Bat Tales Take 2

A completely gross and disgusting thing happened again involving me and a bat.  For those of you that didn’t get to read the first instalment during my vacation in Fiji you can click here for your reading pleasure. But back to the story at hand.

My sister in law came to drop a gift for the newly Miss14 at our house.  She made mention that “did I know there was a dead bat on the pavement outside my house?”

No I did not know.  It was now only 4pm in the afternoon, the light was fading and The Artist was not due home anytime soon.

I considered my options and decided to be a grownup and go and sort out the problem myself.  Bearing in mind that neither neighbour on either side seems to want to be friends with me I am truly alone in the universe in these situations. (And my brother lives way over the harbour bridge and is more of a wus than I would like to be and my father would not in a million years even consider being helpful in these circumstances as dead and sick is not his thing).

Strategically I reckoned one could treat this like those people who scoop the dogs poop with the bags.  So I put three bags on my hand and going up my arm and then went outside to confront the problem.  I was going to pick it up with my plastic-bagged hand, turn the bag inside out with the other hand and then close it up and chuck it in the bin.  The Council were collecting early the next morning –  before you get all ughhhh, grossssssss, a dead bat in  your binnnnn.

However, this thing was the size of a well fed house cat.  Freaking enormous I tell you.  Enormous.  And it looked like it was taking a good old-fashioned nap there on the grass under the tree.  In no universe (alone or not) was my hand, three plastic bags over it  going to come into contact with some so big and so dead.

I returned to the house to re-strategise.

Plan B involved a spade and the three bags, now dangling from my other hand.  This was not an easy thing people.  The wind was blowing.  And that bat was heavy.   Heavier than it looked and the spade got tangled under the bat and , the deal breaker, it stank like you can’t believe!!!!

I eventually managed to get it in to the bag and had Miss10 get one of those nice smelling lemon scented bin bags to seal the stinking bat in as he went to his final resting place in the rubbish.

Did I mention that I was quietly keening and flapping inside to myself, such was my distress?

A few hours later, when The Artist returned from his office, I was all pumped up to tell him of my brave brave disposal of the bat and got to the part when his sister was telling me there was a dead bat outside the house when he interrupted to tell me that yes, he and Miss14 had seen it the weekend before.

The world got suddenly quiet as I considered going to get the bat out of the bin to smack him in the head with it.

Yes people.  They had taken a walk the weekend before and seen the bat outside the house.  Dead.  The Artist remarked that it was beautifully intact and very well fed.  He reckoned it’s legs couldn’t hold its fat little body and that it fallen out of the tree, onto its head, cracked it’s skull and died.  Just like that. He also reckoned that it was perfectly okay for him to leave it there, to rot outside my house.  He thought perhaps a dog would pick it up.  And do what with it exactly? 

Miss10 then pointed out that she had noticed that it’s feet were fried so no, it had not just dropped out of the sky from a tree whilst resting it’s fat little body – it had died by electrocution on the powerlines.  It gets worse and worse.

Now I know that this will probably not make sense at all, but it was one thing for me to dispose of a freshly dead bat, it was another thing entirely for me to have to dispose of a bat that had been dead for almost a week, had been electrocuted and was decomposing etcetera etcetera.  I mean seriously, imagine if it had broken in half or something as I was wrestling it into the bag with the spade.  I would have needed therapy for at least six months.  At least.

The Artist also wanted to know why I didn’t take any photos of the dead bat and me disposing of it…….

Some people are just so insensitive, don’t you think?

Love and light

Lauren xxx

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A soccer field, a dog and a bag of soccer oranges

This post features The Artist in the lead role.

Picture the scene.

Sunday morning soccer, plastic bag containing oranges in a tupperware on the ground.  Culprit walks up casual-like and pisses on the bag. On the bag.

The culprit.  Like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

The culprit. Like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

The Artist wallops the culprit on the arse but unfortunately the damage is done.  He carefully removes the tupperware but now the bag is about to blow towards the field where his dearly beloved offspring is playing.  As he is about to wrestle with his good and bad angel, another father, whom we will call Pepper (and who has a bit of a “rep” in the soccer circles) pounces on the bag and balls it up in his hand and then wipes it on his jeans.  Pepper informs The Artist that he will keep it as it is needed for when the oranges are eaten out of the tupperware and then they can be thrown away.

