The Chronicles of Uncle Bullshit

Everyone has those token family members who have quirky traits. Some family members collect unicorn statues, some have too many cats, and some get drunk at inappropriate occasions (school picnics or funerals). We have them all, and I have several. 

Today I’m going to talk about Uncle Bullshit.

Uncle Bullshit is named as such because after he tells a story and leaves the room it’s not uncommon to hear someone exclaim ‘bullllllllshiiiiiit.’ He has been known from a young age to start out a story within acceptable bounds, and then as time progresses and he starts to repeat it, it gets crazier and crazier.

An example: two years ago he told us that he was in London with a mate where they were, unfortunately, mugged. I’ve been mugged too. I was tottering home from the pub one night (yes, a bit drunk), laptop over shoulder, arms loaded with shopping and handbag dangling over wrist. The guy ran past, knocked me over and grabbed my handbag (yes, I did get it back eventually, credit cards and cash missing). I don’t question that being mugged isn’t traumatic, I was certainly upset, so I had no reason to doubt the original version of his story. At first it was believable - he claimed they had been confronted by a man with a knife. He claimed that they had handed over their gear, the mugger had run off and the crime had been reported to the police.

One year later, my sister, PartyGirl, broke up with her boyfriend for many, very valid reasons. Uncle Bullshit had decided to take the ex boyfriend’s side and had made some offensive phone calls about the issue, which had been responded to just as offensively. In response to this, he sent an email aimed at my mother (god I’m glad we have this in writing), and one of thing he included was an acusation that my mother did not care when he was in hospital in London - in intensive care no less - fighting for his life after the dangerous knife fight he participated in when confronted by a mugger/attempted murderer.

WTF?

So it has progressed from a stock-standard mugging:

To: 

This is what we have to deal with. I cut him off years ago because I have an issue with the illegal behaviour he actively participates in, but I am kept up to date by the rest of my family who still, for reasons unknown, communicate with him. So before I finish, here is one more story that pretty much sums up ‘Uncle Bullshit.’

My father was in a car accident. He was driving down the Monash highway in his ute at about 6.00am. He was minding his own business when BOOM, a guy hurtled onto the road, merged uncontrollably and smashed into the side of his car. It was a hit-and-run, and my dad’s car was un-drivable. He rang the cops, and witnesses who’d seen the impact corroborated the story. He wasn’t injured, and he was able to replace the car so all’s well that end’s well. Dad told the story of his car accident to Uncle Bullshit during one of his visits to see him.

Fast forward, twelve months later.

Uncle Bullshit is sitting in the room with my family when he leans back and says casually,

‘Did you hear about my car accident?’

‘No,’ replies Dad, ‘what happened.’

‘Well I was drivin' down the Monash Freeway, minding me own business when BOOM! Outta nowhere this driver comes down the onramp and smashes into the side of me! Turns out he totally wrote off my car! I tried chasing him for about ten k’s, got up to about 180k’s an hour at one point! I had the cops on the phone and they told me that they had him in sight on the chopper so I could stop the pursuit. After that I realised I’d been injured so had to go hospital’

Everyone in the room either exchanged knowing looks, or smirked into their tea. It was clear that Uncle Bullshit has forgotten that it was my dad who told him the story in the first place. To my Dad’s credit though, he didn’t flinch.

‘Shit,’ said Dad, ‘I would’ve thought that a high speed pursuit with police chopper escort would have made the news!’ Uncle Bullshit shook his head,

‘Nah, they didn’t want any publicity! Didn’t want to encourage other members of the community to do what I did.’

‘Well, thank god you were okay,’ said Dad, and that was the end of it, stored away for a session of hysterical laughter as soon as Uncle Bullshit went home.

The Martha Stewart Watch Your Back Series: Project Herb

Watch your back, Martha!

So this next post is going to be part of an ongoing series where I display my incredible skills as a housewife and DIY expert.

Sound convincing, don’t I?

