This from a while back.
“Mama, I know what selfish means.”
This should be interesting.
“It’s when some fish don’t like eating piranhas, some fish like eating bums!”
I turn to her. “Bums?”
LOL, ROFL, SMH. We are going modern day peeps, and today are looking at a term that has become prevalent in the last couple of decades, becoming a current part of our everyday vernacular, more so for those that actually say LOL ROFL SMH.
Let me explain.
A ‘stage 5 clinger’ is someone from the opposite sex that will not give up, presents themselves as too clingy or attached, to the point that it becomes either uncomfortable, embarrassing or just downright awkward to the person of their affections… or anyone watching.
Someone who becomes overly attached, too quickly.
Someone who is on the rebound or an emotionally fragile person, who thinks they have found the love of their life after only one date.
For further explanation, watch this edited clip from the 2005 movie The Wedding Crashers. Many claim that this is where the term originated:
It might be unfairly assumed that the term is exclusive to the female sex… it is not.
Some Aussie mentions abound here so apologies to those abroad… but in our first Aussie run of The Bachelor back in 2013, the stage 5 clinger to the main man Tim Robards was Ali… who so very awkwardly tried to kiss him before leaving the mansion without a rose.
Oh dear. SMH.
Funnily enough years later Ali Oetjen became a Bachelorette herself set on finding true love… and karma has a funny way of finding you again doesn’t it? Because this time she got her very own stage 5 clinger.
The current 2019 season of The Bachelorette shows the leading lady Angie battling with a very keen stage 5 clinger… and if you are watching the series you will know EXACTLY who I am talking about. But it goes to show that the clinger-vibes aren’t reserved for chicks only.
As for the phrase itself… we can see where the ‘clinger’ comes from in the term, but why the ‘stage 5?’ I can only assume it is like when you have a hurricane… you might have a stage 1 hurricane (not so bad, some harsh winds) or a stage 5 hurricane (argh! the end is nigh!)
The same applies to the stage 5 clinger. Either they are getting weird on you with those 3 missed calls in 5 minutes… or they have just driven 3 hours ONE WAY to get you that vanilla slice that you liked… on insta. And they have delivered it to your door. Personally.
UGH. Take it easy.
And that folks is my Monday meaning today…
(Is that bad, that I am up to 17?!)
Things that shit me…
Swimming parents who steal your spot in the change rooms.
Please, LET ME EXPLAIN.
And if you are this swim Mum or swim Dad, I HATE YOU. You deserve a bunch of soaking-chlorinated swimmers thrown in your face.
This happens more times than I dare to count. If I start to count, God help me.
When baby girl goes to her swimming lesson, it is at a peak after-school time.
When I take her to the change rooms straight after for a quick dry and change, it is still peak after-school time.
Do you know what happens almost all the time?
We walk in. Baby girl has to go to the loo, immediately.
So I put her change bag and shoes down. At a free spot. One that is a-v-a-i-l-a-b-l-e. One side of the change rooms is all benches and places to hang your towels and bags, and I pick one that doesn’t have anyone else’s stuff around it before quickly heading into the toilet with her.
I head in with her, because while in there I pull off her sticky swimmers and wrap her in a towel.
We are out in 2 minutes. Sometimes less.
And as we walk back over to the benches, I take a deep breath, knowing…
someone has taken my spot.
They are literally changing their dripping child into fresh clothes. They are practically in my spot, almost standing on baby girl’s shoes, practically nudging her change bag, and anyone else walking in would be totally forgiven in thinking that baby girl’s stuff, is theirs.
But the stealer of space is not forgiven. They have invaded my space and they and their child and stuff is all in my face! If I did go to my spot to change baby girl, we would be hugging (or I would be strangling them) THAT’S HOW CLOSE WE WOULD BE.
You haven’t heard the clincher, wait for it…
I look around, and there is available bench space around that doesn’t include my bag.
LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL F%$K????
They have room to change their child elsewhere, and these morons continually pick a spot where my stuff already is!
And you know what I do? Like today… I head over to my stuff, snatch it away and walk off… to a free spot.
I am at swimming every week having these knocked-around-like-Beyoncé moments:
The woman no matter who she is, will NEVER say anything. I should park my car so close to hers so she can’t get into her driver’s side, and just stare at her when she has to climb in through the passenger and accidentally lodges herself on the parking brake.
Not pissed much.
