My stat links have been going haywire over the last few weeks, and so I've only just noticed that I was tagged by the lovely Erin. What better way to start the holidays than a meme full of positivity? Am not quite up to writing ten cheery statements this evening, but I'll tweak it around a little and make it fit into my strange mood.

1. I can . . . hold a conversation, keep a secret, use patience; be a friend.


2. I feel . . . lucky, adventurous, impatient; happy and sad all at once.


3. I give . . . good hugs, free advice, nice smiles; myself up to change.


4. I think . . . crazy thoughts, I'm broad-minded, in the future; all the time.


5. I am . . . a pretty nice individual, a friend, a daughter, a partner; me.

And because I'm feeling creative, I can also respond light-heartedly to the above answers. Tongue in cheek, yes, but in all honesty? Completely true also.

1. I can . . . procrastinate with the best of 'em, easily eat my entire pantry should I get too close to it, and almost hear my bed calling me.


2. I feel . . . completely uninspired to exercise this week, jealous because I am feeling lonesome, and a trifle stale when it comes to blogging.


3. I give . . . too much thought to what I would like be doing, and not enough to what I should be doing, and also good death stares. It's a talent.


4. I think . . . it might be nice to make pancakes for breakfast tomorrow, that my car desperately needs a wash, and that all foods should be fat-free.


5. I am . . . in my pj's before 8.30pm on a Saturday night, in dire need of a hairbrush, excited about my USA tour and really missing Jason right now.

.. because I just booked another holiday; The great American tour of '08!

[Be warned, this post will probably contain a crapload of exclamation marks.]

This is the tentative plan; for August-September of next year.

Flying to San Francisco, spending 2 days there avoiding as many hills as possible. Then heading from San Francisco to LA, where I can stumble around looking awestruck like a typical tourist. Next it's onwards to Anaheim, DISNEYLAND AHOY!

The Grand Southern Contiki tour starts in Anaheim and goes for 24 days, finishing in New York City. Yes, you should click here and check out where it goes. (And if there's a free day in your town and you're crazy enough to give me your email address, I foresee stalkage in the near future!)

I'm then planning on spending about a week in New York (again with the tourist stuff) including a one day trip to Niagara Falls because dude, I can't go that close to them without cruising on the Maid of the Mist and getting soaked. And after that, it's back to London.

If things go to plan (aka I save my arse off and get around to paying this all off, pronto) I might even go to Hawaii for a few days before starting in San Fran, because squee! Hawaii! Woo!

I know, it's early. But I'm foreward planning because of the move to England, and because the summer tours tend to book out fairly quickly. I'm crazy excited though. Check out the tour and tell me your thoughts!

Mum and I had a girly night and saw Hairspray at the movies, and I have to say; I loved it! Has made me want to go dancing around my house, and invest in one of those nifty dancing skirts. And on this note, I'm going to bed!

"You can't stop my happiness, 'cuz I like the way I am. And you just can't stop my knife and fork when I see a Christmas ham! And if you don't like the way I look, then I just don't give a damn!"

Phwoar.

My UK Working Holiday Visa arrived on my doorstep today. I'm really going.

That is all.

[OMG!]

Do you remember my complaints about having dodgy skin all of a sudden, posted a few days ago? All day yesterday my face was very red. Last night after watching Idol, my face had turned itchy; I had to fight the urge to scratch off my cheeks all the way home. As for today at school, the skin felt so tight and dry and inflamed that I ended up using an ice pack to numb it. And an anti-histimine tablet. And an Elizabethan collar. Not quite on the last one, although I might as well have -  nothing that I was doing seemed to help the skin reaction.

My usual doctor was booked out this afternoon, so I headed to the closest medical centre to get some sort of diagnosis. I figured I might be allergic to something, but he decided I have something called Slap Cheek syndrome. Caused by the human strain of Parvovirus. Yes, just like the animals get. The perks of working with kidlets, I guess, but feel free to make fun of me now. My piss weak immune system and I can take it. [Sniffle.]

And get this; the doctor at the medical centre? He told me to GOOGLE slap cheek disease. Now I've always joked bout my relationship with Dr Google (who is friendly and helpful and always gives me options without having to wait in line, if only he gave out medical certificates though . . .)  but to be told by an actual doctor to look up my own skin condition? Priceless!

