The Poop and Kakka

There have been a few times this week when I have seen people experience not their finest moment.  I think perhaps that full moon last week is playing havoc with their senses.  I personally am keeping my head down and my bum up as I have no choice in order to meet various deadlines and not get myself fired from gainful employment.

In the spirit of remaining in the workforce I stayed on at work yesterday for an additional hour and picked up Miss13 from the bus stop.  Miss17 had scored a ride home with a friend, recently in possession of her P’s and had managed to arrive home about 3 minutes before us, accessing the house from the back door and launching immediately into the kitchen.

This is relevant because when Miss13 jumped from my vehicle and ran inside to hug Koda her olfactory senses immediately sensed danger and she went further into the house to investigate.  From my car I heard hysterical screaming of the shit nature.  I seriously could not believe this because in the almost three years we have had him, Koda has NEVER, even as a puppy, pooped in the house.

It goes without saying that both Miss13 and Miss17 were rendered useless – flapping their hands with gay abandon and not even considering grabbing a spray/kitchen towel/plastic bag to begin the industrial clean up.

This was a job for a girl who has handled such situations like never previously.  I watch many crime shows so I know what is needed in these instances.  I gloved up, blocked my nostrils and got to work.  Even after I had finished, the house smelled like death.  So we opened every door and window and I lit one of those rose candles from Ikea that has taken up residence in a cupboard for the past 5 years and was now the hero of the day.

As a courtesy I called The Artist to let him know of the ordeal I had experienced – he was none to pleased about that extra hour I had spent working that he thought might have resulted in Koda’s explosive bowel movement.  This was refuted an hour later by the vet who called The Artist to say that from Koda’s routine blood tests yesterday he could see the dog was carrying a virus and was he okay?  Way to go asshole – you couldn’t have called earlier?

The Artist returned home and proceeded to disrespect my clean up efforts.  Apparently I had missed a smudge, hence the lingering smell.  He then proceeded to smell the floor and tried to get me to do the same but I was having none of it I tell you.  He dispatched himself to the shops and returned armed to clean up a murder.

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Absolved of responsibility I took myself to bed and watched Chicago PD and confirmed to myself that yes, indeed, we had enough product in the house to make any serial killer proud.

Love and light
Lauren xxx

 

 

Stay home Saturday night – the case for support

Last night we ventured out to dinner with friends.  It was an 8pm start so there was more than enough time to walk the dog, relax for a bit and then get going.  Or so I thought.

Miss13 needed to be dropped at a friend, literally on the way so it was all going swimmingly.  We were cutting it fine but making all those traffic lights through the city certainly eased the tension building in the car until we hit the roundabout at the offramp to Darling Harbour.  ROAD CLOSED.  Say what?????  Bless all things onboard navigation related and we whizzed around the back to our usual carpark.  Except it was FULL and hence CLOSED.  At this stage I had the sweats and was hyperventilating because I DO NOT LIKE TO BE LATE.  Ever!!!!!!!!!  Fashionably late was never my thing, even when it was fashionable to be late.  I’m not wired that way and chances are at this late stage I never will be.  The sensible option was then to park at The Star, a million miles away and walk.  Because apparently a taxi would take the same time.  I’m just telling you that with short little trotters and a heel I should have dug those said heels in and demanded a cab.

So this is the part where you think, okay, they got there – 25 MINUTES LATE – and she had a glass of champagne to calm herself and it all went well.  Not to be.  We were seated on the third level of our restaurant which is a fine establishment by the way and a place I frequent regularly.  However, so impressed was I with myself on the day I booked (because I had also managed to secure a last minute appointment with the hairdresser for Miss13) that I forgot to specify where I should sit and they clearly don’t check their notes from previous bookings. (Yes, I know I’m asking too much).  Unfortunately I had attended my hot yoga class at 10am that morning and wasn’t intending on doing another session just 10 hours later.  Holy mother!  With all the rules and regulations in this country you would think that this kind of heat in a restaurant has to be somewhat illegal.  A person could spontaneously combust.

It was also not helped by the large group of 20 something’s seated behind us who also clearly are not used to the restaurant experience.  I think perhaps they are still at the stage where one should get a good kebab and go eat it at the beach.  Between running up and down from their seats to show each other the latest porn video and giggling like halfwits, I was tempted to have a strong word however I wasn’t sure whether those beards were related to hipster shit or something more sinister.  Perhaps it was a farewell dinner?

As my feet hit the ground floor Miss13 messaged to say her friend was very unwell having eaten a scallop earlier and we needed to pick her up ASAP.  Now if you remember our vehicle was parked MILES away.  Yes, so off these little legs again trotted off at a startling pace back to the car.  I was already sweating like a beast from the restaurant so my high speed dash back to the car did not help matters.  Not at all.  The Artist picking up on my angst then fed his credit card into the cash section of the payment machine which did not endear him to me at that moment.  Fortunately the machine is more intelligent than those who use it and after some coaxing regurgitated the card.  Disaster averted.  The only saving grace at this stage was that the bastards that closed off Darling Drive had found it in their cold, black hearts to re-open it so we were able to get to the cross city tunnel and Eastern Distributor to retrieve Miss13 only 45 minutes after her urgent text message.

