Na Na Na What…? (#atozchallenge)

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In what now seems like an eon ago (was there ever a time I was blogging before the A to Z April Blogging Challenge?) I wrote a post about having a song of the moment (or SOM).  Briefly, a SOM is a song that has taken residence in your head and can cause behaviour alterations, like hanging around in cars just to hear the end of the song. You would think that with a SOM, I would know all the lyrics, all the pauses, all the subtle differences in beat throughout, all of the song’s nuances. You would think…

When I was a teenager and even when I was a twentager (a term I just made up to connote someone in their twenties), I used to know the lyrics to all of my SOM’s, relevant other songs and just songs I didn’t really need to know about. I would sing along perfectly timed and worded to even the most complicated of tunes. I’d like to think I can appreciate beat, rhythm, chorus and verse.

However, something happened on the way to the concert hall. Somewhere along the line, my head got filled with children’s schedules, household schedules, household administration, laundry, payment deadlines and work related matters. My brain, being a finite capacity organ got stuffed with all sorts of adult trivia and my ability to remember song lyrics has been compromised ever since.

This doesn’t stop me from singing along to SOMs and any other song that catches my ear. I think we have all been there. Driving in the car with teenage son, good song comes along, singing along happily, the big main chorus moment about to arrive and ………I fluff it. Said teenage son in fits of laughter and thinking I’m seriously uncool because the fluff moment comes usually when the artist has paused briefly and well, it’s out there for all to hear.

Then there’s the cover up. Me singing along quite happily until my knowledge of the lyrics dries up. So I don’t miss a beat, I make up some words that sound the same as the words in the song, sometimes with hilarious consequences. Sometimes, the cover up is not even done with that much finesse, sometimes there is only a grouping of sounds that aren’t even words, sounds that are meant to sound like the words in the songs and that I know what I am doing. At this point I lose all credibility for cool with my teenage son who is laughing hysterically trying to say “you don’t know the words, do you, Mum?”

Really, the artists have a lot of explaining to do as to why they can’t get with the programme. It’s not that hard, really. I refuse to admit my lip synching days are here just yet. I’ll leave that to the professionals.

What do you do when the lyrics don’t come as they are meant?

J is for Jeans: I Think Therefore I Am a Blue Denim Purist (#atozchallenge)

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I love jeans and have worn them ever since I can remember. Personally, I think all men and women, no matter their body shape or size look good in jeans. Jeans can make a person look incredibly sexy – more so than any low-cut top or mini skirt. A smart woman knows how to leave some things to a man’s imagination and play her jeanwear to the max.

Playing the jeanlook to the max!

Being born in the mid sixties, I was  a little young for the whole hippy flare thing when it appeared the first time around. I confess I haven’t really embraced it this time around either. I’m more of a straight leg or a boot cut kind of girl. The things those cuts do to a woman’s leg length are truly miraculous and I owe more than a few inches to some clever fashion designers.

Over the years, trends in jeans have come and gone. We have had the skinny, the stovepipe, the boyfriend, the baggy, the flair, the straight, the dyed, the stonewashed, high rise, mid rise and low rise to name just a few. I have worn most of these jeans styles over the years although have steered clear of the skinny, stovepipe and boyfriend. By avoiding these, I am hoping to prevent inflicting permanent psychological damage on my sons – it just wouldn’t do for me to be wearing the same clothes as their female teeny peers.

Traditional jeans were a product of the 1850’s gold rush. The miners wanted sturdy work clothes with pockets that did not tear away. Leob Strauss (later to be known as Levi Strauss) started making copper riveted “waste overalls” in 1872 and received the patent for them in 1873. Jeans became really popular in the 1930’s after covering many a bottom in cowboy movies. They were originally dyed blue by the use of indigo dye.

All of my jeans have been either black or traditional denim blue. OK, I admit that I did wear dyed jeans for a brief period in the eighties, but the dye colour I chose was light blue. My blue jean population has far outweighed my black jean population for I am a blue denim purist. I have never owned a pair of white jeans.

For those of you who are up on the latest fashion trends, the latest “jeans” style is the neon skinny. These come in all sorts of fruity flavours – pink, red, mint, grape etc. I am waiting for them to produce the multi-coloured fruit salad jean, if only to have all fruit groups covered. With the greatest respect to all the fashion aficianados out there – THESE ARE NOT JEANS. They are coloured tight-fitting pants, that happen to resemble jeans, simply because they have two legs, pockets and a zip. 

I will take blue denim over food group fashion any day of the week. If the pair has a leather branding patch on the back depicting two horses pulling a pair of jeans and can fade in the wash, so much the better. I am not fussy, I’ll take dark denim, faded denim, almost white denim and sometimes spotted denim.

Many a pair of my jeans have retired into the cut-off hall of fame – at which point they cease to be classified as jeans and become jean shorts.  Another good use for used jeans is this handy quilt, which I DIDN’T make, but admire anyone who could.

Long live the blue denim jean revolution. The use of the indigo font in this blog is a salute to blue denim and Levi Strauss!

[To any students of fashion who may accidentally stumble onto this page, this article represents my own personal viewpoint and is written toungue in cheek. Please don’t use it as an educational reference, unless you want a guaranteed F.]