Obsession: then & now

When I was a kid, I would develop huge crushes on cartoon characters or a character in a book. I remember many sleepless nights in my room, pecking the pillow and pretending it was Spiderman. I don't even want to tell you about that time I read 'Gone with the wind.' I was Scarlett for six solid months. My big stuffed octopus was Rhett Butler. Spiderman Pillow watched sourly from a corner.

Then I outgrew cartoons and moved on to actors and pop-stars. At one point, I had a crush on every single member of new kids on the block. That was tricky, because I only had the one pillow and I was far too cool for stuffed animals. At the same time. I would dream up the most dramatic, exuberant scenarios about how I'd bump into them on the street, they would become completely obsessed with my ca 10-11 year old self and from that moment on, my life would be a whirlwind of happiness, bling & me being worshipped like a goddess. At no point during my fantasies did the hero go to prison for statutory rape, or anything like that.

These days, I no longer obsess over fictional characters or A-listers, but I do have that kind of a relationship with food. Like sushi, for instance. Long before I met any sushi, I knew it would be true love. And as soon as that first maki roll made it's way down my gullet, my suspicions all came true.

If I was told that I would be able to eat nothing but sushi every day, for the rest of my life, I would kiss that person right on their nosey-wosey.

But until that day comes, I have roped Mr Choochoo into taking me to a sushi restaurant this Saturday. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

It's a pie craze

I have this almost abnormally strong urge to bake. My brain insists on transferring it's cake-obsession onto everything. Suddenly Mister's CD collection looks like cookies, the chairs are all cupcake shaped and the TV is basically a big brownie. If Martha Stewart and the movie "the exorcist" had a lovechild, said lovechild would be my day today.

And yes, I know that makes sense. See what this is doing to me?

Must. make. pie.

Would you like to hear something else that's scary? This was my favorite song in 92. My parents used to say that I had no taste in music. They might have been right. Who'd have thunk it? Not my 12/13 year old self, that's for sure.

Good grief

You reading, mum? Hmm? Are you? Good book? Mum? Good book, mum? Pet my head? Pet my head! Mum! My head!

Hey, that smells like poopy-pants!

It's summer. And when it's summer, people tend to leave their windows open so that they won't boil alive inside their houses like lobsters. In that regard, I'm no different than most people. Last week, however, it was completely impossible for us to do that.

I was sitting in the dining room when I discovered it. I was busy contemplating the attack-angle for my breakfast, when I suddenly noticed a strange sort of a smell. Actually, it wasn't anything as simple as a smell. It was more of an... odour. It was coming through the little opening in the window. So I opened the veranda door and poked my head around the corner. That's when I saw this outside one of the basement windows:

I didn't just see it, I coul smell it too. It was a sewage leak. Oh happy, happy, joy, joy. And from the stink of it, it was sewage from a small platoon of babies and elderly people afflicted by something truly horrible. It certainly wasn't OUR sewage. Our sewage would smell normal. This can't possibly have been normal sewage smell. If it was, nobody would ever want to work with the stuff.

Luckily, some people DO choose those jobs. Although their slogan proves that those fumes do damage your brain. Roughly translated, it went like this: "you sh** it out, we suck it up!"

I'm very glad I went to college.

Ain't nothing common about it!

You know that thing we did where we decided to sleep in the living room to see if I was allergic to the carpet in the bedroom and if that could be what was causing my mysterious cough? That hasn't quite gone according to plan.

This was the plan: We would sleep in the living room on the fold-out couch and already on the first night my throat would feel clearer, I would be more rested and wake up happy. Kinda like this:

This is what actually happened: I woke up, noticing a strange soreness in my throat. I didn't give it any more thought, since it disappeared sometime between the time that I slipped into my robe and when I crammed a sandwich into my face. Then the coughing went rampant. The next day I woke up kind of like this:

It's the common cold. Again. Although I'm pretty sure I've caught an uncommon cold. Surely nobody has ever suffered the way I'm suffering. I'm the most miserable, most unhappy little sicko in all the world, ever.

Since I live here, Mister Chooch has no choice but to take care of me. That was my plan all along, of course. He brings me food and and he stands outside the bathroom door with a glass of water and says "poor honey" while I talk on the big porcelain phone. But he doesn't particularly want to hang out with me, because my cough is giving him a nervous breakdown. It's funny, really. I cough until I retch, and HE'S the one who looks like he's going to drop dead.

Have a video:

Pokesnores!

Although this whole living-together-shizzle is going very well, I do have one complaint. Mister claims that I snore and I most certainly do not. Only rarely and it's all very dainty and ladylike, of course.

Mister, however, likes to argue with me on that point. Now he's started recording me with his iphone when he's awake and I'm snoring. He says he has four recordings. I've only heard one. I'm assuming they were taken on the four occasions that I may have snored since I moved in here. He calls them pokesnores and says he's going to catch them all.

He's lucky he's cute, really.

I thought this song fits into this post. Except for the bride-bit. That would be weird.

It’s June!

June is the most popular month for weddings. It’s been that way since the 1500s. This was because people would have their annual baths in May, and still considered themselves relatively clean in June. However, they were starting to give off a certain scent, and that’s why brides would carry a bouquet of flowers to hide the smell. And that’s where the bridal bouquets come from.

Baths were just a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house got the first crack at it, then the sons and the other men. Then the women were allowed to bathe and the babies went last. By the time it was the babies turn, the water would be so filthy that it was quite possible to lose a person in there. Hence the saying: “don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.”