Death Of The Humming Girl

Yesterday I was working in a bookstore cafe I frequently patronise. (And yes, I know how pretentious 'frequently patronise' sounds, but it makes me seem much more Professional and Important than 'hang out in a lot').

Now, this particular cafe is well known as a place where people come to work. Children are not encouraged (at least, not by me), voices are hushed, and at least two thirds of the customers are tapping away quietly on laptops, working on anything from university assignments to hard-hitting blogs such as these.

So when I sat next to an earnest-looking girl buried in some books, a pot of yoghurt beside her, looking bland and inoffensive (both she and the yoghurt), I felt that I was fairly safe.

I was wrong.

Five minutes after I sat, having just turned on my computer and settled into my scone... I mean seat... her mobile phone rang.

Now, I have nothing against mobile phones. I own one myself. But when I am on my phone in public, I speak in my 'inside' voice. Softly. I know that people don't want to hear my conversations about wild sex and partying (using 'wild sex and partying' in the sense of 'doctor's appointments and laundry').

Well, this young lady - she of the earnest curls and bland yoghurt - used her outside voice. LOUDLY.

And she went on and on.

I couldn't glean much from her conversation, despite her tenor and convinction. Apparently she was 'sooooo there' and he was 'soooo bad', but where was there and why so bad I had absolutely no idea. Nor did I care.

After listening to her ramble for five minutes I began to feel tetchy.

After ten minutes I began to wonder if her ears were burning with all that radiation.

After 20 minutes I hoped fervently her ears were burning.

After 30 mins I hoped her brain was on fire.

After 40 mins (I kid you not) I was fantasizing about setting her on fire myself.

I felt a profound, murderous rage towards this bland, curly girl. How DARE she encroach upon my personal audio space? I was about to turn around and confront her when, like a gift from beyond, she said goodbye and snapped the phone shut.

Praise the lord! I wanted to kiss her phone (before flinging into the nearest rubbish bin). Instead, I took a deep cleansing bite of scone - I mean breath - and returned to my work.

I lasted approprimately 45 seconds.

Because then the humming started.

Yes, yoghurt-breath steel-wool-head was HUMMING. To herself. Softly, but constantly, and tunelessly, like a demented person. She hummed as she read. She hummed as she took notes. She hummed as she turned the pages. Her tiny soft hums burned into my brain.

My legs started twitching. My eyelid started spasming. My fingers started aching with the need to grab my laptop and smack her over the head with it.

STOP FUCKING HUMMING!!!!!!!!!

I glanced around at her and glared. A truly vicious glare. And she smiled, a peaceful, beautific smile.

So it was clear. She genuinely was insane.

There was nothing else to do. I picked up my laptop, raised it above my shoulders, slammed it down on her head as hard as I could, and worked in peace for the next couple of hours with her slumped on the table beside me.

Except that I didn't. I picked up my laptop, packed it away in my bag, and went home bathed in anger and frustration.

And when she called out as I was leaving and told me to have a nice day, I grinned through gritted teeth and said 'Yeah, you too'.

That's just the kind of sweet gentle person I am.

Bringing The Bite Back Into The Bedroom

So this afternoon I am being fitted for a mouthguard. I will need to wear it in bed every night for...well... ever, to stop me grinding my teeth into oblivion.

I'm thrilled about getting a mouthguard. Obviously I'm happy about saving my teeth from extinction, but most importantly, I feel it will do wonders for my relationship with my husband. Our bedtime routine has been lacking a bit of spark lately, and I feel a mouthguard is just what we need to get us back on track. After all,

• A mouthguard screams sexy. It screams role play. It's a bit Bondage and Discipline, muddled up with Doctor and Nurse, all tied together with Tough Boxer Chick.
  
• A mouthguard screams confident. A woman with a mouthguard knows who she is. She has priorities (you know... her teeth). She's so damn secure in herself that she couldn't care less what she looks like, she's gonna wear that thing no matter how horrifed anyone is (using 'anyone' in the sense of 'the man lying next to her').
  
• A mouthguard screams successful. This is a woman who has a lot in her life. After all, teeth grinding is about stress, and stress isn't brought on by nothing. She has a lot of something. She's got the world on her shoulders. And she's handling it. In her mouth.
  
• A mouthguard screams mysterious. It's like a burqa for the mouth. There's a hint of what may be in there, a whispered promise of what's inside, but it's guarded, hidden by a bit of plastic. And only the invited can look beyond.

Really, the mouthguard is the new black. I may be an early adopter, but give it a few months and I reckon everyone will be wearing one. Life is stressful, and teeth are important, and we need to protect them from ourselves.

