The thing about being married to a 22 year old (or someone who’s 27 who still THINKS he’s 22) is that every now and then Hubs thinks it’s HILARIOUS to give me a hickey. When we first started going out, I was mortified by this, however I soon got in to the spirit of things and started giving as good as I got:
I was actually pretty good at it! This was one I gave him for his birthday last year just before we were leaders on a kid’s camp! (Actually, I think there are 2 hickeys there!!! Yeah!)
And here’s Hub’s most recent handy work at our going away party in June:
But I reckon he’s losing his touch. (Can you even see it?) Although that might mean he’ll want some more practice. I know I’ll probably regret saying this, but hickeys don’t really bother me that much anymore, as long as I don’t have an interview or a special occasion coming up. Plus Hubs gave them to me so often at one stage that it was normal to see Wifey sporting a new hickey at church each week!
So thank you, dear Hubsband, for keeping us young and completely unclassy!
(To learn how to remove hickeys, click here, though I’ve never bothered with anything other than make up!)
I went for a wee walk the other day to post a letter to my Nanny and came across a rather odd sight on the footpath:
At first glance I thought they’d taken the advertising for the new X-Files movie to the suburbs, but after a closer look I realised it was just a jelly-fish! After some investigating (i.e. looking into the yard that it was sitting outside of) I noticed a fishing boat and came to the conclusion that Jerry the Jelly Fish was a stowaway, looking for greener pastures. Unfortunately for Jerry, the grass was not greener on the other side.
And the next day, all that remained of Jerry was a puddle. Perhaps this is a case for Mulder and Scully after all…
One of my goals this year was to learn some new skills. Some things I had in mind were to do a sign language course, to get back in to some sewing, and to perhaps try my hand at a new sport. What I DIDN’T have in mind was learning how to give someone dreadlocks.
Hubsband: Honey, I’ve wanted dread locks for a while now, can I get them?
Wifey: Sure, how much are they?
Hubsband: $500 to get them done at the salon….
Hubsband: or $150 for a DIY kit that you can buy on-line which means you could dread my hair! Wouldn’t that be tee-yodally awesome?
Wifey: Ummmmmmmmmmmmm….. sure, okay….
So the kit was ordered, and on ANZAC Day 2008 (a Friday) we began.
Before we begin: Say goodbye to Hubsband’s beautiful, untangled, luscious hair (sniff)
Step One: Section off the hair in to 1 inch squares and put them in rubber bands. I made 70 sections, a perfect 35 on each side. (2 hours)
Step Two: Spray the hair with Locking Accelerator – stuff that knots your hair up good and proper (5 minutes)
Step Three: Backcombing. Now on the instructional DVD, it takes about 5 minutes to explain this process, but takes a lot longer to do. Basically it’s teasing the hair, but in a gradual way so as not to create big messy clumps of hair. It takes about 100 strokes per inch of dread, and some of Hub’s hair was 14 inches long!! I managed to get it to about 20 minutes per dread which I was quite happy with. Here are some of Hub’s first dreads:
Now before I go on to Step 4, let me give you an insight into our “dread week”:
Friday: 12noon til 9:30pm – Sectioning, backcombing, finished 14 dreads (my hands were like claws when I went to bed – I could hardly move them. But they were okay on Saturday)
Saturday: 8:00am (Hubs made me a cooked brekky to start the day off) til 3:00pm – 15 Dreadlocks. Then I went to a hen’s night!
Sunday: 7:30pm (late start) til 10:30pm – 7 Dreadlocks
So by this stage Hubs had half a head of dreads. AND he had to go to work on Monday morning! Tee hee! We really thought I’d be finished by now, but we were only half way through.
Monday: 4:00pm til 10:30pm – 17 Dreadlocks (and Wifey was getting a little tired of this by now!)
Tuesday: 5:00pm til 10:30pm – 14 Dreadlocks. I only had 3 to go but just couldn’t do it that night
Wednesday: BLISS!! Finished the last 3!! Or so I thought….
Step Four: Waxing the little friggers. Each dread had to be waxed and rolled which took about an hour. Then they had to be blow dried so the wax really soaks in. That took another half an hour. And low and behold, Wednesday night my Hubs had dreads. Total time physically working on them (excluding breaks): 33 hours.
And since then he’s had heaps of comments on how awesome they are (not just from me!) They do look really great actually. And because all the hair gets caught in them (eew) it doesn’t fall out all over the place! Hooray! I must admit that I feel a sense of pride when Hubs tells people that I did his hair for him. It’s certainly a new skill that I’ve learnt! Oh, and I NEVER want to do it again!
For all those Miles From Nowhere fans out there (I know there’s a few of you!) no, I’m not talking about a comeback tour (rats). I’m talking about the denim variety of the gene… er… jean. Up until a year ago, jeans and I didn’t get along. In fact, there had been NO jeans-lovin’ since I was about 11 years old and hadn’t yet developed hips. (They came at 11 and a half and the jeans were put in the back of the wardrobe)
I was really okay with this arrangement to be honest, as I got along famously with skirts and three-quarters. Even when I lived in Scotland for a year, I survived without jeans. Instead opting for the “pant” or “trouser” to keep me warm, as well as a few under-layers of course.
