“Meg the Egg” tale so far
[I think you’ll enjoy tomorrow’s tweets.]
4
Mum walked in on Hugh and I kissing. “Sex ed clearly isn’t enough,” she said, and gave each of us an egg with a drawn-on face to look after.
She said it was the latest technology, and it would teach us about parenthood. Hugh freaked out and went home. My egg began to cry.
Mum made me walk up and down with the egg cupped in my hand until it finally shut up. I named it Meg, and decided never to have kids.
5
Stupid Meg is stupid crying and it won’t shut up. From now on, I’m only kissing Hugh if we’re both wrapped in cling wrap. Just in case.
Hugh tweeted that he didn’t want kids. Perfect. I wonder if sixteen is too young for him to get a vasectomy.
Discussed vasectomy with Hugh. He says he’ll do it if my Mum takes the eggs back. Definitely worth it. Meg makes my hands itch.
6
Miss Bobbit asked us what we were holding under our desks, and when we explained she had a coughing fit and left the room. NOT FUNNY.
Meg is oddly compelling. I feel funny without her neat warmth in my hand. Her little marker-drawn face looks like it’s smiling.
7
My BFF Sasha said that if I have to face parenthood my Mum should let Hugh stay with me so we can experience the pitfalls of married life.
When I asked Mum why she disagreed with Sasha she sent me to my room. Meg was making little gurgling noises. Pretty cute for a robot.
8
Meg was doing so well, and then at 3am she spat out some kind of green goo. Mum sucks! I never woke HER at 3am when I was a baby.
Fell asleep and missed drama class. Why couldn’t I fall asleep in maths? What’s wrong with me? I LIKE drama. Uh-oh, Meg needs a walk again.
9
Hugh pulled me over at lunch to show me something cool. He threw his egg (Sven) up in the air. It made a squealing noise like it was happy.
I wasn’t sure I dared throw Meg anywhere, even if it helped develop her motor skills in later life. Hugh grabbed her and chucked.
Meg flipped over and – yes, she was laughing! Hugh stepped forward to catch her and slipped. I dived facedown and JUST got her. Never again!
10
Rough night. When I woke up, both my hands were dark purple with bruising. Hugh came over and his hands were the same – especially the left.
“It’s Sven,” he said, “because I hold him in my left hand so my right is free for the remote.” “Should infants be watching TV?”
“Not the point,” said Hugh. I said, “Fine. We’re – allergic, or something. Should we tell Mum?” “What if she makes us give them up?”
#236: Decorate a Christmas Tree(s)
Not all family bonding has to happen on December 25th. In fact there’s a vital ritual that millions of families partake of every year.
This year in my family, it all went horribly wrong.
Well, to be fair, horribly wrong would involve one or all of the following scenarios:
1. Buying a live tree that happened to be termite infested, and led to the total destruction of your uninsured home.
2. Buying a live tree infested with some kind of wild animal, preferably the kind that’s either extremely violent when cornered, infested with a transferrable disease, or both.
3. Having a fault in the Christmas lights cause a massive explosion, disfiguring burns, and several fires throughout the home and neighbourhood.
4. Accidentally strangling a dog/cat/small child with badly hung tinsel at just the wrong moment.
5. Slipping on a globe, hitting one’s head on a coffee table, and dying instantly.
6. Same as above, but with quadriplegia.
So all in all, my family day went swimmingly. It would probably have been better if a child – any child – was involved, or if the tree was designed to accept ornaments in any way, or if my Mum didn’t have over a hundred separate ornaments. But we did the job, and now it’s done.
My brother, wisely, didn’t show.
My nephew arrived hours later than expected – hence, no children.
My sister, brother-in-law, and niece are in Perth.
Amusingly, CJ and I then went to dinner at a friend’s house. Guess what we did that night?
Yep. We decorated their tree.
On the up side, they have three children, and about ten ornaments in total, so the horror was (a) not so horrible, and (b) took about ninety seconds.
Until next year, then. . .
PS sorry Mum. I might hate your tree, but I still like you.
Critique
If you’re a writer, or (alternatively) if you enjoy shredding innocent souls, you might like to register for critique circle, one of the writing communities I frequent. http://www.critiquecircle.com/
Now is an especially good time, since I just put the prologue and first two chapter of my 09 naNo novel up for critiques. They’re under the title “See Through” and the name Louise Curtis (or possible Louisec).
Just saying.
#20: Acoustic guitar
The guitar is my favourite instrument. I love the curvy shape.* I also love the intimacy of the sound, and my favourite music is often a single person singing and playing their guitar.
During high school I was obsessive about guitars for a few months. I remember walking along practising chords on the air. I never had a formal lesson, just learned to read the chord diagrams and some very basic strumming. It’s all you need.
I don’t own a guitar, but even with my minimal knowledge I can pick up a guitar at a friend’s place and just play. It also proved useful when I was entertaining earthquake refugees in Indonesia. But mostly, I just love having an excuse (however slender) to touch the pretty thing.**
You can tell from the extremely low number that this was one of the first awesomenesses I thought of, way back in March.