The Artist at this stage is besides himself, laughing on the inside of course. And at the same time cringing with disgust.  The Artist likes things clean, very clean.  Dog pee does not enter his world.

Come half time and the kids eat the oranges (which are perfectly clean inside the container – in case you were worrying).  Pepper then instructs his wife to handle the bag and collect the orange peels.  The Artist is almost doubled over now.

After the game, Pepper tries to return the bag to The Artist to dispose of the orange peels but The Artist waves heartily and hoofs it to his car with Miss10 in tow.  Responsible like –  not having handled the pissbag at all but ensuring that it doesn’t pose a nature hazard going forward.

Experiencing the grave misfortune of a run in on the soccer field with Pepper a few years prior, I myself have to say that karma has no address. (quote credit: Hayden Giger)

That is all.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

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Perfectly okay, or seriously wrong?

I’m going to open up a can of worms here.  Opinion people.

On Saturday night The Artist and the children and I thundered down to our local and preferred Thai place as I was borderline hangry and things were starting to get out of control.

It is situated in the middle of a hotspot which also has a cinema adjacent to it.  Getting a park is like trying to find a cab at 12am on a Saturday night at The Rocks.  So the good people of the council or whoever built a carpark to solve the problem, which it has, to some extent.  And to some extent I mean it does, except on a Saturday night.

So we did the perfunctionary drive around and then glided into the carpark swung down 6 floors until we almost came bonnet to concrete wall with a dead end.  Problem.  8 point turn and up we went where we located two young ladies seemingly wandering aimlessly through the place.  The Artist started to interrogate them (as you do) about whether they were going out and where they had parked.  Miss13 pointed out that had he been on his own they might have become afraid and run back to a public place to seek assistance, such was his questioning tone.  We proceeded to do another 8 point turn and wait for them on Level 4 while they paid for their ticket.

Subsequently on the level below I spotted three people appearing to walk with purpose to their vehicle.  ”Parking” I screeched excitedly, and The Artist put the pedal to the metal and approached quickly.  Seeing us arrive with such enthusiasm they shamefacedly confessed that they had absolutely no clue where their car was.  They were in fact wandering aimlessly.  Problem.  Another 8 point turn to burn rubber back to Level 4 to find that our original ladies were swinging out of their parking with a white car waiting on the ramp.  The Artist made a strategic decision and whipped straight in.  Like Sebastion Vettel in this year’s Malaysian Formula 1 Grand Prix.  Picture the aforementioned white car as Mark Webber and you can imagine what happened next.  Problem.

Again, overriding team orders to win - perfectly okay, or seriously wrong?

Again, overriding team orders to win – perfectly okay, or seriously wrong?

However, unlike the initially contrite Vettel, The Artist has missed his calling in life.  Criminal Defence Lawyer.  And the best form of defence is attack.  He offered up an argument to the complainant that he had as much right to the parking as he had traversed the levels of the carpark three times (once, twice if you count the Level 5/4 thing) and even though the other man who had been waiting and thought he spotted it first, it was in fact, The Artist’s parking.  Miss10 and I are not good in these conflicting situations and deserted ship to get the hell out  of  there go and get a table.

Miss13 was staying for the drama.  Bit of psycho in that one and is fond of a good train smash.  The end result was apparently one of The Artist being called a bit of a “hole” and a bitch.  He does not think that last remark was directed at him.  Because apparently men can’t be called bitches.

Returning to our vehicle a massive ute thing pulled up at the paystation – some people just don’t walk to the paystation, they drive and get a mate to hop out and pay.  The Artist exclaimed loudly noticed that the driver was Paul Gallen, Captain of The Cronulla Sharks and NSW 2012 State of Origin team.  They did that man nod thing.  Like, yeah – I see you.  Yeah – we’re cool.  If I had known I was in the presence of greatness (it had to be explained to me who Paul Gallen was after the man nodding thing) I would have demanded a photo.  I mean, seriously, who doesn’t post stuff like “look who I found on Saturday night when I was out for Thai food in the carpark”on Facebook if they have the opportunity?  Next time.  I kind of wondered quietly to myself whether The Artist would have swiped Paul Gallen’s parking if he had been the waiting vehicle.  That might have made for some exciting stuff! Just saying.

