Curiosity

Wednesday, December 21st, 2005 | Culture Clash, Insanity, University | No Comments

When I was a student, I had a small fridge in my college room. Within this fridge, I kept beer, chocolate and emergency food supplies for when the Russians invaded Toowoomba.

I shared this college lifestyle with 20 other people - other Engineering students, drunk Nurses, bleached and dyed Art students and the occasional Mad Science student.

It was widely understood that most of the students did not possess the sophistication to use utensils when they ate, nor did they wash their hands after visiting the toilet. In effect, we were a band of smelly bipeds who read books and dallied about in Lecture theatres. Monkey’s gaining education.

Many other people in my college had fridges, in addition to the common-room fridge. All except the Science students. These people used the Common-Room fridge with sole exclusion. It was their Petri dish.

Some claimed that the Common-Room Fridge contained the only culture in the college. Some of the bacteria had evolved intelligence, and had commenced a Bachelor of Education.

Now that I’ve graduated, I find that fridges are my friend. Mostly.

At present, I have two fridges, my old college friend, and a newer and slightly larger kitchen fridge. Both of which, are overflowing due to my recent Christmas Cooking episodes.

I made 24 mince pies the other night! All of this cooking must go somewhere, and this somewhere happens to be the freezer. To the expense of all else.

To my utter horror and revulsion, Mr Frog found a lonely recycled margarine container sitting on the top of the fridge last night. How long it had been there was anybody’s guess. I’m guessing that it was over 3 weeks.

This container had been displaced by Christmas Cooking and container had once contained frozen bacon. What was now contained in this margarine container had evolved to a state where it was learning to play Christmas Carols on the banjo. I’ve seen bipeds with less coordination than the contents previously known as Bacon, now known as George.

After a brief discussion, Mr Frog and I agreed to set George free. George was thrilled with this arrangement, but demanded that we provide him with a suitcase, some pocket money and a bus ticket.

Disgusted by his audacity, we threw George out on his arse.

Thankfully, the garbage men are coming around to collect George today, so we wont have to listen to his muffled cries for mercy from the bottom of the wheelie bin.

We’re not in Wales anymore.

Friday, October 28th, 2005 | Culture Clash | 1 Comment

Mr Frog and I have now been in the country for about 8 weeks. That’s quite a while, and it’s long enough to be aclimatised to the pre-summer humidity, and the nightly electrical shows that flicker over our little house.

Eight weeks, however, is not enough time to become familiar with all the creepy-crawly bug-eyed things that creep out of strange places in our house.

Toads are ugly, feral and are killing our native frogs. For these reasons (ugliness is valid as a reason) I have now taught Mr Frog to swerve his Rav 4 all over the road in order to flatten the ugly, feral and murdering toads. As a result, we both feel like Horrible People, and try to put our conscience at ease by justifying it all by imagining all the little native froggies we’ve saved.

Spiders are long and leggy and freaky looking, but in most parts, they’re not dangerous. Especially when you’re wearing steel-cap boots and you’re in easy squishing range. Or, if you have a handy can of Fly Spray and dont mind inhaling toxic vapours while you drown the bastard thing with spray goop.

Snakes, however, are a different matter. Spray doesn’t work on them. Boots are too close to my feet, and I’m quite fond of my feet the way they are.

As summer is starting to warm everything up, the snakes are out to eat, shit and fornicate. As a result, they are cranky. Cranky.

So when Mr Frog wondered why I pole-vaulted into bed, via the bathroom door and hallway light fitting, all I needed to do was point to the shaddow of my leather belt and he understood.

Leather belts that have been forgotten and left for dead on the bedroom floor do a remarkable impersonation of a Cranky Australian Snake.

How to Irritate me.

Tuesday, October 25th, 2005 | Culture Clash, Insanity | No Comments

Sometimes I think I’m going to loose it, jump over the desk, put my hands around his throat and just SHOW him how much he irritates me.

And he bites his nails. Loudly. With slurping noises. Surely nobody can enjoy the taste of their own epithelials that much. Only a handful of people on this earth know how much noisy nail-biting makes my skin crawl.

What’s worse, is the knowledge that he’s too ‘environmentally unaware’ to realise what his presence does to the social climate of this department. He walks in, all enjoyment walks out.

I’d like to walk out, too, however I am a slave to my wage slip and my wage slip is telling me that I need to work.

For the record, I’m not talking about you, Mr Frog.

Dooced

Tuesday, March 30th, 2004 | Culture Clash | No Comments

To be‘dooced’ is to have your weblog revealed to your offline world. Ms Dooce is in fact, a rather witty lass who simply tells about her life with an amusing spin. (*plug) Her name, however, has become general net-slanguage for being ‘outted’, after she had one of the first rather public ‘Doocings’ in recorded internet history. It wasn’t pleasant. She set a trend in such a fine way that people identify her cool with something that is totally uncool.

To say that Squashedfrog has been Dooced is rather pointless, considering that the bulk of the traffic that ever swings by here comes from my offline life to begin with. It’s never really been an issue… As a rule, I dont blog about really personal matters and I try and veer away from shit that happens at work. On the whole, my life isn’t that amusing, and I rarely find fault with any of my family or friends. Besides, if I blogged about Beloved (HI SWEETIE! - I know he reads this…) I’d have to OK it with him before I let the world in on the secrets that happen behind closed doors.

So my blog rolls on, rather blandly, but unique enough for me to claim it as my own. However, due to the reality of the online/offline situation, I cant actually blog about really personal matters, especially considering that some of these matters may actually involve people who may actually read this blog. Which is a bit of an arse, y’know, considering that this is my online turf, and I -should- be able to say what I feel.

Alas. It is not the case.

Were I to say what I felt and if involved persons were to stumble upon this, then I may get strung up on the nearest light post and left to dangle til my feet stopped twiching. So, I have to hold my tongue about the finer details, but my life is soon to change. How fast those changes happen is a matter totally out of my control. I just hope they happen sooner, rather than later. My life, with 5/7ths of it spent pining for Beloved, is making me miserable.

Next time I have a bright idea to start a blog, i’m going to keep the URL a secret, m’kay.

Curious

Friday, March 19th, 2004 | Culture Clash | No Comments

What is one expected to do on a Hens Night?

Do we live it up, get blind rotten drunk, whistle at strippers and stumble home at dawn?

Or, alternativly, do we go to a comedy club, nibble strawberrys and champagne, and indulge in some divine gastronomical inventions?

I want to know. I’m going to a Hens Night tonight, and I really want to know what to expect!

Flogged.

Wednesday, June 4th, 2003 | Culture Clash | 2 Comments

An Aussie word for all occasions. Like few other words in existance, flogged can be used in a wide variety of situations. I’m not linguist by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ll try and give you some idea of just how useful, and confusing, this word can be.

Flogged: I flogged the teapot.
In this instance, the confusion really shows itself. In one instance, this statement could mean that the person has legitimatly sold the teapot to a willing buyer. On the other hand, it could also mean that the person in question aquired the teapot via less than legal means. ie: The mug stole the teapot.

Flogged: I’m totally flogged!
Again, this instance, the word flogged can mean two completely different things. It can mean that the person in question is either drunk, or exhauted. To be totally flogged, in any case, usually requires some form of recouperation.

Flogged: They were totally flogged!
Yet again, the usage is ambiguous. In this situation, the group of people referred to were either drunk, or convincingly beaten. A football team can get flogged at their weekly match, and then get flogged at the pub afterwards.