Happy happy joy joy (its the humidity)

This whole week has been HOT. Not just hot hot either, but humid hot. And SUNNY. And STORMY. It's such typical Sydney summer weather and I'm in heaven. There's that sort of sweet-grass smell in the air, and Christmas decorations are going up, and there are mozzies everywhere and our doors are constantly open so the breeze comes in and it all points to summer and lo, a happy Nell is born.

So i haven't blogged in ages and my excuses are, busyness and laziness. It's just been one of those weeks. Last weekend was all about the wedding (not mine, and it's a whole other post away) and the crabs. Real crabs, not crab crabs, if you get me. We had some family here from interstate for previously mentioned wedding, and since the sun came out to play, we decided a seafood Sunday lunch was in order.

My cousin Ben makes the best crab-in-red-sauce ever, and so I spent the day happily nom-nom-noming, much to Jo's disgust. I believe he referred to me as "an animal", as he watched me ripping them apart and sucking them dry. But. That's how you eat crab. I mean I'm not going to use a fork for godsake. What's the point of that? But he's not much into shellfish so he doesn't get the love, and as Ben says, there's no point trying to convert them. Once you do, you'll just have to share.

The kids were a laugh as always -

Zara the chubster. (Don't worry Z, it's cute right now.
I mean. Hopefully you'll totally grow out of it though.)

"I'm sorry, what? You don't like THIS dress??"

Row row row you're boat, or something similar.

The Raffster playing a childhood staple, backyard cricket.

Christian. I'm pretty sure he's saying "I'm three, dumbass."

On Monday, we babysat Barney. Barney is not a child, as you may remember. He's a dog. But David doesn't like leaving him alone, cause he's precious like that, so we took him on Monday night. I was assured he would go to the door if he needed to go to the toilet, but a couple of poos and several wees later, i realised that wasn't going to happen. And that crap stank. Thank God we have tiles.

Barney

We tuckered him out in the end.

Other highlights from this week included our marriage class, the first of THREE we have to take in order to get married in a Catholic church. Although we were dreading it, Jo was a good sport about the whole thing (being the non-Catholic one), and kept us laughing for the three hours we were there. Yes, you read that correctly. Three hours. Times three classes. That's nine hours of our lives we won't be getting back. Still, if you have to be there you may as well make the best of it, and it wasn't as bad as we thought it would be. It's all very new age - what "couple style" are you (wtf?), and why men and women communicate differently (i mean really. duh.), and what sorts of feelings do you feel when you have a fight....and that's just week one. In week three we get to tackle fertility. I mean please. How can i contain my excitement until then?

It was boiling today. Downright boiling. Mum and I went shopping. Her search for an outfit to wear to the wedding continues (hint: try being less fussy.) We checked out the new Westfields in the city (very swish) before heading down to circular quay for a well-earned ice cream.

Trees in bloom

Mum!

This afternoon was so warm we had our first visit to the beach for the season. It was too late for a swim, but...maybe tomorrow! If it stays this warm. I think we're going to have a very typical Sydney summer this year - almost tropical, you know? Sunny and humid until about 4pm, when the clouds will roll in and then it'll be overcast and humid for the rest of the day, till it pours with rain. Gets a thumbs up from me.

The season is in full swing, and as always it seems that this time of year is ridiculously busy. Melbourne Cup has been and gone, which is the start of it all for me (even though this year I MISSED IT because i was sick), and now its all beach and kitchen tea, mum's birthday, my birthday, Christmas parties galore, and then it's Christmas and New Years and before you know it it's January and I'm moaning about the year flying by and frankly I'm tired just thinking about it all, so I'm off to watch Graham Norton.

Rugrats

We've been uber busy, and now I'm sick. I blame Jo, who bought the sickness home, where its been festering in ever corner just waiting for me to inhale. He's been out of it the last 4 days, but I'm hoping i don't get it as bad, because my immune system is generally better than his, which is awful. The thing is, how are you supposed to avoid getting sick when you work in an office? It's the worst kind of breeding ground for germs. They LIVE in the air conditioning.



Maybe i should become one of those weirdo's that wear face masks everywhere.



