No, Spammy No!

In these financially unsure times, some of us poorer students (and other assorted recession affected peeps) have to exist on two minute noodle type meals. There’s those of us who can afford the classy Maggi 2 minute noodles, and those of us who like the Mi Goreng varieties or the generic supermarket brands.
Then…there’s the hubby and I.

We were shopping at a cheap produce market for our vegetables and meat products (we save a lot there which is helpful when you’re a bit “povvo” as they say) when we came across a special on noodle cups. The deal was that you got five of these massive noodle cups (that were claimed to be “extra saucy”) for less than a dollar each. The hubby and I got really excited (yes we need to get out more) and bought five of them.

Big Mistake.

Firstly, all that makes them “extra saucy” is a tiny sachet of soy sauce. Secondly, they just taste like soy sauce. And thirdly, there’s like 55 steps to prepare such a meal. You have to boil water, pour it in the cup, replace the lid, wait two minutes, remove the lid, put in the soy sauce, stir, and then replace the lid and let it stand for another two minutes. So essentially, they’re like 10 minute noodles.

Fourthly (haha – does anyone actually say that?!), all the flavours taste the same (suspiciously like soy sauce). And the kicker: whether it’s Chicken, Beef or Oriental, your breath will later smell distinctively like you’ve been chowing down on a big chunk of SPAM, which is basically congealed, questionable ham in a can. I’m not such a fan. Duran Duran. Oops, sorry the rhyming was getting too fun.

Basically, Spam breath does not smell so unlike Dog Food Breath.

So one evening the hubby and I spent all our time together yelling out things like, “Have you been eating Spam?!”

“No Spammy, no!”

“What ya doin’, Spammy?”

“What’s that Lassie? Spammy is stuck down a well?”

Hey, I never said we’re actually funny to people who are not us!

Um, so what was the point of this post? I think it was to tell you that the moral of the story is not to scrimp and save to ridiculous levels. Some things you just can’t compromise on. Honestly. Two minute noodles of almost any variety won’t break the bank.

Spam breath is not good for anyone.

I still feel kind of bad.

Ever since I hit a few ducklings on the freeway a while ago (some very loyal followers of this blog may remember the story from a previous blog I used to have), I haven’t lived it down. I suppose accidentally running over three ducklings is considered the height of evil because when I originally blogged about it, no-one commented. It was an eery silence that haunts me to this day.

Most people will risk life and limb to save some fuzzy, waddle-y birdies who are babies and want to follow their mother duck everywhere – even into oncoming traffic that is travelling at 100 kilometres an hour, while it is rainy.
I didn’t. And I have (almost) regretted the decision ever since.

At the time I comforted myself with the fact that a) I refused to eat chicken or other poultry for a fair while after that, and b) At least I didn’t kill the mother so she was alive and able to look after the surviving ducklings.

Anyway, this video was part of a Family Guy episode that was aired on Aussie telly a few days ago – basically Peter Griffin invents his own cartoon to pitch to the Fox 8 network and this is it:

When the hubby saw it he laughed so hard I thought he was going to fall off the couch. He just looked at me and pointed. And laughed.
Yes, my duck murdering days have become a running joke with quite a few people in my life.

If I say something on facebook and no-one has a good comeback, someone just has to say “quack” and everyone has a jolly old time!

*sigh*

OK, so a part of me realises my friends (and ever loving husband) are being quite hilarious. That in itself makes me a terrible terrible (but honest) person!

I hope my duckies got their soda in heaven

You get what you pay for!

The last few months the recession has hit my household a little bit hard. Not like Mike Tyson hard, just “love tap gone wrong” hard.

We’ve had to change some things about our living routines (Ha! There you go NaBloPoMo). One of these things has been the cutting of my husband’s hair.
He was always a scrooge when it comes to his hair and would come home from some cheap arse salon with the worst haircuts ever because he didn’t want to tell them how to do their jobs…

So anyway, the recession-job-losey-thingy happened and the hubby decided that he would invest in a $24.00 hairdressing set that included clippers, a cape, scissors and a comb. He informed me that my new career is in hairdressing, that he is my only client (VIP) and that I would be working for free.
Thanks for the dream job!

