10 March, 2007
So, here's the complete and utter story about my trip to Margaret River. Rather than giving you a long monologue (nb. it would be a dialogue if you answered back!), I thought I'd just point out a few stories of my trip. Cos, let's face it, a plane ride's a plane ride, so woop-de-do.
However, a plane ride is significantly different to the usual if you rely on those little skinny wheelchairs to get anywhere. I got to sit across the aisle on the plane from a fella who also needed a skinny aeroplane wheelchair and who "used to be a busy man, but then [he] hurt [his] spine at work, so now [he's] nothing" (THANKS VERY MUCH!!!!- SPEAK FOR YOURSELF).
So, this fella decided to contribute to society by owning greyhounds.
Oh, did I hear all about those greyhounds. Four hours of listening to the greyhound stories. Even when I was pretending to do research, the distant hum of greyhound tales (get the pun?!) was in my ear. And golly, did he love his greyhounds...almost too much (if you get my drift, nudge nudge, wink wink). And, because this particular airline doesn't carry skinny chairs onboard, I couldn't get away! At one stage, this fella (and I don't actually know his name) saw me looking at some research statistics, and asked me to calculate some odds for him. The odds of him being intimate with a greyhound - I'd take 50 cents each way if I was you.
So I land, and Michelle picks me up....and drops me at Subiaco to entertain myself while she went back to work. My last blogs tells the story of the bike man, so I'll just tell one story about Subi here.
I meandered into a bookshop, and saw the spunkiest man I'd seen in a while. I thought i'd sidle up and ask him to reach a book for me (as an audition to see if he was capable of reaching my top cupboards - remember, not a euphemism!). So, I sidled on up, tilted my head to the side, batted my long eyelashes, smiled....and then I noticed the book he was holding - "So, you're about to become a father", which, by default, put me in the "so, your about to pop a sprog" section!! Yeah, that aint gonna work!
Cut my losses and ran!
The next day, Mich, Nic and I wandered down to Margaret River. Only a 4 hour wander from Perth. Many, many tree tops on the way, and approximately 2132423543453442342423432 power poles to see if you're too short to see over the dashboard.
Pretty place, Marg River. It was a little like Torquay and Anglesea, but the water was on the wrong side.
I was going to tell you the story of the slimy spa, but you might be eating, so I'll leave that for now.
Cheers,
L
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Biker chick Perth-style
06 Mar 2007
So, did you miss me?!?!?
I went to Margaret River for a few days. Caught the red-eye back home last night, so now, I'm doing anything else but work!
There will be a full detailed blog later, but I thought I'd give you a warm up about my day in Subiaco, waiting for Michelle to finish work...and us to start our 3 day wine, beer, chocolate and dip binge.
I was having coffee at a cafe which was at the entrance of a shopping centre in Subi. A man came over to my table and asked if I could mind his bike cos he didn't have a lock. "Yep", I said, "but if someone runs off with it, I won't be able to chase them." "That's ok", he said, "at least I know you won't be riding it to cash converters. Think I'll take a chance".
More to come.
Cheers,
L
PS. Lulu, the dog, missed me so much that, after I got home at 1am, she spent the rest of the night sitting on the floor by my bed...just staring at me. The little freak!
So, did you miss me?!?!?
I went to Margaret River for a few days. Caught the red-eye back home last night, so now, I'm doing anything else but work!
There will be a full detailed blog later, but I thought I'd give you a warm up about my day in Subiaco, waiting for Michelle to finish work...and us to start our 3 day wine, beer, chocolate and dip binge.
I was having coffee at a cafe which was at the entrance of a shopping centre in Subi. A man came over to my table and asked if I could mind his bike cos he didn't have a lock. "Yep", I said, "but if someone runs off with it, I won't be able to chase them." "That's ok", he said, "at least I know you won't be riding it to cash converters. Think I'll take a chance".
More to come.
Cheers,
L
PS. Lulu, the dog, missed me so much that, after I got home at 1am, she spent the rest of the night sitting on the floor by my bed...just staring at me. The little freak!
