| Puzzling things #1 |
| Friday, July 29, 2005 |
There's a rather unusual trend among the double-income-no-kids couples I know - they have all developed an obsession with designer pets.
I'm talking intense research about the best pedigree pet for their lifestyle/needs/furniture, which involves buying various books, doing research on the Internet and discussing it with anyone who will listen. Then they pay out stacks of cash for said pet then stacks more cash for designer pet gear - toys, bedding, sparkly collars, you name it. Then on top of that there is also intense discussion about names and and modes of training etc. etc. (They have to go to a good puppy school after all).
My theory is these people are obviously not ready for children, but have moved on from plants. I hope there's not some abandoned plants drowning in a bag in some lake, or pining for an owner at the RSPCP (Royal Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Plants) |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 2:36 PM |
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| Default songs and default words |
| Thursday, July 28, 2005 |
More absurdities from the recesses of the complex, yet somehow intensely attractive*, mind of Twyford ...
I have a default song that springs from my brain when there is no song stuck in there. It just so happens to be Crowded House's 'Mean to Me'. This obviously indicates that I have a serious problem. Ms Paranoid (Very loud member of my head committee) agrees entirely that everyone is mean to me - Therefore I should spend some time today eating worms.
I also have default words that pop into my head when I can't think of a word (which is increasingly often these days. Sigh.) Unexplainably, these words are 'Fred Flintstone'; perhaps I'm attempting to get in touch with the inner thingamajig, er child. or perhaps I'm just strange.
*This is sarcasm - an explanation for some of you from the Land of Queen Oprah who are unaquainted.Labels: head committee |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 10:47 AM |
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| Ditsy Event of the Day |
| Wednesday, July 27, 2005 |
Ah yes the supermarket ... the time-sucking, advertising-flooded, brightly lit place where some members of the 70-plus age group get to eat straight out of the help-yourself-to-nuts section.
So I was in the supermarket pushing the trolley around in a bit of a dazed state (it's all the marketing, bright lights and concentrated nut-eating. Okay I admit these are all excuses.)
I was in the fruit and vege section. I picked out some broccoli and popped it in the trolley. I picked out some carrots and popped them in the trolley. I picked out some spinach and popped it in the trolley. Then I was on my way to the mushrooms when a man arrived in front of me holding broccoli, carrots and spinach.
Me (confused): yes?
Him (also confused): you put all these in my trolley.
Of course I meant to put all those vegies in his trolley because I thought he looked a bit tired and run down and needed to eat healthier. Grin
It's not the first funny experience i've had in that supermarket. I once encountered this tiny older lady in the bread section. She chose some bread. I chose some bread. She moved out the bread section. I moved out the bread section.
Strange lady (looking scared): Stop following me
But before I could tell her that I actually wasn't following her she had disappeared into the next aisle. So the rest of the shopping trip I had to peek into each aisle to see if she was there.
Okay so this post could also be titled "How I became a Supermarket Stalker".Labels: ditsy event of the day |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 2:22 PM |
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| The committee in my head |
| Tuesday, July 26, 2005 |
I think it is about time I introduced you to the committee - the committee is the committee in my head (but they often have a lot to do with what comes out of my mouth).
I have named the members of my head committee — there is Ms Paranoid, Ms Sensitive, Ms I'm-a-Failure, Ms Voice-of-Your-Mother and Ms Man Hater (I try to suppress her as much as possible). Then there is Counsel for Cleo who is the softly spoken, oft-absent voice of reason.
Sometimes one or more of them go on holiday, but it is never for more than a month because they all convene and yell at the top of their voices when I am expecting my period :)Labels: head committee |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 12:06 PM |
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| John Cusack house criteria |
| Monday, July 25, 2005 |
You know when you have thoughts in your head and they seem quite normal in your head, well until you really think about them - or worse, until you speak them out loud.
This is my latest -
I've been looking at houses to buy (as you do when you hit the 30-something age bracket; after all, you have to be able to contribute at parties when everyone is talking mortgages.)
Only I haven't been basing my choice on normal criteria, like whether it has two bathrooms and room for my fridge; I am basing it on whether it is the kind of place where I could ask John Cusack over for a cuppa. Grin. |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 9:00 AM |
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| The Tao of Twyford |
| Friday, July 22, 2005 |
The Tao of Twyford ...