Truth be told, I am a DISASTER at all things ‘housewife,’ and as for DIY? Well, there was once a time I tried to repair a digital camera (I dropped it during a drunken escapade), by the time my sister got home I was sitting in a pile of small metal parts, two broken screwdrivers and a blunt knife on my lap, crying into my wine…

PROJECT HERB!

So, let me present for you today the tale of how I went about Project Herb, and what you can learn from my incompetence (although I have to say the final product does look pretty good).

Some background information… the seeds for Project Herb were planted (see what I did there?) some time ago when I attended a friend’s housewarming. On his patio were these two fabulous herb gardens full to bursting with delicious, green herbs. Now, I’m not a great cook but wherever I can I cook with fresh herbs. I am going to blame Jamie Oliver for that, as well as for the fact that whenever I'm cooking alone I pretend I’m on my own cooking show and teach my pugs (the audience) how to cook, all performed with an English accent…

My friend Scott's Herb Garden.

So back to Project Herb: for Christmas my fiancé (who I shall call BaseballBoy - he is obsessed), and I received some Bunnings Vouchers. Bunnings is an Australian super hardware chain with everything you could possibly need for DIY - inside and out. BaseballBoy wanted to spend it all on tools, equipment and miscellaneous junk. I wanted a herb garden that was just like the one my friend had!  I won the argument primarily because I hid the vouchers and held them hostage until he agreed to support the enterprise - I needed his help you see, I am truly hopeless. So without further ado here is my step-by-step guide on how to make a really cool herb garden.

STEP 1: Argue with the fiancé over where to buy the actual receptacle for the herb garden.

So we went all the way to Bunnings, because I was convinced that was where my friend had told me he got his Plant Stand from. When we got there however… BANANAS. And by ‘bananas,’ I mean NOTHING. At this point BaseballBoy begins to insist that it was actually Ikea that they got them from, and that I’m a terrible friend who doesn’t listen. This accusation prompted me to text said friend, who informed me that we were both wrong, and he actually got them off eBay. Epic fail! So we compromised and headed over to Ikea figuring there would be something there we could shove some herbs into, surely!

STEP 2: Get side-tracked in Ikea buying other stuff you don’t need, and then stumble across what you actually do need in the lounge-room display.

So Ikea had a Plant Stand in the middle of a fake lounge-room. There were no plants on it, and there was nothing to indicate that it was actually called a plant stand, but there it was all pretty and white. It’s part of the Lantliv series and while it looked nothing like what I originally wanted, it just spoke to me – I think I was having a spiritual moment. So I bought it…along with ten aluminium pots, two tealight holders, 100 tealights, a water canister, pillows, five fur-removers, a water can and some other junk. 

God I love Ikea.

STEP 3: Go BACK to Bunnings to get the herbs and stuff you forgot to grab the first time you were there.

Welcome to the story of my life. While I can be so organised and ‘To Do list’ oriented that I drive everyone insane, at other times I become impulsive and spontaneous to the detriment of my time, money and petrol supplies. This was one of those times.

So we went back to Bunnings and chose enough herbs to fill up the pots we’d bought. BaseballBoy thought I was going to get seeds and grow the things from scratch.

HA!

My herb garden wouldn’t look NEARLY as impressive if I’d covered it in pots filled only with SEEDS. So once again, compromise, and only because they didn’t have some varieties I really wanted. So Oregano, Rosemary and Coriander (aka Cilantro) were seeds. Basil, Parsley, Thyme, and Sage came in small planters (with a couple of basils because I eat HEAPS of basil), and I found a huge Mint plant for only $13, which we’ve decided to grow separately.

The homeless 'Chive' label,
but I didn't want Sage
to have identity issues...

Once we had the plants, I decided that I needed labels and fertiliser. Baseball Boy had already grabbed potting mix, which he insisted was sufficient, but I saw Better Homes and Gardens on TV a few weeks ago and I swear I remember them saying something about fertiliser! So we settled on Manutec’s ‘for Home Grown Herbs’ fertiliser, which was carefully selected by closing my eyes and pointing. Great work Tipsy!