But reverting to the issue at hand, if your spouse is hangry bordering on VERY hangry, is it technically okay to steal someone’s parking, that was kind of technically yours to begin with?  Perfectly okay, or seriously wrong?

Love and light

Lauren xxx

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My heart TedXploded on Saturday

An open letter to Remo Guiffre – the man behind TEDxSydney

Dear Remo

Last Friday night I was like the proverbial child before Christmas – I did not sleep hardly a wink from excitement.  Because on Saturday morning I was coming to TEDxSydney.

This did not in any way stop me from being bright eyed and bushy tailed arriving at The Opera House  - was I ever pumped! I knew it was going to be a completely and ridiculously awesome experience when even the name badge that contained absolutely everything  you needed to know for the day impressed the BeJeesus out of me! (Pity I only saw the map of the Opera House and entry doors late in the day – your volunteers must have considered me a bit of a twit).

My TedXBadge - no words how clever!

My TedXBadge – no words how clever!

The day was one of such total unique joy – listening to people in so many different areas that I didn’t think would have any relevance to my every day life and then realising that without their big ideas that change the world in small ways one day at a time we have nothing – but what they do is everything .  These people you brought to us are legacy leavers that may never receive a Nobel Prize.  They go about their business with a sense of self, a sense of purpose and a sense of passion.  People need people that restore their faith in the world.  Your speakers did that for me on Saturday – you had no idea how badly I needed that.

 The explosion of talent that was Omar Musa, Kate Miller-Heidke, Tom Thum and the sublime John Butler and Jeff Lang – through them you managed to touch our  hearts  not only through ideas but through music. And you know – music lifts the soul. I haven’t had tears brought to my eyes in a very long time.
Sublime.  A tick on the bucket list.

Sublime. A tick on the bucket list.

At lunch I found a pickle in a jar at Aria that cannot go without mention.  Yes, a pickle.  The salty taste will linger on my tongue like the memories of TedxSydney continue to linger in my mind and permeate my thoughts.
And Damien Mander and his IAPF (International Anti-Poaching Foundation).  The man has pure African blood running through his veins – I had to keep reminding myself that he is Australian born and ex-Special Forces Australian Army with 12 tours of Afghanistan under his belt. I know that in the past he was a soldier.  In my mind he is now a Soldier that became a Warrior.  Respect.
His tattoo reads Seek and Destroy.  He thought it would make him brave.  He made himself brave.

His tattoo reads Seek and Destroy. He thought it would make him brave. He made himself brave.

I’ve been struggling with motivation, direction and feel myself consumed with the mundane.  I’m a firm believer that fate takes you on a journey – you are a passenger in the taxi of life.  And while you will reach your destination, the route is not always your own to navigate.

Remo – sometimes along the way, people try and take the sparkle off stuff.  They seem to try very hard to rub it off with their mental steelwool and granite opinions.  On Saturday 4 May you and your team gave me so much sparkle – I think it’s going to take a lifetime to get it to fade.

Thank you.  From the bottom of my heart. And from my sanity.

Much love – I hope to see you all in 2014.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

p.s.  I have played Hank and the Pink Balloon, one of many short video’s prepared for the day – another wow factor element of the whole experience – to my ten year old daughter. She had already seen first taste as my husband was watching TEDxSydney online at home during the day.  Her delight was akin to mine – again, thank you for rocking my world.

p.p.s. To my friends reading this – click the link here – what inspires you?

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Deposing the Dancing Queen – sucking it on the Wii

It seems like we are in week 409 of the school holidays – seriously people – must Monday be a pupil free day on the back of ten days over Easter and Passover and two weeks now?  Seriously?