Looks like I'll stick with my usual lack of a skin care regime, as it could be that my spots were just caused by this virus. Now if I could just refrain from scratching off the top layer of my face, I'd feel much, much better.

That had to be the fastest weekend in the history of the world.  Seriously.

I'm heading out straight after school finishes today to see my lovely band-stalking friend Julie, who's up visiting from Melbourne. And then we are heading into the city to go and see the Australian Idol verdict show; possibly the most stretched out hour in Australian television history, but as long as sexy trumpet crooner Carl stays in? I'll be a happy camper!

Look for us on telly! I'll be the one with a paper bag over her head because of all her pimples, so I'll be easy to spot. I'll even draw on a smily face.

For the most part of my teenage years, I've had fairly good skin. I wouldn't say it was fantastic or blemish-free or anything, but it certainly wasn't bad. I think I've been lucky, that I don't have to do much to it. As the years went on, I experimented with cleansers and all the rest of it, but I really don't have much of a skin regime happening currently.

Apparently my face has decided that it's time I started one.

Over the last few days, my face has completely broken out. As in, if I counted the spots on my face right now, I'd run out out of fingers to count on. (I refuse to count the spots because it is far too depressing.) It's been such a long time since I've had pimples, I don't even remember the best way to treat them or cover them up, sans putting a paper bag over my head.

Care to help a cluelessly spotty girl out? What can I do? What products do you use? Do I have to go and buy the Clean & Clear stuff that twelve year olds use, or is there a wonder product that actually works on clearing up lumps and bumps for adults? Can I get it in Australia? And most importantly, can I afford it on my holyshitIneedtosaveatleast$6500notincludingspendingmoney budget for the US '08 tour that we worked out details for yesterday? (More to come on that later.)

Help!

I think a dozen long stemmed red roses with Lindt chocolates definitely beat a photo slideshow as an anniversary present, right?

You did good, Jase. You did good.

I'm off to spend a day planning my USA '08 travelling trip (hooray!) with a friend, and then we're going to brave the Saturday shopping centres and hopefully see a movie. Should be a good start to the weekend . . . if I can get off my arse and exercise before I go.

I can't believe that five years has passed from the time that Jason and I first met.

We have done so much together across the years, and there are still so many things that we have yet to do. It's kind of exciting, actually, but also a little scary.

For the first time in five years, I'll be spending our anniversary alone. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't lonely; even though I think I have coped remarkably well so far under the circumstances, some days it really does get overwhelming. I miss him. Lots.

But then I think of Jase all those miles away and I feel comforted, because in three short months, the wait will be over. The thought of getting off the plane and seeing him waiting there makes it worthwhile. (Hopefully he'll be waiting with chocolates.)

Plus, for the first time in five years we'll be moving in together, just him & I.

For lack of a better gift, I decided to put together just a little something to celebrate our last five years. And what better way to celebrate than with dorky (and possibly drunken) picture slideshows? Photographs speak louder than words ...

Happy Anniversary, Jase. I love you! (Psst, please let the video load before viewing.)

My week of butterflies started the very night that we had spent getting to know each other. After we had said our goodbyes that night, I wandered up the stairs and couldn't help but feel anything but happy. Gleefully happy. By the following morning though, my insecurities had got the better of me and all I could think about was whether anything would develop out of our meeting. We kept up our regular emails and chats, added in a few text messages and eventually the topic came back to seeing each other again.

I don't remember whether it was him or I that suggested we go out again the coming Saturday, but I suppose when it's been five years you're allowed to forget a few minor details, right? I agonised over what to wear, we went and saw a movie (Lilo & Stitch, guess whose choice that was) and afterwards drove to a local club to grab a drink and chat some more.

We talked for ages. If my memory serves me well, we swapped wallets to peer through each other's things and ask each other questions. Random, eh? We drove back to my house, parked ourselves on the couch and watched made fun of the late night music videos that were playing on the television, talking and laughing for hours. One of us happened to look at the time, and we realised it was pretty late early, so he decided to call it a night and start his drive back home.

I walked him outside and we had another round of goodbyes. There was a brief moment where we awkwardly wondered what to do next, and we ended up leaning in for a hug. But after a few seconds the hug had ended, and we were still so close to one another . . . One thing let to another and we ended up sharing our first kiss while standing on my driveway, under the stars.