Experimental living
17 Feb 2007
So, I did this whole "move out of Melbourne, quit my job, work from home and do a doctorate" thing. I thought it would be a good idea after years and years of working in pressure jobs, whilst balancing an international wheelchair basketball career. Mmmm....well, it's turning out to be an interesting experiment.
In the words of my doctoral supervisor, right now I should be "wallowing in the literature about dementia and looking for a niche" OR, in my words, "stuffing around pretending to work, but not really achieving anything". You see, I've managed to find many varied ways to spend my days, and so long as I have my research with me (not necessarily out of the bag), I must be doing my job. So, here's what I've done this week:
1. I regularly take my research to coffee in Pako....maybe several times a day. God, I'm wired these days! Haven't slept since last October.Time wasted: 1-2 hours per day
2. I took my research to Torquay for the day. I saw Ash Grunwald on the beach, but couldn't think of anything witty to say, so I just kept going. Then, I stretched out on a park bench (and there was still space for one more person), and "browsed" through some journal articles. Managed to get a quarter of my right leg sunburnt.Time wasted: 3 hours, including travel time
3. Played hide and seek with my dog.Time wasted: 1 hour
4. Took my research shopping. Tried some perfume testers, only to realise after spraying on my wrists that they were room fresheners. Spent the rest of the day smelling like a posh toilet.Time wasted: 3 hours, including travel time
5. Played Charades with my dog.Time wasted: 5 minutes - she really sucks, doesn't even know what a syllable is
6. Made a cup of tea, and put a rug out under the tree to read some literature. Within 30 seconds, the dog had knocked the tea onto the literature, and a bird did poo on my head.Time wasted: 1 hour, 45 minutes, including set up, then clean up
7. Did a google ego search (ie, typed my own name into google). Discovered that I am actually Alicia Molick's manager in my spare timeThen did a "Lisa Needs" search. Discovered "lisa needs a tree". Contemplated sitting under that tree, but remembered item 6.Time wasted: 10 minutes
8. Searched the Apollo Bay Music Festival website for any mention of wheelchair friendliness for their venues. Concluded that I might need to drive to Lorne to go to the toilet....if I go, possibly useful to limit my beers.Time wasted: 2 hours
9. Thought about playing Twister with my dog, but figured there were already websites dedicated to that kind of thing.Time wasted: 20 seconds
10. Contemplated googling those aforementioned websites.Time wasted: 6 hours
Got any suggestions?
Cheers,
L
So, I did this whole "move out of Melbourne, quit my job, work from home and do a doctorate" thing. I thought it would be a good idea after years and years of working in pressure jobs, whilst balancing an international wheelchair basketball career. Mmmm....well, it's turning out to be an interesting experiment.
In the words of my doctoral supervisor, right now I should be "wallowing in the literature about dementia and looking for a niche" OR, in my words, "stuffing around pretending to work, but not really achieving anything". You see, I've managed to find many varied ways to spend my days, and so long as I have my research with me (not necessarily out of the bag), I must be doing my job. So, here's what I've done this week:
1. I regularly take my research to coffee in Pako....maybe several times a day. God, I'm wired these days! Haven't slept since last October.Time wasted: 1-2 hours per day
2. I took my research to Torquay for the day. I saw Ash Grunwald on the beach, but couldn't think of anything witty to say, so I just kept going. Then, I stretched out on a park bench (and there was still space for one more person), and "browsed" through some journal articles. Managed to get a quarter of my right leg sunburnt.Time wasted: 3 hours, including travel time
3. Played hide and seek with my dog.Time wasted: 1 hour
4. Took my research shopping. Tried some perfume testers, only to realise after spraying on my wrists that they were room fresheners. Spent the rest of the day smelling like a posh toilet.Time wasted: 3 hours, including travel time
5. Played Charades with my dog.Time wasted: 5 minutes - she really sucks, doesn't even know what a syllable is
6. Made a cup of tea, and put a rug out under the tree to read some literature. Within 30 seconds, the dog had knocked the tea onto the literature, and a bird did poo on my head.Time wasted: 1 hour, 45 minutes, including set up, then clean up
7. Did a google ego search (ie, typed my own name into google). Discovered that I am actually Alicia Molick's manager in my spare timeThen did a "Lisa Needs" search. Discovered "lisa needs a tree". Contemplated sitting under that tree, but remembered item 6.Time wasted: 10 minutes
8. Searched the Apollo Bay Music Festival website for any mention of wheelchair friendliness for their venues. Concluded that I might need to drive to Lorne to go to the toilet....if I go, possibly useful to limit my beers.Time wasted: 2 hours
9. Thought about playing Twister with my dog, but figured there were already websites dedicated to that kind of thing.Time wasted: 20 seconds
10. Contemplated googling those aforementioned websites.Time wasted: 6 hours
Got any suggestions?
