November 2006 Archives

And the psycho is not me. For a change. Interweb, meet 'Twitch'. Twitch, meet the invisible people of the new fangled interweb technology.

Now before you get too excited, Twitch can't actually respond to you at all... and it's not because he is confined to his bowl, complete with riverstones and weed. It's not because he can't generate enough pressure from his multicoloured purple, blue and white fins to press the letters on the keyboard down, or because he doesn't care about you. Trust me, he really does care about you all... He just doesn't care for long enough.

You see, my fish has ADHD.

I'm certain of it, and I am not talking about the whole 'goldfish have 3 second memories' type of mental disorder. This is fully blown ADHD.

Me and Lou got a Siamese fighting fish each recently. She keeps hers in a glass jug, mine lives in a glass vase, and we noticed something about each fishes personality straight away. While her fish was all calm and collected (picture an old man wine tasting), MY fish on the other hand was charging around, smacking into things, and jumping out of the water (picture a young child drunk on rum).

I thought he would calm down when he was transfered to a larger vase, but he still maintains his ADHD appeal. Sometimes, he gets extra hyperactive and moves into crazy mode. He begins by twitching like an epileptic, then he begins to charge around his bowl, building up speed, getting faster and faster, until he flies (yes - flies like superman) straight up the side of the vase, out of the water, and slams into the lid at the top of the vase... giving himself a mild concussion for the next 20 minutes in the process.

There are hundreds of websites around promoting the benefits of fish oil, and in particular how effective fish oil is on ADHD. Apparently studies have proven it more effective than Ritalin! These researchers have obviously never ground my fish down to an oily paste and fed it to one of those fruit loop kids. Twitch's oil has the ability to infect the calmest of adults with ADHD, as well as to cause solar flares. He is so ADHD he makes those children that throw things in supermarkets and swear at the age of 3 look like sedated angels.

Yes, I have a fish with a learning disability.

He also has no table manners, and will jump out of the water to take the food out from between my fingers... but hey, one thing at a time, I'll keep on working on his ADHD.

My mother has tried to kill me a few times in my life. She dropped me down a rock ledge as a two year old, and just to make sure I was injured she threw herself down on top of me and broke my leg. I had to hobble around in a plaster cast for a month... as a two year old!

More recently, she tried to poison me in high school. She gave me 20 drops of weed killer poison one day when I was feeling sick thinking it was 'Echinacea' (an immune system boost). Needless to say it didn't make me better, it made things worse and I started feeling an acute pain in my liver.

Once she realised that she had given me poison, and NOT an immune boost, mum called the poisons hotline and told them about what had happened. Not in the usual 'I'm a frantic mother who accidentally poisoned my son' kind of way either. This was the 'Haha! I poisoned my kid and this is the funniest thing I have EVER done!' kind of way.

Not only did she spend the whole time on the phone laughing about poisoning her eldest son, she also started making fun of the poisons helpline operator, who began scolding her for laughing about a potentially fatal situation.

"It's NOT funny you know!"
"Haha... no... not at all! AHahaha!"

So how did she poison me? Well, I had done some community service with Taronga Zoo in year 10 working on a bush regeneration program on the harbour. Part of this involved a specific technique of weeding, using a small drip bottle of weed killer, designed to put as little toxin as possible into the biosphere.

I replicated this effect at home on our own garden, and used an old empty bottle of Echinacea as my drip bottle of poison. Mum found this *Echinacea* bottle tucked away in the Laundry cupboard amongst the other weed / snail / rat poisons, and naturally assumed it was safe for human consumption, and gave it to me when I was sick. Leading to much pain, anguish and anger on my part. And much laughter, merriment and amusement on the part of my mothers... So I learned a few things about Mum that day.

My mother believes:

...Medicines kept in the specific poison cupboard, surrounded by all the other poisons, in a bottle that has 'weed killer' written over the outside of the label, are naturally assumed to be 'fit for human consumption'

...The poisons hotline is a good source of laughter, and hence a good mid afternoon 'pick-me-up' when pesky sick kids have got you feeling down.

...Poison helpline operators are qualified clowns.

...Laughing at your newly poisoned son will make him better.

...If at first you don't succeed (in dropping your child down a ledge in an apparent murder attempt) try try again (and use poison).

Life is good eh?

There are benefits in having a friend like Lou... Truly. You get free and endless massages, someone to clean up after you and wash your socks. You get someone who constantly tells you how good looking you are, is always ready to bring food and drink when you are watching the sport, and someone who is always willing to slave over a hot stove and cook dinner at the drop of a hat.

