I'm rather broken at the moment.
And I don't use the term lightly
Apparently, however, it's supposed to get better.
When the almighty hospital people said that having a central component of my reproductive equipment removed was going to be major surgery, they weren't kidding. And two weeks into the recovery I'm starting to think I seriously underestimated the term 'major'!
Now don't get me wrong here...I sat on my ass like a good girl in that hospital (like I had a choice hooked up to a catheter and a morphine drip!)...and when I got home...I didn't move much more. But fluffing around in ones abdominal area it seems has all sorts of repercussions that are decidedly unpleasant...and the effects of taking 19 pain-killers a day ain't exactly a waltz in the park either.
Suffice to say, I haven't quite reached the 'grateful for the marvels of modern medicine' stage just yet.
I have however developed a whole new respect for how clever my body can be.
Case in point: sneezing. My body would not let me sneeze...well until yesterday. If I tried to sneeze previous to this. it would break it into two much smaller sneezes...very odd...and wholly unsatisfying; but when the alternative means possibly undoing all the nice surgeon's handy-work, I guess I can dispense with the sneezegasms.
And stretching was another one...it wasn't until this morning when I woke up that I realized I hadn't had the urge to stretch and yawn for two weeks!
The body is a funny thing....clever, but funny.
On the whole, however, I can't bitch (well I CAN...but I'll be good and not). Although I cannot drive or lift over 3kgs for another four weeks....I can read books, listen to music, watch movies, be a passenger, text message, talk on the phone, do crafty things, pat a cat, do a jigsaw puzzle, and last but not least... play on Facebook!
Not that I do that much of course...*cough*
(Oh crap, that's right....It hurts to cough as well! >.<)
*sigh*
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Monday 25 June 2012
Sunday 24 June 2012
The Eye Of The Lion...wait, what?
Well haven't I been a quiet little Tigress!
In my defence though, I have also been been a busy little Tigress (surgeries and such), and regrettably have the type of personal life that makes Day Of Our Lives seem like a perfectly plausible chain of events.
But in the greater scheme of things I do believe it's all settling down. The racket of all the doors closing and new ones opening has been a little deafening but nothing a good hearing aid won't fix, and I am ready to embrace new things, especially if he's cute...
but I digress...
It is important to remember, I feel, that when one comes into a busy spell in ones life one cannot forget one's stripy little responsibilities. I have offspring as some of you know but I also (at time of onset of chaos) had a few thousand followers on my Facebook page, who, I knew, were starting to wonder where the hell I had got to.
It was obvious I needed back up....but The Musings Of A Tigress is just that! The Musings of Me....how can someone else help with that?? To put a co-admin on the page would invariably mean letting someone else represent, at least to a certain degree, what was in my head (a scary proposition if ever there was one O.O)
And it's not like I could just add any old random off the street....I had to think this through....much research had to be done! Pedigrees needed to be analysed! Police records needed to be checked!
There was much flailing of paws and gnashing of fangs let me tell you!!
It was quite the stressful situation.
Or perhaps not.
Frequently in life, I have discovered, karma will simply bring you what you need if you are paying enough attention to notice it, And this was the case here. Enter random 'like' whom I ended up having a number of interesting conversations with....about everything from Denis Leary to stars to lions to 'special someones'. And thus it all rather fell into place.
Ok, hold up.....I confess, I stalked the crap out of his thousands of pictures for content and response (and his response to responses) and THEN it all rather fell into place. It all of a sudden became obvious, there could be only one female entity on the page...the other had to be a contrast, but compatible. A counterpoint if you like. Tigress was my baby...I wanted someone who would respect what I had built and nurture it as I would but still stand apart as a unique identity. And he also had to 'fit' somehow....Thus Lion Eyes came into Tigressland.
And he's done a pretty damn good job too I must say; representing my Leonine half! The figures are way up...the people are happy and while anyone who knows me knows I am not the most feminine of creatures, it is still rather nice having a masculine presence round the place. The fur on the couch is ridiculous but he cooks bless him! Would be nicer if he wasn't completely on the other side of the bloody planet so I could TASTE IT! But he cooks :)
It's going well.
I'm a happy little Tigress :)
In my defence though, I have also been been a busy little Tigress (surgeries and such), and regrettably have the type of personal life that makes Day Of Our Lives seem like a perfectly plausible chain of events.
But in the greater scheme of things I do believe it's all settling down. The racket of all the doors closing and new ones opening has been a little deafening but nothing a good hearing aid won't fix, and I am ready to embrace new things, especially if he's cute...
but I digress...
It is important to remember, I feel, that when one comes into a busy spell in ones life one cannot forget one's stripy little responsibilities. I have offspring as some of you know but I also (at time of onset of chaos) had a few thousand followers on my Facebook page, who, I knew, were starting to wonder where the hell I had got to.
It was obvious I needed back up....but The Musings Of A Tigress is just that! The Musings of Me....how can someone else help with that?? To put a co-admin on the page would invariably mean letting someone else represent, at least to a certain degree, what was in my head (a scary proposition if ever there was one O.O)
And it's not like I could just add any old random off the street....I had to think this through....much research had to be done! Pedigrees needed to be analysed! Police records needed to be checked!
There was much flailing of paws and gnashing of fangs let me tell you!!
It was quite the stressful situation.
Or perhaps not.
Frequently in life, I have discovered, karma will simply bring you what you need if you are paying enough attention to notice it, And this was the case here. Enter random 'like' whom I ended up having a number of interesting conversations with....about everything from Denis Leary to stars to lions to 'special someones'. And thus it all rather fell into place.
Ok, hold up.....I confess, I stalked the crap out of his thousands of pictures for content and response (and his response to responses) and THEN it all rather fell into place. It all of a sudden became obvious, there could be only one female entity on the page...the other had to be a contrast, but compatible. A counterpoint if you like. Tigress was my baby...I wanted someone who would respect what I had built and nurture it as I would but still stand apart as a unique identity. And he also had to 'fit' somehow....Thus Lion Eyes came into Tigressland.
And he's done a pretty damn good job too I must say; representing my Leonine half! The figures are way up...the people are happy and while anyone who knows me knows I am not the most feminine of creatures, it is still rather nice having a masculine presence round the place. The fur on the couch is ridiculous but he cooks bless him! Would be nicer if he wasn't completely on the other side of the bloody planet so I could TASTE IT! But he cooks :)
It's going well.
I'm a happy little Tigress :)
Thursday 12 April 2012
It's puzzling really...
I have been known to get a little obsessive over things. Once started, it can be extremely difficult to distract me from an activity. My Facebook page is one known addiction, cleaning a particular item or tidying someone else's house are others (Aspy much?!...And I'm so much better than I was!)...puzzle books...a good novel also qualify.
As does doing jigsaw puzzles.
Jigsaw puzzles are one of the world's little enigmas aren't they. They surely must have come about by accident when some demented little git decided to chop up a picture of his Mrs of something. Then some other anal-retentive little twazzock got his thrills from sticking it all back together again.
Ok, I'm full of it...according to http://www.mgcpuzzles.com/mgcpuzzles/puzzle_history/ they started in the 1760's with maps getting chopped up as educational toys...adult ones kicked in around 1908. Apparently they created quite the stir....obsession even...I can relate.
Now I don't use the term obsession lightly here; I have been known to knock out a 1000 piece scenic jigsaw puzzle in under two days (including meals and sleeping) and did the first 550pc "World's Most Difficult Jigsaw Puzzle" (The 'Buffalo Games" one with buffalo in various sporting poses on an all blue background) in under 8 hours, including lunch,....when I was 11.
As a result of the latter I have always snorted heartily at the "World's Most Difficult" part. Just coz they stuck the same picture on the other side turned 90 degrees doesn't really add much challenge...you just do all the easy bits twice then once you find which bit fits the body of your puzzle, you turn the other one over. It's not rocket science. To be honest, those edgeless ones with the five extra pieces put up more of a struggle.
The ones of all dice or jelly beans or some other such mundane object tend to pose a bit more entertainment, however...but I doubt they would qualify as "world's most difficult" either.
I think I know which one has that covered.
Back when I was a pup I saw something on TV about the "Purple Dread": a 5000 piece puzzle that was entirely purple. Now I ask you...what miserable, mongrel-gutted swine would think up something like that!
I have no idea....but I think I found his/her kid....
http://www.pizmogames.com/games/load.php?g=hardestjigsaw
I'll see you three years next Thursday.
As does doing jigsaw puzzles.
Jigsaw puzzles are one of the world's little enigmas aren't they. They surely must have come about by accident when some demented little git decided to chop up a picture of his Mrs of something. Then some other anal-retentive little twazzock got his thrills from sticking it all back together again.
Ok, I'm full of it...according to http://www.mgcpuzzles.com/mgcpuzzles/puzzle_history/ they started in the 1760's with maps getting chopped up as educational toys...adult ones kicked in around 1908. Apparently they created quite the stir....obsession even...I can relate.
Now I don't use the term obsession lightly here; I have been known to knock out a 1000 piece scenic jigsaw puzzle in under two days (including meals and sleeping) and did the first 550pc "World's Most Difficult Jigsaw Puzzle" (The 'Buffalo Games" one with buffalo in various sporting poses on an all blue background) in under 8 hours, including lunch,....when I was 11.
As a result of the latter I have always snorted heartily at the "World's Most Difficult" part. Just coz they stuck the same picture on the other side turned 90 degrees doesn't really add much challenge...you just do all the easy bits twice then once you find which bit fits the body of your puzzle, you turn the other one over. It's not rocket science. To be honest, those edgeless ones with the five extra pieces put up more of a struggle.
The ones of all dice or jelly beans or some other such mundane object tend to pose a bit more entertainment, however...but I doubt they would qualify as "world's most difficult" either.
I think I know which one has that covered.
Back when I was a pup I saw something on TV about the "Purple Dread": a 5000 piece puzzle that was entirely purple. Now I ask you...what miserable, mongrel-gutted swine would think up something like that!
