Problem Pukeko

My friends know how much I love pukeko. So this article caught my eye:

Taieri Herald, August 5 2008: Pukeko Problems (page 3):

The habits of pukeko were discussed at the Saddle Hill Community Board meeting
on Thursday.

Dunedin City councillor Colin Weatherall wants two new pukeko signs on Old Brighton Rd by the landfill at a cost of $300 each, or $200 if a post is not needed to hold up the sign.

However, board member Ernie Ball suggested a chicken wire fence might be more appropriate as the signs did not stop motorists killing the native birds by accident.

Board chairman Keith McFadyn suggested a bridge might work, while member Scott
Weatherall thought a tunnel under the road might suit the birds better.

Cr Weatherall disagreed with them all and said any type of fence would not stop the birds, as they could fly.

This story reminds me of some twisted childrens fairy story...

Once upon a time, there was a wee wee Pukeko called Paula. Paula could be a bit dopey, and would run out across the road without checking both ways. but Paula the Pukeko was friends with Colin the Councillor, who wanted to warn the motorists of her dopey ways.

Colin the Councillor asked Ernie the Earnest, Keith the Kind and Scott the Sweet if they could help pay for the signs.

"Hmmm", said Ernie the Earnest, "we should put up a fence, so Paula can't just run out like a headless chicken?"

"Hmmm" said Keith the Kind, "maybe we should construct a bridge, so Paula can go pippity pop pippity pop over the bridge!"

"Hmmm" said Scott the Sweet, "we could dig a tunnel! Then Paula can zoom ze zoom through the tunnel!"

"Good lord!" exclaimed Colin the Councillor, "you are all forgetting one thing! Paula can fly!"

"hahahahahhahahahaaaaa" they all chuckled together. They had learnt an important lesson.

The end...

The Phenomenon of Eating Pants

I've been a bit slack in posting recently, mainly because my nights have been filled with watching anorexic people being good at sports.

I'm not anorexic, far from it, especially since quitting the darts - I've gained 5kgs. Shameface. So my friends and I have begun a "Biggest Loser" competition. You know how in ever series there is the person who weighs the most, but that's not a surprise since they are bigger than Baywatch? That's me. Relative to the others.

But I've got lots of good intentions and every day since Saturday I have done some exercise. So I have done something four days in a row. Probably enough to mitigate the corn chips I eat, but moving on...

I've been doing "Denise Austin's Fat Burning Yoga" and I have to say, quite a workout. Denise, wow, she's a lovie, but geeeeeeeeez. She's so, so... Perky, and those eyes!! BAM! I found her website today, and she offers a free success plan. Problem is, they calculated my BMI wrong. I know what it is - I'm in a normal range (for the next 12 kgs, anyway) and yet Denise tells me I'm Overweight, with a BMI of 25.5! (Normal is 18.5 to 24.9 - follow this link for a BMI calculator). So I'm pretty depressed. Denise tells me that I have a lovely smile, and that I'm burning fat. What she really means is "you've got too much of it".

And to demonstrate why I haven't been getting up at 6am for some pre-work yoga, here's Denise:

Let's move on...

My friend and I learnt that we both have "eating pants"... and I wonder if these eating pants are a common item of clothing, lurking in the closets of binge eaters everywhere. My pants are so scrappy that if I leave the house in them I'm only popping to the liquor store to get alchohol poisoining or Mitre 10 for some blades, but they are the only pants that I can "lounge" in. Hef gets his smoking jacket, females everywhere get their eating pants.

My Mummy Told Me...

Isn't it funny the things parent teach? My favourite lesson is about drugs. One of my earliest memories, and one of the earliest things Mum taught me was:

If a person comes to the door, and asks you if you want to buy drugs, you say No!

Because you see, back in the eighties drug dealers didn't hang round seedy places or wait in their gang fortresses for you to go to them... no, they were as likely to come to your door as someone selling a lux or a Jehovah's Witness. And probably more welcome.

The generational gap is great, and the list of things I've begun compiling to teach my kids is vastly different.

I learn by doing, and usually by doing wrong. Thus, the "Things I will teach my kids" List

1. Don't write a note saying "Let's Break Amanda's Arm at Morning Tea" and then forget about it and put it in my pencil case and then when it is discovered play dumb.
2. Don't mix Grape flavoured Fanta and vodka.
3. If you want to confuse someone at KFC, ask for a Snack burger without the Chicken fillet. They'll suggest you have a Salad burger. But insist on the Snack burger.
4. Don't mix white spirits with Bailey's
5. Don't try to keep up with the more experienced members of the social club because you will FAIL. And will FAIL at 5.30pm out on the street.
6. If you want to get kicked out of McDonalds, ask for a Big Mac with a circumsised Pickle. They'll boot you out about 70% of the time
7. If (or more likely, when) you are asked "What's up your nose?" the answer probably shouldn't be "Snot". Especially when they have a knife concealed.
8. No matter the urge, never roll your eyes when in view of someone, especially parents. It always ends badly.
9. Fireworks are awesome, but bonfires are better. Waaaaaay better.
10. Don't come home till after you've sobered up. Parents will notice the swaying and slurring. Walking home is usually a smart idea. In a group.

Perhaps suggest further items in the comments...

Is this yours?

World Exclusive!

Mandiellaneous' foreign correspondent, "Ynneg" reports: found this on the door of a hotel room in kaza, the main town of the spiti valley in north india. very random, considering this place is literally the middle of nowhere

The Ratepayers and Householders Association will be very disappointed to learn of this obvious waste of ratepayers funds. Reports have surfaced that the infamous (to all Indian restaurants in Dunedin) "City Planning Curry Club" are the "brains" behind this branch.

