Post post wit

I just realised that yesterday was our Friday: Buried Bone Day. And well, one 36yr old Brendan Francis McMahon buried his bone in a way I don’t think Bec nor I imagined would fit so beautifully into our theme-of-the-day.

Which brings me to today, Saturday. Apparently, according to Jennifer, blogging on weekends is the new black. I am thrilled to be so cutting edge at something as opposed to my standard “what’s an ipod?” type existence.

Today is our Sports scandal day. I find this hard as, well, I could never ever watch ESPN, Fox Sports 1 through 12 or Channel Ten’s woeful Sports Tonight again and not even notice. Except I would miss the figure skating, which irritatingly only ever seems to be on at midnight, which is actually making me look forward to impersonating a cow and breastfeeding again.

I do wonder though, how World Championship Poker is considered a sport.

Anyway, I digress. Apparently headlines like this:
Clarke flat out as top order rocks
are scandalous to some. And opening pars such as this:

Australia were battling for survival in the third Test on Friday evening, having lost Justin Langer to a stroke of English brilliance before tea, then Ricky Ponting and Matthew Hayden after the break on
another compelling day of Ashes cricket.

can apparently bring tears to the eyes. While I become a cricket fan by default over summer (when it is all that is on Australian television and I have friends who can tell me stuff about the 1987 test series that basically makes me question a) how I ever met these people and b) how on earth did we become the dearest friends we have become) but when its cold, the heaters on and there are programs like We Could be Heroes or DNA to watch, the scandal is that cricket is on at all.

Lame I know. But its the best I can do.

Warning: recreational drugs and cute furry animals just don’t mix…

I could say so much, but the story really speaks for itself.

But really, it makes Toby’s plight seem so much more, well, humane.

Not yet son, not yet.

An exchange with Felix, which I belive was spurred by lack of parent control over television viewing and just WAY too much watching of The Suite Life – a HIDEOUS program that is basically this generation’s answer to Full House.

F: Mummy, am I grounded?
M: Not yet mate, not yet.
F: When will you ground me?
M: Probably when you’re around 15 and sneak out of the house at night.
F: Why?
M: Because that’s not what you do.
F: Why?
M: Because I hope that as you get older we have a wonderful relationship where we talk to each other have respect for each other. So that you understand there will be times I don’t let you do something, and you understand I’m not doing it to ruin your life or because I am mean, but because I love you and want the best for you.
F: Where would I go to?
M: When?
F: When I sneak out of the house?
M: Well, you won’t do that so it doesn’t matter.
F: But if I did.
M: probably to a friends house or something.
F: Like a party.
M: Yes, maybe.
F: But why wouldn’t you let me go to a party?
M: Can we have this discussion when the situation arises? Not now, because I’m sure, in a decade neither you nor I will recall it.
F: OK.
M: OK.
F: But can you still ground me?
M: Sure Felix. You’re grounded.
F: Cool.

and another thing…

I did yoga today. At work. It made me feel like I needed to puke. Graysh.

nude dreams

Last week. That’s right, last week, I had a dream that not only was I naked at Warriewood Square (the Northern Beaches answer to Fountain Gate) but I sidled up to a posh designer toilet as part of those in-square special displays and proceeded to complete ablutions – all the while yelling at the boys to stop running off and stand in front of Mummy to give her some privacy.

I have no idea if this was all just part of my burning and constant desire at the moment to do a wee that lasts more than 3 seconds and is more than 5ml or deals with the whole poo issue with a degree of satisfaction rather than “that’ll have to do” or who knows. It was horrifying and yet compelling all the same.

Other musings of the moment:
– I wonder if my mother ever actually understood the Internet, and actually read this, just how many lemon delicious puddings it would take to a) stop her crying and b) apologise for all the bad bad things I say about her on here.

– Is Barnaby really a bad name?
– If we called it Lulu would she hate us forever?

– I’m hungry, I really need Doritos.

– God that heartburn is a bitch, I wish I hadn’t eaten those Doritos.

– Ah, I’ve walked three steps so naturally, I need to urinate.

– Why does my brother’s choice of life and approach to it irritate me so much. I fear I am turning into Holly Hunter’s sister on Home For The Holidays.

– I wonder if I look fat in this.

– Man my back hurts.

– Do I really need to do a wee or is that just pelvic congestion.

and so on and so forth.

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