Phew, I have been to university for TWO (2) HOURS man! Already I feel more intelligent. I purchased my text book for a million dollars, got my parking permit and even found my classroom, in torrential rain, without a problem. Had to climb the mother of all hills to get to it but still, it was where it was supposed to be. In fact found my classroom so efficiently I had time to buy a cuppa joe, actually it was a cuppa jo jo - hot chocolate. I don't drink coffee.
In class I listened intently, only yawned once or twice and I even asked questions. That was how I found out I had registered in two different classes for the one subject. Poopanola. It turns out the second TWO hours I attend later this week should be in the afternoon between 1 and 3. I chose and registered for the morning session which turns out is not my class at all. As my brain shuts down between the hours of 1 and 3 I cannot attend. So-o-o, I have to dis-enrol from that subject and start again but this time externally. I will be attending uni from my home, from the country cottage I reside in, 12km away from the uni on the hill. WHAT ABOUT MY PARKING PERMIT? THE TOGA PARTIES? THE GENERAL CAMARADERIE FROM THE CLASSROOM?
I am sure the dogs and I will have a few laughs, they will watch me drink my home made chai latte on skim and we will look back at our uni days with some nostalgia. I am sure I will feel equally as intelligent. I guess I don't have to climb the mother of all hills to go to class. My parking permit can still be attached to the car in the garage, it won't hurt anyone.
I hope I can successfully dis-enrol (I made that word up) and re-enrol. I have no idea how to attend uni externally but I am sure I will soon learn. It could be called slipper class, or dust bunny uni or even 'where the hell do I get some self discipline from?' learning. Onwards and upwards! Have I mentioned that I feel more intelligent already (forgetting the fact that I mis-enrolled - another new word)? Wish me luck people, I will certainly need it.
A lot of waffle about my life on a small property in Australia and the people and animals that share it with me.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
B & B
One
First B & B that comes to mind is the obvious one, Bed & Breakfast. The Lovely Husband and I spent our 10 day honeymoon travelling around the isle of Tasmania 24 years ago and spent nearly every night in a lovely B & B. What good memories.
Two
Bold and the Beautiful. Vomit! Who watches that nonsense? Certainly not moi. The plots are rehashed every couple of months. I mean how many times do those stupid women Taylor and Brooke have to marry the man with the impossible name of Ridge? He has divorced or been widowed by both women many times and still cannot make life decisions at 50 + years in age without his mother's consent.
But I never watch the show.
Brooke has married every male in two generations of Forresters and flirted with the third (her stepson), sicko. She has had sex with both her daughters' boyfriends/husbands and wonders why Stephanie, her sometimes mother-in-law, does not approve.
Ok, I have seen the odd episode. And I would never discuss it at work with another BnB tragic.
Three
Bloated and Bleeding. My least favourite time of the month. Pregnancy and breastfeeding provided excellent reprieve all those years ago but one cannot be perpetually pregnant and breastfeeding and remain intact mentally and physically. Nope, just have to wait it out. It used to be a cause for celebration (I am woman hear me roar), and not pregnant. I don't need that assurance anymore, not since I had the diamante clips placed over my fallopian tubes to prevent such mishaps, (one red stone, one green and one clear).
If ever I am in some violent accident and the poor tired rescue worker or surgeon trying to piece my near lifeless body back together gazes upon my diamante fallopian tube clips and wonders, perhaps sighs with the beauty of them, you know, gives them a precious sight in the scene of blood and guts and gravel rash. They would go home after 18 hours straight, exhausted and depressed and be able to look back at those sexy little fallopian tubes and maybe they will smile. Cue tear, just a single one.
HEY, do you think I could write for the Bold and the Beautiful? Hell yes, I have the talent, I have the imagination and the crap-metre is way, way up here. The whole diamante fallopian tube clip scenario could be a winner. Or not. Whatever, all I know is is that B & B number three is always a pleasure (sarcasm reigns supreme right now).
First B & B that comes to mind is the obvious one, Bed & Breakfast. The Lovely Husband and I spent our 10 day honeymoon travelling around the isle of Tasmania 24 years ago and spent nearly every night in a lovely B & B. What good memories.
Two
Bold and the Beautiful. Vomit! Who watches that nonsense? Certainly not moi. The plots are rehashed every couple of months. I mean how many times do those stupid women Taylor and Brooke have to marry the man with the impossible name of Ridge? He has divorced or been widowed by both women many times and still cannot make life decisions at 50 + years in age without his mother's consent.
But I never watch the show.
Brooke has married every male in two generations of Forresters and flirted with the third (her stepson), sicko. She has had sex with both her daughters' boyfriends/husbands and wonders why Stephanie, her sometimes mother-in-law, does not approve.
Ok, I have seen the odd episode. And I would never discuss it at work with another BnB tragic.
Three
Bloated and Bleeding. My least favourite time of the month. Pregnancy and breastfeeding provided excellent reprieve all those years ago but one cannot be perpetually pregnant and breastfeeding and remain intact mentally and physically. Nope, just have to wait it out. It used to be a cause for celebration (I am woman hear me roar), and not pregnant. I don't need that assurance anymore, not since I had the diamante clips placed over my fallopian tubes to prevent such mishaps, (one red stone, one green and one clear).
If ever I am in some violent accident and the poor tired rescue worker or surgeon trying to piece my near lifeless body back together gazes upon my diamante fallopian tube clips and wonders, perhaps sighs with the beauty of them, you know, gives them a precious sight in the scene of blood and guts and gravel rash. They would go home after 18 hours straight, exhausted and depressed and be able to look back at those sexy little fallopian tubes and maybe they will smile. Cue tear, just a single one.
HEY, do you think I could write for the Bold and the Beautiful? Hell yes, I have the talent, I have the imagination and the crap-metre is way, way up here. The whole diamante fallopian tube clip scenario could be a winner. Or not. Whatever, all I know is is that B & B number three is always a pleasure (sarcasm reigns supreme right now).
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
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