Cheers,
L
Food, glorious food...sometimes
13 Feb 2007
Yesterday, I started my "official doing a doctorate, work from home, get the hell out I gotta study" job. So, today, I've spent a good few hours stuffing about in myspace.
I was just uploading some photos from a wedding I went to on the weekend, and I saw a photo of potted meat that I uploaded last week. Good old potted meat. Usually, my mother makes it...and the smell usually makes all her neighbours have a little vommy. However, the photo in question was of a can of potted meat I purchased at a local servo in Warm Springs, Georgia for 69cents (yes, I giggled). (doesn't "Warm Springs" make you think of the piss pool at Eastern Beach?). The ingredients include "de-fatted fatty tissue" and "mechanically separated meat". How could anyone go past that? I gave a can to my brother for christmas one year and on one drunken evening, the word on the street is that he had it on toast! mmmm.
But, come to think of it, that's not too unusual in our family. We all like potted meat (despite the neighbours vommy noises), and there is a history of non-edible dinners. One christmas when I was about 5, my dad bought a frozen turkey from a guy at a pub. It took hours to cook, and was a bit tough, but what did we know? We'd never cooked turkey before.....and still haven't. Apparently a few pelicans were stolen from Balliang Sanctuary and sold at pubs prior to christmas to unsuspecting drunken men who were trying to appease their wives with good dinner-fixin's. Guess what? Pelican tastes like chicken.
Then, around the same age, my mother got a bargain on mince at Safeway. She cooked it in a pie, and we all reckoned it was just like a 4 and 20 they sell at the footy, except there were a few little bones in it. Mind you, I was 5, and I'd never been to the footy, but what did we know? We'd never eaten good mince before....and still haven't. Apparently, in large big red letters on the pack were the memorable words (still etched into my cerebral cortex today)..."pets mince only". Guess what? Pets' mince also tastes a bit like chicken.
So, when our mother joined weight watchers, we all breathed a sigh of relief cos there's not too much that can go wrong with a carrot (ooh, mind is boggling...gotta stop it!). Little did we know that WW enjoys a bit of liver. High in vitamins, low in fat, revolting in flavour so you wont eat too much! We, of course, wouldn't eat any of it...so, as a solution, my mother put it in a blender to create the world's first...poo thickshake. Try it....no matter what you do, it will never taste like chicken!
Just thought I'd get that off my chest,
Cheers,
L
BTW: comments welcome on our previous blog, "Bella" (oh, and this one, of course).
Yesterday, I started my "official doing a doctorate, work from home, get the hell out I gotta study" job. So, today, I've spent a good few hours stuffing about in myspace.
I was just uploading some photos from a wedding I went to on the weekend, and I saw a photo of potted meat that I uploaded last week. Good old potted meat. Usually, my mother makes it...and the smell usually makes all her neighbours have a little vommy. However, the photo in question was of a can of potted meat I purchased at a local servo in Warm Springs, Georgia for 69cents (yes, I giggled). (doesn't "Warm Springs" make you think of the piss pool at Eastern Beach?). The ingredients include "de-fatted fatty tissue" and "mechanically separated meat". How could anyone go past that? I gave a can to my brother for christmas one year and on one drunken evening, the word on the street is that he had it on toast! mmmm.
