Beware the witches and boggarts.

Hey blogmates, it's ghouly night!

Miss O'Dyne

and

your very own Witchy

will be out trick or treating and we like

treats so we'll be driving this

because we like a lot of treats.

Stock up peoples

or the truck gets you.

HAPPY SAMHAIN

ALL HALLOWS EVE

AND LIGHT OUR FIRE

Just what we've been praying for....

Yes dear blog ladies, a female viagra.

We get to self administer a dose of testosterone gel in our nasal passage a couple of hours before we think we might have a sexual encounter.

The testosterone will be rapidly absorbed through the nasal lining, resulting in a sudden rise in levels throughout the day.

This is good news for women with sexual difficulties and will be available by prescription in a few years.

It's also going to make the pharmaceutical group a truck load of money.

It's supposed to be a boon for partners with mismatched libidos.

It's not supposed to have side effects if you rev up but don't engage the engine.

It's supposed to be for women who are concerned about their husbands' feelings because wifey doesn't swing from the rafters whenever they get it on.  Goddess bless those fragile egos.

Please don't let my beloved synchrotron to have been used in making this.

But please use the synchrotron to come up with a dose of something that will make 95% of Australian men attractive enough so that I would want to take a sniff of female viagra.

Well shut ma mouth..

Please people remind me to do this whenever I'm overcome with the need to volunteer.

Of course I'll dress a doll to raffle for the Oldies Fund.

Easy job, just a dust off and fix the hair in a new style until the lace disintegrated in my hands and it was a full on velvet bodice, sleeves, new petticoat and re-style the hat. Don't forget the hair.

And then I forgot to photograph the before but I'll remember to get the after.

My fingers have no finger prints just needle holes from sewing velvet. I was going to do it on the machine but everything is so small that I probably would have sewn my fingers to the fabric.

Five hours so far and the bodice is still not finished because I keep re-inventing the pattern and I lined it in satin. Now I've just re-thought the sleeves into something more "Gone with the Wind".

There'll be no buttons, the tart's being stitched into this new outfit and that's that. I have 3 days to finish the job.

I would have had more time but two days at Southland put paid to that. Lovely taxi drivers on Thursday who waited for me everywhere but absolute bastard on Friday who tried to take me via Sydney. Coming home I got a regular who asked if it was home or the Home, he got a tip.

The reason I had to make a second trip was Harris Scarfe who have just lost a customer. The junk mail arrived on Wednesday with dustbusters at half price, so off I go Thursday to find one and only one on the shelf.  Nothing in boxes so I had to pack it myself and never thought to check for the charger or the attachments neither did the checkout staff when the damn thing turned itself on in the box.  It was only when I finally got to have a good look at the booklet and it said that first charge should take 12 hours that I twigged it shouldn't have switched on at all.  I asked for money back and bought another one on ebay, not the same brand but cheaper and with charger and attachments. No wonder people are buying online.

So while I was online looking for that and trying to find a Daffy Duck tie for mother to give to Doc Marvin for Christmas, it was "oooh shiny" more patchwork fabric.  Lovely for gift I want to make for favourite cousin.  Sister is getting a brick in the back of the head. This is why I buy her birthday present in January because by September I'm never speaking to her.  Nearly at the end of October and I had to ask if she liked her earrrings, yes she did.  Good, cause Christmas just bypassed you.  I watched her waddle inside her place the other day and thought she's a fine one to give me diet advice. Have another ciggie and a beer, dear.  She's worried that I'll fall in a heap when I don't have mum to look after, bwahahahahahhaha!!!!!! I phoned mother and told her my Christmas present was a year's subscription to New Scientist and signed up.  My brain is being re-booted.  Then there are several quilts at the design stage, my glass paints remain untouched and jewellery projects still litter the dining table.  Oh gee, gosh, what will I do with all that time on my hands when ma finally falls off the twig.  Then there's the whining about her working for 35 years which she could only do because guess who was looking after her kid, the same 40 year old I just had in the nest for two years.  Oh for Goddess sake, if I keep going like this I'll be off gift wrapping that brick.