I have no idea....but I think I found his/her kid....
http://www.pizmogames.com/games/load.php?g=hardestjigsaw
I'll see you three years next Thursday.
Monday 9 April 2012
Tales from Who(re)ville...
A few days ago, "The Musings Of A Tigress" Facebook page hit 3000 likes.
Now I'm not gonna deny it...I'm jolly happy about this, and it thrills me no end that people appear to be coming toward my somewhat random collection of thoughts and humour versus running away from it. And it's always heartening to think that you bring a smile, a chuckle, or maybe even a laugh...to another's world. I never cease to be honoured by all the wonderful comments and shares I receive in a given day.
But I do feel I must watch myself; one doesn't want to be seen as getting caught up in one's own celebrity now does one. And rightly so....I'm a page owner on Facebook, not Kate bloody Middleton!
It's hard though, not to focus on such things when one is crawling up the posterior of a certain 'like' total (for example 3000). Now my rational side (which I like to think is quite large) says just relax, it's no big deal, really, it'll happen in its own time. It reminds me that a page admin should always demonstrate gratitude for the followers they have, and serve first and foremost to entertain them with their output...not build up symbols of popularity akin to a boy-band's album sales.
But all this rationality seems powerless to stop me from occasionally turning into an absolute 'likes' WHORE!
It's the number you see! I mean I was fine at about 2800ish...just cruisin' along...nothing urgent...and then it ticked over to 2900...
2900...
As in 100 off 3000....nice big fat round 3000
And this is where the tics start to turn up. I make a coffee, occupy the offspring and develop a 'focused' look previously only elicited from hammering at the final level of Zuma.
And it's also about now that the admins of other pages start to get the hint that the Tigress has donned her fishnets.We pages can also like each other you see and have our own newsfeeds upon which my posting, hinting and downright grovelling starts to turn up en masse. And I'm always awed at this point by how tolerant and helpful these folk are during my times of....lunatic intensity. I'm not sure if they help me out because they really love my stuff or simply because I look ridiculous in a mini skirt and they are trying to clean up the neighbourhood.
Either way it works very well, and once I skip over the relevant milestone, I miraculously become once again the sedate(ish) stripy individual that you all know and love.
And to be honest, no one is more relieved about this than me...I mean it's quite intense and exhausting all that promoting and posting and gifting and such.
And seriously, stilettos are a bitch to walk in!
Now I'm not gonna deny it...I'm jolly happy about this, and it thrills me no end that people appear to be coming toward my somewhat random collection of thoughts and humour versus running away from it. And it's always heartening to think that you bring a smile, a chuckle, or maybe even a laugh...to another's world. I never cease to be honoured by all the wonderful comments and shares I receive in a given day.
But I do feel I must watch myself; one doesn't want to be seen as getting caught up in one's own celebrity now does one. And rightly so....I'm a page owner on Facebook, not Kate bloody Middleton!
It's hard though, not to focus on such things when one is crawling up the posterior of a certain 'like' total (for example 3000). Now my rational side (which I like to think is quite large) says just relax, it's no big deal, really, it'll happen in its own time. It reminds me that a page admin should always demonstrate gratitude for the followers they have, and serve first and foremost to entertain them with their output...not build up symbols of popularity akin to a boy-band's album sales.
But all this rationality seems powerless to stop me from occasionally turning into an absolute 'likes' WHORE!
It's the number you see! I mean I was fine at about 2800ish...just cruisin' along...nothing urgent...and then it ticked over to 2900...
2900...
As in 100 off 3000....nice big fat round 3000
And this is where the tics start to turn up. I make a coffee, occupy the offspring and develop a 'focused' look previously only elicited from hammering at the final level of Zuma.
And it's also about now that the admins of other pages start to get the hint that the Tigress has donned her fishnets.We pages can also like each other you see and have our own newsfeeds upon which my posting, hinting and downright grovelling starts to turn up en masse. And I'm always awed at this point by how tolerant and helpful these folk are during my times of....lunatic intensity. I'm not sure if they help me out because they really love my stuff or simply because I look ridiculous in a mini skirt and they are trying to clean up the neighbourhood.
Either way it works very well, and once I skip over the relevant milestone, I miraculously become once again the sedate(ish) stripy individual that you all know and love.
And to be honest, no one is more relieved about this than me...I mean it's quite intense and exhausting all that promoting and posting and gifting and such.
And seriously, stilettos are a bitch to walk in!
Saturday 7 April 2012
Bite me....
I am generally not one to dwell on my medical situations as there is no real point, but occasionally it humours me to share the latest antics of my body. We converse frequently, my body and I, and sometimes harsh words are spoken....but this time I laughed...out loud.
Anyone who has followed my blog will be aware of my spiffy little run-in with breast cancer (I'm still winning by the way...it can f**k off and leave my stripy ass - well tit - alone!) which forces me to deal with the delights of Tamoxifen (like being in a menopause of sorts, complete with hot flashes, chills, cramping extremities and.....assertiveness..).
But I also have a few other things on the go including being HLA B27+, which courts such fun as iritis (inflamed eyes - requiring dilation of the pupil so you look like a malfunctioning terminator...in public), dry eyes, and ankylosing spondilitis (a form of arthritis which 'flares' regularly and could culminate in some of my bones 'setting' like brittle concrete - though how mine will develop is yet to be known, it may get no worse than it is so that's a good thing :))
Add this to being gluten and dairy intolerant and caffeine and yeast sensitive though and things get a little tiresome. Oh, and I mustn't forget my misbehaving internal girly bits that have now qualified me for a hysterectomy in the next 3-6 months (Yippee!).
Despite all this fun and shenanigans however, I go to the gym and do pretty much what other people do as I can. And I frequently remind myself that many many people deal with stuff a lot worse than my little random collection of conditions. But that doesn't mean I feel inclined to add to the list!
Picture this...
Two weeks ago, I'm hanging out at my mate's place helping with some furniture rearranging and such when I start to feel a little..peculiar....like I'm exercising hard core but standing still. I mention this to her (she just happens to be a nurse) and go to lie down for 20 minutes. I still feel rather 'racy' and short of breath so without sitting up I pathetically wave my hand in the air and ask my friend to take my pulse...it's over 100 (my normal resting pulse rate - as taken at the gym 2 days earlier - is in the 60's where it should be, and my blood pressure was also fine at 121/68).
Well this was a tad disconcerting...
As I had had a very stressful weekend however, I just put it down to that and my body slowly settled down over the next couple of days until I was back to normal. I thought nothing more of it until about a week later; I was at the gym with another friend when she said: "Good God what did you do to your leg?!!" This was a very good question for being the observant type that I am, I had managed to completely miss a (very impressive I must say) bruise the size of your average tomato on the back of my calf and another smaller one further up.
WTF? Who misses shit like that?
Anyway, the larger bruise also had a clear spot in the middle and it occurred to me that some small arachnid had possibly tried to execute my demise by stuffing its fangs into my tender person. The little sod.
So I thought I better mosey along to my local pharmacy and run my brilliant deduction by someone who was qualified enough to ascertain whether it was brilliant or not.
As it turned out, it was a little more brilliant than I planned.
"So what you're saying is..."I eyed the pharmacist warily "is that had that spider (or whatever it was) chewed on me a bit higher up...say near my neck or head...things may not have gone so well?"
"Exactly...the swelling could well have blocked your airway and and you could have died."
This is the part where I laughed...and as this was not my regular pharmacist so she knew nothing of all my other conditions and medication, the bemused look on her face only fed my mirth.
"I would definitely suggest you see your doctor and consider carrying an EpiPen."
An EpiPen...(unsubsidised in New Zealand so costing between $120 to $190 - with a shelf life of only 12-15 months) ...for my newly discovered, potentially fatal, allergy to an unknown biting thing.
I have pondered...mused even...about this over the last few days, and have decided I only have one thing to say at this point:
"Body?....COULD YA KNOCK IT OFF NOW!!!"
Anyone who has followed my blog will be aware of my spiffy little run-in with breast cancer (I'm still winning by the way...it can f**k off and leave my stripy ass - well tit - alone!) which forces me to deal with the delights of Tamoxifen (like being in a menopause of sorts, complete with hot flashes, chills, cramping extremities and.....assertiveness..).
But I also have a few other things on the go including being HLA B27+, which courts such fun as iritis (inflamed eyes - requiring dilation of the pupil so you look like a malfunctioning terminator...in public), dry eyes, and ankylosing spondilitis (a form of arthritis which 'flares' regularly and could culminate in some of my bones 'setting' like brittle concrete - though how mine will develop is yet to be known, it may get no worse than it is so that's a good thing :))
Add this to being gluten and dairy intolerant and caffeine and yeast sensitive though and things get a little tiresome. Oh, and I mustn't forget my misbehaving internal girly bits that have now qualified me for a hysterectomy in the next 3-6 months (Yippee!).
Despite all this fun and shenanigans however, I go to the gym and do pretty much what other people do as I can. And I frequently remind myself that many many people deal with stuff a lot worse than my little random collection of conditions. But that doesn't mean I feel inclined to add to the list!
Picture this...
Two weeks ago, I'm hanging out at my mate's place helping with some furniture rearranging and such when I start to feel a little..peculiar....like I'm exercising hard core but standing still. I mention this to her (she just happens to be a nurse) and go to lie down for 20 minutes. I still feel rather 'racy' and short of breath so without sitting up I pathetically wave my hand in the air and ask my friend to take my pulse...it's over 100 (my normal resting pulse rate - as taken at the gym 2 days earlier - is in the 60's where it should be, and my blood pressure was also fine at 121/68).
Well this was a tad disconcerting...
As I had had a very stressful weekend however, I just put it down to that and my body slowly settled down over the next couple of days until I was back to normal. I thought nothing more of it until about a week later; I was at the gym with another friend when she said: "Good God what did you do to your leg?!!" This was a very good question for being the observant type that I am, I had managed to completely miss a (very impressive I must say) bruise the size of your average tomato on the back of my calf and another smaller one further up.