Can I just say that he’s not a dream client??? Sorry, babe. You’re terrible.
Every time I cut his hair he huffs and puffs. He sighs a lot from boredom, even when I’m only five minutes into the job and he doesn’t seem to understand the value of me (a non professional hairdresser – very amateurish at best) taking some time to make sure I’m not cutting his ear off or giving him an ugly buzz cut!

He stops me every few seconds to inspect his hair do in the mirror and he likes to point out bits I’ve “missed” even though I clearly haven’t finished yet!
Or he likes to say very matter of factly, “That’s not how the hairdressers do it.”
Can I just say that’s a good thing?!
On a good day he’ll crack onto me as well!

I admit, I’m not perfect. But what do you expect when you hire me for free without even checking my hairdressing credentials? For starters, a hairdresser’s hair is the best advertisement of her talents (or the respectability of his/her colleagues) and my hair hasn’t seen a salon in six months! I had this Lady Gaga/Posh bob combo happening when the “bad money times” hit and it’s grown out terribly ever since – think shaggy and drab (awesome)! I am actually terrified of what my real hairdresser will think when I finally visit her! I’m so not trendy and my home colour is growing out.

Secondly, I’ve never cut anyone’s hair before. Trimming your own fringe so you can actually see does not count as work experience!

Also, I have this habit of (accidentally) waving my scissors mere centimetres from the hubby’s face while he looks at me in horror. I kind of don’t notice I’m doing it until he screams like a girl. I’m terrible at small talk and when I try to gossip hair dresser style (for example asking him about his weekend draws a blank look because I was actually there), he looks at me funny.

Oh and at the end of the hair cut I am bad at holding the mirror up to him so he can see the back of his head. And he lets me know.
Really, he’s becoming a bit of a diva…

My most useless habit.

OK, this might seem like a little Too Much Information, but I can’t be bothered worrying about your feelings right now (sorry – love you). I think it counts as part of my NaBloPoMo challenge to write about the topic of “routine”.

I pee. A lot. It’s like some kind of OCD thing I’ve got going on. I think it’s reminiscent of the days when I was a kid and you had to pee before you left the house to go somewhere, so that you didn’t have an accident later, or annoy the hell out of your parents when you were yelling at the top of your lungs that you need to do a ‘wee wee’ but you were nowhere near any kind of toilet facilities…

I always have to pee right before I leave the house. Even if where I am going is only 20 minutes away from my house and most likely has its own facilities. I’ll be getting ready and then when I check the time and I’ve got all my stuff together I will announce to the hubby that I’ll meet him in the car because I’m “just gonna go pee real quick”.
This is usually followed by a roll of the eyes and a glance at the clock. However, I can’t risk peeing any earlier than the absolute 11th hour because then I might have time to want to pee again before leaving the house.
OK so I’m realising that in writing I am an absolute goose!

I pee before going to bed. I mean, I’m sure everyone else does, but my habit comes with a fear that in the middle of the night I might wake up and need to pee but it’s a long walk to the ablution block from my tent and it’s so cold outside and I’d have to get dressed so people don’t see me in my PJs…
Yes, I was taken camping for much of my young life and for that I blame my parents.
I tend to forget that I have a nice house, with a heater and a toilet that is indoors mere metres from my comfy bed!
Again, I have to wait until the last second before I think I’m going to go to sleep or otherwise I have to “go” again, just to make sure.
Make sure of what, you crazy woman?!
Great, now I’m talking to myself (that’s surely a whole other post in itself).

I also have to pee before sitting down for a meal. Once I know it’s cooked and ready, I have to go to the loo because I really don’t want to feel the urge to urinate while I am eating. I don’t like getting up halfway through a meal. It just doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure if this speaks more to my obsession with food and unwillingness to let a beautiful hot meal go cold or if it is more about my fear of needing to pee at an inconvenient time.

*sigh*

So what are your weird habits and routines?

So…

I’m thinking of doing that NaBloPoMo thing for the whole of July. Basically, it’s a vow to blog every single day for 31 days. There’s a topic: ROUTINE but because I’m bad at keeping routines I will probably stray from such a topic routinely. Say, what? Bad sentence? Huh?

Let me say no more (therefore most likely isolating any readers who have no idea what it is and can’t be bothered clicking the link) because I might forget to participate or fail miserably or something.

