things aren't always what they seem

So, last night, I decided to fill the lagoon with hot water, threw some vanilla bubble bath in...and soak.
I used some brand new skin wash, made from a colloidal extract of oats.
I exfoliated my face with a milk protein wash.
And then, I conditioned my hair with cinammon conditioner.

And then I thought.....


Hot Water
Vanilla
Oats
Cinammon,
Milk


.....I'm a bowl of porridge!

Seriously, I think I have more fruit and vegetable products in my bathroom than I do in the fridge. Although, I have a great shelf in my freezer, entitiled "the first aid kit". It is the top shelf, so I need to make an effort to reach it, as it contains an ice pack for physical injuries, ice cream for psychological injuries, sorbet for low-fat injuries, and vodka for ALL types of injuries.

Strange, I know, but this pharmaceutical creativity has a logical origin. Back when I was an athlete, I was subject to random drug testing, so I couldn't take many over the counter drugs....so I learnt to make my own legal versions.

Recently, I needed some cold and flu tablets, so I made my own - panadol, chocolate, and a crappy magazine.

However, nothing beats my home-made prozac - Nutella (heated in the microwave), mixed with baileys, and then poured over ice cream. Guaranteed to fix what ails ya!

I better go. I feel an injury coming on.
Cheers,
L

Lovely to look at, pretty to hold. But if you break it, consider it sold

So, I've hurt my elbow again. Not too badly, it just hurts when I move it, which, by my calculations....is every 14 seconds!

Following on from my last blog, it would be logical to think that I have a gym injury.
A huffy-puffy-owie, if you will.

I could have hurt myself whilst doing a chin-up (or, if I'm honest, a barely-get-my-bottom-of-the-seat-up).
I could have hurt myself throwing the medicine ball (sometimes, I do a Trevor Chappell)
I could have hurt myself with the punching bag (when I lose my balance, and accidentally headbutt it, yes it does hurt).

But no.
Not this time.
I have a hard core injury, from the most extreme sport.........
.........................
......knitting

Yep, you heard correctly.

For those of you who regularly follow this blog, you'll know that, in the past 3 years:
- I almost broke my toe in a nude waterslide incident into the bath
- I narrowly avoided face-planting the oven whilst baking lasagna
- I could have drowned in a shower-wall debacle
- I almost fell off the bench when overcome with alcohol fumes from a risotto
- I have experienced paranoia when I was stalked by a cardboard cutout of Gary Ablett
- I could have been a tasty yum cha for some lucky crocodile in Darwin

So, after reflecting on these things, and with my newly acquired craft injury, I'm beginning to think that maybe, quite possibly, highly likely, I am for ornamental purposes only.

Maybe, I'm that porcelain figurine, of some milkmaid feeding a chicken, that sits on your mantle piece. (and after reading that line, every Chaffey-kinfolk just said, "while you're stoking the fire").

But then, maybe not. I don't think I warrant porcelain. And I don't own chickens.

So, I'm fairly certain that I'm an ornament, but which one would I be? It would be:
- something bright and colourful
- something that caught your eye
- something that was a little unpredictable
- something that you could use as a distraction
- something amusing
- something that would break if you tried to use it for any other purpose
- something that's could tumble down stairs if you pushed it, but couldn't get back up again

Yes people,
I AM A SLINKY

Putting the huff in huffy-puffy

So, the paralympics start on saturday.
That's right...the NEXT paralympics.
The (n+1) of the end of my paralympic career.
And then it dawned on me.....I think (n) was the last time that I actually did some exercise. Some paralympic-huffy-puffy

It was easy to fool myself that I was doing a little surreptitious-huffy-puffy, but it was all an illusion people. I coached a basketball team of big burly men. I yelled, they worked. Gosh we were tired at the end of practise.
Delusional-huffy-puffy

So, about a month ago, Melsy and I began walking to work together (I mean twice a week. I don't mean that it's taken us a month to get to work!). It sounded like a good idea.
Enforced-huffy-puffy.
However, Melsy has taken to getting herself a coffee on the way to my house. She offered me one too, but we both know that I need both hands for that propulsion thing.
So while she's doing some bevvy-huffy-puffy, I'm very clearly doing the sulky-huffy-puffy.

