Friday, April 30, 2010

It's all happening folks...

On Sunday, Inspector Climate and I wandered down to the grocery store near his apartment. Sunday was Anzac Day (kind of like veteran's day but a bigger deal) and well, Coles was closed. We had passed an IGA (could this story be any more boring so far? should thank me though because I left out the part about how we waited for a tram for 20 minutes and reorganised Inspector Climate's sock drawer (I kid ye not)), that was opened and decided that we should do Inspector Climate's shopping there. Do you know what we found in there?

BLACK BEANS. I literally danced in the aisles (it helped that they were feeling some Motown...I'm all for dancing in the streets (Dancing in Chicago....) I danced and another costumer sang along - elation!). This is when I got all excited to make this. With a few minor changes of course because AS IF I was going to find poblano chillies easily in Australia? I just used normal capsicum. Not the point, the point was, I was STOKED. My mom sent me that recipe in FEBRUARY. Finally, finalllllly, I was going to get to make it.

But we all know how that ended. Stupid corn tortilla catalyst.

So, on Wednesday, I decided I was going to make it anyway - and I'd go to ONE LAST grocery store and if they didn't have corn tortillas well, hell I'd get gluten free lasagne sheets and we'd all move on our lives. But praise Moses, THEY HAD CORN TORTILLAS. Cue fist pumps and dancing in the aisles.

The lasagne/casserole was made. It was yummy. The people rejoiced. I bought an extra package of corn tortillas and will be making tofu and spinach enchiladas next week. Viva la Mexican cuisine in Australia.

The End.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

We're like apples and oranges, y'all.

Over the weekend, I spent the evening with The Climates. We watched the St Kilda Saints lose to eh, whoever. See, Aussie Rules Football is something I've been TRYING to get into for years. And The Climates go for the Saints. I go for the Carlton Blues (who beat Geelong! No one saw it coming! Boo ya!) (if by "go for" I mean have a passing interest in how they go and don't really understand the game, which, for the record, is exactly what I mean).

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is the AUSTRALIAN that comes out during these little family get togethers always amazes me. Frankly, I am certain that it's some sort of family joke and they are just trying to get me to believe that the rest of Australia says these ridiculous things too so I'll make a fool of myself by repeating some ridiculous vernacular.

For example, if two things were very different from one another and I was going to use a simile for how to describe them, I'd say "they're like apples and oranges." Wouldn't you?

Apparently, if the The Climates are to be believed, Australians say "they're like chalk and cheese." Now to be fair, I knew that this was a simile for referring to differences (although I did think Inspector Climate said "Chook and Cheese" which is Australian for Chicken and Cheese which makes just as little sense). I mean why not? Chalk and cheese are very different. That's true! Fine it's silly and endearing, I like it.

Now if you recall, the first day that I was in Australia I read a newspaper that said "spat the dummy" and while Jess explained to me that that meant "throw a tantrum" I couldn't for the life of me understand why. Until I learned that dummy meant pacifier and then I was all "oh, I get it!"

Well, we're watching the footy and Inspector Climate says (you'll notice he is ALWAYS the one who says the ridiculous things...which leads to my conspiracy theory) "he sold the dummy." HOLD UP. People sell pacifiers at the footy? YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS. What the blimey hell is going on here? "No, no, NO," Inspector Climate says, "it means he faked to the left and went to the right. A dummy manoeuvre [Ed's note: okay Aussie that how we spell that? REALLY?] and the other guy bought it." Clearly. obviously.

Le sigh. Languages are hard, yo.

Monday, April 26, 2010

I blame the pepper grinder for the recent discovery that my boyfriend can be a douchebag.

(I am sorry Inspector you!).

Last week, I went to yoga and was lying peacefully in shavasana and I started thinking about the home that I grew up in and that my parents still live in. And I started thinking about all the things I love about it. Like this peppercorn grinder my mom has that is wood covered with chipped porcelain from having been dropped a thousand times too many and then glued back together by my very handy father. I love that pepper grinder. I want that pepper grinder. I wondered if I'd have to fight my brothers for it when my parents die. Then I had a paranoid thought that my parents are getting old. And then suddenly, my mind went into the dark dark place where parents die and pepper grinders go to those who don't appreciate them. And lordy, I was crying. IN YOGA. A low point.