So when there are only about 3 or 4 posts for the month we can just never mention this again, right?

Ooh, and do it as well, will you? Please? So I don’t feel like the only loser with too much time on her hands?!

Thanks for the memories.

How I'll always remember him.

Losing a much loved family pet is never easy.
Pepper was a most treasured part of my family growing up. I think he was about 11 or 12 when he passed away the other day (my family has a tradition where we write in a book the name of a new pet, their birthday and then finally the date that they passed on so I’ll have to double check that).

It was a bit of a tough situation. We knew he was sick with a type of debilitating arthritis and he had been on medication for a while. He was fading away physically and because my parents have been overseas he was being spoilt rotten and doted on until his last days by my loving grandparents who could give him all the attention he needed.

My brother and I were called over to realise that Pepper had taken a turn for the worst and it would be best for him to be put to sleep. We spent all the time we could with him, right up to his last moments in the vet.

Even in his last, painful and tiring moments Pepper brought my grandparents, brother, myself and my husband together as we shared the emotion of closing a beautiful chapter of our lives – we even connected with our parents over the phone. He was good like that. Such a loyal, loving soul.

My dad in particular had the most special bond with Pepper. He wouldn’t be able to move without having a snout pressed tight to the back of his knees while he walked. A well placed lick matting his leg hairs and a nudge as if to round him up.

My family’s other dog, who I won’t name right now (she knows who she is) was a funny companion to Pepper. Boisterous, loud and scary looking to strangers (but goofy to us), she has a funny way of dealing with the hubby. No matter what he does (bribery, affection, anything I’ve tried to teach him from the Dog Whisperer), she just can’t figure him out. She’ll bark her head off when he tries to get close and run away! He’s a great person and loves dogs so her radar is a little “off” I’m afraid! Anyway, whenever she did this Pepper would run out quietly and let the hubby know he loves him. He would give a quiet lick and nudge to him as he climbed out of the car to let him know that he wasn’t at all of the same opinion of Miss Thang the girl dog.

I have so many beautiful memories of Pepper. When he was young he was really hyperactive. However, we discovered early on that he suffered from epilepsy. He had to take a sedative every day to help fight the fits. On the first day we had to figure out the right dosage for him by slowly ramping it up. Poor thing got so stoned that while fully grown he tried to curl up in my lap like a little puppy while I flailed around underneath him!

One year he went missing for a few days. It was a really upsetting time and I thought I was dealing with it. It had been rainy and stormy and we were scared because sometimes bad weather freaked him out and gave him fits. We never fully gave up hope, but in the backs of our minds we knew we might have to consider the option that he wouldn’t be coming back. My mum had bought me a bobble headed dog (when they were still cool) for my car – I had just got my license – which she presented to me on Christmas day. It looked like Pepper and she said she was worried that if he hadn’t come back by then she wouldn’t give it to me because she didn’t want it to upset me. It touched me that my mum thought of me so tenderly and obviously knew how much it affected me, moreso than I did.
But Pepper was back before Christmas. My mum is convinced he was found by the family cat who led him home on some sort of Milo and Otis epic journey. I wasn’t so convinced but nevertheless the whole family were thrilled. He was pampered like crazy after that!!

Pepper dabbled in kayaking (no joke), stick fetching (when the younger dogs had done the dirty work they would know to let him pick up the stick and take all the credit – that’s before he got sick of the game and destroyed the stick so no-one else could play), and general organising of all other pets. He was a worry wart and he enjoyed being close to his loved ones. He didn’t like it when you touched his tail or put your head in his mouth (well my dog does did that to him a lot).

In the last few weeks, he didn’t have much of an appetite. My mum devised a way of tricking him into eating: Feed him cat food in a cat bowl so he thought he was being sneaky – the forbidden fruit always tastes better, right?
She bought so many cans of cat food (think for three cats and one dog) that she told me she would do the grocery shopping in installments each week so no-one would think she was a crazy old cat lady!

We’re all going to miss him so much. He was like everyone’s little guardian angel shadow. I don’t doubt he still is.
I know he’s at peace now. He can run and fetch sticks and organise everyone in doggy heaven and his tired, frail old body won’t hold him back anymore.

RIP Pepper. We love you.