And then I thought about a personal trainer. Yep, that's a good idea.
Personal-huffy-puffy

Off I went to visit Matt.
Paid-huffy-puffy

So, I was doing a little bit of boxing, with resistance bands
Manly-huffy-puffy

And, I was sitting in my chair, with brakes on, next to a machine, to which the resistance bands were tied. I was hitting Matt's hands, and then he told me to do some cross-over punches.
Coordinated-huffy-puffy.

As I punched across my body, the resistance bands flicked and hurt both my ears.
Chopper-huffy-puffy

At that point, Matt ran over to his desk, and picked up a boxing helmet.

So, here's a picture for your brain:

- a tiny wheelchair chick
- tied to a machine
- holding rubber strips
(well, those sentences should get me some unusual people searching for stuff on google! How You doin'?)
- throwing ineffective punches
- whilst wearing a boxing helmet.
Nothing-for-the-cause-huffy-puffy!!

Cheers,
L

Geek is the new black

So, I've been a post-graduate student for 3 years now. This is not without side-effects.

• I can no longer read Better Homes and Gardens without critiquing the discussion
• There's a notepad beside my bed just in case I have a flash of inspiration in the middle of the night. (It hasn't even happened in the middle of the day yet, but I live in hope!)
• I have more coffee in my veins, than blood
• I have recently become enamoured with technology, and as an afterthought, geeks!

Yes, I've started watching Dr Who. I have a history of terror from Dr Who. You see, when we were kids, Dave used to call me Stavros. If you're unfamiliar with Stavros, he is the king of the darleks. If you want to picture him, think of a head, covered in red paint, perched on a wheeled-stool (I mean a piece of furniture, not a large poo). If I think of the sounds of my childhood, one of them is my brother croaking "Exterminate, exterminate"

It's also Dr Who's fault that I have no statues in my backyard. Apparently, and they should put this on A Current Affair, if you look away, statues sneak up and kill you. Further to my terror, after watching the christmas special this year, i'm now afraid of those electronic Information Stands, because obviously, once they're activated by the evil device (no doubt it's a bluetooth), they kill.

So, why then am I wasting my time watching this on telly when it clearly has an influence on the decor of my outdoor living areas, and the amount of times I get lost at shopping centres?

Well, you don't need to be a rocket surgeon to answer that. Geeks are a bit hot

I was in the shops yesterday, and I stumbled upon a book shop (I "stumble upon" everything now, since I'm too scared to look at the information stands). That shop contained a Dr Who action figure. And I've got to tell you, for such a high-tech show with technological genii involvement, i'm not sure this action figure provides all the "action" that a girl requires!

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the computer lab to ask about statistics......mmm....z scores

Cheers, Lisa

Telly is not my friend

So, I fear Big Brother. I have a phobia about closed circuit TVs. Not because I'm secretive. Not because I'm naughty. Not because people need to be alert, not alarmed, around me. But, because...I do nothing for the cause on frequent occasions!

Last year, when I worked at a big university in the big smoke, I would park outside my building and enter through the basement, catching the lift to the 4th floor. It was a long drive from Geelong, and sometimes, in getting out of the car, (I'm now going to put this delicately), my puppies sometimes rearranged themselves in my brassiere (I mean bra, not some fancy french cafe). So, quietly in the basement, I mighthave just rearrange myself....almost every day.

Just before I left that uni, I needed to see security about another matter. I went through to the backroom of their office to see a giant wall of CCTV screens......including the basement!!!

Then, yesterday at Target, I did nothing for the cause, and I hope nobody saw!!

I was at the clearance table, which was full of discounted candles. Well, I'm a chick. Chicks love candles. Therefore, I love candles.

I was picking them up one by one, and smelling them. I went through about 6 of them, then picked up the seventh.
It didn't smell at all.
I gave quite a disdainful look, and took another big whiff.
I may have even given a little puff of disgust.
Then I looked down t my hand........

to notice......

that I had been smelling an empty drinking glass.