WTF? Who misses shit like that?
Anyway, the larger bruise also had a clear spot in the middle and it occurred to me that some small arachnid had possibly tried to execute my demise by stuffing its fangs into my tender person. The little sod.
So I thought I better mosey along to my local pharmacy and run my brilliant deduction by someone who was qualified enough to ascertain whether it was brilliant or not.
As it turned out, it was a little more brilliant than I planned.
"So what you're saying is..."I eyed the pharmacist warily "is that had that spider (or whatever it was) chewed on me a bit higher up...say near my neck or head...things may not have gone so well?"
"Exactly...the swelling could well have blocked your airway and and you could have died."
This is the part where I laughed...and as this was not my regular pharmacist so she knew nothing of all my other conditions and medication, the bemused look on her face only fed my mirth.
"I would definitely suggest you see your doctor and consider carrying an EpiPen."
An EpiPen...(unsubsidised in New Zealand so costing between $120 to $190 - with a shelf life of only 12-15 months) ...for my newly discovered, potentially fatal, allergy to an unknown biting thing.
I have pondered...mused even...about this over the last few days, and have decided I only have one thing to say at this point:
"Body?....COULD YA KNOCK IT OFF NOW!!!"
Thursday 29 March 2012
All hail the almighty toothpick...
I'm eating pizza right now (a piece of useless information for you) and, for a moment, entertaining the thought that perhaps Scott was just a hard core Fraggle Rock fan in the day....you know, an industrious wee youngster whose first aspiration in life wasn't to be a rock-star or policeman, but simply to be a Doozer and create epic construction.
But this kinda takes it into a whole new universe dunnit?...And turns the tables something wicked when you think about it...I mean what self-respecting Doozer wouldn't want to grow up to be Scott Weaver?!
Now I will confess though, I have had desires to do something radical and artistic like this in my time, but I was never a completer....I was an epic starter of things....but wasn't quite so epic at finishing them. While this has improved in my later life, I do have many unfinished projects laying about the place that bear testimony to the fact I frequently have the attention span of a half-baked goldfish.
So what kept this boy going?? Abandoning the quandary of what inserted the idea into his consciousness in the first place, one is hard pressed not to be just as baffled by the question: "Why didn't he give up halfway and hurl it in the bin?" It must have been tempting at some point surely. You can just about guarantee that there would have been days when perhaps the cat had playfully knocked the whole shebang to the carpet and he felt like giving up toothpick sculpture in favour of, say, taxidermy? But no! He resisted! He didn't say: "Sod this for a game of soldiers" and use it for kindling....he kept at it....adding toothpick after toothpick until his vision was complete.
It's astounding really and all I can say is jolly good for him. From someone who is artistically challenged by basic origami....his achievement is nothing short or incredible. And as I'm finishing my pizza I cannot help but be mindful of the fact that Mr Weaver has elevated such a humble object to almost mythic status. This in mind however, I would still be sorely tempted to snap a wee piece of said sculpture would I be seated next to it right now as a bit of pizza crust has nestled itself most uncomfortably between two molars and yep, you guessed it...I've run out of bloody toothpicks!!
Monday 12 March 2012
A boat for Lil Blondie
My child is not what you would call particularly 'girlie'.
Though I'm not into labels all that much - so shy away from the term 'tomboy' - I have no problem recognising that her interests transcend the unfortunate 'gender norms' still reinforced by the gender-specific garbage marketing rife on today's children's television.
You see Lil Blondie has a slight obsession: at the ripe old age of 5 3/4: she wants to build a boat. And not just any boat...a frickin' great ship what shoots things, carries passengers and even has a helipad - musn't forget the helipad.
And she wants to do it all on her 6th birthday in June.
Now believe me, I am secretly delighted that although my little girl happily wears pink and loves kittens (she can choose whatever she wishes), she is also Ben 10's number one fan and is not afraid of the concept of blowing the crap out of something.
But none of this helps me build a boat...
Sorry, I mean ship.
But I know I have to at least try and delay her desires a little as I don't really have a Titanic's worth of boat-building materials laying around at my disposal. But how?! It's not like she's even remotely interested in the ballet classes her older sister wants her to do!
My first attempt involved going for the model kind...you know with pop out cardboard bits and such. I saw one in the Avon catalogue of all places and wondered if it just might suffice...at least until she went onto something else. When it arrived, away for Christmas it went. Come Christmas morning, the slim unwrapped gift drew a bemused stare. "It's a boat" I said, smiling. The stare shifted from bemused to 'are you shittin' me, coz that's one damn skinny boat!?'
Supposedly, according to the packet, a 5-year-old could have put this thing together....pfft, well I'd love to meet the little twerp! It would have to be one of those smart-ass prodigy kids that was completing the Rubic's Cube while still in triangular trousers and tossing up between between fixing the family car or building a new doghouse just for recreation by the age of four, because I'm thirty-God-damned-seven and I was swearing incredulously after five minutes! It had no less than 5 sheets of pop out bits, and most of them were not what I would call large.
Eventually, however, with the Blonde one checking in on me periodically, the 'HMS Morfolk' was born. Complete with guns, tower thingie and yes, even a helipad.
This should do her I thought and proudly presented her with my creation. I pointed out all the various bits and pieces and patted her on the head saying: "Yay, now you have a boat!"
"Oh that's a very nice boat, Mum, but mine's gonna be much bigger than that!"
Crap...this could be trickier than I thought.
Time for Plan B...
"So what sort of job do think you could do to work on a boat?" I asked
Through her furrowed brow I could almost hear the cogs whirring as she entertained the options.
"I could be a pirate!" :D
Right...
After discussing the logistics and legalities of such a career choice and the possible unfortunate outcomes to both self and others we decided against that one and instead analysed some more acceptable avenues such as going into the Navy, becoming a diver to explore old ship-wreaks or conduct wildlife research, and working on a cruise liner.
After further thought, though, her face lit up: "What about the helicopter, maybe I could fly in the helicopter?!"
We had discussed helicopters and their occupants before. This was working better than I thought!
"You certainly can sweetheart! Flying a helicopter would be a cool job!"
"Oh I don't want to fly it" she corrected me; "I want to ride in the back of it like the crewman does."
"Well that would be great too!" I encouraged
"Hmmm" she murmured half to herself: "You know what I need now though?"
"Well I think, just from a Mummy's perspective, you need to study hard at school and make sure you grow up really strong and healthy."
"Yes, yes' I know all that!" she dismissed impatiently, "but what I really need....
She pointed her finger firmly in the air and put on her 'earnest face'.
...is practice!!
I didn't like where this conversation was heading.
"And lots of it!"
You know what's coming next
"We need to build a helicopter, Mum!" She said matter-of-factly.
"Oh do we now!" I spluttered. Though I should have seen it coming...this was not panning out well for Team Mummy at all. :"Oh so I suppose you want to build THAT on your birthday now?"
"No silly, we're building the boat on that day remember"
Huh?!?!
"Well what else am I gonna park my helicopter on?!
Where the hell is that ballet brochure....
Though I'm not into labels all that much - so shy away from the term 'tomboy' - I have no problem recognising that her interests transcend the unfortunate 'gender norms' still reinforced by the gender-specific garbage marketing rife on today's children's television.
You see Lil Blondie has a slight obsession: at the ripe old age of 5 3/4: she wants to build a boat. And not just any boat...a frickin' great ship what shoots things, carries passengers and even has a helipad - musn't forget the helipad.
And she wants to do it all on her 6th birthday in June.
Now believe me, I am secretly delighted that although my little girl happily wears pink and loves kittens (she can choose whatever she wishes), she is also Ben 10's number one fan and is not afraid of the concept of blowing the crap out of something.
But none of this helps me build a boat...
Sorry, I mean ship.
But I know I have to at least try and delay her desires a little as I don't really have a Titanic's worth of boat-building materials laying around at my disposal. But how?! It's not like she's even remotely interested in the ballet classes her older sister wants her to do!
My first attempt involved going for the model kind...you know with pop out cardboard bits and such. I saw one in the Avon catalogue of all places and wondered if it just might suffice...at least until she went onto something else. When it arrived, away for Christmas it went. Come Christmas morning, the slim unwrapped gift drew a bemused stare. "It's a boat" I said, smiling. The stare shifted from bemused to 'are you shittin' me, coz that's one damn skinny boat!?'
Supposedly, according to the packet, a 5-year-old could have put this thing together....pfft, well I'd love to meet the little twerp! It would have to be one of those smart-ass prodigy kids that was completing the Rubic's Cube while still in triangular trousers and tossing up between between fixing the family car or building a new doghouse just for recreation by the age of four, because I'm thirty-God-damned-seven and I was swearing incredulously after five minutes! It had no less than 5 sheets of pop out bits, and most of them were not what I would call large.
Eventually, however, with the Blonde one checking in on me periodically, the 'HMS Morfolk' was born. Complete with guns, tower thingie and yes, even a helipad.
This should do her I thought and proudly presented her with my creation. I pointed out all the various bits and pieces and patted her on the head saying: "Yay, now you have a boat!"
"Oh that's a very nice boat, Mum, but mine's gonna be much bigger than that!"
Crap...this could be trickier than I thought.
Time for Plan B...
"So what sort of job do think you could do to work on a boat?" I asked
Through her furrowed brow I could almost hear the cogs whirring as she entertained the options.
"I could be a pirate!" :D
Right...
After discussing the logistics and legalities of such a career choice and the possible unfortunate outcomes to both self and others we decided against that one and instead analysed some more acceptable avenues such as going into the Navy, becoming a diver to explore old ship-wreaks or conduct wildlife research, and working on a cruise liner.
After further thought, though, her face lit up: "What about the helicopter, maybe I could fly in the helicopter?!"