This riles me up soooo bad. And I know I am all glass half-full gratitude gal over here… but do not be surprised if one day you hear a news report and it goes something like…
“Chaos today on the Peninsula as a woman is pelted with swimming noodles after taking the spot of another in the change rooms… full details after the break.”
That will be me.
It’s the day after Christmas, where a good majority of people spend the aftermath of the festive day either shopping it up and trying to get the best bargain, or drinking VBs and turning lobster-red at the cricket with their best-est mates.
So why do Australians call December 26, Boxing Day?
It occurred to me that I did not know, when I discovered just last week that the next Frozen movie was not arriving in our cinemas in late November like the rest of the world. No… we had to wait until Boxing Day.
As I said the words out loud to baby girl, I realised she would be baffled.
“What is boxing day?
Honey I have no clue. But I am going to try find out for you.
Oh, and that is another thing we Aussies tend to get the day after Christmas… the box-office blockbusters.
The term originated in the UK and therefore the story of it lays there, so it comes to reason that several countries part of the British Empire (i.e. Australia) would therefore celebrate the 26th of December.
One popular theory hails from the 1800s, and the Oxford English Dictionary explains it as: “the first weekday after Christmas day, observed as a holiday on which postmen, errand boys, and servants of various kinds expect to receive a Christmas box”.
It was a day in which the rich gave to the poor, whether it was to those less fortunate, or their own servants. Also servants were deemed to have the day off after Christmas, and went back home to their families with ‘boxed presents.’
While the exact origin is unknown, the European tradition of giving to those in need dates back to the Middle Ages. And it is one that certainly should not be forgotten. At a time of year when consumerism and spending is rife, we should definitely not forget this time-honoured tradition and try to give what lot, or little we can, to someone in need.
Whatever the reason be, perhaps the most exciting thing for us Aussies is that it’s a public holiday. Spend the day as you will, shopping it up, watching a movie, or going to the cricket. Or something else… how do you spend your Boxing Day?
I can almost guarantee we will be getting Frozen this year… shiver.
Is there a phrase or quote you want me to investigate?
Let me know, and I’ll give it a go!
Keep this list handy…
#2 Celebrate the small things. Forget that which does not serve you. Keep moving and looking forward, no matter how small your steps may be.
Explanation: I’ve had a new approach of late, and didn’t realise how much I had implemented it, until I saw it happening in each part of my life.
I have been trying to eat healthier and more naturally, using healthier sweet alternatives when I feel I need them, instead of any processed forms of sugar.
I am generally a healthy eater. And I am highly realistic about what I can and can’t do. Each time I make the right choice for a meal I give myself a quiet pat on the back.
And each time I indulge in something considered ‘naughty’… I still enjoy the snack fully. I let myself appreciate each bite. Then I forget all about it, while reminding myself that I am being normal.
Be kind to yourself when you are trying, when you are learning. If you can’t forgive yourself and move on for not making the ‘appropriate’ healthy choice, then how do you expect others to forgive you for anything?
I am very realistic about these things. I don’t believe in limitation and diets. If you focus on those words, well no one is inspired to do better for their bodies. But focusing on health, vitality, energy and enjoyment, with treats when your body truly wants it, not just because you reach for it by habit… that is important.
Likewise with movement, and exercise. I am not doing near enough what I wish I could do. But I have a health app on my phone. It tracks my steps, my sleep, and my daily movement.
Some days I hit my target. Other days I smash it. Some I am not even close.
And still I move on, telling myself that each step, regardless of when and where it falls, brings me closer to health.
And then… there’s books. My love. ♥ The online book club I am part of reminds me on a daily basis how much I am not reading. Readers post books they are reading over the weekend, discuss their favourite authors, and what didn’t work in that last outback romance they just read in a 6 hour free block…
And I sit there bemoaning the fact that I have so much to write.
Hubbie reminds me of this. “You are writing a book! They aren’t!”
Sure. He is right. But still I try. A page here and there, a chapter a night, sometimes…
Then there are all those book reviews I have to do. And like I said, ALL that writing. Sure, I don’t have to write those reviews… but I promised myself when I started all this that I would, and if I break my promise to myself, what chance do others have to depend on me?
Harsh yes. Hard definitely. But one day I will be more caught up, when word by word, bit by bit I reach a stage I consider socially acceptable for a writer to be ‘behind’… LOL.
And despite all this… I keep moving forward. I don’t stand still. I may only do the tiniest thing every day, but I am still doing something. I am still, moving forward.
It’s the only way to go.