So we've been in kiddie-land the last couple of weekends, doing the rounds, seeing the peeps, that sort of thing. I haven't seen Max and Joshua in a little while, and their cute-ness has increased by at least 20 points since i saw them last. A word on my cousin Susie - she went ahead and married an Aussie, and in a big Italian family, that can be a rarity. When it DOES happen, the union will usually produce an Aussie-looking child, which results in said child becoming a total novelty. That's what happened with Max. I mean look at him - does this kid look like he has an Italian mother at all? Sometimes she looks over and thinks "Who the hell is that Aussie kid in my kitchen?" It's hilarious.







Then his little brother came along and evened things up a bit. Joshua has the darker feature we're used to, which meant he was frankly boring for a really long time, despite Susie's attempts to up his profile. I mean we just weren't interested. Bring us fair-haired novelty child please.



But as he got older, i realised she had a point. Joshua was pretty cute. Look at this face.

We took Jack to see the dinosaur exhibition at the Australian museum, which he was sort of wary of, i think. Dinosaur toys are altogether different from life-size models. When you're a kid, you're thinking - this shit could come alive anytime. Get me the hell out of here.

He's been very entertaining lately. I don't even know how he comes up with some of the stuff he does. For example, this exchange:

Me: "Where's your mum?"
Jack "She's dead."

Oooooooo-k. I won't even try to dissect that one. Or this:

Grandma: "We have to change your nappy."

Jack: "No."
Grandma: "Yes, we have to change your nappy now."
Jack: "Don't you say that again or I'm calling the police." "Hello, police? Nonna is being very naughty and you have to come and get her."

Or you'll hear a crash from another room and his voice drifting down the hall - "I did nothing!!!" Yeah kid. Way to prove your innocence.

Luckily he does, at the tender age of 2 and a half, have his basic tactics sorted out. After we left their place the other day, Maria spotted ALL of his toys tipped out on the floor and asked him who had made this big mess. Caught like a deer in headlights, he reasonably did what any other person would in a situation like that, and that is blame someone else. "Jo did," he promptly responded. Nice one!

Lastly, his current favourite word is "fantastic." As in, "this pasta is fantastic." But he will also use it in the negative. About his juice the other day, he told Maria witheringly "This juice is NOT fantastic." Solid gold.

The pest

I have been doing lots of reading and movie-watching, but i don't have anything intelligent to say about any of it at the moment, because my brain is in ibuprofen-induced coma, so i'm going to go and curl up on the couch and make Jo wait on me for the rest of the day, or week. Who's counting.

From bandana to beanie (and the 80th birthday party that rocked)

My aunt turned 80 last week. Quite an achievement, considering she's a chronic smoker with a bad attitude. And isn't that what we love about her? She encourages me to eat with my mouth open. She teaches me not to feel ashamed about showing strangers the scar from a gallstone operation i had 5 years ago. But most importantly, she inspires me to insult those around me on a daily basis, and use bad language when i do it.




Here's the old duck in fine form after 80 weary years on this planet.






Jokes aside - this lady doesn't love much, but she loves me. Some of my earliest memories are formed around her, and she's made life very entertaining. And, she's got pluck - you can't take that away from her. When i was 3 or 4, I climbed a ladder in the backyard and sat up on the roof of a two storey house for i don't know how long - she was the only one with the balls to come up and get me. There's been more than one bully to cop a mouthful from her. She doesn't take shit (but she's perfected the art of giving it.)




And so, in honor of her 80th year, we went all out and celebrated in style - at the local RSL. What can i say, she loves the buffet. My Dad, on the other hand, does not. He doesn't trust any food he hasn't cooked either himself, or by a fellow Italian. I think he had three plates of hot chips. What a battler.

My old man

Sam, Dad, John and Sophie

Sophie, mum and Mary

There were several pigs amongst us. I won't name names. I do, however, reserve the right to publish any photos taken by me, whether the subject of said photo is stuffing their face or not.

And here's the old gal blowing out her candles. Can't wait to take a bite of that.






Yep. We really rocked it out. (Note the stamp on my hand. Are RSL clubs trying to be trendy now by stamping you to come in and out? This is not a Kings Cross nightclub people.)