If I had happily wandered up the stairs after our first meeting, I floated up them on this night. I sent him a text message later, saying "What a perfect ending to a perfect night". And it was, you know. It was absolutely perfect.

To be continued . . .

Five years ago today, I felt real butterflies in my stomach for the first time.

After a bizarre twist of fate, I had finally met a certain gorgeous boy two nights earlier. The first time we'd gone out went fairly smoothly; we grabbed dinner, chatted, saw a movie, chatted some more. I was completely smitten.

Yet a few days later there I was, feeling as though I was in a bit of a conundrum; just because I'd had a great time and had spent countless moments replaying it over and over in my head, didn't mean that he felt the same way. I was worried. What if he didn't enjoy himself? Would he be interested in me at all? And what if he wasn't? It would be a shame, because he was so cute. And he wore nice shoes. What to do? Argh. Needless to say, I was full of nervous anticipation.

It is with fondness that I look back on those moments of confusion, giddiness and pure hope. The feeling that maybe, just maybe I had met that someone special was exhilerating, exciting and a little scary. I don't think I've ever wanted something quite so badly before, as I did at this very point in time, five years ago. What did I want? I wanted the highly important second date, of course.

To be continued . . .

Either that, or I'm just a freak who enjoys toilet humour, plain and simple.

Ha. Geddit? Toilet humour? Ah, you'll see for yourself soon enough.

Watch the following avertisement. You'll find yourself singing along to the jingle at inappropriate times, and randomly giggling. It's guaranteed to bring a smile to your face. Or a cringe. Or both. I love Captain Picard's voice-over at the end, too. Hee.

I did promise to bring this one up on the blog at some point, and I simply couldn't bear to disappoint. However instead of whinging about it, I'll take a different approach and pose it as a question instead. Clever, eh?

So, here are the questions - please feel free to help a girl out with answering them.

1. If you had, say, a 23 year old daughter who was leaving home for the first time (EVER) and was moving to a different continent (which you have never stepped foot in before) and was far, far away from you, would you make the (horribly) long trip to visit?


2. Why is it so cold this morning when it's supposed to be Spring?


3. If you had, say, a set of parents who weren't keen on travelling to Europe in the slightest (and prefer road trips across the middle of America), what qualities about England would you talk up to make it sound more appealing?


4. Why do Monday's suck?


5. Yeah, that's all I got.

Answer away, my friends! I'll come back and hear out your thoughts at the end of the day . . . which is sadly a good few hours away yet. Blargh.

. . . If the world was Cadbury?

(Does anyone get that? Anyone? Anyone at all? No? Didn't think so. I'm lame.)

But it doesn't matter, because not only am I lame - I'm nice!

This is a little delayed because I've been a worried chook lately, but seeing how Lucy is currently living it up downstairs (shredding newspaper and peeing everywhere) I suppose I can talk about something else. Like the fact that I'm nice!

(I wonder if there is going to be an exclamation point after every 'nice'.)

!!!!

The lovely Kristabella who is very, very wise, has nominated me for the Nice Matters award.

Since I'm thoroughly chuffed to have a nice, er, pink badge for my blog, I'm going to do the nice(!) thing and pass it along.

Thanks, Kris!

1. Katie @ A Byootaful Life - She's an Aussie who is most definitely nice! (Ha! Exclamation mark!) She always replies to your comments, and she seems like someone I would love to catch a movie with and hang out.

2. Heidi @ Heidikins - Most of you would know of Heidi, and if you don't, you should! She's a beautiful girl with a beautiful heart and I adore her.

3. KerriAnn @ Kerrianne.org - A really lovely girl, with cute tattoos, an art for photography and a way with words. My gardening hero!

4. Michelle @ Michelle & The City - I've only recently discovered her, but I think she's great already. Definitely a recipient of the award.

5. Erin @ The State That I Am In - I imagine her as being the perfect teacher for littlies who need some quality attention. Very sweet and very NICE.

And of course, everyone who stopped by to wish Lucy best wishes are nice - and heck, everyone needs a little pink on their blog, right?

Yes, the Lucy-bun saga just keeps on going . . .

