Friday, December 31, 2010

The Last Post

Hello everybody.

This is the last post on Ataxophile.

The good news is I'm not moving far, and have a sparkling new blog with an almost sparkling new name.  As the result of a stupid, stupid New Year's resolution I will now be blogging at The Hungry Ataxophile.  I hope you can join me there.

It will be the greatest blog you have ever read.  It has charming anecdotes, beautiful artwork, and possibly the occasional dog photo.  And food.  Lots about food.  Go to the FAQ page to see what it's all about.

And happy New Year.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Ellen And The Day Spa

As an early Christmas treat for Ellen we made her an appointment to have her hair done.

She was a little uncertain at first,


and she wasn't at all sure about having her ears washed,


but it didn't take her long to realise it was very nice having all that attention.



Even if a strange lady was doing things with a hose to her bottom.


And when it was all over, and she was nice and shiny, it was lots of fun to find things to roll in.


But the best fun of all was going to the dog park yesterday to show off her shiny new coat to her friends.


Doggy hydrobath: $35

Romp in a mud puddle with a ball two days later: priceless.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

A Tasty Surprise

I am a poor gardener, and a lazy and impatient one.

My compost, for example, is spread around the garden long before it has reached that crumbly, sweet-smelling stage.  Before, in fact, it has really composted at all.  Rather than compost, some might call it rubbish.  Amongst my seedlings a keen eye can pick out whole apples, pumpkins, newspapers and even the odd not-terribly-compostible thing, like an onion bag or a wine bottle.

Anyway, a little while ago I had an urge to plant things.  I'm not sure what came over me - perhaps I'd been watching Backyard Blitz, or perhaps the way the post-apocalyptic moonscape of our front yard was attracting foxes and carrion birds was starting to get to me.  Whatever it was, I felt I wasn't going to feel fulfilled until I had spent hundreds of dollars and many hours planting a shrubbery.

Unsure where to begin on the Shrubbery Project, I thought I would build a mound.  Plants like mounds, they are a fail safe conversation starter and they add enormous value to house prices.

So I emptied the compost bin on to the lawn, threw on some potting mix, chicken poo and lucerne that I found in the garage, and inserted some plants.  

I was very proud of my Shrubbery and I loved it.

And my Shrubbery was nurtured by my love and by the mystery nutrients of the compost, and lo it did grow and grow and grow.

And grow.

And it became a big green monster that scared away all the foxes.

And it grew some things that I hadn't even asked it to grow, but I left them there out of a mixture of fear and curiosity.

But then the Fella beheld my Shrubbery, and he said that the mystery things were not Good Things, and that we should remove them because they were bullying our very expensive proper plants.

So we pulled up the biggest one, and guess what we found underneath.....

Thousands upon thousands of magnificent purple potatoes!  Well, sixteen of them.

And I wasn't the only one licking my lips.




Saturday, December 4, 2010

YouTube-torial

The other night the Fella was saying to me that he'd never really spent any time on YouTube.

Had no interest.

Didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

Obviously, I couldn't let that pass.  When considered along with other grumblings of the week ("Lady Gaga? Who? WHAT? Where are my slippers?????", or "WTF is a LOLcat???"), it became clear that the Fella was in desperate need of An Education.

We started out with the basics, and although the Fella tried to look nonchalant, I could see that he was starting to get excited.  He was, in fact, chalant.

We spent a long time looking at the classics.   Longer than we wanted.

But the Fella was able to press on through these frustrations long after I had tired of the lesson.

Usually I am indefatigable when it comes to plundering the treasures of the interwebs, but even I have my limits.

I don't think he noticed when I went to bed, and I couldn't tell you if he joined me that night.


Monday, November 15, 2010

Under The Knife

Today I've been thinking about how I could improve my life through plastic surgery.

My favorite magazine tells me that I'm of that age where I should be concerned about fine lines, sunspots (and not just because they disrupt satellite communications), free radicals wreaking havoc on my antioxidants and the inexorable retreat of perkiness in all my moving parts.  And in my parts that aren't supposed to move.

But they say plastic surgery is addictive, and that even after enduring great pain and expense the first time, there is a driving urge to get a second, a third, a fourth and many more procedures.  It's like getting your first cat.  And I'm starting to recognise my propensity to this kind of addiction.  When I told astrocave that I was thinking of getting a kitten to keep Stuart company and help control his violent outbursts, he told me that when you have a problem with a cat, and your solution is to get a second cat, then you're officially a Crazy Cat Woman.

But I digress.

There are many ridiculous and frightening cosmetic procedures out there: injection of botulism into the face, bleaching of things that should never be bleached, butt lifts, brushing teeth, removal of ribs, and, well, the list goes on and on.

These operations do not actually increase anyone's quality of life, but with a little creative thinking enormous improvements could be made through the realisation of the full potential of cosmetic surgery.  If I had enough money, these are the little nip tucks I would have done:

  1. Have my right arm replaced with another left arm.  I am left-handed and have very little use for a right arm.
  2. Have my eyes put in chameleon-like sockets.  This would make me a better parallel parker.
  3. Make the legendary "dessert stomach" a reality.
  4. Get some antlers.  For intimidation and holding yarn.
  5. Have my middle fingers extended by 10cm.  To help with road-rage and eating peanut butter.
  6. Have one of my knees reversed.  To help me run in circles.
  7. Get my underpants tattooed on.
  8. Extra teeth.

I'd keep the fine lines though.  It's important not to look as though you've had any work done.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Stuart's Song. Inspired by The Events Of The Past Twenty-Four Hours. With Apologies To Hunters & Collectors

I will come for you at night time
I will bite you in your sleep
I will vomit in four places
So watch out where you put your feet
I will squeeze the rage out of you
I will make you scream and make you cry
And we will never forget it
I will make you call my name
And you'll shout it with clenched fists to the sky
And we are sure to do this again
So don your gloves and let's get started
And I will throw my breakfast around me
Yeah, I will throw my breakfast around me

I woke you up at night time
And I attacked you in your sleep
I licked my private places
And then I licked your head and scratched your feet
So if I disappear out of view
You'd better lift your feet up on your chair
And though you try to forget it
I will make you call my name
And you'll shout it with clenched fists to the sky...
And we are sure to do this again...
So grab your Savlon, grab your gauze
And I will throw my claws around you
Yeah, I will throw my claws around you
Oh...yeah...
Ohhh yeah...
I will throw my claws around you...
Yeah, I will throw my claws around you....

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Now What?

Yesterday my thesis was bound.

I will not look at it again before I submit it on Friday. I know that if I check over it now any spelling errors will be immediately obvious, even though during proof-reading they hid from view like the proverbial clown fish in the caesar salad.

So, in the words of Simon and Garfunkel, I've got nothing to do today but smile.

Or, less appropriately, as the Beatles said, I am the walrus.  Goo goo goo joob.

Or perhaps The Bedroom Philosopher put it best: I just felt like ice-cream wrapped in biscuit crumbs.

However true those sentiments are, today is not a day of rest for me.  For a start, yesterday I found an Easter egg behind the washing machine.  Either we have an infestation of bunnies, or I have found Stuart's secret chocolate stash. 

I'm heading into the laundry very soon with my reaching stick to find out which it is.

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