The basic eternal principle of the universe is that I am going to do some ditsy, twitty things, no matter how hard I try not to.
Best not to fight it - BE IN TOUCH WITH THE TWIT WITHIN |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 9:03 AM |
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| The curse of the wardrobe lurker |
| Thursday, July 21, 2005 |
Ever wondered what is responsible for those bad-outfit days? It's the wardrobe lurker.
Let me explain. Wardrobe lurkers look quite unassuming hanging prettily in your wardrobe, but really they are evil.
This is what happens with a wardrobe lurker – you buy it because it looks nice, but its evil nature is underlying and only emerges when you wear it out in the wide world. This is when you discover it is the most uncomfortable piece of clothing known to woman.
The thing about the wardrobe lurker is you still think it looks like a nice clothing piece so you can’t throw it away. You pop it back in your cupboard and there it stays until sufficient time has passed for you to forget the pain it can cause. So then you give it another chance in the daylight.
So today's wrap-around skirt is quintessential wardrobe lurker. No matter how much I tug or twist it, it falls open unattractively when I sit down, sometimes revealing my underwear, which is not always of the pretty frilly variety.
But now it's going to meet its fate ... not at the charity shop because I couldn't live with myself if some other poor woman inherited the WL, but IN THE BIN |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 10:41 AM |
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| Everyone has one of those Aunts |
| Friday, July 15, 2005 |
Yes, everyone has one of those Aunts - the ones who buy inappropriate gifts. Last Christmas my one bought me a t-shirt with a puff-paint picture of the beach on it. Yeah, a-ha, you have one too, right?!
Mine's a dear old thing, very sweet, but she has zero idea about the perfect gift for moi. (It's quite easy really - expensive shoes, a holiday in Fiji, etc etc)
Every year she also gives me a calendar of cats and and I without fail get a birthday card with a cat on it. Two baffling things- I don't know where she got the idea I like cats (they're okay, but i don't LOVE them), plus I had no idea so many cat calendars even existed in the world.
But yesterday I was exceptionally lucky. My aunt gave me a surprise gift of a limited-edition plate featuring three kittens pawing at a butterfly. (The kind that you find on the back of women's magazines that also have knitting patterns) It even came with a little certificate.
At weddings she's the one who makes a bee-line for me so she can tell me "You're next". She says this even when I do not have a partner. In fact, lately she's started saying it at any major event.
So at the next funeral I'm going to make a bee-line for her so I can inform her "You're next". Evil. |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 10:45 AM |
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| Communing with Kate Bush |
| Wednesday, July 13, 2005 |
My hair has broken out into song today; but it's not a song of joy, it's a cry of follicle frizziness.
It goes a bit like:
Babooshka, Babooshka, Babooshka-ya-ya!
I think Kate Bush was having a bad-hair day akin to my own when she wrote that song. (okay I know the song isn't strictly about bushy hair ...)
Anyhoo, in honor of the day, I'm going to reminisce on bad Twyford hair events.
1. When I asked for a bob with an undercut (It was a really cool haircut at the time, believe me!) the hairdresser cut the bob high above my ears then shaved the rest of my head bald. It really just served me right since I got my hair cut at a cut-price hairdressers near a supermarket that was filled with hay-bales and cowboy-hat-wearing cutters.
2. Once at work a fellow employee asked me if I had been swimming. Really I had made a bad decision not to wash my hair that day so it had a nice greasy wet look. What do you say to that?
3. A particularly bad bridesmaid outing - Quite apart from the highly pink, pearled, frilly dress, which was bad enough, the hairdresser made a concerted effort to boof-up my hair. All the vicious back-combing made me look like a poodle. I was sixteen. I cried a lot. I looked puffy-faced and miserable in the photos.Labels: hair |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 11:33 AM |
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| Liberate Small Dogs Appeal |
| Tuesday, July 12, 2005 |
I am launching an appeal to save those poor little dogs whose barking mad owners are dressing them in naff outfits.