*Best not to analyse that.
**See above.
Being Metal
. . . is not one of my talents.
Yesterday, my awesomeness task was to buy a totally metal plant (preferably something maneating). I bought a bogonia. https://twittertales.wordpress.com/2010/12/06/s36-metal-green-thumb/
Mere hours later, I went to work, tutoring an eleven-year old girl. Guess what she’d just bought?
Yep, she’s more metal than me – and for $17 from Bunnings, too. But are we surprised?
#139: Hunt up a bargain at a junk market
This was suprisingly enjoyable and useful.
CJ and W and I went a-wandering at the Jamison markets last Sunday, and it was good (and not just because I enjoy being surrounded by nice-looking boys). CJ and I bought Christmas presents for three people, and also bought a Carole Wilkinson book for $5 (sweet!) and a lump of beeswax to make the drawers of various furniture items slide better.
We saw a side-saddle saddle.
And a really excellent antique stall with a seafaring flavour (and some fantastically racist kitch).
Then we wandered into Aldi and witnessed first-hand the eerie similarity between Santa and the Easter Bunny.
Play along at home score: 8 out of 10 – recommended for the bookshops alone (they had really good stuff – Ben Elton and James Patterson and Pamela Freeman and much more – cheaper than second-hand bookshops, and most of it in perfect condition)
S#36: Metal Green Thumb
My mission was to get a weird plant – “a deadly nightshade or venus flytrap or sarracenia or nepenthes”. I got this:
Look, I admit it. The plant is downright pretty. I’m not very good at this heavy metal thing (despite my pirate credentials). But let’s take a closer look.
I’ve repotted it and put it with my other plants, and it definitely isn’t dressed like the in crowd (all of whom are wearing the new black*). It’s a begonia, which sounds a bit like a drunken lout yelling, “Begone, ya *#%@!” Also, if you squint real hard, it looks like it might just be DRENCHED IN BLOOD.
If that’s not br00tal, I don’t know what is.
Coming soon: playing guitar, hunting up a bargain in a junk market, decorating two Christmas trees in one day (see last entry), and. . . other stuff.
For those interested in my personal dramas, I was so distraught at gaining weight last week that I have a new plan. Today I binge eat and binge write – I’m aiming for 12,000 words (and have done 5,000 so far – it’s 3pm). From tomorrow I go into absolute no-chocolate-no-lollies-no-junk-food mode for three weeks. At the end of three weeks, I weigh less.
One tiny problem (other than the lack of chocolate making me instantly and uncontrollably psychotic): I have five Christmas parties in the next three weeks – and four of them are with family.
Wish me luck, my tr00 peeps.**
*which is to say, green.
**dear metalheads and/or gangsters: please do not kill me for that.
Solution
So, remember that moral dilemma I had about whether or not to tell an (alleged) blind man that he was routinely walking through the women’s changeroom?
He was a she.
In my defence, I only saw her from behind (until more recently, when I discovered the truth). She is elderly, very squarely built, and has very straight iron-grey hair cropped short. Also, she has an extremely deep voice. Definitely a female bathing suit, however.
Who’s blind now?
Had enough of the freaking Christmas spirit?
This might help.
S#7: Magic Trick
This turned out to be startlingly easy.
The “before” shot:
On the ratio of “least amount of work to most amount of results”, this scores VERY highly. I practised exactly once with non-fragile items, once with the (stoneware) plate and (metal) cutlery, and then set things up with the glasses for the video (they are glass glasses). CJ said, “Don’t you want to prepare a bit more first?” and I said, “This is way more interesting.”
So many unpleasant things in life begin that way.
The “after” shot:
The instant the video ended, CJ wanted a go. He mastered it instantly. So will at least some of you*.
I know from Mythbusters that the ideal circumstances are: A table that is stable and smooth. A cloth that is lightweight non-stretch satin, shiny side down (and the edge should be lined up with the far edge of your table). Light-weight objects. The larger the table, and the more objects you have – the more difficult it is.** It’s gravity versus friction.
Our table is smooth but not completely stable, and the fabric is medium-weight satin that stretches in one direction. And that’s it! That’s all the magic there is.
Oh, and by the way, you know Santa? He’s really not that nice.
*the cool ones.
**so don’t try this on the Christmas dinner table, and that means you, Uncle “eggnog” Bob.
PS yep I’m publishing this at 2am. I so badly wish I was asleep right now.
Guess what happened today? I read a “deeply honest, heartfelt” blog by someone saying how awful it is that she’s been writing two whole years and isn’t published yet. Then I read another blog article by someone saying how brilliant a particular writing program is, and how much it helped her and made her feel great about her book – her first book, which was barely finished when she applied (and at the program she worked with a close personal friend of Garth Nix, author of “Sabriel” and a personal hero of mine). I applied for that exact program, and I’ve written twelve freaking books over twelve long and soul-destroying years.
Clearly, I just suck.
Felicity Banks 