After that I grabbed some white plastic labels, and then spotted some terracotta ones that were so much cooler and only $2 each! So I got one each of the basil, mint, parsley and chive varieties. I didn’t realise until I got home that I actually didn’t buy any chives, but I shoved it in the Sage pot anyway so it wouldn’t feel left out.

STEP 4: Dominate the crap out of that Ikea flatpack.

Me and my Allen Key are long time buddies, so I put him to good use and built my Plant Stand with enthusiasm that remained really high for about the first three minutes.

Then I got bored.

By that point BaseballBoy had taken the pugs for a walk so I couldn’t make him take over. I was struck with the horrible realisation that I had to follow through and finish the damn thing, although I must say I think I did a pretty good job! Even BaseballBoy had to admit that it wasn’t quite as wobbly as other things I’ve tackled in the past. He tightened up all the screws once I was done, and proceeded to freak out when I tried to drill holes in the aluminium pots without the right drill-bit on his precious drill. I swear he is such a drama queen sometimes.

STEP 5: Drill stuff.

So the first photo is me pre-posing my attempt to drill the hole before I was intercepted by Mr I’m-A-Cabinet-Maker-and-Know-How-to-Use-a-Drill-Better-Than-You. 

The second photo is him, using the ‘proper’ drill-bit (I mean seriously, how the hell was I supposed to know there were different drill-bits!) and drilling drainage holes into each pot, because according to Better Homes and Gardens herbs don’t like to ‘have wet feet.’ I decided that translated into needing proper drainage and hence the genius idea to drill stuff.

STEP 6: Put the pots into the Plant Stand and then realise they still won’t have proper drainage.

I need to giveBaseballBoy credit for this one. He pointed out that even if the water drained through the holes, it’d hit the flat, level surface and not move. I wanted to just move the plant stand onto an angle and let it flow off the surface but my suggestion was ridiculed. So I toyed with the idea of giving up, and then said maybe we could mount the pots on something? BaseballBoy liked this better and went to retrieve some stakes that he just ‘happened to have lying around’ (I know better than most that he is always prepared for a vampire invasion). So he laid the stakes down, balanced the pots on them and we agreed it would do until he could bring back some thinner, nicely painted-white pieces of mounting wood from work – oh and for the record I just made up the term ‘mounting wood.’

 

STEP 7: Have a break

Seriously, this was hard work! A cup of tea and some shortbread was well overdue.

STEP 8: Put dirt and stuff in the pots.

Parsley

So this was a team effort. I took the herbs out of their planters, loosened the dirt around the roots, and shoved them into the pots while BaseballBoy packed them in with fresh potting mix. Once he was finished I then sprinkled some fertiliser – you know, cause Better Homes and Gardens said so. Once that was done I took a photo and moved it out of the way. We were moving like a well oiled machine.

Freaky seed sheets.

After that we did the seeds. Did you know some seeds come in these freaky sheets now? I don’t know how they work but we followed the instructions and hope soon that something will grow (no idea how long it’ll take, if anyone could let me know that would be great so if I’m still staring at a pot of dirt in six months time I know something has gone wrong).

STEP 9: Put the pots on the plant stand, give them a good water, decorate with watering can, take lots of photos for Instagram and post on Facebook for widespread ‘friend approval.’

Then just check out the final product. Martha Stewart – watch your back!

The final product!

Wanna do this yourself? Okay, go and buy

• Ikea Lantliv Plant Stand, AUS $79
• 10 x Socker Plant Pots, AUS $2.99 – please note they will need drain holes drilled into them, so if you don’t have a drill buy some different pots of a similar size.
• 10 pre-grown herb plants or seeds of your choice
• Potting mix
• Herb fertiliser (Manutec costs AUS $3.49 at Bunnings)
• Herb labels– plastic ones are $3.00 a packet at Bunnings or terracotta ones for $2.00 each
• Wooden stakes to raise the pots off the surface of the Plant Stands (although I don’t like these and will be replacing them with Mounting Wood).
• If you like the Watering Can, it’s available here 

So I hope you enjoyed the first episode of the Martha Stewart Watch Your Back series. I'm pretty sure the next one will involve what happens when I attempt to fix the washing machine unsupervised... stay tuned!