The vet who was scheduled to perform Lucy's operation today was the rabbit specialist - he looked after Bella when she was sick, and helped give me options when I was at a loss of what to do next. I felt comfortable that I was leaving Lucy in good hands, so I signed her in for surgery and took off to go to the doctors myself. The parting words I received from the vet clinic were that I could call at 4pm to check-up on how the surgery went, or they had my number. I was preferring this not to happen, seeing as they generally only ring you if there is bad news.

But I digress. I ended up back at home and about two hours later, my telephone rang. [You can imagine the panic I went into when I recognised the caller ID.] The vet had rang to chat with me about Lucy; he had been doing another examination on her wounds before putting her under anaesthetic, and wanted to run an idea past me. He recited the risks of rabbit surgery I'd heard a dozen times before, and then came out and stated that the chance of the anaesthetic being fatal far outweighed the option of letting her wounds heal without surgery.

Of course, I was completely confused; what do I do? I'm not an expert by any means, so I asked bluntly what he thought I should do. His response was to try and stay as unintrusive as possible. In plain language, avoid the surgery. He told me that he had observed Lucy in the consultation hours and noted that she was a happy, jumpy bunny who didn't seem to experience any discomfort from the bite marks. I agreed with his decision, so once again my grumpy wee bunny is home with me.

She's doing okay, she's surgery-free and she's her usual head butting self. Over the next week, I'm to keep a close eye on her wounds, make sure no abscesses appear, keep her foods up and take her back for a visit next week. All well and good, I just have to squirt her antibiotic medicine into her mouth twice a day as well as putting ointment on the wounds. Let me just pause here for effect. Yes, I have the wonderful job of giving her medicine by mouth. Does this procedure sound familiar?

Anyone who has read my ramblings for a while now, will remember that I have done this before. Here's what I had to say back when I was treating Bella;

"She is hilarious when she has her meds; she makes it hard for me (but has never bitten, but eventually gives in. When the liquid goes in, out comes her tongue, and she sits up on her hind legs and swipes at her tongue with her paws.

If I spoke bunny, I’m sure she’d be saying "What the FUCK was that? Get it off!"

Ever tried giving a rabbit medicine before? Ever actually gone near a rabbit's mouth before? Ever seen the size of their chompers before? You'd think after administering medicine to one rabbit that I'd be an expert at the job.

Yeah, er, no. I'm apparently not.

When I played nurse for Bella, I wedged her in close to my body with one arm and got her mouth open for the medicine fairly uneventfully. Heck, I made it look like a fine art after a few weeks of practice. I figured I'd use the same maneuvere on Lucy, except that I was forgetting one small factor; she has pretty horrible open wounds. On her back. On her side. And she hates people going near her head, even to pat her. Yours truly is no exception to the rule.

It took me about fifteen minutes to eventually wrangle the medicine into her mouth this afternoon. Fifteen minutes! It's going to be a fun couple of weeks!

But honestly, I'm just happy that the vet is positive, that I'm doing what I can to make her well, and that she won't have the risk of anaesthetic hovering over her head. Hopefully with her medicines, some TLC and a little tmie, Lucy'll be good as new soon, give or take a few bald spots. And I can rest a little easier too; the price for today ended up being $80, plus another $80 for the new hutch I've purchased for her. There will be no more Ricky & Lucy snuggling from now on, unless they are in their outdoor enclosure with their momma supervising.

Oh, and as for my very own diagnosis? I;m the proud owner of a charming gastro intestinal bug. Except the vet didn't diagnose me. I went to a real doctor. Honest.

It's not over yet folks, but thanks for the well wishes so far. I have one more favour though; can you keep them going for today too?

Mum dropped Lucy off at the vet this morning as I had to head into the city for some professional learning, and called me at lunchtime - apparently the vet bill was looking at around $400 because of the severity of the injuries, and they wanted to check that I could afford to pay it before they operated. Of course being in meetings all day meant that I didn't get to respond in time, so Mum picked her up again this evening and brought her home tonight.

She'll be back in tomorrow, regardless of the cost. Oh my God, you should see the state of her bites/scratches - it's completely heartbreaking, and made me feel like the worst rabbit momma in the world all over again. The sores are much bigger than I'd imagined; the vet shaved and cleaned the wounds today, and without her fur hiding the wounds they are absolutely horrid. How she's even still walking, let alone acting like her normal self is beyond me.