We had discussed helicopters and their occupants before. This was working better than I thought!
"You certainly can sweetheart! Flying a helicopter would be a cool job!"
"Oh I don't want to fly it" she corrected me; "I want to ride in the back of it like the crewman does."
"Well that would be great too!" I encouraged
"Hmmm" she murmured half to herself: "You know what I need now though?"
"Well I think, just from a Mummy's perspective, you need to study hard at school and make sure you grow up really strong and healthy."
"Yes, yes' I know all that!" she dismissed impatiently, "but what I really need....
She pointed her finger firmly in the air and put on her 'earnest face'.
...is practice!!
I didn't like where this conversation was heading.
"And lots of it!"
You know what's coming next
"We need to build a helicopter, Mum!" She said matter-of-factly.
"Oh do we now!" I spluttered. Though I should have seen it coming...this was not panning out well for Team Mummy at all. :"Oh so I suppose you want to build THAT on your birthday now?"
"No silly, we're building the boat on that day remember"
Huh?!?!
"Well what else am I gonna park my helicopter on?!
Where the hell is that ballet brochure....
Tuesday 6 March 2012
The Gravy Master!
Now you may recall me mentioning that I am not the most culinarily gifted person in the whole wide world.
To be fair though, if there's a recipe involved, the product has usually been relatively edible (unless it's jam - that hasn't been so good)...it's when I start to get cute and try winging it that things get a bit hairy.
But surely to God I should be able to concoct a fairly decent stew without too much drama? Shouldn't I? After all, as my fiendishly Tigeresque male friend frequently intones: "It's not rocket science!"
Well I'm not so sure about that.
You see my attempts as stew making 'sans-recipe' have not been a howling success. They've either lacked flavour, didn't thicken right, or were generally plagued by some other gourmet shortcoming that was serious cause for a facepalm
So last night I caved.... I Googled it, and came across a recipe that even my five-year-old could probably have managed.
I diligently followed the instructions....right up to the add 'Gravy Master' bit.
What?
I live on what I swear to God is the arse end of the planet....we don't HAVE "Gravy Master"...hell we don't even have "Gravy Apprentice"...you want gravy round here you make it in the pan using the meat drippings! Though I must confess, I did find lurking in the back of my pantry a box of Gravy Somethingorother that was gluten, dairy and everything else free that I must have bought a while back thinking I was going to get all illustrious and roast something.
Yeah, that'll do.
But this is where I had a question....does this 'Gravy Master' stuff thicken things...coz if not then I was in a spot of bother...coz I knew my Somethingorother would!....Best we wait till the end. I was trying not to get distressed at this point as the whole point of me finding a recipe was to avoid the whole 'winging it' scenario and the possibility of placing the entirety of the project in jeopardy.
I was nervous...I had 1kg of mincemeat, four carrots and an onion riding on this; I did not want to go down.
So I took the careful approach, I thickened it a little at a time till it reached the desired consistency. The concentration was intense, I didn't want to overdo it. Thoughts of my sliceable jam shot through my head. But I pushed them aside...I knew I could do this!
It was time for the taste test....good God it was edible! How did that happen?
The potatoes were mashed, the plates were waiting...
I was beginning to get excited...
Just a little.
Once served onto dinnerware it was presented to the waiting offspring.... The teenager cocked a suspicious eyebrow and sampled tentatively. After some deliberation she grunted her approval...one down. Lil Blondie (cute but brutal) also took a mouthful...this was the true moment of reckoning...
"You know Mum....that's actually not bad."
I smiled...a lot...like someone just awarded an Olympic medal :D...Kid approved food produced by moi...there is hope for me yet!
"Well it's a lot better than that horrible jam you made anyway!"
:S
To be fair though, if there's a recipe involved, the product has usually been relatively edible (unless it's jam - that hasn't been so good)...it's when I start to get cute and try winging it that things get a bit hairy.
But surely to God I should be able to concoct a fairly decent stew without too much drama? Shouldn't I? After all, as my fiendishly Tigeresque male friend frequently intones: "It's not rocket science!"
Well I'm not so sure about that.
You see my attempts as stew making 'sans-recipe' have not been a howling success. They've either lacked flavour, didn't thicken right, or were generally plagued by some other gourmet shortcoming that was serious cause for a facepalm
So last night I caved.... I Googled it, and came across a recipe that even my five-year-old could probably have managed.
I diligently followed the instructions....right up to the add 'Gravy Master' bit.
What?
I live on what I swear to God is the arse end of the planet....we don't HAVE "Gravy Master"...hell we don't even have "Gravy Apprentice"...you want gravy round here you make it in the pan using the meat drippings! Though I must confess, I did find lurking in the back of my pantry a box of Gravy Somethingorother that was gluten, dairy and everything else free that I must have bought a while back thinking I was going to get all illustrious and roast something.
Yeah, that'll do.
But this is where I had a question....does this 'Gravy Master' stuff thicken things...coz if not then I was in a spot of bother...coz I knew my Somethingorother would!....Best we wait till the end. I was trying not to get distressed at this point as the whole point of me finding a recipe was to avoid the whole 'winging it' scenario and the possibility of placing the entirety of the project in jeopardy.
I was nervous...I had 1kg of mincemeat, four carrots and an onion riding on this; I did not want to go down.
So I took the careful approach, I thickened it a little at a time till it reached the desired consistency. The concentration was intense, I didn't want to overdo it. Thoughts of my sliceable jam shot through my head. But I pushed them aside...I knew I could do this!
It was time for the taste test....good God it was edible! How did that happen?
The potatoes were mashed, the plates were waiting...
I was beginning to get excited...
Just a little.
Once served onto dinnerware it was presented to the waiting offspring.... The teenager cocked a suspicious eyebrow and sampled tentatively. After some deliberation she grunted her approval...one down. Lil Blondie (cute but brutal) also took a mouthful...this was the true moment of reckoning...
"You know Mum....that's actually not bad."
I smiled...a lot...like someone just awarded an Olympic medal :D...Kid approved food produced by moi...there is hope for me yet!
"Well it's a lot better than that horrible jam you made anyway!"
:S
Monday 27 February 2012
It's absolutely fantastic! No, really..it is!
It's all very interesting I reckon...this new-found arty-farty fondness of mine. While I've always been into a nice bit of art from time to time - not that I would consider myself particularly cultured or classy...let's not get rash here - I've always thought of 'art' (well at least the pictorial kind) as stuff what you did wiv paints and pencils and such (even though with the marvel of the Internet one can now upload said art for world consumption). It never occurred to me, however, that one day I would be appreciating stuff that's been done ass-backwards...that is created on a computer and then printed out or put on canvas as required.
But I must confess to being quite taken with this phenomena; after all some of the results are stunning to say the least. But I did entertain the thought that this was somehow cheating? I mean, from what I can gather...photo's are taken and played with to varying degrees until a new 'fantastical' version is produced...complete with new background and sometimes even sparkly/shimmery bits. How hard could that be?
Well after tutuing around with Gimp 2 (An open source [ie free] app similar to Photoshop) it quickly became obvious that the answer was "very." In fact it could get downright diabolical, all this shit ain't no waltz in the park let me tell ya! I mean layers? Pardon? You mean I need to what? And how the hell did they get that cat in there? And as for shading etc, pfft, I didn't even get to that!
So ok, they win, not cheating! I'm thinking I may have to check out some online tutorials now...for no other reason than I'm nosey (and I seriously wanna know about that cat). I mean have you seen some of this stuff! It's amazing! Imagine being able to make that! And considering the performance that goes into making the good stuff I'm more than willing to add my two-cents worth to the praise list and deem it art.
But while we're on the topic, I can't help wondering something else...
Why do we like this stuff so much? I mean dragons, angels, faeries, unicorns....seriously? For some reason these and other fantastical themes all abound, enthralling the general populous no end. Is it the surreal colours perhaps? The scenic backgrounds maybe? Or is it a little more complex than that...
I'm leaning blatant 'escapism' myself (though this doesn't take Freudian brilliance to suggest): a desire to live vicariously, even for a moment, through the minds eye of another - who is obviously a damn sight more skilled at photo manipulation than we are. There's no reading of books or movie plots to follow...just a simple act of gazing and if we feel the vibe, imagining: 'What if I lived there.' 'What if I had a dragon'. 'Wow his abs are amazing!'
Wait...what?
*cough* Sorry
Hang on..don't give me that withering look boys...you can't even begin to tell me you haven't looked - nay perved - at the boobs and bodies on some of these chicks!...I mean damn, a coupla them have bodies even I'd switch teams for 0.0.
And when you think about it, that may not be such a bad thing...the bodies that is, not the switching teams (though that depends on who you ask I guess). While it is still rare to see a portly faerie, or a rotund angel (excluding cherubs of course), some of them thar warrior women are far from the scrawny articles that saunter up and down our fashion catwalks. In a society obsessed with petite, these examples of a more bulky chiselled female form, are creating a mental shift. An this sits well with me.
I for one have never desired for someone to look at me and say "Wow she's skinny"...I would much prefer a "Man, she looks fit" or better still a "Don't think I'd try pinching her ass at a bar!" Physical fitness breeds a certain unspoken assertiveness that is hard not to respect. they didn't get that way by being a pussy...just sayin'.
So perhaps this fantasy kick of mine is nothing more than my desire to fuel my own power trip. My own journey to the best health my body will allow needs all the inspiration it can get, and what speaks 'personal power' more than a strapping chick wielding a sword that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger think twice.
So maybe one day when I've mastered the finer points of Gimping and have a body that reflects the daily gym sessions I have returned to, it will be my modified tushy in the digital arena for world analysis. I can just see it now *stares wistfully*...thighs of steel, cheekbones you could cut cheese on, and an ass that....well let's not give too much away shall we...
And all on a stunning background; complete with those little touches that make these pictures look so brilliant...slanting light, a bit of water somewhere....and...um...
I know!
A cat!!
