Quatro. Shoop.

It is true that I have the junk in my trunk. It is true that I dabbled with basketball caps as an adolescent (Charlotte Hornets were apparently my team of choice... I liked the colours ok!). I have also been known to wear large hoop earrings and pull a few mainies in my sick ride. It is also true that I am a closet hip hop fan. But the ability to belt out a mean version of We Are Australian in Grade 9 choir, does not a rapper make. No, I will not buss a cap in yo ass. 
No, I will not holla atcha.
No, I will not play you some chin music.

Yes, I will give my best rendition of Salt'n'Pepa's Shoop.

Trois. Write a poem.

Long have I, er, longed to enter the poetic ranks, to stand alongside the likes of Tennyson, Lawson and others... So I made myself a coffee, got all creative and inspired, sat down at my laptop and... googled some poems. 
Ok so I didn't actually write a poem. But I found one I loved and learnt it off by heart. As my brain has apparently been condemned to a life of post-baby-mush, there's a very high possibility that I won't remember it next week. Or tomorrow. Or after my next cup of coffee for that matter. 
Nevertheless, I'm feeling very clever. If only I had written it. 

Sister Bossy by Doug MacLeod & Craig Smith

Sister Bossy always frowned and bossed the other nuns around.
She often scolded Sister Mabel, "Keep your elbows off the table!"
Then she picked on Sister Yoko, "Wicked girl to slurp your cocoa!"

Sister Bossy, in her den, got quite a shock one evening when
An angel floated by her bed, "I'm tuckered out!" the angel said.
"But look, I've torn my dressing gown, and both my wings have broken down.
I can't stay long, I'm due at Heaven - God shuts the gate at half past seven!"

"So all I need" the angel said "is needle, thimble and some thread."
But though the angel asked her nicely Sister Bossy answered icily,
"You are absolutely shocking, to enter bedrooms without knocking.
Worse still, you've moulted on my floor! Out you go, mate, out the door!"

Years later Sister Bossy died, and up to Heaven she did ride.
At Heaven's gate an angel sat saying "Sister Bossy, fancy that!
Do you remember me at all? I once paid you an urgent call.
I had to walk home, thanks to you - a billion miles, and up hill too!

Well I've got news for you, my dear, now I'm the brand new bouncer here.
You think you're coming in? You're not! You're going some place rather hot.
That's right" the angel shook his wings "I'm sending you to Alice Springs!"
So don't be bossy, mark my verse; you might end up in hell (or worse!)

Cute huh?

2. Make 1000 origami cranes

Երկու. (That’s 2 in Armenian)

Make 1000 origami cranes.

Ok, 100.

Ok, 30.

Ok, as many as I can.

Ok, so I only made 7. But given I only decided to learn and make these at 4pm today, I think I’ve done ok. Those little suckers are harder than they look to make. Like Sadako, I fell short of my goal, albeit with far less fatal consequences. But in place of the other 993, I’ll attempt to at least pass on my new skills. So grab a piece of paper and play along.

First, make your paper square. Like, der.

Fold in half diagonally and vertically both ways. 

Yeah don't get cocky. 

Now lift the top corner and squish the edge in to make a new diamond. Yep, like that. 

  

Do that twice. Should look like this. 

Not so smug now, are we? Now fold the edges in so the bottom edges line up to the midline. 

Now shift the axis of the earth 16 degrees so that the light from the sun refracts through the solar system and if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands. 

And voila: 

So I can't say I've found a new passion, but hey, can make a mean paper crane. Thank you youtube.com. Where would our papercrafting skills be without you. 

Uno. Write a letter.

An old school skill. Writing a letter. Penning it. By hand. Phenomenal.

Mr. Lawrence, you are the snappy, snappy winner.

Cue, my Grade 11/12 English teacher.

It seems fitting that I should choose such an unassuming yet enormously influential person to include in my first post. Blogging. Blog. A word that didn’t even exist when last I saw him. Most of my assignments, and certainly the entire 280-page exercise book full of journaling genius were certainly hand written. Absolutely no shred of consideration for PC-processed rubbish. Yet here I am.

This man, along with very few others, is the reason and influence for my relentless, if not obsessive, preoccupation with the English language. From (all-too-often) time-to-time, you will have, undoubtedly, rued my many-uttered soliloquies on English pronunciation (as per Adelaidean convention, of course). A sideways glance, a murmured correction, Mr Lawrence is seldom far from my thoughts.

On my last day of high school, I gave Mr Lawrence a card. Scrawled in my 17-year-old hand, were the words:

Come to the edge, He said.

They said, We are afraid.

Come to the edge, He said.

They came.

He pushed them.

And they flew.

And never has it been more apparent, the impression a teacher leaves upon his student than the one this teacher has left on me.

So pedantic am I about pronunciation, punctuation and all other particularities of our beautiful language, that these are constantly the, ahem, talking point of choice in our home. You consolidated the teachings of my mum, my dad, and in more recent years, my sister. So for that, there’s one thing I want to say.

Thanks, sir.