Signing Off,

Tripping Tipsy

The Twilight Series: Teaching Teenagers How NOT to Write...

A Thought...

Okay, I'll admit it. I eventually did get sucked into Twilight, despite my misgivings surrounding the poor quality of its construction. When someone asks me about Twilight, and what it is like, I tell them that it is "McDonalds for the brain." - No nutritional value, and you're hungry again in an hour. And it is, seriously!

It is pure brain candy.

Not brain food, which actually contributes something to your way of thinking. It is brain caaaaaandy. Geddit? The Intelligentsia get what I'm trying to say, I'm sure of it. Either that or they're just shaking their heads at me. Either way, it's still brain candy.

I started reading it because I wanted to find out what the fuss was about. I was smart about it too. I borrowed a copy, at first. I've learnt my lesson about spending money on bestsellers that have way too much hype (I'm thinking about Christopher Paolini's piece of tripe, the Alagaesia series here. His last offering that I attempted, Brisingr, ended up being hurled across my bedroom after I couldn't take its poorly edited, wordy ridiculousness any longer. A reaction I know was mirrored by other friends/readers and I don't blame them because the whole series is a joke and plagiarises so many other brilliant...) okay... breath... sorry, I try not to get started on Paolini because once I'm on that train it takes a long time to derail it.

Anyway, back to Twilight. If you haven't read it, in a nutshell it's about a shy, awkward, borderline-depressed teenage girl who falls in love with a vampire. A vampire who probably only fell for her because he couldn't read her mind like he could everyone else, and enjoyed the peace and quiet for a change. So if you want teen angst in all its glory, constant description of heart-aching need and prose so overly descriptive it makes you want to hurl... then Twilight is for you. Personally, I am an obsessed, completely crazy Harry Potter fan myself. Now THERE is someone who knows how to write a decent story, good on you JKR for setting a good example, good on you.

As for Twilight, in an Interview with USA Today, Stephen King, the greatest horror writer of all time in my opinion ('It' was the first adult book I ever read at the tender age of 8, and I still have that copy even though it lost its cover over fifteen years ago) chose to comment on Stephenie Meyer's writing and said that "she can’t write worth a darn... She’s not very good." And I agree, completely, as do many others.

What bothers me though is that millions of teenagers world wide are reading this series, think it is a brilliant example of literature, and are trying to emulate it. It is hard enough with Facebook, Twitter and text messaging to get them to write properly. I won't allow my little brother to communicate with me in abbreviated "text" style English because I think its a poor habit to form. He just thinks I'm old, but I'm trying to set a good example. Now, JKR, there is a woman who sets a good example, so the thousands of teens out there who have published their own "versions" of Harry Potter online are trying to "ghost write" like JKR. I have no problem with this, she really knows what she is doing and therefore promotes having a decent grip of the English language. Meyer however does not teach this. Ohhhhhh, let me at the Twilight series with my big red pen, oh please! So many inconsistencies, so many issues with timelines and continuity, so many issues with overly descriptive prose. The movies haven't helped things either. Nobody seemed to notice how poorly the first movie itself was constructed, and the fact that it completely failed to work to the intensity portrayed in the book. All the main audience saw were the young men playing the two male leads, in all their hotness. A werewolf and a bloodsucker. Who needs a decent plot arc when you've got that locked in? I'd truly love to see a version of the Twilight series with all my editing concerns addressed, I really would, and I think it would be good for the captivated youth of today to see it too. To know how it should have looked if Meyer had an editor worth a damn, and the ability to write at an adult level.

Despite this though I've still read the series five times and was first in line at the movies. Guess this makes me a hypocrite and a sucker... no pun intended.

You Put Your Right Leg In...

A Memory...