:D
But I must confess to being quite taken with this phenomena; after all some of the results are stunning to say the least. But I did entertain the thought that this was somehow cheating? I mean, from what I can gather...photo's are taken and played with to varying degrees until a new 'fantastical' version is produced...complete with new background and sometimes even sparkly/shimmery bits. How hard could that be?
Well after tutuing around with Gimp 2 (An open source [ie free] app similar to Photoshop) it quickly became obvious that the answer was "very." In fact it could get downright diabolical, all this shit ain't no waltz in the park let me tell ya! I mean layers? Pardon? You mean I need to what? And how the hell did they get that cat in there? And as for shading etc, pfft, I didn't even get to that!
So ok, they win, not cheating! I'm thinking I may have to check out some online tutorials now...for no other reason than I'm nosey (and I seriously wanna know about that cat). I mean have you seen some of this stuff! It's amazing! Imagine being able to make that! And considering the performance that goes into making the good stuff I'm more than willing to add my two-cents worth to the praise list and deem it art.
But while we're on the topic, I can't help wondering something else...
Why do we like this stuff so much? I mean dragons, angels, faeries, unicorns....seriously? For some reason these and other fantastical themes all abound, enthralling the general populous no end. Is it the surreal colours perhaps? The scenic backgrounds maybe? Or is it a little more complex than that...
I'm leaning blatant 'escapism' myself (though this doesn't take Freudian brilliance to suggest): a desire to live vicariously, even for a moment, through the minds eye of another - who is obviously a damn sight more skilled at photo manipulation than we are. There's no reading of books or movie plots to follow...just a simple act of gazing and if we feel the vibe, imagining: 'What if I lived there.' 'What if I had a dragon'. 'Wow his abs are amazing!'
Wait...what?
*cough* Sorry
Hang on..don't give me that withering look boys...you can't even begin to tell me you haven't looked - nay perved - at the boobs and bodies on some of these chicks!...I mean damn, a coupla them have bodies even I'd switch teams for 0.0.
And when you think about it, that may not be such a bad thing...the bodies that is, not the switching teams (though that depends on who you ask I guess). While it is still rare to see a portly faerie, or a rotund angel (excluding cherubs of course), some of them thar warrior women are far from the scrawny articles that saunter up and down our fashion catwalks. In a society obsessed with petite, these examples of a more bulky chiselled female form, are creating a mental shift. An this sits well with me.
I for one have never desired for someone to look at me and say "Wow she's skinny"...I would much prefer a "Man, she looks fit" or better still a "Don't think I'd try pinching her ass at a bar!" Physical fitness breeds a certain unspoken assertiveness that is hard not to respect. they didn't get that way by being a pussy...just sayin'.
So perhaps this fantasy kick of mine is nothing more than my desire to fuel my own power trip. My own journey to the best health my body will allow needs all the inspiration it can get, and what speaks 'personal power' more than a strapping chick wielding a sword that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger think twice.
So maybe one day when I've mastered the finer points of Gimping and have a body that reflects the daily gym sessions I have returned to, it will be my modified tushy in the digital arena for world analysis. I can just see it now *stares wistfully*...thighs of steel, cheekbones you could cut cheese on, and an ass that....well let's not give too much away shall we...
And all on a stunning background; complete with those little touches that make these pictures look so brilliant...slanting light, a bit of water somewhere....and...um...
I know!
A cat!!
:D
Saturday 25 February 2012
It's all in the accessories..
I have a pile of dishes like you wouldn't believe, washing that needs folded and to be honest I probably should change the sheets on my bed.
And here I am blogging
Nice to see I finally have my priorities straight :)
I thought, for today's entertainment, I would my share my shopping experience for the week, which was...well...shopping.
Now shopping is something I normally despise and generally try to avoid at all costs (unless it's sunglasses...I have shitloads of cheapass pairs of them...seriously there's like four pairs just on the dashboard of my car!). But frequently I just don't have the money and when it comes to clothes (as is was the target of this venture) my ass usually won't fit in what I want so I end up in a big blue funk anyway.
But this trip I must say was different. Due to the aforementioned reasons it had been a loooong time since my body had graced the floors of a clothes store with the intention of actually buying something. But you see this was one of those 'girly' shopping trips...a new phenomenon to me, believe it or not...and I was quite feeling the spirit. There were four of us in total...ie, just enough to be dangerous, and I was driving - complete with my four pairs of sunglasses on the dash - much to the amusement of my passengers.
And I even got into the whole trying things on and coming out and parading around like a demented supermodel (I'm suspecting a mid-life crisis coming on here, but hey) and was actually rather pleased with results! We are all off to the big smoke soon to see a mate's gig so were working on our rock chick look. I can still work a little black dress quite nicely I'm pleased to say AND can control a pair of heels at the same time. I can even do it with alcohol on board if required though it's less pretty so it's good I rarely drink and am usually the sober driver.
And yes, after the dresses, even shoes were involved...though in my case to rescue my poor damn feet coz I had gone shopping in the heels I wanted to match to the dress!....Dumbass!
But this is where I made my most awesome purchase of the day. After finding my shoes...that seriously had a strap arrangement that required an engineering degree to operate...I took them to the counter, accompanied by my posse to be greeted by a lovely young behind the counter. She was most pleasant I must say....I mean she smiled, was conversational and polite as she bagged my purchase...
And she even took the time to draw my attention to the bin of $5 sunglasses I had missed....
Now that's customer service that is.
And here I am blogging
Nice to see I finally have my priorities straight :)
I thought, for today's entertainment, I would my share my shopping experience for the week, which was...well...shopping.
Now shopping is something I normally despise and generally try to avoid at all costs (unless it's sunglasses...I have shitloads of cheapass pairs of them...seriously there's like four pairs just on the dashboard of my car!). But frequently I just don't have the money and when it comes to clothes (as is was the target of this venture) my ass usually won't fit in what I want so I end up in a big blue funk anyway.
But this trip I must say was different. Due to the aforementioned reasons it had been a loooong time since my body had graced the floors of a clothes store with the intention of actually buying something. But you see this was one of those 'girly' shopping trips...a new phenomenon to me, believe it or not...and I was quite feeling the spirit. There were four of us in total...ie, just enough to be dangerous, and I was driving - complete with my four pairs of sunglasses on the dash - much to the amusement of my passengers.
And I even got into the whole trying things on and coming out and parading around like a demented supermodel (I'm suspecting a mid-life crisis coming on here, but hey) and was actually rather pleased with results! We are all off to the big smoke soon to see a mate's gig so were working on our rock chick look. I can still work a little black dress quite nicely I'm pleased to say AND can control a pair of heels at the same time. I can even do it with alcohol on board if required though it's less pretty so it's good I rarely drink and am usually the sober driver.
And yes, after the dresses, even shoes were involved...though in my case to rescue my poor damn feet coz I had gone shopping in the heels I wanted to match to the dress!....Dumbass!
But this is where I made my most awesome purchase of the day. After finding my shoes...that seriously had a strap arrangement that required an engineering degree to operate...I took them to the counter, accompanied by my posse to be greeted by a lovely young behind the counter. She was most pleasant I must say....I mean she smiled, was conversational and polite as she bagged my purchase...
And she even took the time to draw my attention to the bin of $5 sunglasses I had missed....
Now that's customer service that is.
Friday 17 February 2012
A God of small things.
It's no secret that I tend to over-analyse my world just a tad. Not like Stephen Hawking level or anything...but I have given parts of it a damn good Dr Philling from time to time let me tell you. It fascinates me...and people fascinate me. We're odd little creatures: humans, so complex; and figuring out why we do some of the daft-ass things we do can be quite the journey...but I'm starting to see a pattern emerge.
And I am part of it.
My life hasn't always been a box of fluffies...it's the way it goes...and to be honest the present situation isn't exactly how I'd like it either....but I am slowly changing it; and for now at least, I have enough; but since investigating this page business I have discovered I am also not alone. There seems to be a number of personality types (of which I am obviously one) inhabiting the little corner of the Internet that I frequent; none better or worse than the other, each just different and this where things get interesting.
When you start out in the world of page ownership/administration you have to decide pretty damn quick who you are. It was all very well and good me..... >.<....hang on....
F**sake, I have to go get the flyspray...brb
Bahahahaha!! Take that you little winged sods!!
Hehehe...right, where was I? Oh yes...personality and such. I had to decide what I wanted to put out to the masses...how did I wish to define myself...what did I want to share. I had seen enough other pages to know the options....there were funny ones, venting ones, politically/issue oriented ones, sexual ones, feel good ones, and blog/stream of consciousness ones....well I'm way too random to be anything other than the latter.
But there seems to be a particular type that choose this option...the ones who have dealt with a myriad of crap over a long period of time and feel comfortable dealing with just about anything. Now this will not be the case 100% of the time...nor will admins of other pages not have necessarily had to deal with their share of God knows what....but it seems bloggers have learned to tap into the everyday and make something a little new of it, have become their own Gods of small things if you like. And this is something curious to me.
That is not to say that other pages aren't of equal value...I mean who doesn't enjoy having a damn good laugh just for the hell of it! Or reading the venting or kinky stuff that you probably wouldn't put on your own profile. And we all love a little positive thinking every once in a while. These pages are necessary to human survival! Or is that just mine?
Anywho, I can't help feeling that it's the bloggers who tie it all together somehow; epitomizing the randomness of the Internet, putting a single life on show for all the world to see. It's like an epic saga being written in front of you complete with illustrations. And while there are certain genres of blog (the Mum/Mom one for example springs quickly to mind), bloggers inherently aren't particularly theme bound...free as the proverbial winged thing (no not a fly!) to go off on whatever tangent they choose.