The bottom line? She will be a pretty sore bunny tomorrow when all is said and done, and my two darlings will most likely have to be separated from here on in. As for me? Well, I'm still feeling terribly bad for poor Lucy, I'm feeling guilty about how bad the bites actually were, and I'm feeling a wee bit sorry for myself when I think of my financial situation. (I'm also feeling queasy, although that is probably from all the food I ate today.)

Bottom line is; Lucy is my baby. She is completely healthy and happy aside from her injuries, and I will do everything in my power to heal her and get her well again. My bank balance is just going to have to suffer for another few months. Keep the hoppy (ha! see what I did with that?) rabbit thoughts going for us, if you can!

Now it's late and I'm heading to bed, to see if I can kick the squick factor.

I got home from work yesterday and did the usual; threw down my bag and wandered outside to check on the bunnies, top up their water and give them some more veggies.

As I was leaning down to the hutch, I noticed Lucy had some fur missing on a patch on her back. I picked her up to look at it closer, and realised it was actually a sore - it looked like a bite or scratch that was a few days old. I checked her over, and discovered another big red patch near her leg - and promptly started to panic.

We took her to the vet, who checked her over and declared them 'open sores'. Apparently bunnies can get infections quite easily, so the scratch/bites have to be opened, cleaned out and sutured. Under anaesthetic, which is always questionable for such tiny animals.

The vet thinks that although Ricky and Lucy have been getting along well in their hutch together, Ricky is acting out as the 'dominant' female. It seems about right, as Lucy has always been a mellow wee rabbit. I just feel so sorry for her, the sores look horrible and painful - and if I hadn't picked her up today, I wouldn't have even spotted them. I feel like a bad rabbit momma, again.

Lucy's still perky, chipper and as grumpy looking as always, and is all booked in for surgery today. I know it's ridiculous, but I'm already insanely worried about how it will go; I suppose it's understandable, since the last rabbit surgery visit ended up with Bella being put to sleep. Please keep my beautiful Lucy-bun in your thoughts today, if you can.

Out of the nearly six weeks that Jase and I have been living on different continents, I think I'm doing fairly well with it all. I still get to stalk him via MSN, he calls occasionally, and except for weekends, the occasional mushy song that finds it's way onto my playlist, the sight of other couples together, the smell of . . .  but I digress. What I'm trying to say, is that I'm doing alright.

But the hardest thing not to be doing with him is setting myself up in London. The boy is currently in the process of searching for an apartment to rent, for him in the meantime and for us in a couple of (hopefully) short months. He's been pretty patient with me, because I'm a little disappointed that I don't get to be much of a partner in the choosing process - other than admiring pretty looking places through photographs and wanting to live in suburbs that you can find on the classic Monopoly boardgame. Or Notting Hill. Because wouldn't it be awesome to live there? But he has to do the hard work with finding suitably priced accomodation, visiting the places, and making the decisions.

I want to be going apartment hunting!
I want to visit houses and check out the rooms.
I want to imagine living there for two years.
I want, I want, I want . . .

Anyway, as I said before, this part completely stinks. But I'll have to trust Jase and his judgements, which I do of course. It's just, I feel like I'm missing out on something. And I hate missing out on things. It's hard enough missing out on his company for this time. Blargh. I am not whinging, I swear. I know it can't be helped, I know he's asking my opinions and trying to compromise with me, but deep down I'm still disappointed.

I suppose when we come back from this venture overseas, I can be as fussy as I like with finding an actual place to buy. That should make up for it, no?

[I do find it sort of appropriate that I've began to yawn after starting this post.]

I've always been pretty open with the fact that underneath my 23 year facade, I'm secretly a granny in disguise. Especially when it comes to my bedtime - generally it's around 8.30-9pm on a weeknight! But honestly, at the end of a long day at work, crawling into bed at night (even if it is with a book and a cuppa or some episodes of Melrose Place) is the perfect thing to do.

I find it incredible though, that even after going to bed so early and having a fairly long sleep, that I can still have the ability to wake up tired. How is that even possible? If it weren't for my trusty mobile phone alarm, I could happily keep right on snoozing until I woke up of my own accord. I'm guessing my extra tiredness factor lately is stemming from my recent habit of exercising in the afternoon . . . but it's anyone's guess. Ah well - I'm just going to enjoy being able to sleep diagonally for the next few months as much as I possibly can!

So tell me; how many hours of beauty sleep do you need a night?