And then along came my Hubsband-to-be. He couldn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t wear jeans. Nay, would HATE jeans and not even consider wearing them. The thing is, I had TRIED to buy jeans at places like Just Jeans, Jeans West, Jay Jays etc (alliteration is huge in the Jean industry) but I ended up with pint-sized sales assistants insisting that I couldn’t POSSIBLY need a size that big and handing me a few pairs of jeans that would barely fit over my calves. So really it’s their fault that I was scared away from this super-versatile item of clothing for so long.
Enter a friend from church who also had a few curves. She suggested this shop at Chermers where she buys all her jeans. And 8 months later, my sister-in-law-to-be, along with a bit of courage, went shopping and voila! Wifey’s first pair of jeans in a lonnnnnnng time!
Not bad hey? Now I’m not saying I put these bad boys on and all of a sudden I was a convert. It did take me a few more weeks before I wore them in public. Funnily enough Hubs-to-be didn’t even notice the first time I wore them! After a couple of months however, I became very attached and we have now been going strong for 12 months. I even bought my second pair a few days ago in Melbourne (from the same chain as my first ones) and I like them even BETTER!
Hooray for jeans!
Question: What is a trebuchet?
Answer: A medieval military catapult for hurling heavy stones
Up until a few months ago, I had no idea what a trebuchet was until a good friend of my Hubsband’s (who should have known better and shall remain nameless) emailed around an ad advertising a trebuchet that was for sale. He did this as a bit of a joke, but Hubs thought it would be a GREAT idea to get a few mates to pitch in and buy the thing. Why? To fling stuff in the park behind our house of course!!
So the planning began and after a few false starts, a trip was made by one of Hubsband’s other crazy friends to pick the thing up. Upon arrival however, they saw how HUGE this contraption was and realised they had bitten of more treb than they could chew. Now when I say huge, I mean huge:
Click here for more information
The dimensions are:
Height: 5m (including the “throwing arm”)
After some negotiations, crazy friend instead purchased the prototype that the guy used to build the larger one which was much more manageable:
By around 2pm on that lovely Sunday afternoon, about 20 blokes (not including the original nameless friend who saw the ad in the first place!) in various medieval get-up had descended upon our back yard and were keen to fling! We headed to the park and proceeded to set up the treb as well as a target to hit. It has a range of about 30 meters so that was a bit less scary than the original 100m range of the larger model.
A fun time was had by all, and once the beer and bbq had wrapped up and the light was fading, of course it was decided to set fire to things and fling them!
Thankfully the police remained blissfully unaware of the event and the trebuchet is sitting quietly in Hubsband’s Mum’s garage.
Til we fling again….
Since arriving in Melbourne, Hubs and I have been staying with a family friend and have been treated to home cooking every night. Here’s what we’ve had so far:
Saturday: home made curry (delicious!)
Sunday: roast lamb (gotta love the Sunday roast)
Monday: lamb shanks done in the slow cooker (oh my gosh it was SO GOOD!!)
Tuesday: beef stroganoff (the beef melted in our mouths)
Wednesday: chicken with taties and veges (with gravy left from the lamb shanks)
And don’t even get me started on the desserts! I think I’ve found a replacement for Nanny’s.
I’ve only been a Wifey for 7 months, but I have to agree with other longer term wifeys and mothers when they say that the best meals they have are the ones cooked for them. We really have been spoilt and it’s been nice having time with each other while we settle in to this wild city.
Now don’t get me wrong. I like Ugg-boots just as much as the next bevan, but come on people! Ugg boots are an INSIDE boot, not an outside boot. This fact seems to escape a LOT of people in our new home town.
Now I know residents of Brisvegas are guilty of wearing their Uggies outside the comfort of their own homes as well. In fact, I find it quite hilarious that it’s not cold enough in Queensland to wear Ugg boots with warm clothes as well, so people wear the Ugg in public with shorts and singlets! And the number of outside-Uggers increases, the further north you go!
But I have to admit, the number of outside Ugg-wearers I’ve seen since we touched down in Melbourne 4 days ago has astounded me. I can’t help but point and laugh.
I’ve seen Uggs over jeans, Uggs with stockings and skirts, Uggs popping out from underneath trousers, and of course, Uggs teamed with trackie-dacks. What a sight!
Now as I mentioned earlier, I AM a fan of the boot. I even had my parents ship my old Uggies over to Edinburgh when my little tootsies were freezing off in the Scottish winter. And boy they did the job. I had to retire them that winter after 11 years of service. And Hubsband (pictured) has Uggs that he has barely taken off since we arrived in Melbourne, except when he goes outside… (okay. So there was ONE time where he was caught out, but it was only brief and only witnessed by one person who swore never to speak of the incident.)
So if you are Ugg-lovers as we are, please respect the Ugg-rules and keep your Uggs indoors, where they belong.