And we frequently do. Funny one minute, inspiring perhaps the next...and a bit of naughty thrown in for good measure. This freedom is both liberating and probably dangerous somehow. My father always said I should never be let loose on the town....now I have the entire World Wide Web at my disposal to inflict upon my ever growing audience! Shit a brick and fart a crowbar...the potential is endless Jimmy! X-) *rubs hands together with glee.*
But ultimately it's about degrees of exposure...how much do you know about yourself and how much are you willing to share. What makes you tick, what are you passionate about, what would you put your ass on the line for. What are your limits, what drives you, what inspires you, what breaks you. It's quite the arsenal to unleash on your psyche let it be said.
So how am I going with all this? Have I indeed cracked the Tigress code and worked out just who she is? Well lets just say...as with real human beings...she's a work in progress ;-)
And I am part of it.
My life hasn't always been a box of fluffies...it's the way it goes...and to be honest the present situation isn't exactly how I'd like it either....but I am slowly changing it; and for now at least, I have enough; but since investigating this page business I have discovered I am also not alone. There seems to be a number of personality types (of which I am obviously one) inhabiting the little corner of the Internet that I frequent; none better or worse than the other, each just different and this where things get interesting.
When you start out in the world of page ownership/administration you have to decide pretty damn quick who you are. It was all very well and good me..... >.<....hang on....
F**sake, I have to go get the flyspray...brb
Bahahahaha!! Take that you little winged sods!!
Hehehe...right, where was I? Oh yes...personality and such. I had to decide what I wanted to put out to the masses...how did I wish to define myself...what did I want to share. I had seen enough other pages to know the options....there were funny ones, venting ones, politically/issue oriented ones, sexual ones, feel good ones, and blog/stream of consciousness ones....well I'm way too random to be anything other than the latter.
But there seems to be a particular type that choose this option...the ones who have dealt with a myriad of crap over a long period of time and feel comfortable dealing with just about anything. Now this will not be the case 100% of the time...nor will admins of other pages not have necessarily had to deal with their share of God knows what....but it seems bloggers have learned to tap into the everyday and make something a little new of it, have become their own Gods of small things if you like. And this is something curious to me.
That is not to say that other pages aren't of equal value...I mean who doesn't enjoy having a damn good laugh just for the hell of it! Or reading the venting or kinky stuff that you probably wouldn't put on your own profile. And we all love a little positive thinking every once in a while. These pages are necessary to human survival! Or is that just mine?
Anywho, I can't help feeling that it's the bloggers who tie it all together somehow; epitomizing the randomness of the Internet, putting a single life on show for all the world to see. It's like an epic saga being written in front of you complete with illustrations. And while there are certain genres of blog (the Mum/Mom one for example springs quickly to mind), bloggers inherently aren't particularly theme bound...free as the proverbial winged thing (no not a fly!) to go off on whatever tangent they choose.
And we frequently do. Funny one minute, inspiring perhaps the next...and a bit of naughty thrown in for good measure. This freedom is both liberating and probably dangerous somehow. My father always said I should never be let loose on the town....now I have the entire World Wide Web at my disposal to inflict upon my ever growing audience! Shit a brick and fart a crowbar...the potential is endless Jimmy! X-) *rubs hands together with glee.*
But ultimately it's about degrees of exposure...how much do you know about yourself and how much are you willing to share. What makes you tick, what are you passionate about, what would you put your ass on the line for. What are your limits, what drives you, what inspires you, what breaks you. It's quite the arsenal to unleash on your psyche let it be said.
So how am I going with all this? Have I indeed cracked the Tigress code and worked out just who she is? Well lets just say...as with real human beings...she's a work in progress ;-)
Tuesday 14 February 2012
Cancer and other hilarity
I'm a happy wee Tigress at the moment :)
Not that I'm not normally a fairly jovial person, but a phone call yesterday morning gave me reason to feel just that extra bit spiffier.
You see my tit seems to have stopped trying to kill me.
Back in October of 2010, things were a tad different. At the age of 36 I was diagnosed with a Grade II invasive ductal carcinoma of the left breast: ie breast cancer.
I wasn't amused.
And I mentioned this to the registrar who was enlightening me of my plight. I stipulated before they even had a chance to present the options that I would like it removed at the earliest opportunity thank you very much indeed. Yes I'm happy with the risks surgery...no I don't give a rat's ass that there will be scarring (hell I wanted something to show for all this!). Just get it out. Now.
They were most obliging and whipped the offending ball of cells out nary a week later. (Didn't get the boob job I wanted though damn it. You know, the nice sheepdog operation: rounds 'em up and points 'em in the right direction...*sigh*..oh well lol) But they were efficient and I like that in a hospital. And none this having to be insured business...this is New Zealand...it was free...well a-la the New Zealand tax payer type free anyway.
What I also liked was that because my tumour was caught early (I didn't want to get out of the shower one morning so examined my boobs for a bit...smart move as it turns out), I only needed radiation and no chemotherapy....I have hair past my shoulder blades...and was fully resigned to lose the lot, so, yeah, was pretty chuffed about that.
A wee word about radiation by the way...if you've got sizeable tatas, they're gonna burn. And we're not talking a gentle rosy glow here; we're talking blistering and raw by the end of your six weeks fun and games. But there is no point letting such things dampen one's spirit...and to be honest, the shock value is awesome!
"Oh, hey, how are you?"
"Aw yeah, not too bad."
"So where are you working now?"
"Oh, I'm not working at the moment, I've just had breast cancer so just doing the radiation and stuff."
(Y'know..casual as...but then - they pick their chin up off the floor - you can go in for the kill with the visuals. It was summer at the time I was having my treatment so just strappy type tops were the go. And they didn't start trussing me up like a turkey till right at the end so all I had to do was lift my arm and you could see some of the fabulous effects of the radiation down part my side.)
"Oh wow!! That's major!! How are doing with all that??"
"Ah, it's a pain in the tit t'be honest..here, check this out."
The facial expressions were brilliant. Best part of the whole cancer I'd say. Can't say I'd recommend the complete experience though - give that a miss if you can...what with the whole life-threatening component and all. I tried it, didn't like it, sure as hell don't plan on doing it again.
But it does change you, something like this. Here I am, 16 months later, damn lucky, with a whole new respect for life; I am much more forgiving and don't sweat the small stuff nearly as much as I used to. But that's not to say the small things don't matter too. Indeed the smallest things you say and do may also be the most powerful, and you just never know when karma is gonna cock her eyebrow at you and call you on one of them.
For example, I used to frequently gasp: "I'd give my left one to see that!"
I don't say that any more...
You know...just in case.
Not that I'm not normally a fairly jovial person, but a phone call yesterday morning gave me reason to feel just that extra bit spiffier.
You see my tit seems to have stopped trying to kill me.
Back in October of 2010, things were a tad different. At the age of 36 I was diagnosed with a Grade II invasive ductal carcinoma of the left breast: ie breast cancer.
I wasn't amused.
And I mentioned this to the registrar who was enlightening me of my plight. I stipulated before they even had a chance to present the options that I would like it removed at the earliest opportunity thank you very much indeed. Yes I'm happy with the risks surgery...no I don't give a rat's ass that there will be scarring (hell I wanted something to show for all this!). Just get it out. Now.
They were most obliging and whipped the offending ball of cells out nary a week later. (Didn't get the boob job I wanted though damn it. You know, the nice sheepdog operation: rounds 'em up and points 'em in the right direction...*sigh*..oh well lol) But they were efficient and I like that in a hospital. And none this having to be insured business...this is New Zealand...it was free...well a-la the New Zealand tax payer type free anyway.
What I also liked was that because my tumour was caught early (I didn't want to get out of the shower one morning so examined my boobs for a bit...smart move as it turns out), I only needed radiation and no chemotherapy....I have hair past my shoulder blades...and was fully resigned to lose the lot, so, yeah, was pretty chuffed about that.
A wee word about radiation by the way...if you've got sizeable tatas, they're gonna burn. And we're not talking a gentle rosy glow here; we're talking blistering and raw by the end of your six weeks fun and games. But there is no point letting such things dampen one's spirit...and to be honest, the shock value is awesome!
"Oh, hey, how are you?"
"Aw yeah, not too bad."
"So where are you working now?"
"Oh, I'm not working at the moment, I've just had breast cancer so just doing the radiation and stuff."
(Y'know..casual as...but then - they pick their chin up off the floor - you can go in for the kill with the visuals. It was summer at the time I was having my treatment so just strappy type tops were the go. And they didn't start trussing me up like a turkey till right at the end so all I had to do was lift my arm and you could see some of the fabulous effects of the radiation down part my side.)
"Oh wow!! That's major!! How are doing with all that??"
"Ah, it's a pain in the tit t'be honest..here, check this out."
The facial expressions were brilliant. Best part of the whole cancer I'd say. Can't say I'd recommend the complete experience though - give that a miss if you can...what with the whole life-threatening component and all. I tried it, didn't like it, sure as hell don't plan on doing it again.
But it does change you, something like this. Here I am, 16 months later, damn lucky, with a whole new respect for life; I am much more forgiving and don't sweat the small stuff nearly as much as I used to. But that's not to say the small things don't matter too. Indeed the smallest things you say and do may also be the most powerful, and you just never know when karma is gonna cock her eyebrow at you and call you on one of them.
For example, I used to frequently gasp: "I'd give my left one to see that!"
I don't say that any more...
You know...just in case.
Friday 10 February 2012
*Sigh*
It's just all a bit much, I must say.
Now I'm all for the preservation of intellectual property; I mean it's only fair that some poor bugger who traipses out into the middle of the Sumatran jungle, risking life and limb, should get full props for his photographic efforts. But how does someone who doesn't have much in the way of access to jungles and such, get their sticky little hands on a photo of the jungle dwelling creature she requires...in my case, a tiger?
To be honest I can acquire tiger pictures no trouble...and even for free providing I give credit, that ain't the issue. The problem I have is how I'm allowed to use 'em. Sticking with the 'free' option, I am allowed to modify certain pictures and add text etc, and even use them as a profile picture...which is all jolly spiffy; should I require something that I would like slap on a T-shirt or coffee mug however, then we start getting into 'Extended licence' territory, which must be purchased....and again I have no problem with this...I mean it wasn't my ass at risk of perforation as the photo was being taken now was it. The problem I have is, even if I purchase said license, I still can't legally make the image my official logo.