But enough of the birthday celebrations. I know what you've really been waiting for. Some months ago, i introduced you to my cousin Stephen and his questionable choices in the fashion arena. Saturday saw him sporting a beanie - the ultimate cold-weather accessory. Now I'm not one for wearing my beanies indoors, but that's OK. No judging on this blog. Besides, if i had hair like that, I'd be covering it up too.




Now, here he is in full-frontal glory. As the night wore on, and our jokes about him having Ellen Degeneres hair grew tiresome, he stopped cooperating.






See that fringe thing right there? What is that??!! No wonder i had to chase him around with a camera all night. For that special flair, he's chosen to sport a streak of brown in the front portion, while the rest of his locks remain blonde and tussled, like a lions mane. Unfortunately for my readers, our relentless mocking resulted in his refusal to shed the beanie for the remainder of the evening, so you won't be able to get the full effect. Some would call that selfish, Stevie. But not me. No judging on this blog.

I question the necessity of using the finger here. It's a little rude.




It's remarkably difficult to get the beanie positioned in such a way that the head remains fully covered EXCEPT FOR the fringe particle. There are two key elements - as you can see from the above demonstration, you must first remember to place the beanie over, and not behind, the ears, to ensure full mobility when arranging the front area just so.

Secondly, you don't want to pull the front over your forehead, but place it back from the crown, combing the fringe out and to the right, as pictured.

By the end of the evening, ridiculous measures were taken to avoid being in a picture. (Stevie, is this your hankie? Are your initials sewed into the corner?)...

... and in the end, i was simply given the hand, which, given my obsession with getting a shot of that bitchin' style cut, i took to mean: "Piss off, you psycho stalker".

Luckily, we remained friends in the end, and i was allowed to get a few proper frames (because after all, its the bad choices that should remain ingrained in time. Your children's children will enjoy it.)

Cuz's to the max

Ps: Stephen - Michael tells me that you spend an abnormal amount of time lying on your bed, surfing the net in your underwear. Please confirm.

A debate about pets

In my opinion, every little boy should have a dog to grow up with.



In Maria's opinion, i'm smoking some hard out crack.




And thus, the debate about whether or not i can buy Jack a puppy rages on. I first broached this subject some time ago, in order to give his parents plenty of notice. "When Jack's about 5," i said casually, "I wanna get him a puppy. Don't you think he'd love that?"




My remark was not met with the enthusiasm i expected. I'm surprised i didn't get smacked in the face for suggesting it. I believe the phrase "ARE YOU ON DRUGS??? ARE YOU???" made several appearances in Maria's tirade against my suggestion - a complete overreaction by the way. And when we got down to the nuts and bolts of it, her number one reason for not wanting Jack to have a puppy was "I can barely look after myself!"




Well now that's a concern, to be honest. I mean she does have a small child in her care. And mothers are supposed to be nuturing. That's why i'm NOT one. But hey, she made her bed two and half years and nine months ago. I say she has to lie in it. For a while, i thought she was exaggerating. All jokes aside, she's an great mum. She's taught Jack to (for the most part) sit still while we yack away in a coffee shop, or go shopping for new outfits, or have dinner out. I mean i totally respect that. And I couldn't see what the problem was. Until i remembered The Bird.




The Bird once had a name, i'm sure, but no-one remembers it. His very existance seems a mere whisper in my memory. We none of us like to talk about him much. You see, dear readers, Jack has a bird. But once upon a time, he had two. Two dear little birdies that he loved. One day, we went over and passed right by the cage as we always did, expecting to hear the two little birds happily tweeting away. But there was no tweeting. No indeed, and when we went to check out the source of the silence, we found only ONE forlorn looking little bird left. Obviously, i launched into an immediete investigation of Bird Two's disappearance.





"Where's the other bird?" I demanded. "Nowhere", she said dismissively.



HA! Like i believed that. "Nowhere? And how did it get nowhere?"




Silence. "Did he...escape?" i asked hopefully. More silence. Then: "Not exactly."




A cold shudder passed through me.




"Is he...dead?" i whispered fearfully. She whirled around. "Yes he's dead! And i did it! I killed him!"




I gasped. Cause hell, i didn't expect to get a confession so quickly. That's not how Law and Order works. Plus, i was totally miffed that i didn't get to try my good cop, bad cop routine on her.




To cut a long story short, it was revealed that she had starved Bird Two to death.



