We have a lot of birds where I live. Most of them make beautiful sounds…all except one. The Sulphur-crested Cockatoo.
This is what the Sulphur-crested Cockatoo looks like.
Beautiful, isn’t it? (Image source: Wikipedia)
This is what the Sulphur-crested Cockatoo sounds like it looks like.
I swear, the second I put ham on the chopping board my pets turn into The Hoverpets – they’re worse than flies!
So, this is how I see my pets…
…and I’m pretty sure this is how they see me.
I have a little Jack Russell and two adorable (but slightly annoying) cats. I have to vacuum the house a lot because of the animal hair (if I don’t, within a week it looks like we have shag carpet).
No matter how many times I vacuum, my animals react in the same exact way every single time. With total, unadulterated terror. So, I drew up a sketch based on how I think my pets see me when I vacuum.
I love my family, but when they all leave the house at once it is awesome! It also doesn’t happen very often, so when the opportunity arises, I jump at it.
Then, when I find myself alone, it’s always a bit of a shock…
…until reality sinks in.
Then it’s just a matter of deciding what to do…
Pull out my recipe books and cook some exotic, gourmet meal?
Wade through the masses of paperwork that needs filing?
Yoga?
That’s it! Yoga always makes me feel amazing afterward. I am totally going to do yoga!
Right after I finish this game.
When I was little I loved all animals and insects. In fact I loved them so much that sometimes I accidentally loved them to death.
Like when I fed my fish – day…
and night.
It was months before my parents realised what I was doing and we had gone through countless fish (and backyard funerals).
Then there were the skinks.
I could never understand why they didn’t seem to live very long in their little skink houses. The homes I created for them had absolutely everything a skink could ever want! Grass…dirt…water…
When I was a little older I spent a whole day trying to help cicadas out of their shells – partly because I was impatient and partly because I knew they had such a short life span. I just tried to get them out into the big wide world as quickly as possible.
There were no survivors, but I learned my lesson and never tried to hurry them again.
There was one particular incident, however, that haunts me to this day.
When I was about six I discovered a little nest in a small tree around the side of our house. I was absolutely beside myself as I had never seen a nest that close up before, let alone looked inside one. I was dying to take a peek at what I imagined would be a nest full of cute little baby birds.
The tree wasn’t much taller than me and I figured it wouldn’t be too hard to climb up and have a peek inside. The only problem was, the mother bird was always sitting in it and I didn’t want to scare her, so I left it alone.
One day I came outside to find the mother bird gone.
I couldn’t quite see inside the nest, so I tilted it slightly towards me.
I got to see the three most beautiful little eggs tucked cosily among the twigs and leaves…
for about one whole second before they toppled from the nest and smashed upon the ground.
I was a monster.
I felt so guilty that I didn’t go around that side of the house for many months – I couldn’t bear to return to the scene of my crime. I also had paranoid fears that the mother bird would know what I had done and peck out my eyes with her little beak.
But that was all a long time ago – I was just an innocent, curious child. I shouldn’t carry any guilt for those unfortunate accidents.
But I do.
Remember that scene in The Evil Dead where that regular, everyday douche-bag suddenly turns into a terrifying, supernatural douche-bag? You know, this guy…
Well, every time I watch that scene I do this:
Every.single.time.
Over the years I have noticed a common trait in horror movie buffs – nothing really scares them. I know there must be others like me – horror movie buffs who crap themselves through each and every scary movie – but I think we are definitely the exception. In fact, most people I know who crap themselves watching horror movies tend to avoid watching them.
My husband, daughter and I are all horror movie buffs, but they belong to the former category and sit through every horror movie looking incredibly relaxed, if not slightly bored. I am the exact opposite to them and have developed a variety of ways to get through horror movies without too much trauma; some of these include:
Not actually watching.
Using husband as protection.
Making the most of visual impairment.
One night a few weeks ago we were all watching a particularly scary horror film. I was doing my usual thing, feeling unbearably anxious and trying to somehow watch without actually seeing anything.
Tired of my endless fidgeting and my constantly asking “What’s happening – is the scary bit over yet?” my daughter handed me one of my son’s toy guns.
I know it was meant to be a joke, but I took the toy gun and aimed it at the television. Immediately something came over me – a feeling of calm, a sense of, dare I say it… power.
From that moment on every time some demoniacal monstrosity erupted on screen I would shoot at it like my life depended it. It became fun and after a short time I found myself looking forward to the scary parts just so I could shoot the television.
Naturally, as the movie got scarier, I had to get a bigger gun.