Note rule number 2!
The Richmond Arms
42 Bridge Street Richmond TAS
(Visited August ’18)
This was the first place we dined out for a meal, properly (bar takeaway), when we holidayed in Tasmania in late August of 2018.
Firstly, they had said it would be cold. So cold. I was preparing, you know, for the worst.
We brought our jackets. For sure. We were from Melbourne after all. If anyone knew, it was US.
But instead, sunshine shone so much that day, we left our jackets in our car.
In Tasmania! True story.
Secondly. We had heard a bit about this old-fashioned Richmond town. It was nothing like the inner-city suburb that Melbourne knows so well, home of the yellow and black footy supporters. No.
This was something else entirely. Sure it held a lot history much like it’s sister city back in Melbs…
But unlike Melbourne’s Richmond, Tassie’s Richmond still looked like it was in the 1800s.
After a wander up and down, into Sweets and Treats, Richmond’s lolly shop, for coffee and what else, lollies, we really needed a bite to eat. It was our second day in Tasmania having arrived the day before, and really, our first proper spot of sight-seeing.
What a place to start on.
We had travelled approximately 30 minutes from Lutana where our accommodation resided. The scenery was striking and beautiful. What immediately struck me was the constant views. They were all the same, yet so different and continuously beautiful. That’s because largely, there were hills, and water.
Hills and water.
Hills and water.
HILLS AND WATER.
It was very picturesque. We started to understand quite quickly why people said Tassie was such a beautiful place. We went up Grasstree Hill Road and then back down it, winding around and around to finally reach our destination at Georgian-style Richmond town.
And of course when lunch time came, we really had to go old-school too.
At The Richmond Arms.
The interior certainly matches the exterior. Where the outside shows the age of the building and the time it came from, we found not much was changed inside. Though perhaps slightly updated, the rooms are definitely of another time and place, so don’t go expecting anything life-changing here. The room we sat in was away from the area that housed the bar where Hubbie went up to order and pay at, and in one way it felt like we were sectioned off into a room that may have very long ago been a lounge room.
The Richmond Arms Hotel also has accommodation, something to consider if you want to spend more than a day in Richmond. There is plenty to do and see, and considering the history and beauty of the town, why wouldn’t you?
Despite the age of the tables and chairs, I really was quite taken aback by one feature wall within… it had a quote so beautiful, so treasured and meaningful, and also so close to my heart, as it was a sentiment confirmed to me as the years have gone by, a written manifestation of what I had known all along, but never really verbalised… that I had to photograph it:
‘An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land,
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand
though Earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country,
My homing thoughts will fly.’
– Dorothea Mackellar “My Country.”
After ordering Hubbie brought over our drinks, a beer for him, and of course a local for me – the Richmond Arms Sauvignon Blanc
Considering it wasn’t awfully busy it still took some time to receive our meals… I used this time to run around the old-fashioned shops within the street, to find out of all things, a mobile phone car charger! It appeared that my phone was just not coping with all the photos I was snapping, and I couldn’t bare to waste all my battery and go home having not photographed all of Richmond-town. Oh, the horror! My prayers were answered at the large convenience corner store kinda opposite the Richmond Arms.
When the food did arrive, we were very hungry, and it looked delish. Well worth the wait.
I had the Asian vegetable and Hokkien noodle stir fry
Hubbie had the Chicken schnitzel – served with chips/salad or vegetables and your choice of sauce (no salad, with sauce)
And baby girl had the Macaroni cheese
Firstly, Hubbie was so jealous when he saw my meal! I guess the thing with being married to someone is you have to give each other bites of your meal… for better, or for worse. I for one know Hubbie is hanging to have a bite of whatever I order when he starts offering me bits of his… in an attempt to subtly hint “hey, I want some.”
The sauce was very flavoursome and the noodles and vegetables all combined well to make a delicious dish. There were bits of all kinds of veggies, and the presentation really was up there, not what I expected from the kitchen of that hotel… I was surprised. Pleasantly so.
Hubbie enjoyed what he had ordered. He was happy in that it was a hearty pub-style meal, and to be honest, simply what he had expected… it was chicken with vegetables after all. He was full, let’s just say.
Baby girl’s macaroni was overwhelmingly cheesy – hence the mac and cheese – so she struggled with it. She was not hating it, but wasn’t so much a fan as that was during her ‘plain’ phase. And this cheese-dripping-over-every-inch-of-macaroni meal was as far from plain as you could get. We fed her that, and chips and vegies from Hubbie’s plate to satisfy her lunchtime requests.