More importantly, though, we all need a bit of sizzle back in the bedroom.

I can assure you, my husband isn't going to know what hit him.

Thank You, Minister, For The Thumbs....

Dear Minister For Education,

Though you are frequently and vehemently criticised (for a variety of important and valid reasons), today I wish to thank you.

Glancing through my son's Year 4 English homework last night, I noticed the sentences that he is required to study. I was astonished at how pertinent, vocational, and conceptually advanced they are, and I would like to congratulate the educator who produced them.

For example (and I take these directly from his workbook):

It is absurd to murder a turnip with a guillotine

I am thrilled to know that my son and his classmates are being taught such vital nuggets of wisdom. Many a night I have lain awake, frantic that my child would attempt to murder a vegetable with an inappropriate implement. What if he tried to kill a carrot with a hairbrush? Or a cucumber with a pair of tweezers? Or - god help us - a potato with an envelope and a ball point pen? Now I can sleep securely again. For my son has copied the sentence, three times. And now, he will never forget it.

The claimant made a complaint about the reminder of artificial politicians

This is an all too common scenario, one of which our children should be aware. Claimants make complaints. After all, claimants are litigious. This is why they are claiming. And we all know that politicians are horrible. Real politicians are bad enough, but artificial politicians? Intolerable. And to be reminded of them is just shocking. So why wouldn't the claimant complain?

There was a disturbing murmur from the teacher on our excursion and I fear she will not survive

Yes, that happens all the time to my son on school excursions. Many a teacher has murmured disturbingly. Generally they recover, but on the odd occasion they do perish. It is difficult enough for the children when this happens in a classroom, but at least then they can call for reinforcements. When it happens on an excursion, they get very anxious, wondering if they shall be left alone, wandering forever in the museum. No wonder they fear for her survival. I would too.

'Oh dear', said the butcher. 'I am sad to announce that I cut off my thumb while I was slicing the lamb.'

Yes, no doubt the butcher is sad. Losing a thumb is a sad experience, whether you are a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick maker. Other people might howl and scream, but being a butcher, this gentleman had no doubt cut off several of his digits previously, whilst slicing lambs, cows, deer, and even the odd chook. So by the time he cut off his thumb, he was saddened, but not alarmed. 'Oh dear', indeed. A most dignified and approrpriate announcement.

It is unlawful to wear a faun miniskirt on the bus.

Well, of course it is. And now the children know it. Very well put.

So thank you, Minister. Our children are in excellent hands. Even if some of them, sadly, do not have thumbs.

Sincerely,

Kerri

A Born Again, A Mongoose, & A Very Hot Sausage

So I have returned from my trip to Fiji. And I would wax lyrical about how relaxing and rejuvenating it was, except that I am delirious with exhaustion, having had to wake at the equivalent of THREE AM yesterday to fly home, then having been woken up again super early this morning by THREE KIDS (my god, do I really have so many? I had forgotten....).

However, I can still share with you the highlights of my holiday:

1. NOTHING. Yes, doing nothing. I slept, a lot. I lay by the pool. I sat on our balcony. And when that all got too draining, I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling (and no, I wasn't even having sex at the time). I wanted to remember what it was like to do so much nothing that I got bored. And you know what? It's FANTASTIC.

2. Meeting Langdon, The Born Again. By the pool the first morning, we were devastated to miss out on a Pool Pod to laze in all day. (You needed to wake at about 4am to secure one, which is what my husband did on subsequent mornings.) Then - like a vision, a prophet, Zac Ephron's younger brother - stood Langdon, The Born Again Christian. He offered us his Pod; he had no use for it anymore, he insisted. We were overjoyed. Langdon's halo of golden hair glowed brightly in the sun. My husband and I retreated humbly to the glory of the Pod. Langdon tried briefly to convert us, but whilst we were grateful for his offering, our choice was clear. If being Born Again meant having to relinquish a Pod, we were better off staying as we were.

3. Meeting a Mongoose. Well, I didn't so much as meet it as cross paths with it. And to be honest, until a kindly Fijian man explained what it actually was, I thought it was just a squirrel. But I have never seen a real mongoose before, so this was a most auspicious occasion. It was a fine specimen of a mongoose, too, as far as I could tell. Brownish. Smallish. Squirrel-like, as I may have mentioned. And fast. Highly recommended. You know... if you like that sort of thing.