Off you go then, nothing to see here
L

News flash

I think I broke my toe.

Not a situation that I'd normally blog about but....
a. it was funny
b. it involves the bathroom lagoon, of which you are familiar.

Here is the story about how I think I broke my toe this morning.
I was sitting on the edge of the lagoon, waiting for the shower to get warm, when I slipped, so imagine.....a nude waterslide!
My toe hit the other side of the spa when I landed (still in a seated position), and I think it might be broken.
What made it a really difficult situation was that my toe was throbbing with pain...but I couldn't stop laughing cos it would have looked hilarious!

The trouble I go through to give you people a blog!!

Cheers,
L

P.S. I bet that will stop my ballet career for a while

Why isn't my life like a movie?

So, Friday morning, I stumbled on a new theoretical framework for my research project. A fairly big deal, but I shan't bore you with the details. Suffice to say that, despite last night being a Saturday, I spent time in front of the computer writing, rewriting, thinking and rethinking (not necessarily in that order).

At about 11, I'd had enough of the aforementioned thinking...so I turned on the telly.

I found an old 1930's movie called 'The Body Snatches'. Now, I do love an old sci fi. My favourite movie of all-time is called, "The thing with 2 heads". It's from the late 60's and it's about a white supremacist who is about to die, but has invented a method of grafting his head onto another person's body. When he expectedly slips into a coma, his colleagues find him a body. Unfortunately, it is the body of an African-American man on death row. Not so much of a problem you say....However....for the first month or so, both heads need to be attached. So the movie pretty much consists of a man in an overlarge suit, punching a plastic head sticking out of the collar.

But last night, I was disappointed...for a bit.

"The body snatches" wasn't about aliens (as I had thought), but a 1930's medical drama (ER of the depression era), where one of the main characters stole bodies from the graveyard to further medical science.
That wasn't particular exciting, but there was a subplot that caught my attention.

The doctor was treating a young girl with "the paralysis". Several years earlier, she had been in a carriage accident, and "the paralysis" had seeped into her "nerve canal". Gee, that would annoy you, wouldn't it?
Apparently, there was an operation that could cure the injury, but it had never been done before (I would venture that not many operations had been done by then. You'd probably be safe with an ingrown toenail, but maybe not!).
Doctor was thinking about doing the operation, and wanted time to think. Then, the mother of the "poor unfortunate" said the line of the movie, and one to which I now aspire....

She said....

"Doctor. If you choose to do the operation, please tell me by Tuesday. I will be taking my crippled daughter to the park on Tuesday. I take her there every week for an airing"

Gosh. I forgot to air myself this week!!!!

Cheers,
L

PS. This attitude was really only 2 generations ago! Go the cause!!

knowing when to fold 'em

Firstly, thankyou to all you helpful people who, after reading the last blog about my lagoon have:
a. suggested I wear a life jacket at all times, just in case I fall in the spa
b. offered to supply me with a "hoist fairy" to get out of the said lagoon
c. come round to my house, walked into the bathroom...and laughed your heads off!!

Now for today's story:
So, my new doctoral topic is about the use of intuition by occupational therapists. In itself, it's pretty interesting. However, right now, right at the beginning of my exploration, it's fascinating because I get to look at the use of intuition in other fields.

I've looked at the research about expert:
- chess players (who can think 15-20 moves ahead, and intuitively know which is the right move)
- midwives (who know when things are not quite right, even if the machines say they are)
- airline pilots (who can get a sense of how the whole plane is working, rather than isolated instrumentations)
- and poker player (who, apparently, know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run).



But the most interesting of all....the use of intuition in marketing (ie, using our intuitive urges to make us buy something). Sneaky.



Then, today, I was at the shops, and I came across this little bit of marketing....