But, come to think of it, that's not too unusual in our family. We all like potted meat (despite the neighbours vommy noises), and there is a history of non-edible dinners. One christmas when I was about 5, my dad bought a frozen turkey from a guy at a pub. It took hours to cook, and was a bit tough, but what did we know? We'd never cooked turkey before.....and still haven't. Apparently a few pelicans were stolen from Balliang Sanctuary and sold at pubs prior to christmas to unsuspecting drunken men who were trying to appease their wives with good dinner-fixin's. Guess what? Pelican tastes like chicken.
Then, around the same age, my mother got a bargain on mince at Safeway. She cooked it in a pie, and we all reckoned it was just like a 4 and 20 they sell at the footy, except there were a few little bones in it. Mind you, I was 5, and I'd never been to the footy, but what did we know? We'd never eaten good mince before....and still haven't. Apparently, in large big red letters on the pack were the memorable words (still etched into my cerebral cortex today)..."pets mince only". Guess what? Pets' mince also tastes a bit like chicken.
So, when our mother joined weight watchers, we all breathed a sigh of relief cos there's not too much that can go wrong with a carrot (ooh, mind is boggling...gotta stop it!). Little did we know that WW enjoys a bit of liver. High in vitamins, low in fat, revolting in flavour so you wont eat too much! We, of course, wouldn't eat any of it...so, as a solution, my mother put it in a blender to create the world's first...poo thickshake. Try it....no matter what you do, it will never taste like chicken!
Just thought I'd get that off my chest,
Cheers,
L
BTW: comments welcome on our previous blog, "Bella" (oh, and this one, of course).
Bella brings her own chair
08 Feb 2007
Ok, this blog's a little different from my others. In this one, I'm asking for your help (rare, so don't get too used to it!).
Last year, Shelley, Kat and I wrote a kid's book about a funky little girl in a wheelchair. It's aimed at the 4-6 year old market, and the idea is to normalise disability, emphasising similarities, not differences. All three of us have been there, and there's certainly a need.
Sounds boring? Not when it's written by 3 members of the Australian Women's Wheelchair Basketball Team who usually forget that they have a disability (particularly after a few bevvies).
Go on...have a read. Just to give you an idea, we thought that every line would be on a new page, with a colourful picture of a cool chick in a bright wheelchair (with definately NO HANDLES!!!)
Bella brings her own chair.
Bella and I like to play in the sandpit at school.
This is our classroom. I sit next to Bella. Bella brings her own chair.
I have a blue bike. Bella has a pink wheelchair.
Bella uses the ramp. I use the stairs. When we race, Bella always wins.
When we play cricket, Bella hits the ball…and Sam runs for her.
Sometimes, we have sleepovers. Bella tells the best scary stories.
When it is sunny, we take our dogs for a walk in the park.
On Tuesdays, we play basketball…
And one day, we will both win a gold medal.
Bella is my best friend.
She is just like me.
Don't like it?? Help us with some comments to improve it.
Like it?? Well then, help us find an illustrator (definately not my forte), and a publisher. (if you don't know any, just leave some encouraging comments. Ta)So far, all we've had are rejections...even from Oprah (considering she once had a show dedicated to showing a dog with no front legs, this was a pretty low blow for us!)
Go on...give us a leg up...so to speak.
Cheers,
L
Ok, this blog's a little different from my others. In this one, I'm asking for your help (rare, so don't get too used to it!).
Last year, Shelley, Kat and I wrote a kid's book about a funky little girl in a wheelchair. It's aimed at the 4-6 year old market, and the idea is to normalise disability, emphasising similarities, not differences. All three of us have been there, and there's certainly a need.
Sounds boring? Not when it's written by 3 members of the Australian Women's Wheelchair Basketball Team who usually forget that they have a disability (particularly after a few bevvies).
Go on...have a read. Just to give you an idea, we thought that every line would be on a new page, with a colourful picture of a cool chick in a bright wheelchair (with definately NO HANDLES!!!)