Or so I was led to believe thanks to male dominated pop-culture stereotyped television programs. Oh dearest TV, how could you mislead me like this?

Instead, I give you my open letter to Lou.

Dearest Louisa.

I really enjoy having you come over to my place on a regular basis to study, and I'm perfectly happy having you sit on my bed with your nerd books while im listening to online lectures. But I'm starting to notice that you have a problem with your mouth.

The problem is, that you can't seem to get food to go inside of it. I don't know why, I'm pretty sure its big enough, taking into account all the talking you do. Maybe you have problems with your little oompa loompa arms?

How did I come to this conclusion? Crumbs. Everywhere.

It started with biscuit crumbs. Arrowroot biscuit crumbs to be precise. You ate half a packet of them while studying. And then you knocked the packet off my bed, and left them strewn across the floor.

I found crumbs everywhere. There were crumbs on the floor, crumbs on my doona, and somehow you managed to get crumbs under my pillow and under my sheets. I slid in under the sheets, only to have my skin sandpapered away through the course of the night from crumbs.

And then less than two days later you struck again. This time it was cheezels. *Cheezel dust* to be exact. I could feel the fine layer of cheezel dust strewn across the beadspread, leaving an orange film on the palm of my hand.

The final straw came the other night. We had KFC for dinner, and you ate on my bed again. I figured with KFC you would actually be careful with your oompa loompa arms and mouth. Surely.

No. This time you left chicken underneath my pillow. Not a whole drumstick mind you. Just pieces of crumbed skin. I found them at about 3am, and it is not the nicest thing to wake up to. I mean, don't get me wrong or anything, I do love a good meal at KFC as much as the next fast food eating giant. But just not crumbed chicken under my pillow at 3am.

So Lou, next time you come over and eat on my bed, remind me to put some plastic drop sheets first.

Will.

I don't usually post about new stories... but this one just made me sit back and think... what? And 'What?' on so many levels too. (click here for the story)

I've heard some strange stories in my life... but this one is really getting up there. Really.

A few thoughts on the article:

"A HUNGRY Muslim who tried to eat a swan while fasting during the Islamic festival of Ramadan was today given a two-month jail sentence."

Ok... strange. You have my attention... I would have thought there would be a McDonalds around somewhere. Cheeseburgers are better than Swans.

"Killing swans is illegal in the UK - as they are the property of the monarch."

Dude... that Queen chick must be loaded. EVERY swan in the UK belongs to the Queen? I wonder if there is an illegal swan trade over there...

"It is unclear whether Miah bit through the swan's neck or stabbed it with a knife, Llandudno Magistrates Court heard"

Tut Tut... table manners my friend.

"The court heard Miah, from Llandudno, had white feathers stuck in his beard and blood on his shirt."

Yeah... not really the most innocent way to dress is it...

"Jim Neary, prosecuting, said that when interviewed Miah said: "I was hungry, I had to eat the swan so I killed it, I stabbed it. I did nothing wrong, it was just a bird, I needed to eat."

You had to eat the swan? Hey, I hear you... When I go for a walk at night, and see cats, dogs and possums, I feel the urge to eat them too... but I control myself. Self control dude.

"The officers told him the swan was the property of the Queen and he replied, 'I hate the Queen, I hate this country',"

I'm sure there are plenty of English fishermen that would lend you their boats.

A witness saw "what he believed to be the head of a swan falling out of the bag. He called the police."

Getting messy... Thats how I got caught... Someone saw the Horses head hanging out of my backpack, and straight away he knew I killed Pharlap.

And the saddest part of all this? I can't actually use the phrase "Only in America"...

So my exams are over for another year... Hopefully this means that I can clean my room and desk, and arrange the piles of uni and teaching work into... um... neater piles I guess. Did I mention I'm glad my exams are over? Yeah. Glad. Way glad.

But exams aren't all bad... they can be fun. My first exam, I spent 2 out of 10 minutes reading time planning questions, and the next 8 minutes looking at a topographical map, and pretending I was an army man.

And the exam today? Lets say the exam supervisors are old. Old enough that they don't realise when they whisper "They're all scared... look at them! They are a bunch of newbies and externals..." we could hear it. All the way up the back. Thankyou mister Elephant Whisperer.

They also don't realise how distracting it is to open a brand new ipod nano at the front of the room during exam time. She probably thought it was a kitchen utensil.

Oh, and to "Fluzza" the Eastern European overseas student. You don't need to walk into the room 5 minutes after the exam has started, and say hello to the person either side of you, in front of you, and behind you. Just not neccessary. Neither is the massive pencil case and book you keep on your desk. And when the exam supervisor says "You have 10 minutes remaining" don't raise your hand to your mouth, and inhale in horror. There is a clock on the front wall. With numbers. In fact, its been there the whole time!