Whew, ok. Puppies are cute. Puppies are my happy place.

I recovered from my little tear fest, wiped my eyes, namasted and came home to watch tv on the couch before going to bed and starting a new day that didn't involve the dark place.

Fast forward to today. Today, I went grocery shopping with Inspector Climate and I was mostly buying food for this very special meal that I was planning for Wednesday night. The Very Special Meal that I've been looking forward to since like February called for corn tortillas. No dramas right? Wrong. Australia hates me. I wish there was another logical conclusion from this tale that is obviously wrought with intrigue and story telling prowess, but alas no. Nary another conclusion can be found. This nation that I call home HATES ME for there was not a single corn tortilla to be found in not one, not two, not even three, nor four, NOT FIVE grocery stores had corn tortillas. So, a normal human being would think, "make them yourself" Thank you normal human being, I would, HONESTLY I WOULD. Except...Australia wouldn't think to carry the proper corn flour to make tortillas, don't be silly.

To say I was distraught would be an understatement.

Being completely logical irrational, once Inspector Climate and I got home, I burst into tears. Oh, the crying. And you know what Inspector Climate did? Do you? DO YOU. He laughed. I am sobbing over corn tortillas and he had the nerve, THE NERVE, to laugh. To be fair, we both knew I wasn't crying over the stupid corn tortillas. The more he laughed the more snot bubbles tears puddled on my pillows. Did I call him a douchebag? I did. Did he apologise profusely? He did. He said he would order the tortilla flour so that I would never cry again, and whatever makes me cry next time, he'll fix that too.

All because of a seriously kick butt albeit beaten up pepper grinder.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Let me tell you a story about a paraplegic tennis playing bunny...

For Easter, Inspector Climate gave me a giant chocolate tennis playing bunny (picture below). Moments after getting the gift, I left my Easter bag of chocolate on a log while we were camping and it toppled over and my Tennis Playing Easter Bunny became the Paraplegic Tennis Playing Easter Bunny (PTPEB). I felt horrible.

Now, I am holding the remains of my Easter loot. I repeat the REMAINS, there was much much more (does the Climate family spoil me? Yes, yes they do). Yes, that is a wombat...why do you ask? This is what will happen, I am going to save that Easter chocolate until some day in the future when life gets hard to handle. And then I will devour a chocolate bunny or two.

How's your Easter stash? Gone? Hidden in a drawer some where?

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Romance, it's in the air...

My beloved boyfriend, may be pop culturally challenged, but he knows how to woo me.

After my first Monday at work, Inspector Climate sent me the following e-mail:

Bear Grylls is on at 8:35, so maybe call before then if possible.... although, I would talk to you over watching Bear any day (that may be the most romantic thing I've ever said to you!)

How could I not swoon?

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

If you want to be taken seriously, you gotta have serious hair.

Y'all I need some hair advice, fast like lightening. This is what my hair looks like now....

A mess. Am I right? It's usually bigger and more triangular, but I had it in a pony tail due to yoga class and it's kind of tamed itself. I couldn't look more thrilled with the look though could I? What can I say, I radiate any emotion on my face...Right then it's obviously distrust with just a tinge of hatred.

This is what my hair looked like 4 (!) years ago (also meet my physics nerd glasses). No real styling just a mass of hair. A MASS.

The following links are what my hair has looked like in the three years since I moved to Australia. There was the 80s rocker look. Which is obviously much different from the Pat Benatar look. Not to be confused with the cut that is best for fro puffs.

So here's the dilemma, WHAT DO I DO? Do I continue (I say continue loosely as the only reason I haven't had a hair cut yet was due to my unemployed status of broke-ness) to grow it out (with maybe some serious layers around the face and curly side swept bangs - if you can even PICTURE that). OR do I chop it all off and return to the glory of the decade in which I was born?

Help me internets, you're my only hope.

Monday, April 19, 2010

That's not a knife...THIS is a knife.

Since I started taking the new pill, which has only been two weeks to be fair, I've forgotten how to see the signs of whether I'm hungry or not and then suddenly the hunger has overwhelmed me and oh my god I have to eat right now or the world is going to end and I'll never see a cute puppy again.

This is accompanied by an acute case of the grumpies and a rather large serving of impatience and whining.

It's not a character trait I'm proud of developing.

Wait...I'm starting to feel hungry...I think?

