Only problem is now as part of the acceptance procedure, I have to think of 10 things that you don't know about me and pick some other bloggers to share the joy. Work, work, work and I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to work. But just for you I will down a couple of Zyrtecs and put my nose to the metaphorical grindstone.
Now the main problem I face is, do I really have 10 interesting unknowns about me up my sleeve? Probably not. Short of swapping my life for that of Lara Croft, I may just bore you stupid. Plus, I'm pretty open about my life, warts and all (hell, you've even heard about my bowel habits) so I may be scraping the barrel to find anything blog worthy.
Prior to reading I recommend the ingestion of at least 4 espressos and maybe a box of Nodoze.
1. I used to Belly Dance. Yep that's right, belly dance. I have the coin covered scarf and everything. I think my love of belly dancing began at my 30th birthday party. Think small Turkish restaurant, numerous vodka and lemon squashes, scarves, a birthday dare and a woman in a sparkly belly dancing costume paid to encourage inebriated patrons to shake their unco-booties. This progressed to belly dancing in the hospital gym. Nothing like a bunch of over 30 Jazz ballet rejects attempting to move their hips provocatively, whilst moving left to right and waving a scarf.
(This is where I dragged David, purchased my gorgeous jingly scarf, Arab Quarter in Singapore)
2. I have my belly button pierced. It was my Mothers Day present after my youngest was born. My piercer was a lovely tattooed lady, not dissimilar in appearance to the tramp (not that I'm judging, I'm sure her parents are so proud of how she turned out) involved in the Sandra Bullock fiasco. Must say the heavily tattooed bikers who ran the tattoo parlour, were very lovely to both myself, Mr Grumpy and the youngest rug rat on the day. Who says big burly guys from notorious biker gangs are bad sorts?
3. I've eaten rat. Actually if you have travelled in a 4th or 3rd world Asian country you too have eaten rat, you just didn't know it. Apparently if you stick to country rat it's okay, but avoid city rat like the plague, because, well, they could be carrying the plague.
4. I love Judge Judy. I don't care if that's makes me a dweeb. If I'm honest I was already well on my way to dweebdom long before I watched my first episode. I love how she doesn't mince her words and simple tells people they are idiots or should not be allowed to breed. None of this touchy feely crap. I particularly love the half-wit, inbred, banjo players who come on time and again to claim reparations for some illegal scheme. It's kinda like the guy who recently called the cops for a home invasion, forgetting that he was a drug dealer and had thousands of dollars in merchandise at him home. I'm sorry, but stupidity is funny.
5. I went through a Belinda Carlisle phase in my teenage years. I dyed my hair red, had the perm, wore my jean jacket half off my shoulders and would spend hours in front of the mirror singing, "Leave A Light On For Me". I still know all her songs off by heart and have been known to belt out her songs when they come on the radio in the car, much to the embarrassment of my children and their friends.
6. I will also admit a love of New Kids On The Block and dreaming of marrying Donny Walberg (well, until I saw "Markie Mark" Walberg and his underwear ads mmmm). I would get up super early on a Saturday morning to watch the music countdown, and may have taped and then watched the filmclips over and over until I had perfected the dance moves, "Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh, Oh Oh Oh Oh. Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh, Oh Oh Oh Oh. The Right Stuff". Lyrical genius.
7. I hate beer. I know that is probably the most un-Australian thing I could possibly say, but it's true. I have tried many varieties over the years but all of them taste like cat pee, with differing levels of yuck. The smell of beer breath is enough to make me gag. I know it will surprise many, as I've been known to enjoy a glass or two of something fermented over the the years. I have even drunk snake wine (stuff a whole snake and herbs in a big glass jar, pour over rice wine and let steep) in Vietnam, but I still can't stomach beer.
8. I have been tear gassed. I wish I had some great story of civil disobedience to tell, but alas no. It was back in my navy days. As part of our training we were forced to run 5km through a mangrove swamp in full gas gear, go into a tent, tear gas cannisters were let off and we were told to take off our gas masks and answer questions. And let me tell you, it BURNS. It burns where ever you sweat, and you sweat EVERYWHERE in full gas gear. Sadistic bastards. I am full of admiration for those who can protest, throw rocks and Molotov cocktails in a cloud of tear gas, me I'd be running in the other direction and praying for the fire hose to ease the burning.
9. I know how to put out an oil fire on a frigate. You never know when that'll come in handy. You could be walking along the street minding your own business and all of a sudden come across a frigate that's on fire. And you stand there thinking "gee I wish I knew how to put that fire out", well I'm your girl. I can do the whole oxygen tank, mask, huge fire hose dealio. I will admit the first time when the foam hit the fire, and the fire went straight up the wall, rolled across the roof to come out the door just above my head it was a little disconcerting but I got it out. I may have ended up with frizzy eyebrows and potentially a sun tan despite being inside, and well the little metal clasps that hold your fire gear together do get a might hot (so they were'nt being sexist pigs when they told us to take off our bras if they had underwires) but I did it. Crawling through a black, smoke-filled tuna can of death with zero visability may have contributed to my claustrophobia but you never know.
10. I have played Cowpat Brandy. For those of you unfamiliar with this game, it is a countrified twist on the traditional game of brandy except we swapped the wet tennis ball for a crusty on the outside, gooey in the centre cow pat. I'm not sure which hurts more, but I do know a cowpat does wonders for the skin. There's nothing like a lady-like game of pounding your friends with a cowpat to pass the day on a farm. Followed of course by a swim in the channel with the redfin and brown snakes. Who needs an expensive beauty spa? My skin was fully exfoliated and super soft.
So there you go, 10 previously unknown things about me. Maybe they'll explain a little of why I am the way I am today. Maybe you'll think I am a complete and utter freak (it's okay, I am comfortable with my freakness) and run away screaming. Maybe I have bored you stupid and you are now drooling on the couch with your lap top perched precariously on your lap and your mug of espresso dripping on the floor from your lax hand, in which case you wont read this and I don't know why I'm typing. Stop typing you stupid woman. Stop Typing.
Now it's time to pass the baton. I've decided I'll pass it on to 3 champion recipients. In the past I've given a nod to my many non-health faves, so this time I
thought I'd health it up, with my favourite Bob blog, favourite non-Bob health blog and to really mess with the system my favourite health vlog. Now this is not to say I don't love many blogs but I could end up with a list a mile long and that would require more typing and basically I'm lazy.
1. Favourite Bob blog:
This award goes to Michele over at Dysautonomia Normal. Michele is a bloggy friend from way back. She is far more articulate than I could ever hope to be and is a truly lovely person to boot.
2. Favourite Non-Bob health blog:
This award goes to Lucy over at Costochondritis. Lucy brings awareness to a very unknown disease, with humour and sensitivity. She is funny and lovely and one of those people you'd love to have a coffee with.
3. Favourite Vlog:
Cheers
Michelle :)
PS, I may be slow on the blogging for a while as my beloved laptop has gone to the big computer store in the sky. Until I can get him replaced I am stuck using my sons computer in his toxic funk-filled room. As this involves me holding my breath and dashing into his room to do some short and rapid typing followed by a rapid dash back out of the room, my efforts may be infrequent. I have been informed that a flame thrower is really the only way to disperse teenage boy funk so I shall be onto the yellow pages to contact "Flame Throwers R' Us". Wish me luck. In honour of this time of olfactory trial, I give you The Rockerfellar Skank (Funk Soul Brother), Fat Boy Slim