To the girl with the trendy clothes and even trendy-er hairstyle. We look at you, and can tell you have some strange incessant desire to be the centre of attention. But once the exams starts, you can calm down because we don't care how many stupid huffing noises you make, how often you play with your overly noisy watch, or how many times you blow rasberries and play with your paper... no one is THAT cool. Except for maybe Bill Gates. And that's only because he owns us.

To the mums taking the exam. Its not ok to talk during the exam... nor is it ok to run out of the room after the exam has started to get things from your bag without telling anyone. Oh, and leaving midway through the exam to get a 'pencil sharpener' from your bag? Come on... I know mothers... I have one. Don't be shady and cheat now...

And to the Cicada that flew into the hallway midway through the exam, and stayed there chirping for 5 minutes. You are no longer welcome at my birthday party.

And to all of you combined, thanks for giving me the most memorable exam of my life! FREAKS!

So it's a long title. I don't care. As much as I love cars, and the whole 'not having to walk because I can drive' thing, they can be a real pain in the butt.

Take Josh for instance. He drove his car into the back of a 4WD recently, and it was off the road for a few weeks. Then the day he gets it back, him and his wife park in North Sydney for 20 mins to grab some food. BANG. Window smashed, a whole lot of computer things stolen out of the car. (He came over to my place and I taped his window up... and wrote a little message on it with tape). The stupid thing is, there was a $5 note sitting in the back, and the left it. Obviously not pros...

And then there is Louisa's car. She drives fast and changes lanes a lot... I think her middle name is secretly schumacher. She was driving home from work, driving her car like it was stolen (as usual) and drove it straight into the back of a ute that slammed on his brakes. The car was gone for over a week, which was difficult... But the repairs weren't done properly, and now it has to go back and be re-repaired. Such a hassle.

Then there is my families cars. Over a two day period, every single one of our cars wouldn't start. All our neighbours heard was the relaxing sound of engine ignition. Sure, they started a few days later... but then yesterday, mine stopped again.

In the middle of the road.

In the middle of an intersection.

In the middle of Hornsby.

Blocking traffic from two directions...

Needless to say, I was not happy. I had to roll my car backwards, down the wrong side of the main road, and into a lane. I called Dad... he came to help. Between us, we (he) pushed the car backwards along the lane, and then I rolled it down one of the steepest hills in Hornsby, without powersteering, and without power assisted brakes (scary), straight across another busy street, and then into the mechanics workshop.

A whole heap of money later I will get my car back.

Yeap. Cars are mothers ways of getting back at you for not washing behind your ears as a child.

My 80+ grandpa and his equally elderly girlfriend came to visit the other day, just for a night, and I have to say I was impressed with their pensioner train catching ability.

I think once you hit that golden age and realise you can travel across the state for under $10, all of a sudden, bus and train timetables are magically imprinted on the left hand side of your brain... old people are bandits for bargains...

Pity the same cranial imprinting doesn't happen with the names of grandchildren. First, grandpa's girlfriend confused me with Sam, my younger and less beautiful brother. Ahem... Not cool...

Then my grandpa, the patriarch of the Dance name, my own flesh and blood... calls me JOHN. No grandpa... not John. My name is 'William Dance'. We have the same name... exactly the same name... remember? No? Grandpa... that arthritis cream is meant to be externally applied, not swallowed...

So it was a pretty uneventful visit, except for the part when he was about to punch out my brother in law. Yeah. You read right.

It was time for goodbyes, and my sister hugged my grandpa... so far so good. Then my brother in law shook his hand, and then as a joke hugged him too. My grandpa didn't know how to act, and ended up taking a karate kid stance, ready to do some pensioner butt whooping. His facial expressions gave it all away.

His face went: 'Ok,... shake the hand... good... wait... what's this? A hug... umm... ok.... WAIT A MINUTE!!! GUYS DON'T HUG UNLESS THEY ARE GAY!!.... GET OFF ME YOU HOMO!!... TIME FOR AN ASS WHOOPING!!... LETS GO!!'.

I should explain, my grandpa is VERY old fashioned, and from the country as well, so they are big on personal space, and guys not hugging. Unless of course its in football, which means you can wear tights, hug, kiss, and even slap each others butts if you need to. Never understood that myself.

This whole episode of grandpa's strict 'no male physical contact' rule reminded me of a story my mum told me years ago.