Bella brings her own chair.
Bella and I like to play in the sandpit at school.
This is our classroom. I sit next to Bella. Bella brings her own chair.
I have a blue bike. Bella has a pink wheelchair.
Bella uses the ramp. I use the stairs. When we race, Bella always wins.
When we play cricket, Bella hits the ball…and Sam runs for her.
Sometimes, we have sleepovers. Bella tells the best scary stories.
When it is sunny, we take our dogs for a walk in the park.
On Tuesdays, we play basketball…
And one day, we will both win a gold medal.
Bella is my best friend.
She is just like me.
Don't like it?? Help us with some comments to improve it.
Like it?? Well then, help us find an illustrator (definately not my forte), and a publisher. (if you don't know any, just leave some encouraging comments. Ta)So far, all we've had are rejections...even from Oprah (considering she once had a show dedicated to showing a dog with no front legs, this was a pretty low blow for us!)
Go on...give us a leg up...so to speak.
Cheers,
L
Doogie Howser Ramblings
4 Feb, 2007
Do you remember Doogie Howser? He was a TV character who was a 14 year old doctor (come to think of it, maybe I met him during my recent visit to the emergency department). He used to use a computer to write a diary at the end of each episode...before that kind of thing was cool.
Well, I named this blog after him cos it doesn't really have a theme, but is more like just some general ramblings. Also, some of my friends are suggesting that I am not cool for writing this whole bloggy thing. Mmmm, prehistoric friends, me thinks. However, not to worry, I believe I have spent a lifetime doing 'uncool' things...but with cool results!!
So, last week, I had my first Yoga for Ginormous Auras class. For those of you who haven't read the Downward Dog blog, I'll wait here while you do .......................................................................................................... Finished? Cool (or uncool, you decide).
As you may recall, it is a class for people with limited mobility. I pretty much fit that bill. So, I had an audition, AND I GOT THE PART!!! Seriously, I was allowed to enrol. The teacher did say that most of the other class participants' disability was obesity..hence the reference to a ginormous aura (NB. she didn't actually use those words, I just extrapolated!).
So, back to last week. Unfortunately, I was the only class member cos the others were all busy. This sounded good (ie, I get an individual class for a group cost), however, it just meant that the teacher got to pay more attention to me. And, you know what? She's expressing some level of disappointment in my low mobility (How does she reckon I feel!).
Let me illustrate my point. I was attempting the cobra pose. Basically, you lie on your stomach, push up through your hands, whilst keeping your pelvis on the floor. I gave it a red hot go....however, my arms are longer than my torso, so I couldn't keep my pelvis on the floor. At which point, the teacher, looking exasperated said, "that's the more advanced 'hanging cobra'. Oh well, I suppose that will have to do" WHAT THE!!??!!! QUICK, SOMEONE CALL THE YOGA POLICE. I'M GOING INTO UNCHARTED TERRITORY!!!!
Then, she suggested that I bring a small kitchen foot stool (you know, the kind you stand on to reach the top cupboards) to use to prop my feet on. Why would I own a stool?? What possible use would I have for an object that makes you taller when you stand on it?? And, we all know that the only reason I'm looking for a man is to be able ask him to reach my top cupboard (surprisingly, this is not a euphemism)!! (oh, and to take the bins out every wednesday night - also not a euphemism, although less surprisingly).
Speaking of stools. When I first went to uni, I shared a house with my brother in Melbourne. The end.
No, just kidding!!!
There was a point to that link. Anyway, Dave and I had two kitchen stools, but if you had to use the bathroom, the phrase was..."I'm just off to make a spare stool". Oh, it still makes me laugh.
On that high-brow note, that's it. I'm done a-ramblin' now.
Cheers,
L
Do you remember Doogie Howser? He was a TV character who was a 14 year old doctor (come to think of it, maybe I met him during my recent visit to the emergency department). He used to use a computer to write a diary at the end of each episode...before that kind of thing was cool.