So, if you’re a major scaredy-cat like me, try arming yourself the next time you’re watching a horror movie…trust me, it works.
Oh, and as for my zombie apocalypse nightmares, I reckon I’ve got them beat.
Winter is approaching again and I am absolutely dreading it. Soon I’ll be rugged up on the couch, covered in blankets, while my whole family will be getting about in T-shirts and annoyingly insisting that, “It’s not that cold”.
For the entirety of the winter months my hands become like ice blocks and my skin turns to permanent goose flesh. In fact, I’m pretty much like that during the autumn months as well. Give me a hot, humid, summer’s day any day.
Here are some more reason why I think winter sucks:
My shoes don’t fit.
The torturous decision each morning to end a steaming hot shower.
The atrociously unsexy nightly attire.
Getting into bed.
Getting out of bed.
Excruciating foot cramps brought on by the cold.
I did manage come up with one good thing about winter…I always win at “icicle hands”!
It all started when my son, Daniel, brought home the latest school newsletter. They were having a costume day and the children were to come dressed as their favourite movie or television star. Having never made a fancy dress costume in my life I was immediately consumed with all-too familiar feelings of guilt and inadequacy.
Then I had an idea. Surely there must be a way I could make a SpongeBob costume without sewing!
So I jumped online and searched…
It was going to be brilliant!
I was so excited about the costume and my son and I were going to have a blast making it!
Yep, I was pretty much the most awesome mother in the world. (Even if I can’t sew.)
I couldn’t wait for school to finish.
At first Daniel was thrilled. He loves doing arts and crafts and was really keen to get started on a project.
I explained the project to him…
but was totally unprepared for his reaction.
I tried to sell it.
But I knew he wasn’t buying it when he said:
I didn’t let go easily.
It was brutal.
Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.
Eventually.
Our pets drive us crazy from time to time, but things are never boring with them around. Recently I got to thinking, what would life be like without them?
Without my cat and dog…
who would stalk me and make me feel important?
who would kill the really big spiders?
who would create an obstacle course for me when I come home from grocery shopping?
who would kill the giant rat I didn’t know I had?
who would make my yoga practice more challenging?
who would alert me to the fact that a car door has been closed, somewhere?
who would prevent the house from being overrun by plants?
who would make our boring clothes look like expensive fur coats?
…and, goodness knows, those tissues aren’t going to get ripped up and spread all over the house by themselves!
Yep, life would be pretty crap without them.
I’m pretty sure we’ve all met someone like him. He’s the guy who approaches you with what, at first, appears to be a simple, friendly greeting. You respond with an equally friendly greeting because, well, it’s polite (and you’re not a total bastard). However, after about four minutes of mind-numbing small talk, interspersed with disturbing, uninvited insights into his personal life, you realise you’ve been tricked. But by then it’s too late – you’re in a one-sided conversation with socially-inappropriate security guard guy.
I recently visited country Victoria to spend Christmas with my parents and my sister and her family. I was warned by my sister that a large number of inhabitants of a nearby town (which shall remain nameless) seemed to be “not quite right”. Intrigued by this information, my husband and I jumped in the car, and took our son and nephew along for the drive.
When we arrived we bought the kids some bakery delights and sat at a table on the sidewalk of the main street.
This also happened to be the exact moment that socially-inappropriate security guard guy went on his smoke break. (I know back when I was a smoker and went outside for a cigarette, the first thing I always did was find some young children and light up right next to them.)
Now, I tell you with no exaggeration that this man proceeded to talk non-stop for fifteen minutes. After what we thought was just going to be a pleasant (and brief) greeting we suddenly found ourselves held captive by a man who apparently had millions of things to say and not enough people to say them to.
He didn’t care that we had stopped listening. He didn’t notice our uncomfortable body language. He didn’t see my husband and I exchange glances of disbelief. He was even oblivious to the fact that my son had somehow managed to swallow his loose tooth.
Socially-inappropriate security guard guy just kept on yammering while my husband and I attended to my son’s emotional distress. I eventually had to interrupt him, “Excuse me, my son just swallowed his tooth”. He barely even skipped a beat. That’s right, he just kept on telling us things while I tried not to vomit at the thought of swallowing a mouthful of chocolate eclair mixed with blood and tooth.
Eventually we said goodbye to the insane, annoying security guard and drove back to my sister’s house to relay our adventures of the town nearby. The moral of this story? Don’t drive to the next town over in the hopes of finding people who seem “not quite right”, because you might actually find them.
Oh, and it is my firm belief that this is what happened after we left.
Flufflepot 