I was two years old, staying at my grandparents house, when I poo'ed my nappy. (Note: I was TWO years old). My grandfather waited around for an eternity, hoping that my parents would get back sometime soon to change my nappy. They didn't. When my parents did arrive home, they found my grandpa, holding me over the garden bed with one hand, a hose in the other, and using his foot to push my dirty nappy off and onto the ground. Once the nappy was out of the way, he cruelly turned the cold garden hose on me to clean me up. No wet wipes for me. Just and old fashioned hosing down...

...Outside ...In the garden.

He walked back inside, and proudly stated to my parents, "There you go, the first sh*tty nappy I've ever changed" and sat down to watch television.

And people wonder where I get my cruel sense of humour from. Between my grandpa and my Mum, normal humour never stood a chance.

You know we love you grandpa!

Yesterday my brother Sam, who you may remember from such episodes as 'I fell down the stairs but it is not my fault' became the topic of discussion amongst the family. Among THREE generations of family to be precise, kids, parents and grandparents.

It seems that Sam has been forging driving hours in his logbook... (and unfortunately telling some people) and not just a few here and there. We went through and totalled his hours, and of the 40 or 50 hours he claims to have, the vast majority are forged. Forged quite impressively one might add, in fact, very very impressively (hint sam... you may have found a calling!) but forged non the less. In fact, at one point, there are almost 3 pages straight of forged signatures, hours and destinations.

I added the real ones up, and he has only really completed 14 hrs 50 mins of driving. Not really up around the 40-50 hr mark is it? No. Didn't think so. Dad contemplated ripping the forged pages out, or losing the book... Dad won't put his signature to something he knows is faked. Or at least that is what he says now... but being that my Dad has the memory of a goldfish sometimes, I'm sure that by 2008 Sam should have the book signed and ready for his test.

And then the real bombshell hit. Apparently it runs in the family. I made the comment that he had gone to all the trouble of forging my Dad and Sisters signatures, when in fact Mum's signature happens to be the 'most easily copied' signature in the family. My sister agreed. Most of the family agreed.

But we never realised the extent of family fraud going on. You see, my little 6 year old sister Gabby, currently in Kinder, has a 'reading log' that has to be completed. Each time she reads a book to mum, one of three colums gets signed or initialed. She has to read each book all the way through three times. But apparently, in her resourcefulness she has discovered a short cut.

We noticed that Mum's last entry on Gabby's 'take home reading' list looked a little... well... badly written for a 40 something year old mother. Look at the second pic. Can you read 'Sally's friends'? Yes... doesn't really look like Mums handwriting does it. No... not really. See the three sets of initials there? MO MO MO? MO doesn't stand for 'Mother Of'. It is *meant* to read 'ND', but Gabby got the letters mixed up. A little bit of a give away unfortunately. And the comments colum? Where it says 'fuh'? Thats most likely meant to read 'FUN'. Either Mum has caught bird flu from her chickens in the backyard, or I smell another family forgery.

I'm not sure what was more fun. Laughing at the extent of Sam's forging, laughing at Gabby forging, or Gabby forging and getting out of reading a stupid book about some kid called 'Sally'.

You know what else is funny? Every kid in the family over the age of 8 knows that Mum's signature is the one to forge when you *were sick* from school...

Ahh... some things run in the family.

EDIT!!

Although I'm surprised that Dad could even tell the difference between signatures, being half blind and all...

I'm not sure entirely how to write this post. It was meant to start out funny, but has changed into something quite disturbing. Like when you see something funny, and laugh really hard... but then a little bit of wee comes out. Funny, and then disturbing.

A while ago I wrote about people sending me some pictures of them 'holding things' to prove they had caught them (in reference to my brother in law sending me a pic of two fish he had *caught*).

Then I got this photo.

I'm not sure what is more disturbing...
a) Spenny sends me a pic of him in his underwear when the call was for people "holding things"...
b) Spenny being in his underwear in front of other dudes...
c) The fact that one of those guys is holding a paddle... and looking a little too excited about it.
d) The fact that Spenny seems a little too excited about the paddle.
e) The fact Spenny is pointing to his bits...

Congratulations. You are the first lifeofsuch freak of the week.

You can read Spenny's lj here...

Kid - "HEY WILLIAM! HEY WILLIAM!!"

Me - "Hey... whats up kid?"

Kid - "Hey... We invented a new word today!!"

Me - "Really? You did? What is it?"

Kid - "Hobosexual"

Me - "Umm.... What?"

Kid - "A Hobosexual... a homo that lives on the street!"