Adoptionally Challenged: What’s in a name?

On Thursday I read an article  about ethnic sounding names impeding people’s chances of securing a job interview in Australia.
I was appalled but not surprised at all. It made me think about how grateful I am that my last name has always been Anglo-Saxon despite my Asian appearance. I’ve always been lucky enough to get my foot in the door for a job interview.
I just feel that it’s sad that it even has to be that way. According to the study, people with Chinese or Asian sounding names seemed to fare the worst.

I believe that whoever is the most qualified, has the best skill set, most valuable experience and qualifications, the best social and communication skills deserves the job. Not the “Whitest” sounding person who just seems “safer” but doesn’t tick all the boxes. Let me clarify here by saying that if a person that seems best for the job is actually Anglo-Saxon by name (and/or appearance) then that’s great too. I don’t believe in tokenism for the sake of it.In an ideal world, the best person for a job should get it no matter what their race or ethnic background!

My maiden name was one of the most common Anglo-Saxon names in the world. Literally. Up there with the Jones’ and the Smiths’. I liked it because I honestly felt it made people think twice about me. I thought that it was ‘proof’ of my assimilation (well it’s all I know) into White Australia. It helped me with some of the less racially educated people I came across. I could say, “See! My last name is just like yours! I must be acceptable!”
Sad, huh. I shouldn’t have to feel like I have to live up to anyone who thinks like that. But it happens.

A few years ago, I took time out from university. I wasn’t sure about my degree and needed to get myself back on track. I had been distracted by a new relationship, my first experiences living out of home and the fact that I had only entered my degree because I thought it seemed “safe” – not because it was what I really wanted to do.

I decided to spend a couple of years working and earning some money. Contributing to our household costs a bit more and getting life experience in the work force before I re-entered the academic world. I seemed to have no trouble securing job interviews, but funny things would happen when I turned up…

I could see it on the faces of my interviewers. Now if you think I’m reading into it too much, just know that once you’ve seen that face many times, it’s something you recognise easily.
“Her face doesn’t match that name. What the hell? I thought I was getting a white girl in here.”

One such employer stands out in my mind ever since that time. He was the manager of a well known franchise that specialises in selling second hand goods and I had applied to work in the jewellery department. I knew it was not beyond my abilities and that I would be an asset to anyone who took me on in a position like this.
He told me about the position, outlined what hours I would be required to work should I get the job, told me about on the job training (as offered in the advertisement) and all of those administrative things.
He then kept asking me the same damn question but with different wording.
“We can’t have shy people on the job. You have to be able to sell, sell, sell!”
“Are you shy?”
“Our last girl was shy and she just couldn’t move the stuff. You can’t be too quiet.”

Now, if you know me, you know that I am anything but shy. I’m always polite and act appropriately in certain situations but I am a bubbly, friendly, outgoing person by nature. I had to learn how to be like that so that people wouldn’t judge a book by its cover so to speak. I had to get in there first to prove I speak English, have an Australian accent and that I am more than meets the eye. Otherwise people’s preconceived ideas about me from my appearance can get out of hand!! Sometimes even to the point where they start imagining that I have an Asian accent as I’m speaking to them!!!!

I thought, “Come on. This guy is being racist. He’s subscribing to the stereotype that Asian women are submissive, quiet, unassuming and shy.”
Then I shook myself out of it.
“No, don’t read into this. Maybe it’s just something he’s been burnt by before and he’s making sure I’m the right person. Turn  up the outgoing charm!”

I was doing pretty nicely, talking clearly and audibly in my broad Australian accent. I laughed at him when he kept asking about any shyness as if to say, “Dude – anyone who knows me knows I’m not some shrinking violet!”

But then he threw this in the mix:
“Yeah, the last girl was too shy. You need to be outgoing and use your own initiative and she just couldn’t get herself to do it. She left the job and WENT BACK TO SINGAPORE WITH HER BOYFRIEND.”
And yes, he was that pointed about it.

I was gobsmacked. Of course, I didn’t get the job. But I wouldn’t accept the “Someone better filled the position” crap. I asked him bluntly, “I’m just looking for some feedback. I was wondering if you could give me any constructive criticism about my interviewing style or about my qualifications as you saw them on my resume.”
The dude was speechless. He had nothing bad to say about me. He fumbled around and couldn’t give me a straight answer except to say I was wonderful in the interview.