After I cancelled my old Typepad blog, I moved all of my archives to my new home, here on Wordpress. Interestingly, sites like Technorati still show my old blog as ranked higher than the current one, most likely due to old links directing visitors to the old address. But what is even more interesting?

Someone has registered my old blog address!

And if you check it out, it has no contact information and appears to be promoting random products. In case you were wondering, the domain does not belong to me anymore. I'm well and truly moved, and I'm happy where I am.

I just thought I'd put out another friendly reminder for any of you who happen to have my humble link on your blogroll; could you please make sure you have changed the address?

www.breathe-gently.blogspot.com - Nice and simple.

And I promise, I won't be selling anything on this here blog anytime soon. Unless it involves freebies in the mail. Because let's face it, I'm a sucker for receiving parcels in the mail. [Hint, hint, to a certain significant other who has a rather special anniversary coming up very soon.]

Another Monday . . . is it the weekend yet? I have parent/teacher interviews all week, which is more than a little exhausting. Wish me luck.

Whose Line is it Anyway comes on, and you wave at Wayne Brady.

[And no, it wasn't me. For once, I'm not the crazy one in the family. Say hi, Mum.]

Happy Sunday, folks.

*Please note that today's header has absolutely nothing to do with anything in particular, other than being dedicated to the brilliant genius that is Kirby.

The Snow Patrol concert was absolutely incredible last night, it really was.

First things first, you'll be pleased to know that I braved the trip to the venue without maiming any pedestrians or driving over any road islands - a feat I think warrants a little bit of applause if you ask me. Or know of my driving skills. Kirby (who turned up sporting not only adorable owl-printed Keds shoes AND the satchel handbag I've been dreaming about) did a great job of holding up the toll pass, as I zoomed along the rain-spattered roads towards Olympic Park. I defeated the evil windy ramp of doom in the carpark which I had been worrying about (honestly, you should have seen the thing) and made it inside with plenty of time to spare.

After buying a container of popcorn, we nabbed a table and settled in to do some people watching, which in a crowded venue is almost as fun as watching the concert itself. We saw a bunch of girls bringing back the tights movement, an outfit that consisted completely of lycra, and an awful lot of stiletto shoes for a standing concert. Ouch! It was at this point that the conversation turned to having to wear tights under short skirts whilst walking through top levels of shopping malls. My response? "But I don't own any short skirts. Or tights. So I'm safe." Kirby's response? "I'm never going out with nothing on under my skirts again." The blank silence that fell on our table was soon replaced with giggles.

Back to the concert . . . the support acts were all Irish, which prompted us to start sprouting off the only Irish-isms that we knew - 'To be sure, to be sure', 'leprechaun', and 'diddly dee diddly dee potatoes'. Obviously we need to learn a few more of these for next time. The first guy was nice and mellow. The second band mumbled an awful lot and had a drummer that resembled Animal from the Muppets. The venue was filling up at this point, and looked amazing. As the music started, a wee Irish girl sat in the seat next to me. She seemed mellow enough to begin with, but soon began bouncing around her seat like a loon, causing our entire row of seats to bounce along with her. Nothing like dancing when you don't really have a choice, and your neck is moving along without a will of its own.

As for Snow Patrol, they were fantastic. The lead singer was hilarious, pointing out that the largest man in the world was attending our concert in the front row. He was right; this guy's arms were twice the size of everybody else's, he ended up singing "Signal Fire" to him. Appropriate seeing as the lyrics are "There you are, standing right in front of me" - he actually changed the words at one point to "There you are, standing right in front of everybody else" which was quite amusing. They sang most of my favourite numbers; highlights including Shut Your Eyes (sing, sing!), Chasing Cars (swoon), Make This Go On Forever (bloody beautiful), Run (made me miss Jase) and All That I Have (dance, dance!).

Kirby was happy that they played Set The Fire to the Third Bar, which I've never liked much but have now completely changed my mind about now.

Good times, good times. Kirby took some awesome pictures. It's only appropriate that I leave you with a little number to finish off, so enjoy!



'I'm miles from where you are, I lay down on the cold ground . . .
And I, I pray that something picks me up, and sets me down in your warm arms.'