Aunt Nutty, also known as Pinnochio

There are many things I remember about my family growing up. Good and bad, fun and sad, just like everyone else. With two younger sisters and a baby brother, there was never a lack of action but the majority of the truly heinous and wonderful memories involve my extended family. And my extended family are extensive, with some being bestowed titles depending on their quirks or dominant personality traits. For example, is it wrong that to this very day I casually refer to one of my aunts in conversation as "Aunt Nutty" and all of my friends know exactly who I'm talking about? Or maybe that is disturbing? Food for thought... I mean, the woman told us that she had terminal cancer at one point, only to be caught in a lie a few months into her non-existent chemo treatment... hmmm...

One thing I must express here, in writing for all of you, is that these posts regarding my family are all completely true and only occasionally embroidered/exaggerated for entertainment value. This particular snippet however, is 100% fact.

So, a memory of Aunt Nutty, who's real name I won't divulge because one must always work to protect children and the mentally deranged, in my opinion anyway.

An occasion for celebration. I think it was Christmas Day. Always chaotic, and always a chance for me and my cousin TJ to find mirth in everything. I enter the kitchen, where Aunt Nutty is hurrying from oven to sink to bench. She is alone, and walking freely in the haste one normally possesses when attempting to cater for 20+ people. After five seconds of bustle she notices my entrance and immediately slopes into a well-defined limp in her right leg. Neither of us acknowledged the fact that I've just witnessed her moving around without hinder, and so I hurry to assist her with the food. Finally, I can't help myself.

"Why are you limping, Aunt Nutty? Did you hurt yourself?" She looks at me in wide eyed amazement.

"Didn't you hear? I had a massive stroke!" I exclaim with the level of concern appropriate for when you know someone is lying, but you don't have the energy to call them on it.

"A stroke? Oh my god! When? How did I not know about this! You must have been in hospital for a while?"

"It happened a while ago, big blood clot on the right side of my brain," she tapped her head and nodded. "I thought your father would have told you."

Truth be told my parents were probably also unaware of her latest brush with death - they'd also been unaware of her fake-terminal cancer (I'd been sworn to secrecy as my mother was pregnant at the time and apparently wouldn't have been able to handle the stress of it all). So while I should have bitten my tongue and left the kitchen, I was in my late teens, extremely opinionated and prone to ranting... 

"Aunt Nutty, it's strange you're limping on your right leg." She looks at me while stirring some  sauce into a seafood dish that will later give several members of the family food poisoning.

"Why?"

"My best friend is a nurse, and she works with stroke victims. She said just the other day that if the stroke is on the right side, it is mostly the left side of the body that gets affected, so shouldn't your limp be on the left side?"

Now I have no proof that this is true, I think I'd heard it on TV, but the effect was very amusing.

"Oh well, my stroke was a bit different you know, very rare! I was lucky they were able to stop it at all. Also, I'm ambidextrous, so both sides of my brain work the same way, that probably had something to do with it." 

Ambidextrous indeed.

"Wow, it's pretty complicated brain surgery from what I've heard," I replied, "because they have to get the clot out as quickly as possible. They've managed to keep your hair intact though. Do you still have the stitches?" She paused, grasping for an explanation.

"Oh, umm, yes, well it can require surgery, but in my case I was able to get it fixed with medication. Like I said, very rare."

I respond with exclamations of brilliance aimed at her amazing doctor. Fancy being able to get rid of her big deadly blood clot remotely (and no doubt, miraculously)! I finally tire of the conversation, grab a drink from the Eski and head outside.

Three hours later, in the car on the way home, my little brother, GolfBoy, looks at my dad in all his eight-year-old innocence and asks,

"What was wrong with Aunt Nutty's left leg?"

Impressed with his attempt to know right from left, I seek to immediately correct him  -  he clearly had it confused with her right leg, only I was interrupted by my 16yo sister, PartyGirl.

"Oh yeah, that's what we were laughing at this afternoon!" I remembered wondering what all my cousins were giggling about as they lounged on the trampoline. She continues, "Yeah, she wasn't limping when we got there, and then she started limping on her right leg, but a few hours later she swapped to her left. What an idiot!"

"Yeah Dad," I pipe in, "She told me she had a massive stroke with a big blood clot on the right side of her brain, that was somehow resolved without the need for brain surgery. I told her that her limp was on the wrong side, so she swapped legs." My siblings cracked up laughing as my parents exchanged a knowing look.