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Let's just eat a shoe and call it comedy?

I'm sorry I haven't been posting much, I feel like every time I sit down to write nothing good comes out at all (or even worse and more common NOTHING comes out at all). So I just delete it and say I'll wait another day to post something. And then another day and another day goes by and ack! So, apologies.

Yesterday, Inspector Climate and I went to the local movie shop to get My Cousin Vinny. Now this is one of my favourite movies and I really wanted Inspector Climate to watch it (because seriously, saying the YOUTS and having no one laugh is sad). So we walked in , and this particular movie rental place has a great selection of movies however, they are not organised in anyway that makes sense. Instead of wandering around the store for hours trying to find it, I decided I'd just ask the movie geeks (I say that with love) at the front for some assistance.

"Do you have My Cousin Vinny?" I ask.

"Whoa, I haven't thought about that movie in ages," replies the movie geek with awe in his voice, "that's with Jo Pesci, right?"

It was at that moment that I knew that this guy thought I was going to be walking in there with my boyfriend and who I would later force to watch some sob story romantic atrocity like Dear John. Suck on my good movie taste, geek!

Unfortunately, they didn't have My Cousin Vinny. It's unfortunate for several reasons.

1. I still have no one to laugh with me over jokes about instant grits or tick tick ticking biological clocks.

2. As we were trying to decide on a different movie to hire, I pointed to Chaplin and asked Inspector Climate if he'd seen it. "What's it about?" he asks...I should have known right then that this was going to turn into another one of these moments. Further probing showed he didn't know who Charlie Chaplin was.

Let that sink in for a minute.

There are no words. I even waddled pretended to swing a cane and NOTHING. Not a glimpse of recognition. At that moment, I knew we were renting Chaplin (and not just because Robert Downey Jr is a slice of fi-ine!) because there was a long-time coming educational moment that Inspector Climate didn't know he had signed up for.

Luckily for the future of relationship, he loved Chaplin.

Class Dismissed.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

It's time to swap! On the count of and a half...

About 8 months ago I joined this really cool blogging community called 20 something bloggers...and you should really check it out. And they are hosting a blog swap where you, my darlings, get to be introduced to Brandy from One Girl Revolution who will be posting right here on this very blog. My post is already up at Brandy's blog here. See we were supposed to write on a theme...but we both, honestly, quite hated it. And so we chose our own, because that's how we roll, bitches.

Without further ado, meeeeet Brandy:

[Deidre is so brave for letting me temporarily take over her blog. Poor thing probably had no idea what she REALLY signed up for with the 20somethingbloggers blog swap. =)]

When I was little my biggest fear was growing up. At 23, it’s safe to say that it is STILL my biggest fear.

I mean, when I was a kid I thought I’d pretty much have everything I needed to accomplish in life done by age 25. The rest was going to be smooth (albeit downhill) sailing. I would have finished college, be famous, rich, dating 5 of the hottest guys you’d ever seen, have a million sexy stilettos, and stay up as late as I wanted. Nothing was going to get in the way of my Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle!

And then I got older. College bores me. Fame eluded me. I don’t even know what money IS (being as I rarely see it). Men disappoint me on a regular basis. Sleep was a rare commodity. BUT I HAVE A ROCKIN SHOE COLLECTION DAMMIT!

So basically I have two years to finish everything that entails being a grown up. Otherwise my life will implode. Clearly.

Actually, I’m not going to lie. I kinda started having a panic attack when I realized how close my “deadline” was getting. I don’t have ANYTHING done. NOTHING to show for my quarter century of life. What if I suck at being an adult?! *PANIC PANIC PANIC* Not to mention the pressures that the outside world has put on me. The pressure to be SOMEONE. Anyone really.

No, I haven’t finished college. I haven’t met the “love of my life”. I haven’t bought a house, saved for retirement, made a million, started a career, or any of the other responsible things. But I HAVE laughed. And enjoyed the company of those around me. I have met 100+ strangers off the internet. Let travelers sleep on my couch. Slept until 11 because I felt like it. Drank till the sun came up. And hitchhiked in the back of an ice cream van. I’ve learned how to cook, how to shoot a gun, and how to make an origami frog. I’ve learned to love. I’ve learned to cry. But mostly I’ve learned how to be myself. And no pressures from the outside world, my family, or my former self are going to change that. Maybe the conventional route isn’t for me.