No fault of the meal’s… it was all her tastebuds that decided for her. It was an especially cheesy meal, not for the faint-cheese-hearted.
When it was time to go, we left happy and satisfied. We had been venturing through Bridge Street, and next… to Zoodoo Zoo it was!
It ended up being a most wonderful day 🙂
Food: 8/10. It was hearty, tasty, presentation was great… it ticked many of our boxes for good old-fashioned fare.
Coffee: N/A. We can’t put all our food and coffee eggs in one basket can we? We like to try out as many places as we can when we’re someplace new, meaning food and coffee don’t tend to happen at the same place. That happened over at Sweets and Treats earlier! I hope to one day be back at the Arms, and then I will know.
Ambience: Quiet. Lunchtime in Richmond tends to be a calm affair, even with the fact that it is a destination… it may pick up on weekends?
Staff: Almost non-existent, other than to bring our food over. If you need them, you know where to find them… up at the bar.
People: Pensioners pensioners pensioners. You know there were a lot of older people wandering around the street, clearly tourist-minded, however considering what there is to see, do and appreciate, I am surprised there were not a lot of younger families? Perhaps we came during off-peak season, which come to think of it, is not a bad thing.
Price: $69.00. Is that it? For food and drinks? Crap I am moving to Tasmania now…
Advice: Go when you’re not yet overly hungry, so you don’t mind waiting that extra bit for that steaming plate of love that comes out of the kitchen some time later.
In a nutshell: A really authentic and memorable lunch experience. The food is not average or out of date in any respects, despite what the interior and exterior may look like. The surrounds are interesting and reflect the nature of the street and town as a whole, which make the whole experience that much more pure and relevant. In my mind, legs and ARMS, it’s the only place to go.
Did you know that we are currently in the full moon phase? Although that shiny orb in the sky has appeared to be glowing in a circular fashion for a few nights now, the official full moon time was this morning at 8:07.
Do you get affected by the full moon? Do you find those around you getting cranky, emotional, irrational even? Is traffic more trying? Random upsets with friends occur? An annoying hiccup at work? Your pets go ape-shit?
I’ve started paying a lot of attention to the moon cycles. Ever since I started going off-kilter because of them… and my cat too.
The moon. Lunatic. Lunar. How did the term evolve to how we use it today?
Let’s first look at the word ‘Luna.’
Wikipedia says, Luna: a Spanish, Italian and Romanian name of Latin origin, meaning moon.
How does this differ to ‘Lunar?’
The Collins Online Dictionary says, Lunar: of, or relating to the moon.
We are clearly talking ONLY about the moon here. So where did the -tic come from, and how did this evolve to people going crazy?
The Online Etymology Dictionary says Lunatic is a late 13th century word meaning “affected with periodic insanity, dependent on changes of the moon.”
Origins are from Old French ‘lunatique,’ meaning “insane,”
or directly from Late Latin, ‘lunaticus’ meaning “moon-struck.”
Ok, so the moon can make you crazy, we get it. But is there any proper evidence to support this long-held superstition?
The Lexicon Orthopaedic Etymology says that the first uses of the word were related to epilepsy rather than insanity. It was believed that epileptic seizures were triggered by moonlight, therefore the term lunatic was reserved for those patients.
However the very first known entry is in the 5th century Latin version of the Bible, where a father asks Jesus to cure his son as he is “lunaticus” – that is, suffering from epilepsy.
“Lord, have mercy on my son: for he is lunatick…”
Have you personally felt the effects of the full moon? Have you ever felt like going a little ‘cray cray’ at a certain time of month? (And no women, I mean the other time…)
I know a medical professional who sees 6 independent women from the police force, and they all concur that on the night of the full moon, they are much, much busier than usual.
Take that as you will. But today, tonight… beware…
Is there a phrase or quote you want me to investigate?
Let me know, and I’ll give it a go!
Yep. You read right.
Today I am doing something a bit different. Sure I am going to be exploring the above phrase and its origins, but rather than basing my research on online google searches, I am going to say right now, what I am about to say can’t be found on google.
I AM GOOGLE TODAY PEOPLE. You won’t find this info anywhere.
I am going to bring forth a theory based on someone else’s fact, and so if you disagree with me, I’d love to hear it… but I think it’s pretty darn good.