LOSER. And the worst part is, he’s not the only employer out there who thinks that way, as indicated in the aforementioned study.I would have to say that getting an interview is a huge part of the job process, but making it past that interview is difficult for those who look ethnic too.

A person is so much more than their name or their appearance. I hope this study brings to light the issue, as I honestly believe that a lot of employers don’t mean to do this and don’t consider themselves racist. It may be subconscious and I’m hoping that articles like this will make people think twice.

So this week I was thinking…

• Yesterday I realised just how much I trust my husband. There’s nothing like knowing you trust someone when you’re sick and your partner comes home and thrusts two unidentifiable tablets into one hand, a glass of water into another, tells you to take them NOW and you don’t for a second feel the need to ask what they are (for example cyanide would have been bad, cold and flu tablets good). Although…I thought they were day time cold and flu tablets and they were actually the night time ones that make you drowsy…I did wonder why he kept telling me to sleep and then overzealously tucking me into bed! When I got up, he asked if I slept well and then decided to tell me what he’d given me!! Either way it helped!

• I think I saw some item on a current affairs show (hideous things that they are) about young people who refuse to move out of home, despite having the means and the chronological age that indicates they could…
  I got all old person about it, because I think of so many life skills and experiences people of my Y generation are missing out on! Fair enough if you’re studying, you’re conscientiously saving to buy a house, you’re saving to travel or you’ve just got back  from travelling and you’re getting back on your feet. Hell, even if you’re staying to help your parents out or you’re pulling your weight honestly and completely on the home front.  However, staying just because your new place away from the parental nest wouldn’t come with a big flat screen TV, Foxtel and some sucker who will do all your washing, ironing and cooking is not cool! Expecially if you’re fast approaching 30 and earn more than one or both of your parents! Here’s a note to my generation: You can’t have everything brand new and out of a magazine when you first leave home! You have to work for things and learn life lessons!! OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. I’m not saying life isn’t a struggle when you’re out in the world, with your own place to afford (oh lordy I know that much), but I’m scared our future will be overrun with big brats who can’t empathise with those less fortunate or who will fall apart as soon as life gets a little tough, rather than have the skills and maturity to get through trying times! Ooh, I’ve said it now!

• I really really really do not like those leggings/tights that have been made to look like really really slutty skinny jeans. Seriously, I’m not convinced. Especially when people wear them with ugg boots. I also feel very strongly that tights in general are NOT a substitute for real trousers. They induce the camel toe visibility and make people feel uncomfortable. “People” being me. The only time there is an exception is if you’re working out and they’re special “working out” pants – even then, that’s only acceptable to me because I will never be caught dead (or alive) inside a gym. Or unless you’re Lady Gaga. She’s allowed to do anything she likes.

• I have fallen in love with my slow cooker to an extent that is utterly embarrassing for a young woman of 25 years old. I google recipes, I spend my days off preparing meals for it, I even used my slow cooker as a reason to put off studying for my exams on more than one occasion! I was going to write a whole blog post dedicated to this love, but it scared me just how “housewifey” it would make me sound and I was a tad scared of the audience I might attract. Or repel. Nothing like isolating your readers with tales of a slow cooking crock pot and a love that will never end…

• Swine flu? Meh.

Waiting for my brain to catch up.

I thought my post exams blog post would be all rainbows and butterflies and I’m pretty sure that’s how I’ll feel by the end of the day, but meh, nothing ever goes to plan! I just needed to write a crappy post to break my two week blog drought so bear with me!

Wow. Exams for the first semester of two thousand and bloody nine are over!!! I finished yesterday and went with the girls to eat the best gourmet pizzas for the best prices (I’m not actually looking to advertise them but YUM).

I got home and I felt good. I relaxed, wasted a bit of time making the customary facebook statuses about finishing the semester and I watched a bit of teev. Sure, I do that kind of stuff all the time, but this time it was GUILT FREE! Until Monday morning, my brain is free from thoughts of studying. I can do whatever I like with my days. I can go wherever I like. I don’t have to do anything too strenuous.