4. Airplane breakfast. My GOD but I love those meals. So convenient, so nutritionally balanced, so carefully packaged, so much fun to eat. And my meal was hot, instead of luke warm, which was a fabulous change. In fact, it was searing hot, so hot I could have burnt my mouth on the boiling sausage and sued. In fact, maybe I did burn my mouth on the sausage.... it feels a bit tender.....

5. Coming Home. Nah, just checking to see if you were paying attention.

Longing For Nothing

If all goes well, by the time most of you read this, I will be on my way to Fiji. And if all doesn't go well, I will still be on my way to Fiji. Come rain, fire, illness, mental collapse or act of war, I am getting on that plane. And let me tell you, if there isn't a plane to get on, I am flapping my arms and flying there myself.

This blog entry was originally going to be titled 'What I plan to do on my holidays' (with thanks to my daughter's Year 2 teacher for the inspiration). Unfortunately, though, it turned out to be a little too short. About nine paragraphs too short. In fact, it ran to just one word: NOTHING.

Yes, this is what I want to do on my holiday. As my husband gets fired up, planning canooing, diving, day tours and Kava drinking ceremonies, I'm fantasizing about being prone on a bed. It's been a chaotic, crisis-filled year (in the tradition of every other year of my life) and I want to relax and do absolutely nothing.

Okay, I exaggerate. I don't really want to do nothing. I want to eat, of course. I want to read. I want to watch TV. I want to have long baths and flick through fashion magazines. And I want to... no, nothing else really, unless sleeping counts as something?

Of course, one may ask why I need to fly for four hours to have a holiday when i could like on a bed reading magazines just as easily in Australia.

Well, it's just not the same thing.

I love travelling to new countries and experiencing different places, cultures and people. I just find that the best way to experience them is through the medium of food, room service and television.

What's more, I can be found in Australia, recalled home in a few hours in the case of crisis - which is, after all, highly unlikely. It's much harder to bring me back from a place accessible only by boat, bus and a long-distance flight.

Sadly, though, I can't see my husband agreeing to do absolutely nothing for the whole five days. Luckily, I still have the flight there. It may be cramped, and the food may be crappy, but at least I'll have nothing to do but sleep.

Techno Trouble

This week was a disaster. Both my computer and mobile phone died within three days, raising the obvious question of me being cursed by modern technology – perhaps in retribution for the bitter tirades I unleash on it at regular intervals.

Luckily, I back up my computer religiously – abut once a year – so I only lost several thousand documents and emails and about a billion pictures. No biggie. Oh, and all my email addresses were zapped too, as I’d never worked out how to save them in a file. Ah well, I could always use the phone, right?

Well, no. Sadly my telephone numbers have been lost forever too, as apparently neither phones nor SIM cards are salvageable after ten minutes immersed in a boiling lamb casserole. The silly phone shouldn’t have been near the stove in the first place. I told it not to go there but it didn't listen. And it certainly doesn't listen now. It doesn't even ring, the stupid thing.

And unfortunately I don't remember anyone’s number except my own, and even that I have to look up occasionally. I don’t even know my husband’s work number. Why would I? I press the speed dial and there it is.

Still, losing all my contacts were just mere nuisances compared to the pain I underwent in order to get my technology (and life) up and running again.

First, I had to pay two professionals an exorbitant amount of money just to tell me that my beloved stupid gadgets were dead (yes, that will teach me to seek a second opinion).

Then I had to replace them. But with what? Clearly not with the brands I had previously, as THEY BROKE (okay, one broke with a little assistance, but still) so they were obviously USELESS. I needed different brands. And when I'm confronted with more than two options (for example, "chocolate or vanilla") my brain goes all fuzzy and everything starts to look the same. Or different. I can’t even tell anymore.

So I had to ask someone else what to get, and just stick with that, because god knows getting a second opinion didn’t work very well the last time. Then of course I had to find out the best price for what I'd been told to get, which I really had no energy for, because I was so emotionally drained from being told my gadgets were beyond saving that I couldn't bear to discuss it for another milisecond.

Nonethelesss, I did the research, found the best price, bought the new gadgets, took them home, discovered they were each missing the vital piece of equipment that would enable them to do what I needed them to do, returned to the store, bought the extra pieces of equipment at twice the price of the original items, brought them home, realized I had no idea how to install them, returned to the store, got the experts to install then, returned home, celebrated for about five minutes that everything was up and running and life could begin again, then decided it was all too much trouble, that I HATED technology, and that I was going off to live an organic, herbal, technology free life in the mountains.

Then my husband rang my new mobile with some great news, and my new laptop beeped with an email from a friend inviting me to a party, and all was well with the world.