It's getting out of control. I'm talking:
Formal party dresses that look (scarily) like they are made from peak-eighties-bridesmaid-style taffetta.
"Doggles"- the goggles for dogs
Faux mink coats (available in baby pink)
Dresses featuring glitter, daisy-print, fur-trim, lace and ruffles (even for boy dogs, which is a crime no matter how small, cute and fluffy they are.)
Doggy pyjamas with little ducks on them. (Sheesh)
Choice for Chihuahua!
Unshackle the Shih-Tzu!
Unfetter the Terrier!
To small dogs everywhere, I say - unleash the dog within! Fight back - chew that nasty plastic hooded coat, bury that tiara in the garden.
GO NUDE! |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 3:50 PM |
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| WANTED: handsome very talkative French chef |
| Monday, July 11, 2005 |
This is my quite ingenious eating plan.
BAD current situation:
I am an expert at fridge grazing. I get home from work, stand at the fridge and eat bits and pieces of whatever is in there. The problem is that while I don't really commit to a meal, it is actually a misnoma as I actually eat more than a meal's worth (and a whole tup of hummous, usually).
This is a crisis as it's obviously not good for burgeoning thighs.
MUSINGS on which to base cunning eating plan:
So I've read about French women and their ability to stay thin, but eat whatever they like (There's even a book - French Women Don't Get Fat). This is obviously an attractive concept ;) Anyhoo, apparently the long lunch is the key to French women being able to eat chocolate croissants and fatty meals on a daily basis. They sit down to a lunch that lasts for hours eating and savoring only little bits at a time because they spend most of the time drinking a lot and chatting.
TWYFORD problem:
A Cleo long lunch would just be a fanatical fatty-food lunch demolition site. Haven't the French heard the term 'more-ish'?? It's the evil ingredient that keeps you eating and eating and eating. A bit like MSG really.
NEW fabulous eating concept:
Enter talkative, handsome French chef.
1. He will be so handsome I won't be able to concentrate on demolition of fatty foods.
2. He will be so handsome I will want to eat daintily instead of indulging in a scoff fest.
3. He will keep me talking so demolition less likely (intelligent and funny conversation only of course; delivered with mesmerizing French accent and charm)
4. He will make yummy fatty foods, but nothing that's going to dribble unattractively down my chin.
5. I would not have to make it myself (which would involve eating lots of the ingredients before lunch even began).
It's foolproof. Now I'm off to see if I can add this to my Froogle wishlist ;) |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 10:00 AM |
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| Not Drowning, Waving |
| Friday, July 08, 2005 |
I have a trademark wave. It's a comical two-handed attempt at saying hello, or goodbye or look at me. Actually it's a bit Camilla Parker Bowles - bordering on Royal but not quite making it.
So now I've ridiculed my own wave, let me just say:
George W Bush's wave BA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 11:53 AM |
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| Mums in Jeeps' clothing |
| Wednesday, July 06, 2005 |
Yes, you know who you are.
You rush around in your 4-wheel-drives dropping the kids off at school or football practice or dance class and the like. Granted it must be difficult to concentrate on the road with a couple of yelling/whinging/crying (pick one) children in the back seat, but that doesn't mean you are allowed to mount footpaths while turning corners, run over small dogs and back out of parking spaces with gay abandon.
When did the 4-wheel-drive become the new family car? I am mourning the loss of the station wagon with wooden panels a la The Brady Bunch.
I can't really get on my high horse (or high 4WD) considering my lack of reverse-parking skills, but this is one piece of advice I want to disseminate to my fellow women drivers - the rear-view mirror is to see what is happening out the back of the car, so should be facing that way, not at yourself. And i know you need to fix your hair, but two hands on the wheel while driving please.
Listen to me! Jeeeeez. I think I should appear on that Grumpy Old Women TV show. Right after Germaine Greer complaining about having to cut the grass, there's me complaining about women drivers. Evil. (I really haven't abandoned the sisterhood. Believe me.)