I'm stealing today's idea from Kelly, as it fits my strange day perfectly. I've been busy enjoying the public holiday here by staying in my pyjamas, cleaning my room and generally lazing about. Exercising today? Pah! Showering? I'll get around to it. Besides, am going to see Snow Patrol in concert tonight with my dear friend Kirby-la, so am not feeling particularly creative at the moment.

So without further ado, I now present today's Friday Feast to you;

Appetizer: Using only one word, how does grocery shopping make you feel?
It makes me feel incredibly annoyed that we are forced to spend so much money on products that we really shouldn't have to . . . oh wait, one word? Bugger. Hrm. Let's see . . . my one word would be: CRANKY.

Soup: What is your favorite part about the season of Autumn?
I love Autumn, the cool breezes, the smell in the air. It means the horrible humid Summer weather is coming to an end, thankfully.

Salad: Have you ever had any bad experiences online?
Other than Ebay tempting me to spend all of my savings away? Absolutely not. I've met some of the most important people in my life from the internet. And that's not even mentioning the friends I've made on this blog.

Main Course: Name three things that make you happy daily.
Talking to Jason and pretending he's not thousands of miles away, seeing my dogs wag their tails at me when I walk into the backyard, and talking with friends that make me smile.

Dessert: What household cleansing item would you not want to be without?
Ha. Cleaning. How about . . . garbage bags. Everyone needs those.

[It's our last day of school for the week. It's only 6.30am and I'm already deciding between throwing a tantrum or bawling my eyes out, because it's a certain time of the month and damnit, everything is frustrating me today. Plus it's going to rain. Which means I'll end up doing playground duty on my rostered one day off playground duty. It's certainly shaping up to be wonderful. Definitely the kind of day to drag out one of my kidlet posts before I mope around a little more.]

This one should probably be titled "Overheard on the Oval" instead of the classroom, as that was where we held our infants Athletics carnival last week.

Quoted one girl as she hopped into a sack, ready to start racing;

"Oh, I feel so good in the sack."

I think she's announcing that just a couple of years too early, in my humble opinion. And also, I apparently have my mind in the gutter.

(Wait . . . I've just realised that my international readers might not appreciate the humour in that statement: to be "good in the sack" usually means to be "good in bed." Or something. Perhaps you can google it?)

There's nothing like looking out of your window and seeing two pigeons getting, er, intimate in full frontal view of the entire class. You can tell it's Spring here.

I guess it's only natural that the kidlets would want to know what they were doing.

Aly: 'Er, they're probably just looking to find a partner.'

But how come that bird's feathers are all ruffled up like that?

Aly: 'Ah, he's most likely just showing off to the other bird.'

But why is that bird making all those loud noises? Is he hurt?

Aly: 'Well, I think he's most likely just.. really happy.'

Will those answers suffice? Hope so. I may be knowledgeable in a few areas, but the reproductive cycles of pigeons is not exactly one of my strong points.

In other news, this week has been full of sweet annoucements and celebrations from other couples. Lots of anniversaries, lots of sweet surprise gifts, an announced pregnancy, and now pigeons having sex in front of me? It must be something in the water. Way to rub it in, everyone. [insert pathetic sniffles here]

And congratulations, all!

During the school term, my weeks tend to be filled with the same old routines, day in and day out. I've decided that it's just the way that I function, because let's face it: I am boring. I'm a lot like some of my kidlets in a way - I enjoy sticking to my usual routine, and it takes me a little while to get my head around things when the routines change.

But you know what? It works for me. Diet-wise, sticking to my routine helps a lot; the times when I tend to sabotage my efforts are the unexpected trips out, the little things that pop up and spoil my best-laid plans. And as for not getting enough sleep of a night? Let's just say that it takes me an awfully long time to get back into the swing of things again.

Here's how a typical 'school day' goes for me;

6:00am - Alarm goes off. I'll either get up straight away, or snooze for another 15mins or so. Stumble out of bed, have a shower.
6:30am - Make a cup of tea, grab some cereal and check my emails. I usually time waste here, and end up running late.
7:15am - Realise what the time is, freak out, get dressed, brush teeth, pack lunch.
7:30am - Drive to work listening to my Ipod and hoping not to get stuck behind any trucks.