And people wonder why I call her Aunt Nutty?

* A Note.

Although it seems I am making light of this situation, I certainly do not take the issue of stroke lightly and while I laughed it off at the time, the fact someone would make up a story like that horrified me. The amount of harm my Aunt Nutty has caused over the years with her lies and behaviour has caused an irreparable rift in our relationship. I simply cannot accept why the family indulge her in her lies. If it is a mental health issue, as my father claims, then why has it never been treated? Unfortunately, Aunt Nutty's dependency on unnecessary prescription medications has had a horrific impact on her health. It's a shame that such a beautiful, vibrant woman has had her life so horribly impacted, ironically by a strange desire to be sick all the time - to the point she'd communicate that she was terminally ill. While I forgave her for it a long time ago, I'll never forget the despair I felt when I heard my beloved Aunt was dying... and that it had to be kept a secret from my parents... only to be told later it was all a horrifying lie. If I had my time again I'd encourage my family to get her the help she needed - before it was too late.

All Hail Zonatron!

A Thought...

So I have two sisters and a brother. My sisters are 18 months and 3.5 years younger than me respectively. My brother is 12 years younger, lets not get me started on him.

My youngest sister, who I shall call PartyGirl, is completely deranged and has no sense of decorum what-so-ever. Once we were watching a baseball game, and I commented that the left fieldsman was particularly good looking. Next thing I know, she's leaning over the fence, introducing herself and successfully negotiating the retrieval of his phone number for my benefit. I should admit at this point I'd just finished a two hour training session, and was wearing an oversized baseball hoody, "Skins" (which for people not in the know, are second-skin like leggings that leave NOTHING to the imagination), a baggy pair of shorts over the Skins and my blond hair was allllll over the place. Not any man's idea of a good time, I'm sure, but PartyGirl found herself hilaaaarious. Anyway, while that gives you a brief insight into her personality, it's not PartyGirl that prompted the picture of the alien above. No, that's my first sister, BomberGirl, who I also happen to live with.

I would call her a typical "middle child," overlooked primarily due to PartyGirl demanding all our parent's attention, all of the time. As a youngling, BomberGirl had a predisposition to wandering around in her own little world. You would talk to her and eventually notice that she wasn't hearing a word of it. Or worse, you'd ask her a question, and she'd stare at you with a gormless expression on her face. At night she would climb into the pantry, steal biscuits, eat some and hide the rest under his pillow. When mum would come to wake her in the morning, and despite the crumbs on her face and in her bed she would swear black and blue that she did not do it.

This day dreaming disposition became so obvious at one point that my father announced that she must be an alien child, and we embroidered the story to eventually decide that she hailed from the Planet Zonatron. From that point onwards, when BomberGirl did something in character, we'd look at each other and mutter the word "Zonatron!" It made for a bit of explaining when this happened in public, but to this day the joke continues, over 25 years later.

BomberGirl's pose...

One of my favorite Zonatron moments was one Wednesday night when we were participating in a Twilight Softball match. I was playing Catcher, and BomberGirl was planted out in Right Field. Twilight Softball was a mixed tournament, designed to allow parents and children to play together, so my father was also on the field. When it was our turn to field, the pitcher prepared to throw the ball in to the batter and the rest of the fielders leant forward in readiness. Our job was to react immediately, and from the looks of it from my position, everyone was paying absolute attention.

The pitcher pitched the ball and the batter smashed it, straight over BomberGirl's head. BomberGirl however DID NOT MOVE! Not a muscle! She remained hunched forward, glove poised, staring avidly at the exact spot where the batter had been standing not a moment sooner. It wasn't until someone shouted "BomberGirl!" that she flinched, exclaimed,"OH!" turned and sprinted after the ball as it dribbled away from her.

Everyone was in hysterics, opposition included, to the point where the batter managed a home run because BomberGirl had nobody to throw the ball to - we were all too busy laughing. At that point my father turned to me and shrugged...

"Zonatron," he said