And this my friends, is why a sensible person such as the author herself usually spends Saturday nights watching Law & Order re-runs in her pyjamas and Menolog’s the meal of her choice.  That way you don’t get foot burn.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

p.s. The company was stellar so the evening wasn’t a total loss 🙂

Why is he called The Artist?

It is particularly apt today that I write this post.  I woke up to be smacked in the face with the world wide outpouring of grief over the passing of Prince.  This led to a discussion with The Artist and I – and he learned something he didn’t know – many of you too have asked the question.

Why do I call him The Artist.  Here goes:

When I started this blog I asked him to read my first post, he was rather iffily (I know that’s not a real word) rude about it and so I immediately took offence for six months and never mentioned it again.  All the while blogging away.  It became apparent after six months that he thought I was running a blog for work, not for me.  And people were sometimes mentioning it to me when we were out and about and as he was the focus of many posts I didn’t want him to be blind-sided out there in the big wide world.  Because it wasn’t something I was hiding – I was just deeply sulking about him not wanting to read my work. I also might have bought a few things on the internets to make myself feel better.  So, we eventually sat down for the revelation conversation, the blog was read and then he said he didn’t like his name.  After much debate we changed it – was he more like Arnold Schwartzenegger or was he more like Jamie Durie?  Two weeks later he said he didn’t like his new name.  Again.  I felt this was bordering on the ridiculous so I huffed and puffed to my friend Candy about this name changing nonsense.

Now my friend Candy (she of the Barbie Candy fame) is really a no-nonsense kind of girl.  She didn’t miss a beat and said well, you should call him The Artist.  Like Prince, The Artist Formerly Known As……… and we were done. The Artist is The Artist forever more on this blog.

It would be remiss of me not to pay tribute today to the original Artist who passed today.  Vale.  Godspeed.  “I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain.”

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Love and light

Lauren xxx

Other people’s blah blah blah

I had occasion on Friday to do Faff Around.  This is when I decide that I need to walk away from the good people of Apple and not tie myself to a screen.  It usually involves some time at the gym, breakfast – you get the gist.

This Friday saw me first off visit the good people at BMW – yes, you heard right, the car needed to home to mama to get brake pads and discs done.  My friends on “Good Morning” [our whatsapp group that deals with the insane] agree that my car is there to mess with me and to ensure that I am there to fund the new building that BMW are putting up in Rushcutters Bay starting December.  I’m sure within the next nine months my car can think up numerous ways to make that happen.

After a small oversight, having left my Opal Card in my other handbag, The Artist had to come and get me – he was none too pleased having also been sequestered to do the school run with the Misses. This is an activity fraught with stress as neither see the urgency of an 8.15am start.

So once we had landed home after a detour to Centennial Park to let Koda “play puppies” I was somewhat restless and hopped a bus to Randwick to get my nails done – it was time to officially start “Faff Around Friday” and The Artist was not forthcoming with more lifting as he has to keep the home fires at the bank burning.

The nail salon is a multicultural place.  My ears have become attuned to the sounds of Vietnamese being spoken while I’m getting buffed and polished and I sit and zone out with an idiotic grin on my face like I know exactly what they’re talking about.  However, problem.  A middle aged hubbie and wife team were having a pedi.  Together.  I’m not judging, strange as I find that. But that’s not the thing – it was the blah, blah, blah.

I must be honest, I am barely interested in the mundane of my own life, let alone someone else’s.  I had to listen to what was on their shopping list – he whipped out a piece of paper –  what order should he shop in?  Where was the best place to get the sushi? Should he get a platter?  And then the carrots, dear God the carrots!  Where could the best carrots could be secured – was it at the fruit shop in Randwick or should he go to Bondi Junction?  There were things I would have liked to do to him with those carrots that are not appropriate for this blog.

In case you were wondering I also know all about their children’s sports schedules and what they think of the soccer coach.  Let’s just say that if the soccer coach knew, that kid would not be getting any major game time anytime soon.

Unrelated to carrots and soccer he then said something that she didn’t like and so he was asked “to rephrase”.  This unfortunately did not end in the “no speaks” with them.

My ears were shattered at this point and I simply couldn’t take any more chances with the public so The Artist was once more asked to come retrieve me.  He’s good like that The Artist. And also not interested in the mundane which is why we sometimes don’t have bread, milk and toilet paper in the house. And we discuss logistics on text – like NORMAL PEOPLE!

In case you were wondering, the colour of the day was blue. (Specifically OPI’s Get Ryd Of Thym Blues. You’re welcome).

Love and light

Lauren xxx

How to get to Honkers when you have flight anxiety

Unsuccessfully trying to recreate that airport scene from The Hangover.  Grinning like idiots perhaps stuffed it :)

Unsuccessfully trying to recreate that airport scene from The Hangover. Grinning like idiots perhaps stuffed it 🙂

Three weeks ago-ish I stepped off a plane in Hong Kong accompanied by my girls Renay and Paula. I had been worried about the flight over because my Renay does not like to travel in this manner. And I’m not talking economy. I’m talking flight of any nature. A big problem when trying to get from Australia to Hong Kong.