8:00am - Arrive at work, prepare (or chat) for the next hour, get ready for the day.
8:55am - Kidlets arrive, and I start the teaching day.
11:00am - RECESS! Here is when I happily stuff my face with food. Yippee!
11:20am - Back to the classroom, for more teaching.
1:10pm - Eating time . . . for the kidlets. I just supervise.
1:20pm - Eating time . . . for me! Unless I have duty of course, four days a week.
2:00pm - Back to class. More teaching. Funny that.
3:00pm - School's out!

3:30pm - Start the drive home, unless I have a staff meeting to stay back for.
4:00pm - (or thereabouts) I'm usually home by now, or at least nearly home anyway. I throw my bag in my room and get ready to exercise.
4:15pm - Procrastinate and avoid exercising. Usually checking my email again, stalking your blogs via Bloglines, spending away my savings on Ebay and hoping to chat with Jase on MSN.
5:00pm - Finally get off my tush and go for a walk on the treadmill.
6:00pm - Wander around, wasting time, annoy my mum when she gets home.
7:00pm - Organise dinner: making and/or eating. Very important!
7:30pm - You'll find me watching some form of television (most likely Australian Idol, now that it's started) or a DVD boxset (I always thought Melrose Place was so raunchy when I was younger, now it's just amusing) OR reading a book.
8:30-9pm - Bedtime! I know, I'm a granny. But that's ok. I'm a well-slept granny.

What does your day look like?

*I now have the absurd habit of breaking out into song, ala Buffy & the 'Once More With Feeling' gang. Am a nerd. Just without the demons.

It's always a classic when my kidlets do speeches about a topic of their choice, because you hear some hilariously funny (and hilariously terrible) results.

Today's topic? Healthy eating. Very appropriate, what with my current health kick and all. Here's the good advice one of my kidlets came up with;

"Eat healthy foods and they will help you to get NOT fat."

If only it were that easy, eh? I'd be not fat already.

I have a dirty little secret, blog friends. I'm not afraid to tell you that I'm a trifle ashamed to admit it. It's just that I like to think I have fairly decent taste in music, even if my tastes are a little all over the place.

Aw heck. I've already lost a couple of thousand brain cells by listening to it all day. I might as well lose my dignity as well & put it out there.

Here goes:

I'm listening to a new Britney Spears song. (Even though she's batshit crazy.)
I've been listening to it all afternoon. (Even though the lyrics are terrible.)
I've even been seat dancing to it. (Even though I can't seat dance for peanuts.)
And I've been enjoying it. (Even though all my senses tell me to turn it off.)
I even plan on keeping it on my Ipod.

There. I said it.

I actually LIKE it. Now feel free to send in reinforcements to help me find my brain.

I never used to wear jewelery to work, other than my watch. I figured I wasn't dressing up for anybody, so why bother? Plus, I have a keychain around my neck, which rubs horribly against any necklaces, and the majority of time I simply forget to put rings on.

Since Jason bought me my bling though, I've been making an exception and wearing my ring to school practically every day. Kidlets being kidlets, they notice everything. (And I mean everything. Don't even think about wearing those jeans two days in a row, unless you'd like to be called up on it.)

Kidlet #1: [staring at my ring.] "Did you get married?"
Kidlet #2: [shrieks out loud] "Yes! Yes she did! She's married!"
Kidlet #1: "WOW!"
Kidlet #3: [shaking head] "She's not married."

Aly: [trying to get a word in but being talked over.]

Kidlet #2: "Yes she is! She's married! She has a ring on her MARRIED finger!"
Kidlet #1: "YAY!"
Kidlet #3: [looking bored] "She's not married."
Kidlet #2: "But look at her ring! We should be calling her Mrs S!"

Aly: [silently thinking about how the kidlets call her that anyway.]

Kidlet #3: "It's the wrong hand."
Kidlet #2: "No it's not . . . Oh. OH."
Kidlet #1: [groans]
Random Kidlet: "When will she be married then?"

Aly: [admiring her pretty ring and listening in on their conversation.]

Kidlet #1: Who knows?
Kidlet #2: "But what happens if she NEVER gets married?"
Kidlet #3: [very matter of factly] "She'll just stay single."
Class: [exhanging looks of horror] "Oooh."

And that, my friends, is the day my students decided that I am a lonely, unmarried freak, because since then? The conversations about marriage have not stopped. In their eyes, I'm getting on in years you see, so my chances of marriage? Looking pretty slim. If I wasn't moving overseas at the end of the year, I'd have started adopting kitties already.