So, because we are running out of activities and I’m stressed to the max trying to work to deadlines and not be the crappest parent in the world, Friday night saw me conned into a game of Just Dance on the Wii.  Now in my day, I was a dancing queen.  Abba had NOTHING on me.  However, this Wii thing leaves me flummoxed.  And dead in the water in terms of my score. And according to some profile I did at work I’m a win at all costs kind of girl.  (Not something to be proud of apparently)

I battled first against Miss10 – because that way I have a hope in hell of actually winning a round.  Maybe.  Half way through the second song she threw the remote down in horror and disgust and stalked off upstairs in a huff.  Too competitive she said. And one does not like to be accused of cheating when one is merely winning.

Which left me with Miss 13.  After two songs I was convinced, but convinced! that my remote was faulty.    She gave me the stink eye before agreeing to change over.  I would be A and she would be B.  Much better.  Certain I was that the tracker on B was defs not working to potential.

To no avail.  I seemed to be doing better – translation – I was only losing by 1000 – 1500 points as opposed to the colossal 4000 of the previous song.  And then came The Power by Snap.  And the little upstart chirps, just as we’re about to start battling “Oh – that’s my song”.  Your song?  Excuse me?  Released in January 1990 – you weren’t even BORN when I was dancing in the clubs to that song.  Your song indeed.

My defeat was similar to Napolean’s at Waterloo.

Thrashed by 7000 odd points *hangs head in shame*

Thrashed by 7000 odd points *hangs head in shame*

The dance maestro then quietly asked whether I was watching the pre-emptive little men in the bottom right hand side of the screen for the moves?  Pre-emptive little men say what?

Hmmmmfffff.

I would like to say that this improved matters somewhat but not really so.  Miss13 then decided it was time for me to redo the song on my own and she would observe and give her professional opinion on where the problem was.  Not one to say no to some personal self improvement I obliged.

To her credit she did not howl with laughter or hold her head in her hands weeping.  Her verdict: I add too many of my own moves.  Accordingly to all things Wii this is not a forum for me to be creative and shake my booty.

Disappointing is all I have to say.  Disappointing.

Disappointing is all I have to say. Disappointing.

I will leave those static and pre-emptive dance moves to the younger generation while I continue to dance on my own in my kitchen with the spagbol on the stove and where I can bust a move any which way I choose.

And for your viewing pleasure – I’ve got The Power – memory lane people – it’s always a road well travelled.

Love and light.

Lauren xxx

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Fistpump Friday: You cannot win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket

Last week something unexpected happened. And by unexpected I mean completely fucking awesome.

Even though some of you may think I am a fly by the seat of my pants, crazy type – in reality and by habit I am rather ordered. I like what I like and even though I fancy myself as somewhat exciting, it mainly manifests itself in the colour of a nail polish or a creative idea, or a ranty blog post.

As a result I am constantly looking for people to inspire me so I am a regular trawler of Ted Talks. I think that some of those people rock the world with their fabulousness.

At the gym, my friend Corey, an American that has this kind of Jude Law thing going on and who knows a lot of shit told me in the course of a conversation that to be kept in the loop about upcoming events one had to create a profile and join TedSydney. Easy. Done.

A few months ago, like clockwork, an email arrived advising that applications for audience participation were open with the usual detailing of how there was a selection process, limited places, etc etc etc…..

Without hope in my heart (but you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket) I logged on – filled out what I deemed to be an extensive application which had that bastard of all questions at the end – why you?…….. and hit send. Then forgot about it. Because as I said, I didn’t think I had a dogsball of a chance.

Sitting at the hairdresser Thursday afternoon addressing the imbalance between the colour of my hair growing from my scalp (a crap brownish some, grey some colour) and the colour God intended me to be (blond) I got the mother of all emails.

Yes!!!!!! They were talking to me!

Yes!!!!!! They were talking to me!

No. Fucking. Way!!!!!!!

I checked quickly that it wasn’t one of those spam things that gets your hopes up (like the text message I received two Saturday’s ago advising me that I had won 2 Million Pounds in the British Lottery) and then quietly screamed to myself (because my hairdresser is not the kind of place you behave like a lunatic and then expect to get another appointment ever) and had a hot flush from excitement. Unfortunately my iPhone was about to run out of battery so I only got to text about half the people in the world that I know.