Well, I named this blog after him cos it doesn't really have a theme, but is more like just some general ramblings. Also, some of my friends are suggesting that I am not cool for writing this whole bloggy thing. Mmmm, prehistoric friends, me thinks. However, not to worry, I believe I have spent a lifetime doing 'uncool' things...but with cool results!!
So, last week, I had my first Yoga for Ginormous Auras class. For those of you who haven't read the Downward Dog blog, I'll wait here while you do .......................................................................................................... Finished? Cool (or uncool, you decide).
As you may recall, it is a class for people with limited mobility. I pretty much fit that bill. So, I had an audition, AND I GOT THE PART!!! Seriously, I was allowed to enrol. The teacher did say that most of the other class participants' disability was obesity..hence the reference to a ginormous aura (NB. she didn't actually use those words, I just extrapolated!).
So, back to last week. Unfortunately, I was the only class member cos the others were all busy. This sounded good (ie, I get an individual class for a group cost), however, it just meant that the teacher got to pay more attention to me. And, you know what? She's expressing some level of disappointment in my low mobility (How does she reckon I feel!).
Let me illustrate my point. I was attempting the cobra pose. Basically, you lie on your stomach, push up through your hands, whilst keeping your pelvis on the floor. I gave it a red hot go....however, my arms are longer than my torso, so I couldn't keep my pelvis on the floor. At which point, the teacher, looking exasperated said, "that's the more advanced 'hanging cobra'. Oh well, I suppose that will have to do" WHAT THE!!??!!! QUICK, SOMEONE CALL THE YOGA POLICE. I'M GOING INTO UNCHARTED TERRITORY!!!!
Then, she suggested that I bring a small kitchen foot stool (you know, the kind you stand on to reach the top cupboards) to use to prop my feet on. Why would I own a stool?? What possible use would I have for an object that makes you taller when you stand on it?? And, we all know that the only reason I'm looking for a man is to be able ask him to reach my top cupboard (surprisingly, this is not a euphemism)!! (oh, and to take the bins out every wednesday night - also not a euphemism, although less surprisingly).
Speaking of stools. When I first went to uni, I shared a house with my brother in Melbourne. The end.
No, just kidding!!!
There was a point to that link. Anyway, Dave and I had two kitchen stools, but if you had to use the bathroom, the phrase was..."I'm just off to make a spare stool". Oh, it still makes me laugh.
On that high-brow note, that's it. I'm done a-ramblin' now.
Cheers,
L
Not Jung. More like Jun...k
31 Jan, 2007
So, I had this dream last night...stay with me, please..I was abducted by a woman who looked like Kath Day-Knight (from Kath and Kim). I escaped by driving a car. The car didn't have a big seat, so i couldn't see over the dashboard. Nor did it have hand controls, so I had to rely on a hill to start rolling. Anyway, I stopped it at a hospital, where they didn't believe me, and rang for Mrs Day-Knight to come and pick me up.
Ok, weird, I know. So this morning, I'm sitting at work, and i thought i'd look up the images on one of those "decode-your-dreams.com". I wasn't that successful. It seems not many people dream of hand controls for a car (or lack thereof)
But, while I was there, I found another entry which intrigued me:.
Dwarf
Dreaming of seeing (or being) a happy and contented dwarf strongly indicates that all your troubles will soon disappear as if by magic. If the dwarf was mean or unhappy, however, beware of false friends. Be very careful of who you confide in.
Ok, believe or disbelieve. Whatever you like. HOWEVER, what if you ARE an actual dwarf?? Dreaming of yourself is, by virtue of your height status, magic (NB. I am NOT a dwarf!!)
What d'ya reckon my crazy little mind was trying to tell me? Interpretations? Have a turn.
Cheers,
L
So, I had this dream last night...stay with me, please..I was abducted by a woman who looked like Kath Day-Knight (from Kath and Kim). I escaped by driving a car. The car didn't have a big seat, so i couldn't see over the dashboard. Nor did it have hand controls, so I had to rely on a hill to start rolling. Anyway, I stopped it at a hospital, where they didn't believe me, and rang for Mrs Day-Knight to come and pick me up.