Since I talk about origins, of course I can’t proceed without talking about what my Monday phrase first means. So, how do I put this…
‘Choking the chicken,’ diplomatically speaking, is the act of pleasuring oneself, intimately…
With the term specifically reserved to men. For good reason.
Think similar terms like “taking the dog for a walk,”
“spanking the monkey” and
“bashing the bishop.”
And if you still have NO IDEA what I am talking about, you clearly should not be on this blog.
Onwards for those that do.
With the phrase well and truly explained and the image clear in our minds (sorry!) I will now go onto the fascinating story of HOW I CAME TO FIND OUT ITS ORIGIN.
And guess what? Real chickens are involved.
Some time ago we were visiting some family friends, who had backyard chickens at the time. Baby girl being the age she is, was fascinated with the chooks, and our friend caught some for her to pat.
As he held one, he was telling us about the chooks, and how he had to sometimes… choke them. Not choke as in strangle, but massage the area beneath the hen’s neck which is called the ‘crop,’ which if it became watery and squishy in nature, might mean the food they had eaten had not emptied fully, which could lead to an infection for the hen.
To keep this from happening – he laughed – he had to “choke the chicken.”
At first I stared in awe. I mean, the term kind of went over me, as I stared, watching him massage the neck of the hen, up and down, until something, slowly and quietly, spewed and dribbled out from the hen’s mouth.
Oh God. Then it hit me.
CHOKE. THE. CHICKEN.
The official term used is ’emptying a chicken’s crop.” Look it up on youtube. Hell, I’ll give you the link that I watched. Go to 4:20. There you go, easy peasy pumpkin easy. And then watch as the chicken… well, you know.
I must advise, only those that know what they are doing should perform this manoeuvre. You can fatally harm a chicken if you don’t do this the right way. But as you can see in the video… OMG. Like it looks, the same! Oh God. I feel sick. Please don’t vomit guys, don’t vomit.
And there you have it. Choking the chicken. Bet you didn’t see that one coming.
Okay I will stop now.
Is there a phrase or quote you want me to investigate?
Let me know, and I’ll give it a go!
Doughnuts. Read, dough-nuts.
And then some people say donuts. Do-nuts. I can be a grammer nazi all I like, but when it comes down to it, if someone is gonna give you an opportunity to decorate delicious doughnuts and then take them home for a very reasonable price, well they can call them DO-NUTS all they like.
Insert school holidays. Insert Rebel Donuts. These guys do these decorating classes each school holiday break, and for $9.50 which includes the online processing fee (at the time of this writing) you can book yourself in to decorate not one, but two doughnuts!
Ok… so I may have omitted something here, but…
It’s for your kid… shhh. (Find one for the session if you don’t have one).
You (or your child) get to pick the filling – think nutella, caramel, cookies and cream, jam – and then the topping, which could be your doughnut dipped in white or milk melted chocolate, and then… you decorate to your hearts content!
Think mini m&ms, sprinkles, chocolate licorice, hard candy and soft jellies… it’s a candy-lovers paradise!
These classes run most mornings during the week, and last for half an hour. Considering most doughnuts are about $4 and you are getting 2, customised to taste, and then further personalised by yours truly to pretty up… well it’s a pretty awesome deal.
And then you go home. And you eat it. NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM.
You can find Rebel Donuts at 968A Nepean Highway Mornington
Find details of their school holiday classes via rebeldonuts.com.au
Now we just need an adult decorating doughnut class… waiting patiently here…
(And you can read more about Rebel from my first intro into their doughnut world – tee-hee – here) 😉
Keep this list handy…
#1 Don’t write/email/respond to someone who has pissed you off, while you are still pissed off… and drinking wine.
Explanation: In my online writing course the students give each other feedback on our 5000 word submissions. The other day I was totally cranky pants and thrown off by one such student who thinks they are smarter than the teacher (why are you doing this course then?)
I didn’t like their disparaging and condescending remarks to my submission, and then, the student got the entire plot of my story wrong!
Like, why comment on something and tell me you don’t believe it, when you didn’t read my synopsis properly in the first place! GRR ARGH!
So I stewed… and I stewed…
And I drank some wine…
And I stewed some more…
And then still shitty (and still sipping on red)…
I took the wine to the computer…
And I wrote a reply.
(Insert snapping dogs and cats clawing at one another).
I was diplomatic in my reply. Sure. But now, a few days after, I’m feeling…
Why did I let someone I don’t even know get to me?
Note rule number 1!