What to do?

Strategy one was to try and get her nice and sozzled before we got on the plane. This was unsuccessful because she doesn’t like the taste of alcohol. Not even French Champagne!!!!! However, a friend told me that two shots of Jagermeister, an Aperol Spritz, a glass of red chased by French Champagne can make for a great flight. I’m not naming names or anything (*cough, cough Paula) but in case you are looking for a remedy I’m told this can work.

Two french champagnes, one glass of ice water.....

Two french champagnes, one glass of ice water…..

Strategy two was to get on the flight, pat her hand and reassure her that more people die in car accidents less than 2 kilometres from home, put on my headphones and pretend I was flying solo. This was unsuccessful because I do not have a cold, black heart despite what The Artist says as I would not go and make coffee this morning while he was watching South Africa get slaughtered in the cricket.

So I thought and I thought and we sat down and my girl was decidedly stressed as we buckled up. So I started talking. And I talked and I talked and I talked and I made her look at me while I talked. I talked that plane up in the air and I talked that plane down to the runway. And she barely knew about the take off and the landing. And you all know that when I talk and demand an audience there is sweet bugger all you can do to get away. Particularly if you are strapped in your seat on a Boeing of some nature. Gives captive audience a whole new meaning.

Good evening Hong Kong

Good evening Hong Kong

So that’s how we landed in Honkers without vomiting or an anxiety attack.

Love and light
Lauren xxx

p.s. I’m available to assist on international or local flights to exotic destinations if you are afraid of flying and need me to talk you up and down. (Melbourne is an exotic destination by the way). I am not averse to flying economy as I am small in stature so the leg room thing is not a problem. However, for the duration of the stay please note that I am particular about accommodation – I’m deathly afraid of crap hotels. It’s a real thing.

The long walk to work

Yesterday The Artist took Precious in to the Temple of Mechanics of German Engineering located in Darlinghurst.  Being organised he anticipated that taxi’s would be lining up three deep to drive him into the city at 8.30am.  Because that is a totally realistic assessment of the traffic and transport situation on a Tuesday morning when you are about 1km from the centre of the Big Smoke.

You might not have noticed but it’s a bit hot at the moment.  If you know The Artist, you will know that hot is not his thing.  He sweats like a whore in church in the dead of winter.  In fact, he wore a t-shirt to gallivant around Queenstown a few years ago in July. Point firmly made.

I was happily entrenched in an air-conditioned office at my place of work when the text messages began to fly.  Concerned for his wellbeing because I often wonder how he gets from A to B without me I enquired how he travelled to work on that day.  (It was already 25 degrees when I left the house at 7am that morning)……

Walked.

Not the answer I was honestly expecting, to which I replied – why did you not catch the bus?  Which opened a whole new can of worms about an Opal Card that I had appropriated last year.  Now granted, The Artist had purchased it from somewhere but I had made the effort to take it and call the good people from the call centre and get it registered, hooked up to my credit card and put in my name.

And while sharing is caring my next move was to log onto that Opal account and order him his own card.

Much unhappiness because he is firmly of the opinion that he does not need it.  Wrong.

I pointed out to him that Transport NSW are not going to be changing this system anytime soon and that strategically he is well placed to have his own card on his person at all times.  Much grunting about the amount of charges from Opal going through on credit cards.  Miss13 and Miss16 are frequent flyers.

I think however that he softened when I mentioned that he will keep the card for a few years until he’s due for the concession one.

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Soon, soon babe xxx

Sometimes the silence is deafening.

(Laughs quietly to oneself).

Love and light

Lauren xxx

 

 

The Hug

Indulge me.

Today was challenging.  Interestingly not because of the people in my immediate orbit because they were most lovely.  Sometimes the challenge is residual.  And it builds stress.  And the anticipation of the residual builds even more stress.  My stomach was twisting itself in knots by 10am today.  I knew it would already last night.

But this is not the point of the story.

Before I hit home I dashed out for some sushi and ran into an old friend.  We discussed toxic environments.  And bad people.  And we agreed it was so important to create distance from those things.  Not the immediate point of the story but definitely a point of reference.

I ran late today and part of my stress related to my golden child being on his own for almost six hours.  He doesn’t care because he just sleeps but I have the Jewish mother guilts because I’m a crazy dog lady and I care.

I burst through the door juggling two computers and a handbag and my phone started to ring.  Programmed as I am, like most of us are, I answered.  And then I saw my Koda waiting for me in the passage.  With his beautiful face, his open  heart and good intentions – always.  Even when he rolls in the poo.  I said to the person that I had to go and that I would call back later.  Because I needed to hug my dog.  I needed to hug my dog.

Koda - realigning of chakras :)

Koda – realigning of chakras 🙂

When things don’t make sense sometimes you need to recalibrate, bury your face in something warm and furry that loves unconditionally and talk complete nonsense to him about how he is the moon, the stars and how you love him infinity.

And then all is well in the world.

Love and light

Lauren xxx