So what this means is, if Tigress takes off like a rat up the proverbial drainpipe...some little sod is still going to come after me for copyright infringement, I can bet my middle finger...I mean claw, on it.
This poses quite the dilemma: how, pray tell, do I get my hands on a picture of a four legged stripy feline without pissing someone off and quite possibly landing myself at the mercy of the criminal justice system?
There is but one solution that I can see...I need to either draw/design my own...or have someone do it for me.
This is a work in progress. For now I am legal.
Why couldn't I have made it "The Musings Of A Chicken" or something. At least I could have photographed one of those damn things myself!
Now I'm all for the preservation of intellectual property; I mean it's only fair that some poor bugger who traipses out into the middle of the Sumatran jungle, risking life and limb, should get full props for his photographic efforts. But how does someone who doesn't have much in the way of access to jungles and such, get their sticky little hands on a photo of the jungle dwelling creature she requires...in my case, a tiger?
To be honest I can acquire tiger pictures no trouble...and even for free providing I give credit, that ain't the issue. The problem I have is how I'm allowed to use 'em. Sticking with the 'free' option, I am allowed to modify certain pictures and add text etc, and even use them as a profile picture...which is all jolly spiffy; should I require something that I would like slap on a T-shirt or coffee mug however, then we start getting into 'Extended licence' territory, which must be purchased....and again I have no problem with this...I mean it wasn't my ass at risk of perforation as the photo was being taken now was it. The problem I have is, even if I purchase said license, I still can't legally make the image my official logo.
So what this means is, if Tigress takes off like a rat up the proverbial drainpipe...some little sod is still going to come after me for copyright infringement, I can bet my middle finger...I mean claw, on it.
This poses quite the dilemma: how, pray tell, do I get my hands on a picture of a four legged stripy feline without pissing someone off and quite possibly landing myself at the mercy of the criminal justice system?
There is but one solution that I can see...I need to either draw/design my own...or have someone do it for me.
This is a work in progress. For now I am legal.
Why couldn't I have made it "The Musings Of A Chicken" or something. At least I could have photographed one of those damn things myself!
Sunday 29 January 2012
I have a confession...
Hello, my name is Tigress and I'm a PhotoAppaholic
I kid you not.
And as many of you may know...I've discovered a new one: Facebook's piZap.
The hours are vanishing at an alarming rate! Now I don't claim to be any great whiz in the technological department, but I like to think I'm not too shabby at this lark. I mean the products of my efforts are getting shared around Facebook in a delightfully swift manner so I figure I'm doing something right! And I'm improving all the time...I think. But I must say, it was a skill born of frustration!
You see, for the last 6 weeks I have hurtled around Facebook and the Internet in general, trawling goodies to share with my ever growing group of followers. And some have been brilliant! Witty little morsels, with delightful graphics, that would make even, Denis Leary titter. But others, to be honest, have been an abomination to the human eye: the heinous colour combinations, the inappropriate fonts, the text speak, the *splutter*....I mean seriously, the grammatical errors alone are enough to make me break out in a rash >.<.
So I thought bugger it, I'll do it myself.
And I have...but...
My sense of self-regulation is not the best. Remember me mentioning my having addiction issues with Facebook games? Well this little photo obsession makes my gaming look like a positively healthy pastime! It's quite concerning. It's the delightful backgrounds you see...and the delicious fonts, and the quotes! *quiver* oh the quotes! I'll just complete one little project when I think to myself: "I'll sneak a peek at some more quotes." And then BAM! The designing process restarts in my head and I'm screwed for another half an hour or so!
It's not pretty.
The good news is, I haven't started snorting and/or dribbling yet and am still managing to feed and clothe myself.
Though it's getting touch and go with the kids.
I'll keep you posted :)
I kid you not.
And as many of you may know...I've discovered a new one: Facebook's piZap.
The hours are vanishing at an alarming rate! Now I don't claim to be any great whiz in the technological department, but I like to think I'm not too shabby at this lark. I mean the products of my efforts are getting shared around Facebook in a delightfully swift manner so I figure I'm doing something right! And I'm improving all the time...I think. But I must say, it was a skill born of frustration!
You see, for the last 6 weeks I have hurtled around Facebook and the Internet in general, trawling goodies to share with my ever growing group of followers. And some have been brilliant! Witty little morsels, with delightful graphics, that would make even, Denis Leary titter. But others, to be honest, have been an abomination to the human eye: the heinous colour combinations, the inappropriate fonts, the text speak, the *splutter*....I mean seriously, the grammatical errors alone are enough to make me break out in a rash >.<.
So I thought bugger it, I'll do it myself.
And I have...but...
My sense of self-regulation is not the best. Remember me mentioning my having addiction issues with Facebook games? Well this little photo obsession makes my gaming look like a positively healthy pastime! It's quite concerning. It's the delightful backgrounds you see...and the delicious fonts, and the quotes! *quiver* oh the quotes! I'll just complete one little project when I think to myself: "I'll sneak a peek at some more quotes." And then BAM! The designing process restarts in my head and I'm screwed for another half an hour or so!
It's not pretty.
The good news is, I haven't started snorting and/or dribbling yet and am still managing to feed and clothe myself.
Though it's getting touch and go with the kids.
I'll keep you posted :)
Sunday 22 January 2012
The Sound of Music
Whoever said that smell is the strongest sense associated with memory obviously doesn't listen to music.
While yes a whiff of cologne can whisk you back a decade or two, and the smell of Mama's baking can remind you of afternoons with Great Auntie Suzie...nothing says "Hey, remember this?" like a well timed song.
Maybe it's just a case of being more specific, I dunno
And movie soundtracks, I think, are the ultimate. I mean who can't hear the first strains of "I've Had The Time Of My Life" without remembering Johnny and Baby...the 'Lift'...the leather jacket, the whole shebang. Or...as has been the theme on my Facebook page this morning...listen to Bowie's Labyrinthine "Underground" without recalling Jareth, his crystal 'bubbles' and that most awesome hair.
And it ain't just the visuals that spring to mind. I remember 'feeling' torn between wanting to have the Goblin King's hair and wanting to marry it! It was an intense time I tell you. But after deciding matrimony was probably not going to pan out, I settled for replication...much to David Bowie's relief I'm sure.
And Ghost! God damn it that infernal movie nearly made me lose it in front of all my mates (Patrick Swayze has a lot to answer for!). I still get a rattle in the bottom of my stomach to this day at sound of The Righteous Brothers plaintively wailing their "Unchained Melody"! It's just ridiculous.
But the ultimate (and I'm sure my Eighties sisters will be with me on this) has to be dance movies. Who, ahh say who, can hear Irene Cara's "What A Feeling" or the theme from "Fame" without remembering how BADLY he/she wanted to be that damn talented. I mean seriously. And to shift a little later, Eminem's "Lose Yourself" always wrenches me straight back to the final killer rap scene where Rabbit canes "Clarence" like an errant schoolboy. I swear the skin-tingly awesomeness of that one gives even Chuck Norris a run for his money.
And so it continues today. And as a new generation has movie scenes, and the feelings elicited by them, etched into it's consciousness by well crafted tracks...we elders (or are we technically, the overall 'tweens' ?) can only sit back and smile....waiting for the first time one of our kids, upon hearing a favourite soundtrack song gasps: "Oh wow!!! I so remember that movie!!"
Yeah, I'm looking forward to memories like that \m/
Monday 16 January 2012
The finer points of love and such
Look it's a logical progression: Jam-making, Facebooking, Love. <---Yeah I went there with the capital 'L'. I've never been one to piss around.
This doesn't mean I actually know what I'm talking about.
I have done the research though. A further indication of how my brain works. There is information available on any subject...especially now the Internet is so prevalent in people's lives. But all the research in the world can't explain why we glance past some people who may very well be totally spiffy individuals, while fixating on others who will provide the ultimate challenge to say the least!
Is this because easy is boring? Is it something exclusively hormonal? Is it....oh f**k knows.
All you know, is that when you are in it...you are in it good!! Screwed I think the term is...well if you're lucky ;-).
So how do you know what to do? When to persevere with someone (from this female's perspective - a guy), when to say "Bitch please...you got a week", or when to think "f**k this for a game of soldiers" and walk away.
And you'll find everyone else has an opinion on these things; they usually do, when it is someone else. Oh if he loves you he's do this, this, and this. Apparently there's a code to follow, candlelit dinners to be had, gifts to be bought; proof to be given that they are not a cad and can 'win' your heart.
Oh piss off.
Guys get just as broken, damaged and screwed up (and over) as women do. Perhaps some of them could do with a bit of unconditional love and courting. I'm all for equality in this day and age...both ways. There are enough guys loading dishwashers and changing shitty arses now to warrant a little effort from the female of the species...and I don't just mean putting the garbage out.
So next time someone says to you "he's not worth it"...think carefully (I will blog about "love languages" soon...I am very passionate about this) and look at who is talking. Chances are they either have suitors coming out his/her wazoo...or they have been cheated on. At the end of the day, the only person's judgement you can truly trust is your own.
Have a little faith
You are probably not nearly the dumbass you might think you are.
This doesn't mean I actually know what I'm talking about.
I have done the research though. A further indication of how my brain works. There is information available on any subject...especially now the Internet is so prevalent in people's lives. But all the research in the world can't explain why we glance past some people who may very well be totally spiffy individuals, while fixating on others who will provide the ultimate challenge to say the least!
Is this because easy is boring? Is it something exclusively hormonal? Is it....oh f**k knows.
All you know, is that when you are in it...you are in it good!! Screwed I think the term is...well if you're lucky ;-).