30 in 30 before 30

As the end of my thirtieth year looms incredibly close, I reflect on some of the amazing things I’ve done. Things which would have been on my ‘Do-before-I-turn-thirty’ bucket list, had I ever written one. Things that have shaped me. Things that I’m proud of and things I could have done better. I’ve travelled extensively, including 3 months lone-starring it in a third-world country; 17 nations in total. I’ve lived overseas. I’ve done a menial job. I’ve used fake IDs and chopped off all my hair. I’ve met the man of dreams and had a baby. I’ve said ‘I love you’ and I’ve said ‘I’m sorry’. Blah blah blah.With only thirty days left on the clock until I’m hit over the head with the thirty branch, I’m taking on the challenges set my friends (thanks to a one-too-many-glasses-of-wine induced Facebook post, posing the question). Questionable motives aside, there are thirty things I have to do before I turn thirty. In thirty days. Easy.So what’s on this list? Without giving away the game, you can expect some outrageous escapades. such as eating fairy bread for dinner, watching a scary movie after dark and perhaps even a spot of white-girl-rapping. Seriously. Intriguing. Stuff.

In a word - ohmygodthisplaceisinsane!

HERROOOOOOOOOO!!!!



Well... We've done Delhi (and yes, the belly was REVOLTING!! I shall spare you the details... and I think the culprit was a few bits of ice in my lemon miranda - yuck!).

We headed to Varanasi and spent about 4 days checking the craziness - Lonely Planet says 'it's not for the faint-hearted' and I am apparently that. Or at least I was to start with. We spent 28 hours getting there on a train and I must admit, had the best sleep in India to date. The beds in every place we've stayed are like a nice soft concrete on an inner spring of concrete with concrete blankets and pillows - delightful to say the least. Although I must say, now that I'm used to it, I'm really quite loving it... no more sore backs for me, thank you.


Day before yesterday, we headed to Agra for a day trip to the Taj, Fatepuhr Sikri, the Baby Taj and The Agra Fort!

So, as you can imagine, it's not exactly what I expected and it's also everything I expected...

 
I have to say THANK YOU so much to all the encouraging notes everyone's sent me - The first week here was MUCH more of a culture/tummy/smell shock than I could EVER have imagined and, being the cry-baby that I am becoming more and more, the further I get from 20, I freaked out and threw my toys out of the cot. I spat the dummy and had a tanty. I was not a happy camper! (Not. Happy. Jan.) However, following the desensitisation of my (somewhat oversensitive) sense of smell, the support of you guys and most incredible husband in Australia (slash India), I have pulled up my socks, dried my eyes (princess) and am getting on with the business of travelling solo (as of a few hours ago when Glen left) through a very, very different continent.



This afternoon, I'm heading to Mumbai on an overnight train (eek) to spend about 4-5 days with her... After that, I'll probably head to Goa to become a hermit and set up a shanty on the beach, grow my underarm hair and smoke copiuos amounts of ganja. Or not.



Send my love to Mildred and in proper Indian blessing-ness, "May you all be blessed with one thousand sons".

Namaste. Or something.

Miss you like a turtle misses its shell (given that the shell is missing, of course).

Aidni!!

I think random rude words strung together on a fridge door are funny
I hate moustaches and pigeons, sweating and arrogance
I love mojitos or anything that sounds exotic, like 'mojitos'
I love stand up comedy
I'm not an only child... It's complicated
Black Books is my favourite show
I love writing
and wronging
Hate chauvinism, feminism and a few other ism's
Love a gentleman (must prefer blondes), a bit of tradition and good manners
Wit is a must - I love nothing more than laughing
I hate putting away cutlery
I love cleaning
I like long words with long meanings. Like 'recalcitrant'
I give funny birthday cards
I read books on the train
I hate trains
I love red wine
I love dried flowers
I love George
I love
I like old people and bad jokes
I love long drives, my sunglasses and black IS a colour
I listen to Kate Nash, Adele, Angus and Julia Stone and Ray Lamontagne
I hate the radio
I love Hamish and Andy
I think that if I want to have a salad without tomato, that's ok
I hate tv's in the bedroom
I am a bad, loud, windows-up-in-the-car singer
I like cordial, not too strong, not weak
I live for post-it notes
I make lists
I'm a Virgo
I roll my eyes and tut-tut like an old man
I have lots of different handwriting
My eyes change colour. Green, very green and get-away-from-me-green
Nothing beats a scalding hot shower in winter or an icy one in summer
I love rain on the roof when I'm in bed
I dry flowers and chillies and collect bug sarcophagi
I hate dusting and mosquitoes
I buy magazines and only look at the pictures
I'm easily distracted but not easily derailed
Don't interrupt - it's rude
I turn off light switches and power-points but keep my lamp on overnight
I love black stockings with a dark seam at the back of the leg. But not on me
I sleep with one earplug and on my side
I like crusts but reserve the right to cut them off
I want cold feet in Summer but have them only in Winter
I hate chewing gum and chewing gum chewers
I hate it when grown ups hesitate as they're getting on escalators
I pretend birds are yelling something out when they're chirping
I have favourites
Vegemite thick thanks
Purse phone sunnies lippie
Notebook
I love watching women apply their makeup
I love having an opinion and sometimes keeping it to myself

That's all
That's me and I'm not changing
And that's the problem

An interesting series of events has forced me to re-evaluate my habits, my nature and basically my entire genetic make up.
I'm planning a trip next year, to a world 3000km out of my comfort zone. Following endless questioning, interrogation and cynical skepticism from all and sundry, I've identified the need to begin my divorce from the ordinary and get exposed to the nasty underworld of trying all things new and unusual.
On the 4th of January, I head to India for the 6 month trip of a lifetime!

With one hand on my heart, the other firmly wrapped around my favourite glass of red wine, I solemnly swear to say "yes" when unusual opportunities present themselves, to seek out new and interesting pass times and to be open to everything. So, church groups beware! Door-knockers be ready! Adios the ordinary, Hola everything else!