Funny thing though, apparently I'm going through all the stages of post divorce trauma.  I must admit after two years of having someone in my house that I didn't really want forever, it is just like after Count Crapula left.  The relief, the silence, the being able to sleep all night and with no nightdress to strangle me.  I think I'm just up to the angry bit that two years disappeared without me able to do the things that I wanted.  I missed the crying/sad bit although last night there were tears when I was up a ladder putting in four new light bulbs and no tall person around. I have two bruises across the shins from leaning on the top step.  Then I had to get up again because I'd put a 100 watt bulb in and it was like a gulag sleep deprivation room. No, not a sad, definitely at the angry spitting chips stage because of the weight I put on while he was here. Yeah my fault for putting food in gob but without drinking and smoking, okay the gambling yes, it was my coping mechanism in lieu of opening a vein.  It's getting better, 6.37 and I haven't thought of chocolate all day, bugger, now I have. Damn, not even a chocolate button in the house.  Not even a frozen lamington.  Frozen berries though and yoghurt.  And the promise of a kitkat with the Sunday papers.  Just. Not. Tonight. 

Going now, have to wrap a brick.

You know it's this close to Christmas....

My third or fourth Christmas dinner at the Home, a silver bullet, please.

My dentist's visit and everything is fine.

Pathology after an 8 hour fast.  Yes, drink water, you can drink water but not with fluid tablets even if you don't take them today.  

One of life's stupid rules. Busting for a loo which the pathology place has but everything dries up as soon as the receptionist says, "fill this".  Obviously I hadn't drunk enough and I know that "Neon" colours are in this year but that bottle was almost glowing.  Nothing like watching blood drain away into little vials and know it's done for another six months.  

So that's two vital jobs for me done for me.  Only the diabetes review and the podiatrist.

Does Mother remember?

No!!!! 

She does remember Rainbow fundraiser for tomorrow and has given me several instructions which I have ignored.

She has also reminded me of the Ladies Hat parade on Oaks Day. Not going.

Also not going to Farm Animals Day.

Impossible to get out of going to Christmas Party though or Christmas dinner.

The list of blogs I can't comment at is growing daily so I am reading just not leaving my usual witty comments/abuse.  The only thing I can do is to read blogs with IE which lets me comment and switch back to Firefox. A real pain in the butt. Google has become incompatible with Firefox and won't even let me have a Google toolbar. Usually you can't get rid of Google toolbar.  There is a way of making it do what I want but unless I suddenly become a computer genius, it's a no go.

Diet, oh don't even ask.  After the meltdown at the Home with the fairycake aftermath, I resolved to be really good, so good my BGL dropped to 3.8 and that brought on a sweet dose of the shakes.  Overcompensated and it went soaring up, still with the shakes.

Panic attacks, only the usual 2 or 3 a day leading up to the Christmas stress when it becomes habitual for me to hide under the bed hugging the dust bunnies for comfort.

The tomato plants and the banana chilli are still sitting in water where I left them 3 weeks ago. They seem to be  happy so I'm reluctant to give them a pot plant filled with dirt, no fancy schmancy potting mix going to waste here since I doubt I'll beat the possums to any fruit they produce.  I'd really like to have green fingers and produce my own veggies but death and destruction seems to follow wherever I linger in the garden.  Another week in the water won't kill them.

I'd love to say I'll bring you a full report of tomorrow's fun and games but I'm hoping to drink two glasses of wine and not remember anything just like Mother.

My brain is loose, running wild somewhere pleasant

Two days at the Home is my maximum tolerance for oldies and I made it three this week.

*Smacks face hard and promises not to do it again*

So my brain has gone away to find its happy place, the one where chocolate has no calories, booze doesn't give hangovers and shortbread and hot cups of tea magically appear beside the bed in the morning.  I think it also has pink clouds with silver linings.

I have to write up the minutes of the Relatives and Residents meeting and call VicRoad on their behalf.  We tried the Local Council whose offices are on the corner of the same street to get them to do something about the speeding cars, a slow down sign would have done but they told us that it was up to VicRoad.  They're up for election in November so you would have thought they might have made an official call for us, no, too busy making election promises.

So, on to the movie meme, part the four of.

4.  Name the best movie title.

Hard, really hard. Oh yeah, Die Hard, because Bruce Willis didn't and everybody else did. My sister refuses to watch these films because they're violent, she prefers cerebral films where the violence is psychological.  The 'Die Hard' franchise is fantasy violence, no-one could take that much and still live. I loved Die Hard 4.0, nobody jumps onto a jet that's crashing and jumps off again but it seems to be the chemistry between the actors in these films that make them enjoyable to me. I just love Justin Long.