I know. Brutal.



The other one only survived through sheer will power. Despite Peter's constant reminders to feed the bird, change the water, clean the cage, she simply...didn't. They lived, seedless, for who knows how long, until she finally discovered it lying dead in its own crap, it's little voice silenced forever. Yup. What a way to go.




In light of this, i was forced to weigh the pro's and con's of getting Jack a puppy. Here's my list:




Pros

• Jack loves animals and i know he will love a dog
• It will teach him responsibility and give him something to really love, besides me
• It will piss Maria off
• I will get it from the pound, which means i will be saving a puppy from imminent death
• If they ever have another kid, he will be too diverted by the puppy to notice they aren't interested in him anymore. So really, i am doing them a favour.
• It will piss Maria off
• Dogs are commonly referred to as Man's Best Friend. One day Jack will be a Man. See? It just makes sense.
• Once i take the puppy over and become a hero in Jack's eyes, my responsibility will be over. So really, who cares.
• It will piss Maria off

Cons

• The dog may end up having some sort of horrible disease and die, thereby inflicting unnecessary pychological damage on Jack
• The dog might run away, thereby inflicting unnecessary psychological damage on Jack
• They will have to spend more money on dog food to feed the dog and less money on human food to feed me
• Maria might kill it

So there you have it. To dog or not to dog. What do you think?

Salami-making for idiots

Step 1) Hygiene matters. Remove all animals from the premises. (Cooper, this means you.)








Step 2) Get yourself a few tonnes of pork.










Step 3) Pig intestines. Clean them.









Step 4) Stuff pork into salami-making machine. Turn handle. Watch salami grow. Marvel at all the rude things you could compare this to.

Step 5) No matter how hungry you are, resist eating raw pork. Go inside and get a biscuit.

Step 6) To avoid air pockets, a tight grip is recommended. See below.

Step 7) Tie the ends with twine and throw in bucket. Hang somewhere cool. You'll know they're ready when the place stinks beyond recognition.

Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of a brand new salami.

Yawn. For reals.

I can't even remember the last time i had a satisfactory nights sleep. It feels like weeks ago, but surely that can't be right. We've had the busiest week - maybe that's why.




So. Robin Hood.




I had such high hopes. And i did enjoy it! I did. But it wasn't the sweeping medieval epic i hoped it would be. Braveheart still sets the standard for me, and i didn't think this measured up at all. I did think Cate and Russel were totally hot together. Good chemistry. And the whole 'how did Robin Hood become Robin Hood' angle was interesting enough - they've cleverly left room for a franchise, naturally. But Russel's accent confused me. Was he English? Irish? Australian? Cate was marvellous, of course. I can't say enough good things about her, as you know.









On Wednesday, we headed out to see the gorgeous Zara, who has developed the most enormously fat cheeks I've ever seen. Obviously this would look hideous on, say, me, but on her, they are delicious. Super cute. Here she is wearing a little hat that Jo's mum made her...












This weekend, we had to move. You'll note i still have Internet access, and am thus writing this post - which sadly means the move is not complete. BLAH. So annoying, i hate having stuff all over the place. The lounge and kitchen is done, and i would say we're 80% there - but it just took so much longer on the weekend than we expected, and we were supposed to do more on Sunday evening, but ended up staying at Maria's for pizza and Jack-time instead. Maria got him this new bathrobe, which he claims to be scared of. He will literally run in the other direction screaming when she pulls it out. He has to be coaxed into touching it, and refuses altogether to wear it, which i just don't get. Whoever heard of anyone being scared of a bathrobe?




I was in the mood for tormenting him, so i played one of my favourite 'make-Jack-cry' games, which goes like this: first, i tell him that its time to go to bed. He will predictably protest straight away, so i back off for a few seconds until he feels safe again. Then i say, 'no, i really do think its time for bed Jack'. His panic is clearly visible by this point, and he shakes his head repeatedly, and will probably start to fake-cry. This is something he does to trick you into feeling sorry for him, but it doesn't fool me. 'Come on', i say, 'I'll take you.' He pulls out the ace card and runs to his mother for safety. She'll roll her eyes and tell me what a horrible Godmother i am, but won't actually rescue him, which means she secretly thinks its funny too. By this point, he's crying real tears and has wrapped himself around her legs, assuming i will not be able to pry him away, but alas, i can and do. Up in my arms, we march towards the bedroom and he begins to beg. 'No! No bed! Please!' I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.