Me - *Shakes head, and walks away laughing*

You want more clean humour on life of such? Sure. You got it. This time it involves showers. It also involves young children and the word 'noodle'. Read on if you dare.

My younger cousin was staying over a few weeks ago, and got to hang out and play with my sisters (they are all between 6-8 years old). During the course of the night, as you do, Mum decided they all needed to have a shower. Now, in the past, they have all showered together, wasting all the hot water while they played with dinosaurs and plastic animals in the bottom of the shower for hours on end.

But now Mum decided that they were starting to get a little old for boy & girl showers.

Mum - "I think you are getting a bit old to have showers together now..."

6yo sister - *Rolls eyes* "It's ok Mum... I've already seen his noodle before!"

8yo boy cousin - "Yeah, and I've seen HER noodle before too!"

Umm. Cousin. I think its time for you to know something...

ps. In other news, I've been at mens conference this weekend. Hence the Moustache on the little dude. Being Movember and all, and because my plan to grow a Mo' was vetoed by Lou. Possibly for the best.

pss. Mo doubles nicely as hairpiece on chick.

So, most of you know my brother Sam. According to our boss, he likes to 'strut' his stuff when he walks. So the following story might be... amusing perhaps?

To aid in the telling of the story, I have accurately recreated the sequence of events using a stick drawing. Partially because my mobile phone is broken, and I didn't think fast enough to get the camera, but mostly because I wanted to. And because I wanted to, thats good enough. If you don't like it, go kiss my assignment (that I really should be doing).

Now, I didn't actually see the event, but I heard it, and saw the aftermath, and I was laughing so freaking hard that I had trouble aiming when I was peeing.

Sam fell down the stairs. Yeap. He was carrying a bowl of rice, and a scorching hot cup of coffee down the stairs. Then he trod on an item of clothing that was on the stairway (which conveniently double as our family laundry chute), slipped, and bounced down the stairs on his ass.

Not only did he break the plate, and spill rice, tuna and coffee everywhere, he also managed to burn his arm with the very same coffee. I know what you're thinking... 'talent' right? It gets better.

Sam has a responibility issue. He doesn't like to take responsibility for himself. It is ALWAYS someone elses fault. Sam uses all the hot water? Dads fault for not getting a big enough water-heater. Leaves a mess in the living room in front of the TV? Friends fault for calling him. Stalls the car on Pennant Hills road? Cars fault. Runs the red light in Hornsby... IN FRONT OF A POLICE CAR? Mum and Dads fault for not making him get new glasses. Seeing a pattern here? Yes. I think we have come to a place of understanding.

So he falls down the stairs? His sisters fault for leaving their clothes there. He sits there swearing and carrying on in front of the family (including little sisters) saying... "It's not MY fault I fell... Its Bethany's f*****g fault for leaving her s*** clothes everywhere!!"

I'm like "Dude... you have eyes".

THEN he refused to clean up the mess! And tried to force my little 8 year old sister to clean up for him, but making her feel guilty about her tshirt or pants being on the stairs!

HA!

I am Will, and this is the story of my brother Sam, and his stairways adventures.

It is no real secret that I am after a new phone. My old one died, and I come off contract in a couple of weeks, so like the good little industrious ferret I am, I have been scurrying around the phone stores and across the interweb, searching for the best deal and the best phone.

Well, I've chosen the phone (which will remain secret for the moment) and the plan... which will most likely be with three.

I dropped past one of their stores, to be met by a gangly asian boy, (with cool asian hair) who struggled to speak any conversational English, but obviously seemed determine to make up for his lack of prowess with rapid outbursts of high pitched giggling and repeated use of the word 'OK'.

After our brief exchange of words (me asking about phones and plans, him giggling and saying 'OK!'), he handed me a card, and wrote his name and phone number on it. Not the store phone number. His personal number. Is three embarking on a new customer service drive? Or are their customer service reps simply trying to pick up? I mean, sure... I'm the next Brad Pitt and all, but seriously...

And the name. The guy is called 'Adonis', (see pic) and can hardly speak English. What? Does the guy know who Adonis was, and more importantly, what happened to him?

Lets just say, the original mythological Greek Adonis *MAY* have been a little bit 'not in love with women' so to speak... In shakespeares version of the myth, he refuses the advances of Venus. He TURNS DOWN the goddess of Love. Dude... why?

Oh, and then he ends up being killed and 'symbollically raped' by a male pig. He 'hunts' it, and it gores him, right in his 'jubblies'. Oops. I bet the phone selling Adonis in Hornsby didn't think that one through when I picked a 'cool' pseudonym.

At least, I'm pretty sure it's not his real name.