So how do you know what to do? When to persevere with someone (from this female's perspective - a guy), when to say "Bitch please...you got a week", or when to think "f**k this for a game of soldiers" and walk away.
And you'll find everyone else has an opinion on these things; they usually do, when it is someone else. Oh if he loves you he's do this, this, and this. Apparently there's a code to follow, candlelit dinners to be had, gifts to be bought; proof to be given that they are not a cad and can 'win' your heart.
Oh piss off.
Guys get just as broken, damaged and screwed up (and over) as women do. Perhaps some of them could do with a bit of unconditional love and courting. I'm all for equality in this day and age...both ways. There are enough guys loading dishwashers and changing shitty arses now to warrant a little effort from the female of the species...and I don't just mean putting the garbage out.
So next time someone says to you "he's not worth it"...think carefully (I will blog about "love languages" soon...I am very passionate about this) and look at who is talking. Chances are they either have suitors coming out his/her wazoo...or they have been cheated on. At the end of the day, the only person's judgement you can truly trust is your own.
Have a little faith
You are probably not nearly the dumbass you might think you are.
Sunday 8 January 2012
So how does this work again...
I felt like writing stuff again...but it's not Friday yet. Friday was going to be my blog day. Poop.
Ah well, that will teach me for having so much running around inside my head...it has to come out you know or I could very well go boom. So you may find yourself putting up with me a little more often than I first planned.
You can handle it eh?
I must say I'm quite liking this social-networking business: projecting (or should that be inflicting?) myself upon the general populous one paragraph, or entertaining status, at a time. I cut my teeth on Facebook of course...as you do. After being hounded incessantly by friends and family...well a few...well one suggested it a I finally got nosey enough...I decided to go for it. As it turns out it's rather fun...not to mention I found relatives I hadn't seen in YEARS...but it was all good, they're ones I like :)...and in general my experience has been a good one.
I should take wee moment here though, to elucidate on the finer points of my initial Facebook life...a life that involved...games.
Now anyone au fait with Facebookland will be all too familiar with the likes of FarmVille and FrontierVille and CityVille...and I do believe now there is even a CastleVille. It's pretty straight forward...you build and maintain either a farm, a frontier settlement, a city, or a castle...and make contact with others to be neighbours with. Seems simple enough...and it is. And it's also simple to waste three-quarters of your DAY doing it! I kid you not. I mean my dishes were piled to the ceiling but shit I had gorgeous cabbages! Coulda fed half a third-world nation!
Don't do it...just don't.
In the end I had to decide whether I wanted more chickens and horses than aunt Flo (well fed ones I might add) or did I actually want to finish the degree I was working my way through. Figured, since the degree was costing me money I should choose that. Let's face it, tending imaginary animals and crops is not going to get you far in life...though I must admit my time-management skills improved something wicked. You miss one of those quick maturing crops and things get horribly unfortunate rather quickly...THEN you need an unwither...which either costs you, or you have to wait for someone else to do it. Then there's the...
Wait, what? *Facepalm*
Let us move on shall we
Now as much as I had fun making random friends as neighbours etc, I had to let it go. But now I have finished the aforementioned degree, I can get as distracted on Face book as much as I damn well please (and frequently do). I've been musing though, as I do, over the choices. And I decided, that instead of games or merely sifting the flotsam and jetsam out of my Internet experience, I should collect the bits I like and collate them into one area! Thus "The Musings Of A Tigress" was born.
With sweaty palms and baited breath, I launched my first brain squeezings and lo and behold people actually liked them. In three short weeks I have discovered lolcats, how to pimp and be pimped, and the secrets of kissing up to pages bigger than you!!
But now I've also discovered just how much I enjoy writing stuff...so here I am...blogging.
My daughter says I should get a Tumblr
This could be get busy 0.0
Thursday 5 January 2012
I'm not sure about this...
Sometimes, I know, I am going to blog about quite profound and meaningful things. Things that nip at our higher consciousness like a hungry Chiahuahua nips at the heels of its owner at dinnertime. And I will no doubt relish those times...but today, my friends, ain't one of them. Today I begin as if to create a blog of small things on an apparently innocuous subject that still managed to give me no end of f**king difficulty!
Now anyone who knows me, knows I am not the most culinarily gifted person. Sure, I can roast things and have been known to produce a half-decent cake once in a while, but as for the finer food oriented arts...well that's where things start to get a bit tatty. Thus it is still perplexing to me as to why, the other day, I decided to make jam.
Actually, I should be more precise; I ATTEMPTED to make jam. With a flurry of domestic fervour that would make Martha Stewart weak at the knees, I had a pot on the stove within seconds of deciding my plan. And into this was hurled (as my recipe stated) the requisite 2kg (approx 4 1/2 lb for those of you of an imperial bent) of plums and a bit of water...so far so good.
I was hopeful I must admit, standing there in my modest kitchen. I was thinking: "I can do this". And surely, I felt, fortune will smile fondly upon one so eager to extend her creative abilities...surely. Well after halving and stoning over 100 pissant little plums, I sure as hell hoped it would!
"Boil until soft and pulpy." the recipe continued: not rocket science. Hurl in 7 Cups of sugar: doneski. Simmer for 15 mins or until setting point is reached.....now this is where I encountered technical difficulties.
At this point, many an historic tale of jam-making woe leapt to the forefront of my consciousness. As I stirred my bubbling mixture, I recalled how, just the day before, the gifter of my current plums stated: "We had to use it for ice-cream topping it was so runny." Nice. And I was even more newbie than she'd been! But, I resolved, this was not going to happen to me! I was determined that my prized creation was not going to suffer the same fate. I would reach that setting point if it took all damn day....and by the looks of the progress so far...it was going to.
After a further 15mins I could still have piddled thicker than the consistency of what was dripping off the end of my spoon so on for another 15 it went. I'm sure I had a penis in a previous life for it was about now than I decided to actually read the instructions. Don't get me wrong, I was following the recipe to the letter...I had just failed to notice that there was a wee tutorial at the front of the section.
Apparently you are not supposed to have your "preserving pan" (WTF is a preserving pan??...Oh never mind) more than a third full.
Oh.
Well that could explain things a little. Let's just keep that a bubblin' a while longer. The timer went off, which I promptly ignored and it wasn't until I detected the slight 'odour de jamstucktobottomofpot' that I thought I'd better investigate. After a wee stir though, I felt all was well, and the elusive set-point may indeed have been reached. I tried the next test on the list and dropped some of my concoction onto a cold plate. Holy crap, it did all the things it was supposed to so into my beautifully sterilized jars it went.
I make that sound so simple don't I?
Do you have any idea what a bitch it is to get a searing hot liquid into a searing hot jar from a bloody great pot? Hence why half a jarful ended up spread across the stovetop. I wasn't amused. But I persevered and eventually all my jam went into jars.
And did indeed set...
...kinda like meatloaf.
But sort of raisin-flavoured.
*sigh*
It was not my best work, but it was edible...just. So long as you didn't try and spread it with a plastic fork.
*sigh*...again
Meh...I prefer peanut butter anyway
Now anyone who knows me, knows I am not the most culinarily gifted person. Sure, I can roast things and have been known to produce a half-decent cake once in a while, but as for the finer food oriented arts...well that's where things start to get a bit tatty. Thus it is still perplexing to me as to why, the other day, I decided to make jam.
Actually, I should be more precise; I ATTEMPTED to make jam. With a flurry of domestic fervour that would make Martha Stewart weak at the knees, I had a pot on the stove within seconds of deciding my plan. And into this was hurled (as my recipe stated) the requisite 2kg (approx 4 1/2 lb for those of you of an imperial bent) of plums and a bit of water...so far so good.
I was hopeful I must admit, standing there in my modest kitchen. I was thinking: "I can do this". And surely, I felt, fortune will smile fondly upon one so eager to extend her creative abilities...surely. Well after halving and stoning over 100 pissant little plums, I sure as hell hoped it would!
"Boil until soft and pulpy." the recipe continued: not rocket science. Hurl in 7 Cups of sugar: doneski. Simmer for 15 mins or until setting point is reached.....now this is where I encountered technical difficulties.
At this point, many an historic tale of jam-making woe leapt to the forefront of my consciousness. As I stirred my bubbling mixture, I recalled how, just the day before, the gifter of my current plums stated: "We had to use it for ice-cream topping it was so runny." Nice. And I was even more newbie than she'd been! But, I resolved, this was not going to happen to me! I was determined that my prized creation was not going to suffer the same fate. I would reach that setting point if it took all damn day....and by the looks of the progress so far...it was going to.
After a further 15mins I could still have piddled thicker than the consistency of what was dripping off the end of my spoon so on for another 15 it went. I'm sure I had a penis in a previous life for it was about now than I decided to actually read the instructions. Don't get me wrong, I was following the recipe to the letter...I had just failed to notice that there was a wee tutorial at the front of the section.
Apparently you are not supposed to have your "preserving pan" (WTF is a preserving pan??...Oh never mind) more than a third full.
Oh.
Well that could explain things a little. Let's just keep that a bubblin' a while longer. The timer went off, which I promptly ignored and it wasn't until I detected the slight 'odour de jamstucktobottomofpot' that I thought I'd better investigate. After a wee stir though, I felt all was well, and the elusive set-point may indeed have been reached. I tried the next test on the list and dropped some of my concoction onto a cold plate. Holy crap, it did all the things it was supposed to so into my beautifully sterilized jars it went.
I make that sound so simple don't I?
Do you have any idea what a bitch it is to get a searing hot liquid into a searing hot jar from a bloody great pot? Hence why half a jarful ended up spread across the stovetop. I wasn't amused. But I persevered and eventually all my jam went into jars.
And did indeed set...
...kinda like meatloaf.
But sort of raisin-flavoured.
*sigh*
It was not my best work, but it was edible...just. So long as you didn't try and spread it with a plastic fork.
*sigh*...again
Meh...I prefer peanut butter anyway
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)