Also, the end of that semester is symbolic for me. It doesn’t just symbolise the end of some arduous study time, but it symbolises the end of a rough period for me. I got sick a lot, the hubby and I have worried about our finances a lot and all round it was a sucky time where to be honest, positive thinking eluded me time and time again (I’m usually annoyingly perky and upbeat – there’s so much in life to celebrate – so very unlike me to be all negative). So yesterday after my exam I was also having a private little celebration inside my overworked brain because I realised the end of those exams was the beginning of a more positive era.

So of course, I surprised myself when I woke up at 1am worrying about stuff. Hasn’t my brain had enough?? I worried about our finances (another few weeks we just have to hold on as hard as we can because things will get worse before they get much better). I worried about the fact that having less money affects us in other ways than what you would expect. Socially, I feel isolated and all those sorts of emo things that I won’t bore you with.

So I got up, journalled it all out of my system and then tried to distract myself by reading every blog post in my google reader.

I went back to bed at 3am and hugged the hubby tight. He left for work in the early hours and I kept on sleeping…only to have a dream that I was sitting in my last exam and I needed to complete a lot of it in order to pass one of my units.The lights kept going on and off, the supervisory people kept talking to us and we were kind of in a position where we were pretty much allowed to cheat in a closed book exam. I thought it just seemed really really wrong and didn’t finish my exam in time.

So I freaked out and woke up.

What the?! How unfair of my subconscious! I’m thinking of divorcing it! I’ve had enough crap for a while!! It’s time to relax and look after me!! So many good things are about to happen!

EXAMS ARE O.V.E.R!!!!!!! For now…

Wii Fit + Kez = PCD?

OK so last weekend I attended my first pop concert and despite my initial misgivings about the whole thing, I really enjoyed myself.
Yes, Lady Gaga is a frickin’ artistic genius and the Pussycat Dolls? Well, they are everything I would have stood for back when the Spice Girls were like totally famous. Inspirational Corny yelling about girl power and songs about being a girl, all while dancing in skanky outfits and gyrating like it’s nobody’s business (which it probably isn’t).

If there are some things I’ve taken from this experience, a big one is knowing that you can actually wear fake bubbles, sing songs about gambling and climb on pianos all at the same time…oh and I want to be a Pussycat Doll.
Oh and I saw Lady Gaga’s butt cheeks…but I digress…

I wouldn’t even have a problem with being one of those Pussycat Dolls that doesn’t ever gets to sing, but looks really pretty and dances a lot – you know, one of those non Nicole girls!

The sources of my body envy.

Oh and yes, that photo was taken by yours truly. I really was there. And I didn’t put a thing on youtube…partly because I don’t know how…and partly because that’s crap and who wants to be filming the whole thing when you can be dancing like a fool? And singing along, knowing more words to more songs than you would care to admit to most of your friends and family??

I just want a hot body. A hot body that can dance all night doing sexy moves and impressing everyone. Except for creepy people, but you know what I mean.
Or I’d even settle for a body that I don’t cringe at every day when I get dressed and see Muffin Top galore*, and wonder if I have enough baggy tops to make it through the week…yeah, let’s go with that one.

So the other day I got my Wii Fit out. I pulled the balance board out, I filled the remote with batteries (turns out they were for our outdoor solar lights and the hubby was charging them not for me but for the solar lights – OK I GET IT). I went to turn the balance board on and weigh myself but the batteries in that were low too. So I went and did some studying (exams next week – holy crap) for half a day before returning to my Wii.

And do you know how I was greeted? It forgot my name. I bet it wouldn’t forget the name of a Pussycat Doll!  And it told me I must have been real busy to not have trained for 64 days. Passive aggressive motherf*cker.

So anyway, I broke through the taunts and the mean comments. I even got through hula hooping (while avoiding the hubby’s appreciative glances and occasional grope – sorry family members who may read this). And now I get praised all the time and I’ve lost like a whole 300 grams (aka sh*t all). But my Wii fit trainer says that’s perfectly fine.

OK, so it does occur to me that the Pussycat Dolls probably don’t cite “Wii Fit” as their main source of fitness and hot body-ness. But every little bit helps, right?

*In my defence, I only want to lose 5.7 kilograms – please don’t imagine me obese. My Wii fit says I’m at the plumper end of “ideal” weight…