I don’t have to be a grown up. Not yet. And that makes me happy.

But I’m still buying more shoes.

Brandy is a blogger at
One Girl Revolution. Lover of chai tea, Boise, golden retrievers, and awkward situations. Secret connoisseur of the hand hug and frowning wink.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Finally growing up...

My best friend, Bobo, and I have, until the past week, talked to each other over IM for hours of nearly everyday. In college. In high school. When I moved abroad. When she fell in love. When I fell in love. When she was employed. When I was at Uni. She's the first person I'd talk to when things with a visa were going wrong or going right! She's listened to problems from as small as "I think I just broke a nail" to as large as "mygrandmotherisdyingandiamamillionmilesaway." We've solved many a dilemma together.

But now, we're both employed (go us!) and due to the time change there is no way to talk to her before I go to work, or even worse when I come home with stories about my day. I know it's silly but I miss that instantaneous contact.

When I first started using instant messaging services when I was in middle school, it was because all my friends lived outside the "local" and free calling range from my house. I always thought when I grew up, I'd use more grown up forms of communication like smoke signals the phone. But I am still out of the local and free calling range from everyone I miss.

When I was kid, grown ups always felt so connected. They had boyfriends, wives, husbands, work friends, high school friends, college friends a whole net work of people that they spent time with and connected with. And I do too. Well, no work friends yet. But maybe soon! But I still feel isolated, tucked away into a corner of the world that my family and friends back home can't really imagine. My brothers still ask me sometimes if my mom has sent me garden potatoes this year. I am like "DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE...? Of COURSE she didn't send me potatoes AS IF that would cross customs!"

So while I am struggling to develop a Rut-Tine (wake up at 5:50, read blogs, write in blog, get ready for work, make lunch, pack yoga stuff, take tram, read book on tram, get to work, settle in, work, take tram to yoga, read on tram, go to yoga, come home, unpack lunch box, eat healthy dinner, go to sleep by 9:30), I am also creating new ways to stay connected to the people I love.

Because seriously, what's the point of being a grown up if there is no one to laugh at your blunders that the end of the day with? I ask you.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Excuse the typos, It's past my bedtime.

I started this post about 2 weeks ago, and I just couldn't figure out what I was writing. And I was trying to write a new post today, and it was terrible. I mean truly terrible. But then I found this one in my drafts and lo, I started to feel it again.

I'd like to thank Jessica at La Fin Dumond Farm for bestowing me with the Bogie Award. I am sorry it's taken me so long to properly address this lovely award.

She thinks I am going places! And boy, do I plan on going places. She also wrote the nicest things about me on her other blog

Deidre: The single yet attached New Englander living a la Tuscan Sun down under. She’s still walking through her house saying hello to all of the rooms, getting to know them and trying to understand the strange creatures that creep in in the night. Intelligent and forward enough to transition into a new culture, but homegrown enough to miss the warm comforts of home. Canned beans and real maple. Smart, funny, real.
The accidental adventurer whom I love to explore life vicariously through.

I may have blushed when I read that! Thank you so much Jessica.

Now to pass on the award, here's my issue. We're all going places. Whether it's following our dreams to stay in Paris, building a new life in Boston, educating young women and men on the hook up culture, moving from home to Canada, developing a business, writing funny content in a blog. Yes, we're all going places. And I am so happy to be a part of these ladies, these fabulous ladies, journey (I sound like Matt Lee on So You Think You Can Dance - there was light and shade, you really took me on a journey).

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Live free or live consistently.

I've sat down every morning since my last post planning to write something. Except the only things that come to mind are job related. And if we, the blogging community, have learned anything it's: DON'T TALK ABOUT YOUR JOB ON THE INTERNET. But it sits there like the big white elephant on the screen...or something? So, I sat around and tried to figure out how to write about MY JOB without writing about WORK. Sadly, this a poor excuse for a masterpiece, is what I've come up with.