Ok, weird, I know. So this morning, I'm sitting at work, and i thought i'd look up the images on one of those "decode-your-dreams.com". I wasn't that successful. It seems not many people dream of hand controls for a car (or lack thereof)
But, while I was there, I found another entry which intrigued me:.
Dwarf
Dreaming of seeing (or being) a happy and contented dwarf strongly indicates that all your troubles will soon disappear as if by magic. If the dwarf was mean or unhappy, however, beware of false friends. Be very careful of who you confide in.
Ok, believe or disbelieve. Whatever you like. HOWEVER, what if you ARE an actual dwarf?? Dreaming of yourself is, by virtue of your height status, magic (NB. I am NOT a dwarf!!)
What d'ya reckon my crazy little mind was trying to tell me? Interpretations? Have a turn.
Cheers,
L
Downward Dog...and can't get up again!
23 Jan 2007
After retiring from high-level Basketball, I thought I'd do some other "fun" exercise, like wheeling over the steep-as-all-hell overpass to the beach, taking the dog for a walk to the nearest coffee shop, and today, I started yoga!
Yep, yoga...what am I thinking? Do I seriously look in the mirror and see someone who can move all of their limbs at will. Clearly, that's what I saw before I tried scuba diving! Maybe, I own one of those crazy mirrors from the Pancake Parlour. Might just go check that...
Anyway, today I had a private lesson to see if I could join a class for people with limited mobility. So, I had TRYOUTS for yoga!! Who does that?
During my audition, I asked the instructor about the other class participants. It seems that the "limited mobility" of most of the other people in the class is due to obesity. Yep, that's right, I'm doing "Yoga for people with a ginormous aura"! (and I don't want any comments saying something like, "if the cap fits"!!!!) I'm not sure if this class will be great for my flexibility, but crap for my self-esteem, or the other way round.
The tryout started off ok. We just did some meditation. I can lie there and do nothing. I'm well-trained at that. But then, the moving began. Why is it that someone always farts during the downward dog? And, what do you do if you're the only one in the class, so clearly it was you!! Well, what I did was start to giggle, which used my abdominal muscle (yes, singular not plural), so I fell off the downward dog...and did my best impression of the lesser known pose, "quivering roadkill".
By the way, I made the cut. I'm in the class!!! Better buy a sporty moo-moo.
Cheers,
L
After retiring from high-level Basketball, I thought I'd do some other "fun" exercise, like wheeling over the steep-as-all-hell overpass to the beach, taking the dog for a walk to the nearest coffee shop, and today, I started yoga!
Yep, yoga...what am I thinking? Do I seriously look in the mirror and see someone who can move all of their limbs at will. Clearly, that's what I saw before I tried scuba diving! Maybe, I own one of those crazy mirrors from the Pancake Parlour. Might just go check that...
Anyway, today I had a private lesson to see if I could join a class for people with limited mobility. So, I had TRYOUTS for yoga!! Who does that?
During my audition, I asked the instructor about the other class participants. It seems that the "limited mobility" of most of the other people in the class is due to obesity. Yep, that's right, I'm doing "Yoga for people with a ginormous aura"! (and I don't want any comments saying something like, "if the cap fits"!!!!) I'm not sure if this class will be great for my flexibility, but crap for my self-esteem, or the other way round.
The tryout started off ok. We just did some meditation. I can lie there and do nothing. I'm well-trained at that. But then, the moving began. Why is it that someone always farts during the downward dog? And, what do you do if you're the only one in the class, so clearly it was you!! Well, what I did was start to giggle, which used my abdominal muscle (yes, singular not plural), so I fell off the downward dog...and did my best impression of the lesser known pose, "quivering roadkill".
By the way, I made the cut. I'm in the class!!! Better buy a sporty moo-moo.
Cheers,
L
36 tomorrow. Surprising?
15 Jan 2007
So, tomorrow, I turn 36. Considering my life expectancy when I was born was supposed to be about 1 week, the obvious question is...how the hell did that happen?!?! Well, I can't answer that. The end.