My brother (the one getting married) had not heard of Ted at all. He lives in Mosman so perhaps they haven’t got it there yet. The Artist had the sense to log on to the website to check out what the hoohaa was about and expressed adequate joy for me.

Second only to this is the awesome hat I found in the airport last Friday. The Artist says if I wear it twice it will be many times. Expect to see me with it perched on my head for all of winter.

I will be the one in the hat.

I will be the one in the hat.

Each Friday I’m going to post something that required a serious FISTPUMP from the week. I want to hear about yours too. In the comments section below or on Facebook. Share the love people – whether it’s because a southerly wind dried your mound of washing or you lost a pound or two, or whether in fact you won the lottery. Small things, big things. Whatever moment in your week that made your heart (and face) smile. Firstpump Fridays – participate.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

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Some of my better faux pas

We’ve all had those moments when our mouths and our brains experience a disconnect.  And sometimes even while it’s happening we are completely powerless to stop ourselves.  There are other times when we say things with authority without adequate knowledge.  I unfortunately succumb to both rather often. This might or might not have something to do with one of my alter ego’s, instrumental in my thought processes during the 90′s and early 2000′s.  I’m the one on the right by the way (Pats). My friend Yvette is the one on the left (Eds)

Absolutely Fabulous - Eds and Pats - funny but not so bright.

Absolutely Fabulous – Eds and Pats – funny but not so bright.

I take you back to circa 2003ish when I was at the peak of my full time mummydom.  I also want to acknowledge heritage in this collosal verbal faux pas.

Driving down Anzac Parade past Sydney Football Stadium one Sunday afternoon with The Artist and desperate to appear interesting and make some form of conversation other than that I had successfully managed to get peas or some other kind of vegetable down the gullet of one of my offspring, I remarked on the crowd flocking towards the stadium.  ”So, the Swans are playing the Roosters today”.  Deafening silence.

You get the gist…….I unfortunately at the time didn’t and The Artist spent the trip to St Ives explaining the various rugby codes to me, all the while tut-tutting and shaking his head.  Anyone watching might have assumed he had a bad case of Tourettes with all the head shaking that was going on such was his horror.

They clean up well these boys. *

They clean up well these boys. Roosters by the way.

I will not tell how I was trawling for a picture of Sam Burgess and his brothers to appear above.  Fortunately the internet is cleverer than me and apparently they are Rabbitohs.

More recently, at the gym, having a coffee with some mates I remarked that the gentleman cycling next to me (Michael) had an identical twin brother.  I then went on to say “And they look quite similar”.  Again a deafening silence before Big Kev told me that hands down that was the dumbest thing he’d heard me say – and he talks to me at 5.30am when I’m barely conscious some days.

Identical twins - they look the same.  Duh.  This is not Michael by the way.  Or his brother.

Identical twins – they look the same. Duh. This is not Michael by the way. Or his brother.

And then one must recall the design flaw on my car. The one I bitched about non-stop.  The one that saw me break many a fingernail in the 11 months preceding the moment when a security guard checking my boot managed to casually open it.  But why wasn’t he (like me) hoiking his hand between the bumper and the bottom rim of the boot, wiggling his fingers carefully between the two and lifting the damn thing like it was a 10kg kettle bell?.  I kind of wish I had recorded the look on his face when I asked him how he’d done that as I hadn’t seen him crouch down to get to the said point of entry.  The subsequent conversation was somewhat confusing when the poor man didn’t understand the question and I couldn’t make myself understood because I saw that he didn’t get his hand underneath the part between the boot and the bumper when opening the hatch.  Turns out there’s no design flaw, the logo positioned at waist height at the back of the car is the point of entry and acts as a handle like thing and pushes in so there is no need, no need whatsoever to break anything or be a complete twit.  Being a helpful Henry I immediately shared the knowledge with Darren C (in his youth known as DJ Dazza I believe) who at the time had the same vehicle – knowledge is power.  Another deafening silence.  Accompanied by the relevant Facebook shaming.  Which in truth I probably deserved.

See that little white thing at the back of the car.  That.

See that little logo thing 30cm above the number plate. That.

There are many many more stories but I must dash and start hauling the offspring off to school.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

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