What age is old anyway? I guess I am approaching the age where the beauty therapist is not sure where the upper leg wax stops and the bikini wax begins. Grin. |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 10:08 AM |
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| Bring back the Cainer cravat campaign |
| Tuesday, July 05, 2005 |
My stars for today have got me in a bit of a faff flap. I don't think Jonathan Cainer knows how much of a faffologist I am so when he wrote the below forecast for my day, I don't think he realised how painful it would be for me. (If you are unacquainted with Cainer, get acquainted at http://stars.metawire.com ... beware, it becomes an addiction. Oh dear - self-help, stars, making a list of my addictions now!)
"Imagine that you have a plane to catch. You are running late. Various arrangements must be postponed. The washing up will have to wait. Never mind where your best shoes are... you have to pack what you can find right now and get moving. Everything that can be dropped must be dropped. Other, that is, than the need to find your wallet and your travel documents. Without those, it really doesn't matter what the time is. Look out, now, for something that you cannot proceed without!"
Stress 1. I CAN'T leave my best shoes behind, or my second-best for that matter.
Stress 2. Jonathan doesn't seem to realise that it is impossible for me to leave the house without doing the washing up.
Stress 3. I can't find my wallet???!!!
Stress 4. How am I meant to know what it is that I can't proceed without (besides those shoes)
I realise that the heading of this post has nothing to do with the content. It's just that I liked Jonathan's previous photo on his website better than the current one. He was wearing a cravat. I like to hear my stars from a cravated astrologer thanks very much. It's comforting. (The make-up is good though).Labels: Bring back the Cainer Cravat campaign |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 8:59 AM |
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| Patty Pickle and the Brownies |
| Monday, July 04, 2005 |
I am contemplating my evolution as a person. And I have decided that Patty Pickle and the Brownies have been highly influential in my development. Don't laugh.
Patty Pickle was a comic strip character in my fave girl comic. Patty Pickle was ditsy incarnate. She hung out the washing - and dropped it in the mud. She made a drink - and spilt it. You get the idea.
My inner Patty is not a new thing - it began in childhood when I was dubbed 'Patty Pickle' due to more than the usual number of spilling/breaking occasions. Then, well, you can't help but take on the persona. Well that's my excuse.
Anyway I'm embracing Patty Pickle as the Queen of Ditsy.
I know I'm talking purely to the 30-something woman when I talk about the importance of the Brownies. This is what I have to say: What were we thinking??!!!!! That brown sack dress. Ugh. Doing Brown Owl's ironing for a badge. Jeeeeeez! (I'm sure our Brown Owl led the Brownies just so she could get her house work done.)
"I promise that I will do my best, do my duty to God, Serve the Queen (Patty Pickle), help other people and keep the Brownie Guide law." But sorry I'm not wearing any mission brown sack dresses. |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 10:05 AM |
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| I am having a fat day |
| Sunday, July 03, 2005 |
My thighs are apparently growing in disproportion to what I am eating.
Hurrumph. |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 2:01 PM |
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| The importance of the handbag in finding a life partner |
| Friday, July 01, 2005 |
Yesterday I had a very profound head bada bing about human relationships and how some couples find each other (because obviously armpit secretion matching isn't working all that well if you look at some relationships.)
So my discovery is that the handbag (or purse for those of you who reside in the land of Queen Oprah) is vitally important in matching man to woman. Now I already hear the scoffs and feel the mountains of ridicule that will be piled upon me, but hell, I'm just going to push on anyhoo.
This discovery is also very valuable in removing the ridicule directed at women in relation to the amount of guff, stuff and other important bits and bobs in their handbags. Because, as I am about to prove, the male actually needs it. In fact, subconsciously he seeks out the perfect female handbag and once he finds it, there he finds his perfect life partner.
Okay, so how often have you been out at a restaurant or a cafe and you see a man hand over his wallet and keys for his partner to put in her bag? Well, firstly that female needs to have enough room in her bag for that man's particular personal effects. Eh, eh?!
I've heard several male halves of relationships ask their female counterpart why they need to carry so much around in their handbag, but then in the next breath ask for a tissue or a mint or comb or er hammer or some such. So as well as having enough room, the perfect female also needs to have the perfect handbag contents. Da da, perfect partner.
Jeez the amount of rubbish that comes out of my mouth. It's just phenomenal.Labels: my weird theories |
| posted by Cleo Twyford @ 9:44 AM |
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