5.  Describe the worst performance by a child actor that you've ever seen.

Difficult. The Plastic Mancunian went for the kid who played Anakin Skywalker and I have to agree he was an annoying little twit.  But I'm going for an adult who acts like a child in every film I've seen him in, Adam Sandler.  Can't stand him but he is slightly below Jerry Lewis in my loathe ratings.

6.  Who gets your vote for the most tragic movie monster.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon.  I know I usually refer to my ex as him but only because he looks like it.  Poor Creature, all he wanted was the blonde tart to like him and all she could do was scream.  I can't remember the ending but I think he was spear-gunned but not killed because they made a sequel.  Honestly the films we watched at the Saturday arvo sessions would not get a rating now. 

Three days into daylight savings, meh

I hate daylight savings. It takes me weeks to acclimatise and I'm still finding clocks I haven't changed yet. Anyway how can we save any daylight when I've hardly seen the sun and now they're forecasting rain, thunder, cold and storms. I blame politicians. Was Mr. Abbott standing in a drain at the weekend, when he was standing next to our Ted? Surely he can't be that short but he did look as though he only came up to Ted's navel.

I am now going to have a complain, besides the complain I already had and the one after this.

Southland, nice shopping centre, bloody awful toilets.  Doc Marvin said not to take the diuretic pills if I was going out, brilliant, the effects last two days.  So, should have used the wheelchair toilet on level 3, I'm allowed I have scars to prove my knees aren't co-operative.  Second level and I really know I'm not going to make it back up the escalator.  I know I've put on weight but someone has also zapped the size of toilets down from human to small primate. By the time I hang shopping bags and my bag on the hook on the back of the door after I managed to shave off 3 kgs getting it shut, get my knickers down after tucking dress under chin, backing up  to the miniscule dunny, I was in trouble.  Not only did I forget to up the seat but I didn't back up far enough.  Noise, there's a noise.  Great bladder control now as I hold the horses!  Back up a bit more, release, relief.  Now get out the anti-septic wipes and wipe out the shoe, the foot, the leg, the seat, the floor and 20 minutes later, shave off another 3 kgs as I drag myself out the door.

I would complain to the management but everyone knows that fat people are killing the earth so why worry if one pees in their shoe.  Skinny mongrels.

Can I haz another complain?

Mother, complain.  Forgetting to ask for her pain control again. She is on enough to knock out Black Cavier but any breakthrough pain means she needs extra for a few days. She's been in pain since last Wednesday. I checked on Saturday and she wasn't in the book for extra pills. So still on normal daylight I get up on a Monday morning to go down there. I'm not ready for the Home on Monday, I go Tuesday and I certainly wasn't ready for the sight of Annie Joyce with stitches, black eye and busted knee and her mouth shut for a change. I swear that woman's voice would cut ice. She fell out of bed Sunday night, bled everywhere and got carted off to hospital. Yes, sorry, poor old dear, I'm devastated. My mother says to be nice, I'll be old one day. Hell, woman haven't you noticed, I am older and getter older by the minute.

Ignoring moans from the other side of the room, I get out my illegal white cheesymite roll from Bakers Delight and a bottle Nestea (hope they're reading this I could do with a case) take one yummy bite  when Annie Joyce decides to upchuck. No one has put her bell within reach, Ma's bell is not within reach so I had to belt down the hall and grab a nurse.  Really took the shine off the cheesymite roll but I soldiered on.  Second gallop down the hall was for her other end. Nurse made that in good time.

Thank you to the spammer who offered to up my comments to 4000 a day. You're a real gem.

Thanks to the fourth cold caller about my telephone discount yesterday. I hope your hearing comes back soon.

Thank you to Miss O'Dyne for her suggestion that I turn my experiences into a TV show. It's a good idea, I'd probably piss myself laughing reliving it all.

Meme, part three

Mother asked me today if I was going to have Christmas dinner with her.  Oh crap, it's that close to bloody Christmas.  I feel like opening a vein.

Now on to the meme.

Question 3.  Name your favourite femme fatale.

There wasn't a question about a favourite villain so I'm going with Glen Close as Cruella DeVille.

101 Dalmatians and 102 Dalmatians, she owned those two films.  Manic and comic, nobody else could have been better.  She didn't even have to open her mouth to make me laugh, the face was enough.

The bunny boiler was good but the puppy stealer was better.

If I'm lucky I can string this meme out until Christmas.

October, Halloween, I haven't made a costume.  Anyone got any dalmatians for sale?