I like habits. Consistency. I like doing the same thing every week at the same time. However, once I break a habit it's really hard to get back into good habits. And I want good habits, not just any. I want to bring my lunch to work every day (I have a lunch box! and LOTS of Tupperware), I want to then once home from work immediately clean said lunch box and Tupperware, I want to hang up my work clothes everyday and keep my room clean (good luck with that, D, you slob), and go to yoga 4 times a week (Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday or Sunday (or both!). So this first week of work I've been striving to do just that. And it's a bit difficult because Australian Business Culture is very social. I've been invited out to drinks, lunches, and told about the personal lives of my boss. And I want to participate with my coworkers, but I want to save money and eat healthily and maintain my yoga practice because I feel so much more zen and happy about life when I go to yoga.

The only thing I know from American Business Culture is what I learned on American television. And by that I mean, Ally McBeal. In fact I think I bought a business dress purely because I've always admired Ally's. I mean my office doesn't have a unisex, or a secret room behind the toilets, or The is it really an office?

I've been feeling a little overwhelmed with the new job and all and I keep reminding myself it'll all be ok when I have a routine. That I like routines. And then Barney Stintson pops into my head and he's all "Ted you're in a rut." and I say to Barney in my head "It's a routine" much like Ted does in "The Liberty Bell" episode, but I usually add to that "Um, Barney, my name's D." Barney replies "What is the first syllable in Rut-tine."

In summation, work is good but overwhelming which is to be expected. To combat this overwhelmingness I am turning my good friend the Rut-tine. Tupperware is important. I carry around a lunch box like 12 year old school girl (it's green! with a handle!). And Ally McBeal is awesome. Obviously.

How are you? How's your weekend?

P.S. you know what is way more overwhelming that starting a new job? Being unemployed. I am so grateful and thankful that I no longer am scouring the job advertisements.

Wednesday, April 07, 2010

There is something the neighbourhood...

1. I have now seen three dead possums outside of my gate (or Inspector Climate's gate). Who is killing these possums? Show your face, possum killer! As far as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Possums go, they don't seem to be very good at staying alive (oh oh oh oh, staying alive). I might brave open my window again...Maybe.

2. While camping something very strange happened. It was important to Inspector Climate that I try a jaffle with baked beans. Now, a jaffle is a sandwich press that seals the edges of the sandwich and creates a pocket for the filling inside. I wanted to have a Nutella and Peanut Butter Jaffle but Inspector Climate threw up his hands in despair and said "We don't use two spreads in Australia, no, a baked bean jaffle you shall have."

So I tried it - and I am sure it would have been better if gluten free bread could be made in normal size bread pieces. What's up with you gluten free bread? Why the small slices? I just don't understand!

Anyway, it was ok. But later on, I had a major food craving for beans on toast. Now, as an American...I have never actually had beans on toast. But I took the plunge y'all, and it was delicious. It made perfect sense that when I went grocery shopping yesterday and passed by the baked beans, I felt the urge to buy them...because now, I am a beans on toast convert.

When asked to try a tinned spaghetti jaffle I cried uncle. Spaghetti and bread is just too much. TOO MUCH.

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Camping fashions. There are no don'ts.

Hello My Ladies, I am back. I've been talking funny for a few days. Yesterday on the drive back from the Land of the Camping, a seventy floppity-jillion hour car ride, I started saying I had a lot of woad wage. Which sadly cracked me up. Anyway, hi! I missed you. How was your Easter? I hope you're all rolling about like a giant Lindt Easter Egg at this very moment.

What you missed in my life will unfold I am sure (mostly how I now have very tan/dirty feet; a bug bite on my chin/neck the size of Memphis; and some know the usual). But right now, at this very second, we need to talk about the fashion of camping. More importantly, my fashion while camping...

Let's start with day wear:

Why, yes! Thank you for asking I did wear that Every. Single. Day we were there (except one where I had a fever and was unreasonably cold and wore this).
For a closer look at the t-shirt:
Mmmhmm, indeed. That, my fashionistas, is a children's shirt from the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Now, once the sun went down or the breeze was particularly cool it was important to layer up. I layered in a distinctly yellow-y, orange-y and strangely gangsta direction...

What's up, Penguin!

For bed, Inspector Climate and I zipped our sleeping bags together and it was mostly quite warm. So, I logically and oh so sexily stripped down to this:

Yes, polypro top! Yes to wool knee socks! And a hell-ya to green stripped boxer shorts. Not to mention the fleece hat with ears.

Fashion is hard, y'all. On a day to day basis my wardrobe is quite drab, but when it comes to camping fashion, I bring the heat.

Peace out, ladies.