Tag Archives: humor

Red Alert! Red Alert! Where Are All the Spoons?

The last few weeks at home have been stressful at times. We (my husband and I) have noticed a diminishment of spoons on the premises. Our cutlery holder used to be overflowing with the curvy utensils, but not anymore. Whenever I want to eat yogurt, ice cream or soup, I have to pick one of the few we have left out of the dishwasher and wash it. So I’m going to attempt to answer two simple questions:

1. Where the hell do these spoons go, and;

2. Can I buy some more?

I have some theories on where the spoons go. I was sure one of our possums stole some to eat the bananas they’ve been stealing from us. Possums are neat eaters and quite civilised; they’ve worked out how to open my kitchen window, sneak in and steal my fruit. Another theory is that it’s winter, think soup-eating season, and other people in my neighbourhood have been losing their spoons to possums, so, when I’m out or sleeping, they sneak in and steal a spoon. The third theory, and no, this is not far-fetched, is that I’ve become so famous that fans are sneaking in and taking my spoons, later bragging to their friends that, “Oh my God! This has had Dionne Lister’s saliva on it. Can you imagine? Her saliva! Squeeee.”

Now that I’ve answered the first question, I will attempt to answer the second. You would think that you can buy many things from the supermarket, and, indeed, you would be right. Today I was at said supermarket, and my excitement built when I entered the aisle that said “Blah, blah, blah, COOKING UTENSILS”. I spied the utensil section down the other end.  I pushed my trolley (or cart for you Americans) as fast as I could (only knocking down two pensioners in my haste). Woohoo! I had made it, I was there! But wait. Oh no, oh no, this can’t be happening. Why me? This is what I saw:

IMG_1552

NOTE, people, there are forks, there are knives, there’s even a can opener, but where TF are the spoons? Is this an epidemic? Is it a government ploy to send us into the dark ages where not only do we have sub-standard education, we also have to eat ice cream from a cone and drink yogurt and soup from a cup? We will lose a skill, an important skill! Or maybe it’s the cup manufacturers wanting to increase sales, or  the possums went to the source and took over the spoon factory.

Evil, Thieving Possum

Evil, Thieving Possum

Whatever happened, this is now a national disaster! I urge you all to write to your local members and secure a shipment of spoons. Our future depends on it. In the mean time, if anyone would be so kind as to send me some spoons (big or small, I’m not picky), please email me and I’ll give you my address. Thanks :).

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Piss-Funny Writing-Related Podcast—Tweep Nation

tweeplogofinal

Ok, so the heading is a tad crass, but that’s what you get when you listen to Tweep Nation. Amber Norrgard and I have been recording Tweep Nation for the past year and a half. Every week we interview authors and we’ve been known to interview a musician and next week is an artist. I guarantee this podcast will teach you something and make you laugh (maybe at the same time). We discuss writing, publishing, life and any manner of inappropriate things (too inappropriate to name here).

Just a word of warning, or maybe this will be the thing that makes you listen, we do swear and ruin things for people: fairly floss has been likened to clown pubes, we will make you paranoid about wee germs in public toilets, one of our guests lost his virginity to a midget in a threesome, and some of our guests have shot people (so has Amber, come to think of it).

If you’re still intrigued and need a laugh, you can download the awesome Tweep Nation podcast from iTunes, Stitcher and Newbiewriters.

Ciao, and beware the wee germs.

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A Crumby Christmas that Ended with a Fantabulous Dragon

Vacuum the hall with the Dyson cleaner, fa la la la la la, la la la la, tis the time to try and get leaner, fa la la la la, la la la la. So that was Christmas. Did I enjoy the leap from pre-Christmas to after Christmas? Well, read on and find out. Christmas Eve started with the line for the seafood—an Aussie thing as it’s hot here at Christmas. My thirty minutes in the line wasn’t so bad, though, as I had my iPod and Twitter to keep me amused. I don’t think I bothered anyone too much with my dance moves, well not until I smacked the guy in front of me with a flailing arm at which point one of the bouncers on the door gave me a warning (ok, I might be exaggerating just a little, but there were bouncers, hence the need for me to treat it as if it were a nightclub).

The line

The line

So, having survived buying the seafood, I moved on from Christmas Eve to Christmas morning, which I spent mopping and vacuuming, bleaching the toilet blah, blah, blah, only to have the place dirtied within five minutes of people arriving, as crackers were munched and crumbs fell, peppering my carpet like cat litter at a demented cat-lady’s house. After I scooted around on the floor picking up the bits, while other crumbs rained down on my head from ignorant family members, I managed to get lunch on the table. Everyone ate their weight in seafood and ham, and following Newton’s law of no action without an equal and something-or-other reaction, I’ve put on a couple of kilos. One of the culprits of my increased buxomness was the staple of Aussie cakes, the pavlova—or, as we like to call it, the pav (see below and try not to drool).

The Pav

The Pav

 

After the family rolled to their cars, and the kids were in bed, I opened my present from one of the most awesome friends I’ve made on Twitter. This person wants to remain anonymous, but I say thank you all the same. I was gifted with a handmade t-shirt of one of my favourite books of all time. Can you guess? Ok, I’ll tell you. It’s Shadows of the Realm, my best-selling (ok semi-best-selling) fantasy book with dragons (I have to put in those words for the SEO, you know how it is). Behold me in all my dragon covered glory…

Me looking snazzy in my book cover

Me looking snazzy in my book cover

But, alas, today the pav is all gone, the crumbs have been banished and the diet has started. I did enjoy Christmas and look forward to doing it all again next year. I want to wish everyone an awesome year for 2013 and thanks for visiting my blog :).

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A Creepy Interlude

Husband and I were in the car, me driving.  I had just helped him move his dinghy and been pushed into a bush; no biggie, right?  We were on our way to a friend’s place via a busy road with no lanes in which to pullover.  I felt something delicately feather my ear so I went to move my hair, which I remembered was in a bun and was not touching my ear.  OMG!  The ‘hair’ that I’d tried to brush away ran on eight furry feet, all the way across my forehead!  Shit, shit!  I flicked at my head to remove the massive huntsman, all whilst trying not to swerve out of my lane or crash into a telegraph pole.  One of my flicks brought success and he flew into the passenger side near my husband’s legs, which were now kicking in a mad frenzy.

Both of us freaked out until we arrived at our destination, my husband, all the while, watching the floor of the car, where the spider had disappeared.  We didn’t find spidey again, well not that day anyway.

Night time.  Driving home by myself.  What do I see, but the same forehead-stomping spider from the week before, sitting in the middle of my windscreen, inside the car.  Ok, calm, poise, revenge.  I spotted a tissue box on the passenger seat.  I deftly picked it up, and without changing speed or going out of my lane, squashed my hairy nemesis with a box full of silky soft tissues.  I have learnt that I am calm in an emergency and skilled with a tissue box.  To all you arachnid admirers, I will non-regretfully acknowledge that yes, a spider was harmed during the making of this story.

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