In case you can't see it properly...it's an aisle of priceline entitiled "weight loss". The pink boxes on your left are "celebrity slim" (what, pray tell, do you think they contain?!?!@!@), and on the other side.....chocolates and confectionary.
Do you think priceline is keeping itself in business there? You know how it goes, you've eaten nothing but celebrities for days, and you just need a starburst. (hahahahahaha)

I'm going to bed know. Clearly I'm silly tired.
Cheers,
L

The Bathroom Lagoon

Now, you are so lucky I can write this blog.
You are so lucky that I'm not drowned, waterlogged, floating or pruney (as in wrinkled...not purple with a pip in the middle).

You see....

The bathroom in my new house has a lagoon in the middle.

Well, I call it a lagoon. I suspect that Bunnings call it a spa for two, and Shane Warne calls it "woohoo!!!"
Either way, it doesn't matter what you call it, I have a massive triangular bath-like washing vessel in the corner of my bathroom. After a 4 year undergraduate degree, and 2 years of a doctorate, I am qualified to say, "that's not wheelchair friendly". But, in accordance with the theme of my life, "let's give it a red hot go"

Here's some things I've learnt about lagoons since moving to this new house:

- If you don't fill the lagoon above the level of the jets, those jets spray the water at an angle of about 45 degrees into the air.
- If you are the same height as me, reaching over to turn the lagoon bubbles on, your face will be about 45 degrees above the jets...in the air. You do the maths

- If you do fill the lagoon above the level of the jets, it's very deep
- If you are the same height as me, it might be a good idea to wear a life jacket or some type of scuba device

- The best way to relax in the lagoon is to close your eyes
- The worst way to relax in the lagoon is to close your eyes...as that is when Reg-the-circus-dog is unsupervised and takes a flying leap from the wheelchair (and fortunately on that occasion, missed the spa, but not by much!!)

- The lagoon has head rests in two corners
- If you are the same height as me, those "headrests" are merely serving suggestions as you can sit in any direction in a triangular lagoon. You can even dissect the hypotenuse if you want to!!

And the most important thing I've learnt about lagoons this week....

After half a gin and tonic, it's probably best not to have a quick lagoon-swim because....

....if you're the same height as me, and you have the same alchohol tolerance, you'll have to fill the lagoon up to the top...and float your way out!!

Right, where did I leave my flippers??

Cheers,
L

Hot day + deadline = blog

So, where were we up to before we got rudely interrupted....by life?

It's a hot day. A thesis deadline is looming. How can I distract myself.....

I know. Write a blog!!!!

Reasons I haven't been interrupting your life since November:


- I have a new computer with vista. It shows a tiny slideshow of all my pictures. I keep getting sidetracked reminiscing, and then forget what I've been doing.


- I have a new dog, Reg. I keep getting sidetracked...and picking up 'presents' from the loungeroom floor.


- I'm moving house. I keep getting sidetracked as I try to work out if each of my possessions goes to charity, to the new place, or to the tip.


- I have a new job. I keep getting sidetracked as I try to work out the email system, and wonder where the toilets are.





In summary, for the last 4 months, I kept getting sidetracked. I think I might have dementia.





Now, what was I saying?





Right, Reg then.


Here's a photo of Reg and his 'beloved' 'sister' Lulu
Notice the family resemblance?

Ahh...puppies. They remind you of sunshine, and happy, and the smell of cut grass, and spring, and children, and laughter
......unless, of course......

....you, once again, buy the craziest dog in the litter!!


Now, here is my confession. The breeders brought the soon-to-be Reg and his could-have-been-Reg brother round to my house to see which one Lulu the unhelper dog would tolerate the best.

Soon-to-be-Reg ran round like an idiot. Jumped off the ramp. Took a speccy over a plant for a bone (speccy - aussie football slang. "spectacular mark" ie. a really high jump whilst catching a ball...in tight shorts (NB. Reg did a nude speccy)).
Could-have-been-Reg sat there and watched....then fell over.

Reg is so "lively" that I might sew him a colourful collar......and we're going busking!!!

Cheers,
L

PS. Since Reg's arrival, Lulu the unhelper dog has defaulted to Lulu the good dog. Score!!