For the grand finale, I dump him in the cot and watch for just a few...seconds...as he wails and carries on and is generally at my mercy. 'Why don't you want to go to bed? Aren't you tired?' I ask. 'I'm not tired! I'm not tired!' he sobs. I feel kinda bad now, so its time to turn myself into the hero. 'Should i get you out and we'll go see what Jo's watching on TV?' 'YES!' His arms outstretch. 'Are you suuuuure?' 'Yes, yes!' I reach in and get him out. He throws his arms around me in relief. In approximately 1.5 seconds the tears have stopped. By the time we get to the lounge, he's beaming and I'm his favourite person again. If you think I'm a bitch for doing this, it means you haven't met my friend Kat - she torments her niece by putting on scary masks and chasing her around in the dark. That's genuine scarring. And hey. I'm not the one that bought him a bathrobe so hideous that he's too scared to go near it.




That's me for the week kids! Wish me luck for the rest of the move!

Thrills and spills

This is going to be the mother of all posts, but we jammed so much into our Easter long weekend...what's a girl to do? I'm going to save the pics till last. Y'all probably know by now that Jo and I went to the Gold Coast with Dave and Mel...so here we go.







We left bright and early on Friday morning, and arrived just in time for brunch. Since there was a little rain overhead, we started our holiday in what only seemed the proper way - via a bowling tournament. I'm going to say from the start that I, most un-co of all people, beat David. Yep. You just read that. And even though he blamed everything from the disco lights to the fan in his face, the truth is simply this - I played better than him.









In the end, Jo won the match, but Mel was the real surprise - her methods may be strange (I don't know - does dropping the ball in front of your feet and watching it spin slowly down the alley at less than 9kph count as actual bowling?), but they paid off, cause she came in second. A rematch was quickly demanded by David - but we saved that for another day. The afternoon was warm and sunny, so we spend it by the pool, before David and Mel headed off to a friend's party, leaving Jo and I to our own devices - after a quiet dinner at a little Italian joint (what else?), we went to play mini-golf.









On Saturday we headed to Dreamworld. They've opened a water park there, so we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone - thrill rides and water slides. But David's day started going downhill before we'd even made it to the bus. Folks - the humble mushroom. As far as varieties go, he's very clear about what he likes (button mushrooms) and what he doesn't like (everything else.) He is particularly offended by the field mushroom - too big and too slimy. And though he ordered his usual eggs and mushrooms that fateful morning, he forgot to ask what type of mushroom they served. Alas, when the plate came laden with field mushrooms, he believed he had been cheated. Well, who wouldn't? He dumped them unceremoniously on Mel's plate and huffed his way through the rest of his breakfast.







His day didn't improve when we actually got to the park. Dreamworld has two particularly scary rides - the Giant Drop and the Tower of Terror. We tackled the Giant Drop first. It's 39 stories high - you sit in your chair and are lifted slowly to the top, then dropped back down to the bottom again without warning. "My name is David Argiro", he said as we rose higher and higher, "and i am not happy. Let the record state that i wanted to go to the WATER PAAAAAAAAAAAARK!" Those were his last words - then we plummeted.








And the Tower of Terror? Its the 4th fastest rollercoaster in the world, reaching 160 kph in 3 seconds. It shoots up 39 stories and then falls back down again. When it takes off, it sounds like a rocket ship. Therefore, David was not amused when we told him that's where we were headed next. Actually, he flatly refused to get on - but we bullied him into it. "Why. Why?" is all he could say as the queue moved steadily onwards until we were almost at the front. I actually thought he was going to be sick at one point. But once we took off, his terror turned to exhilaration, and by the time we were back down again he was punching the air in excitement, nearly taking off Mel's head in the process. We figured we'd better let him relax a bit after all that, so we spent the rest of the afternoon in the water park (by the way, the slides there are awesome - we had a great time! I felt like a kid again.) Oh, dinner that night was Italian. So what's your point?