Motivation is...

As a fatty poomba who can't control herself in the presence of chocolate and/or corn chips and/or cashews (I love food starting with C, random fact of the day), and with a looming (probably not the word for something over a year away) wedding, I know I needed to loose some jiggly bits.

So I pondered my options, of which I believe I have two.

1. Get food poisoning. Preferably eat dodgy food on Saturday night so once the 24 hour incubation period is over you miss the optimal days of work - that's the theory, anyways.
2. Exercise and eat a healthy diet.

I've decided, if desperate, that a combination of the two will be suitable, but in the meantime I am going to exercise. And when starting a new fitness regime, instead of my usual dieting 'The Diet Starts Tomorrow' mantra, the mantra becomes 'No Time Like The Present'.

So, 8.10 last night, approximately 12 hours ago, I went exercising. The fact that I am here to complain at all is nothing short of a miracle.

I was thinking "Safety In Numbers" so I took my fur baby and I decided to run down the main street. It was about, oh, 5 meters in, that I realised my mistake... "Safety In Numbers" = "Plenty Of People To Watch Me Exercising And Judge Me (And Probably Point And Laugh But It Was Dark So I Don't Know For Sure They Were Laughing At Me)".

So I couldn't stop running. Some may say I've stumbled upon a huge motivational tool. I'd tell those somes that eventually I'd need to move to a town with a bigger main street, if I lived to do it more than half a dozen times.

Once I reached the pre-determined corner (which, unfortunately, coincided with the main part of the main street so I probably would've been able to stop running there anyways) I turned and decided to walk for a bit, you know, as a 'treat'.

My body had other plans. Spasms of pain shot through my lungs. Stitch booted me in the stomach. My legs became like jelly. Watery jelly. I crawled home. My 5 minute run meant the 8 minute walk home extended to 15 minutes, and my legs hurt so much this morning that I don't think I will be able to run for a few days. This morning my whole body is so tired that I may end up asleep, drowning in my coffee. Reflecting back, it was easier to run than to stop.

And the worst thing was, Ruger was pulling the whole time.

Stupid energetic dog.

Stupid wedding.

Stupid C food.

Mailing to Males, or, when good jokes go "Wrong"

In the female dominated team at my work place, one of my favourite pastimes is teasing the males that happen to wander past, or, unluckily for Paul, have to work in an area with a high female to lesser sex count.

As already alluded to in this post, dear Paul is sensitive to women's matters (and let me tell you, Mr F is traumatised by the very thought of a pineapple lump). Not sensitive "can I lend you a tampon, here's a heated wheat pack" sensitive, but a "aarrggghhh you mentioned your gender, shutupshutupshutup" sensitive.

So when I was invited to a Joanna G party, I grasped the opportunity to tease Paul with both hands, and I dug and I dug and I stirred and I stirred. Poor Paul looked like he'd been through several Joanna G demonstrations after I'd finished with him.

But his defensive mechanisms grew stronger, and his "knickesknickersknickers" whilst cupping his hands over his ears was a good tactic. (Although suggested this as our new uniform did turn him a lovely magenta shade). So I took it that step too far. I sent him a Joanna G catalog.

Little did I know...

...picture this. A stunning white cottage, bathed in sunshine. A stone path weaves its way through a path of daisies, and a slight breeze rippling the gingham curtains. A mother, dressed in a fresh frock, with an apron over top, is just getting cookies out of the oven, when Bill, the friendly neighbourhood postman, knocks at the door.

"Hello Elizabeth"

"Why, hello William! Busy day?"

"Not bad, not bad. I have a letter from your family in the country, and a book or something for your kind husband Paul. How is he these days?!"

"Oh, you know, he slaves away at his job to make our future bright. He really is a pure soul. Give that there book to wee Tammy there, she'll open it for her Daddy"

"See ya Elizabeth"

"See you later William!"

and as William walks away, wee Tammy opens up the package for her Daddy, the besstest Daddy ins the world (in accordance with the picture she painted at kindy for Fathers Day.

"Look Mummy! A cake!!"

"Just one moment honey, Mummy is just putting a pavola in"

"Mummy, why do theses ladies getses to wear swimsuitss?"

Elizabeth spins around, quietly, lest she disturb her pav. "Let me see Daddy's book darling"

Elizabeth sees the cover - Joanna G - and feels faint. She sits, quietly, lest she disturb her pavlova, and tries to avoid fainting. Surely her darling would not look at these heathen women. It must be some mistake.

And alas, it was. Luckily for little Tammy, the request for a "birthday cake like the one on the cover of Daddy's book" could probably be done by the perfect mother in my (mainly fiction) reconstruction of events.

Getting my knitters in a cable twist

I've taken to knitting.

I quit smoking on April Fool's day this year, and as well as saving money it has been pretty good for my squash game too. But there are down sides to having two hands free, for example they have taken to sneaking into bags of corn chips, and with nothing between my lips, the subsitute is mmm fooooood.

So I've started knitting. It's only been a week, and you know what I've noticed? As for every other thing I start doing to have a point of difference, it has latched on to become a trend. Move over Sienna Miller, quit snorting Kate Moss, you ladies have competition. I was watching MTV in the weekend and noticed some random emo band kid sitting, knitting. Whatever.

Anyways I have knitted - wait for it - a cheeseroll. If I can't eat, I might as well channel what I want to eat into my knitting. My next project is a tie to donate to the "Mai Tai Catalog", newly established in my place of work. I'll keep you updated.

What happened to randomness in August?