No, just playing funny buggers. The blog's not over yet! Stay with me people.
One of the good things about turning 36 is that I am now out of the target demographic for Cleo magazine! That's got to be good. But, you have to admit that it's kind of 'surprising' (in medical terms) that I'm fine. So, that got me thinking, maybe 'surprising' is the theme of my life thusfar. Let me give you some examples:
1. When I was at Notre Dame Cathedral, I misjudged a step. Japanese tourists thought I was a performance artist as I landed prostrate (no, not prostate) on the floor. All my belongings flew everywhere, and I thought they'd be stolen. My friends were too busy laughing to help in any way! When we got out of the cathedral, I checked my stuff, and I had 20 Euro more than when I went in!! Surprising
2. When I was learning to drive, I drove into a petrol station....and straight into a petrol bowser. Surprising yes, however, consider that it was the same petrol bowser that my grandfather drove into the day before. Double surprising...particularly for the attendant.
3. I had a perm in the eighties. That was more than surprising!
4. It takes a surprisingly little amount of alcohol before I'm sitting in the corner, giggling to myself.
5. Surprisingly, I was the only player in the Paralympics with her name spelt out by family members in the crowd!
6. I was genuinely surprised to meet real trailer trash in Alabama.
I can't be bothered thinking of anymore (that's surprising in itself), so if you remember any examples, post them for me will you?
Go on. Surprise me. And, what's the theme of your life?
Cheers,
L
So, tomorrow, I turn 36. Considering my life expectancy when I was born was supposed to be about 1 week, the obvious question is...how the hell did that happen?!?! Well, I can't answer that. The end.
No, just playing funny buggers. The blog's not over yet! Stay with me people.
One of the good things about turning 36 is that I am now out of the target demographic for Cleo magazine! That's got to be good. But, you have to admit that it's kind of 'surprising' (in medical terms) that I'm fine. So, that got me thinking, maybe 'surprising' is the theme of my life thusfar. Let me give you some examples:
1. When I was at Notre Dame Cathedral, I misjudged a step. Japanese tourists thought I was a performance artist as I landed prostrate (no, not prostate) on the floor. All my belongings flew everywhere, and I thought they'd be stolen. My friends were too busy laughing to help in any way! When we got out of the cathedral, I checked my stuff, and I had 20 Euro more than when I went in!! Surprising
2. When I was learning to drive, I drove into a petrol station....and straight into a petrol bowser. Surprising yes, however, consider that it was the same petrol bowser that my grandfather drove into the day before. Double surprising...particularly for the attendant.
3. I had a perm in the eighties. That was more than surprising!
4. It takes a surprisingly little amount of alcohol before I'm sitting in the corner, giggling to myself.
5. Surprisingly, I was the only player in the Paralympics with her name spelt out by family members in the crowd!
6. I was genuinely surprised to meet real trailer trash in Alabama.
I can't be bothered thinking of anymore (that's surprising in itself), so if you remember any examples, post them for me will you?
Go on. Surprise me. And, what's the theme of your life?
Cheers,
L
Torquay dining experience - ewwww
07 Jan 2007
Is this wrong?Shell, Bridie and I went to lunch in a cafe at torquay today. The waiter, who was a fat, 50 year old man, sat down on the bench seat beside bridie to take our order. Only, when he sat down, he winked at me, and said "I like to sit here so the fan can go right up my crutch"Should we have insisted he wash his hands before making our coffee? And why would we want to know about his clammy boys?!?!?So beware, if you're going to dine in Torquay, go on a cold day!
Cheers,
L
Is this wrong?Shell, Bridie and I went to lunch in a cafe at torquay today. The waiter, who was a fat, 50 year old man, sat down on the bench seat beside bridie to take our order. Only, when he sat down, he winked at me, and said "I like to sit here so the fan can go right up my crutch"Should we have insisted he wash his hands before making our coffee? And why would we want to know about his clammy boys?!?!?So beware, if you're going to dine in Torquay, go on a cold day!
Cheers,
L
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