On Easter Sunday, we had a lovely brunch down at the surf club, which overlooks the ocean. It was a sunny morning, but by the time we made our way back, it has started to rain. Perfect time for a bowling re-match. Unfortunately, Jo won again, and David didn't get the glory he'd hoped for. Later that afternoon, when the sun had come out again, we hired some jet ski's and went out on the river for a spin. Jo felt it necessary to throttle the thing to 95kph, while I sat on the back and clung to him in terror - especially since the woman who owned the rental place helpfully informed us that late afternoon is when the bull sharks came out. And I quote: "I wouldn't want to have to swim across the river at this time!" Gee thanks lady. P.S - guess what we had for dinner...









On our last day, we hired a car and drove to Byron Bay. Well, Mel drove. I sat in the backseat and read Vogue. "Why do you read that crap Nelsie?", David asked in disgust. "At least I read NW." NW as in, New Weekly, that quality publication that offers articles of substance with headlines such as 'Stars Without Make-up! See What they Really Look Like!' or 'Celebrity Cellulite! Who's Fighting Fat?' or 'Inside Boytox! Now the Boys Are at it Too!' But hey. I'm not judging. Byron Bay is known for having a bit of a hippie culture, proven over brunch when we overheard Mel have a conversation with a waitress that involved the words 'dandelion', 'soy' and 'cows milk' (she's into natural stuff.)





All we had to decide was what to do with our day. Shop? Swim? Visit a day spa? No siree. Not us. Nope, we went ahead and took a trapeze lesson. What's that you say? We're crazy, you say? Yeah, pretty much. As David said - "Trapeze school. It's one for the ages." Followed by the astute observation that "Byron girls aren't up to Gold Coast standard, are they?"









On the topic of trapezing, I can honestly say that i have never been so terrified in my whole life. And i have done some scary stuff. I've stood three feet from a real rhinoceros in the middle of a jungle, for godsake. But seriously? This make me poo my pants. (What? I mean metaphorically.) I was literally sweating in fear, which is really not what you want happening when you have to grip a bar and hang on for dear life as you're pushed over the edge of a ten metre high platform. And I'm not exaggerating. I never exaggerate.









David gave up after two attempts. When told he'd regret it if he didn't give it another ago, he swiftly assured us not to worry - "I'll sleep tonight." And that was that. I don't blame him really. It took the poor guy twenty minutes just to climb the ladder to the top. (Admittedly, i was doubled over in laughter - i mean no offence, but it really was freaken hilarious to watch him crawl up at snails pace, holding on like grim death, face down, eyes closed, breathing ragged...oh wait, maybe that was me.) Mel tried to convince him one last time to give it another try - "Come ooooonnnnn! Everyone else is doing it!" To which he responded, "Everyone else doesn't have a Porsche, Darling. They don't understand." Elitist, and sadly true.









Once you got used to it, it was actually immensely satisfying to get it right. I was pretty damn proud of myself - we hooked our knees over the top of the bar and hung down backwards, did back flips, and let another dude catch us off a swing all in the space of an hour or two. (Yes, alright, there were five year olds doing the same thing. But. They haven't developed any sense yet.) (Also, we were in a harness the whole time, and there was a net underneath ready to catch us if we fell. But it still felt totally death-defying.)




I began to have visions of myself in a red, sequined number, performing tricks for an adoring crowd under the big top. But rope burn brought me back to reality, along with my inability to actually jump into the air myself - the lady at the top had to push me off the platform every time, despite my protests to "wait! just wai-..."









We rewarded our bravery with a swim in the ocean before a late lunch and cocktails at the pub. And a nutella doughnut, but i earned that one. Right? Then it was off to the airport, and home again, after what felt like a whirlwind (but really fun) trip.









Pictures...

Beach!!


Brunch at the surf club

David and Mel

Jo, bowling champion of the weekend, with his prize - brand new socks.

David in the pool

Hanging out, poolside

Across the river, by night

Gold Coast, by night

Mel and I on one of the rides at dreamworld

Byron Bay

David, me and Mel

Surfing girl in Byron

Afternoon cocktails

About to do some trapezing...

Just one of my many tricks

Jo, hanging out (get it? get it?)

I'm looking alot like Tarzan here

David, about to poo his pants before he swings away...

Jo again

Mel in her double act with the professional trapeze dude