Pull up a stool…


When my doctor told me I needed a double endoscopy, I was a little nervous.  Mostly about not eating for a day, but also because I was worried they’d do the bottom end first.

(insert eye roll here)

As it turned out, I had to fast for a full 60 hours.  That was not fun.  Neither were the laxatives.  That stuff is horrible.  I tried imagining it was a McDonald’s slushie, and that helped.  They taste about the same.


The downside was that I started craving burgers.  As you do.  Smelling the amazing burgers the Boss cooked for the kidlets did not help.  Nor did the amazing peppercorn chicken he made for them the following night.  Actually, he did such a good job that I’ve told him he can do more of the cooking around here.  (His response?  Nooooooooooo!)  By the time I got to the hospital yesterday, I was just about ready to slap a bread roll around my own foot and eat that.


Foot long sub, anyone?  But seriously.  The procedure went smoothly, if slowly, and they have sent away the polyps for testing.  I have to go back in a few weeks to get the results.


Once the procedure was done, they fed me some sandwiches, and the Boss (bless him!) had a snot block waiting for me in the car.  I got home to find out he’d also cooked up a pot of his amazingly delicious pumpkin soup.  He even left out the chili so as not to stir up the plumbing.  Isn’t he a darling?

So, I am happy again.  My stomach is happy again.  There is much feasting.


Sadly, though, the story doesn’t end there.  The nurse in recovery happened to mention that I will need to have this procedure every two years for the rest of my life.  To quote the Boss, Noooooooooo!

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this experience, it’s that I can’t do this again.  Not possible.  My stomach won’t let me.


Actually, this experience has taught me two things.  After all those laxatives, I discovered that everyone who ever said I was full of shit was right.  I owe a lot of people an apology.


By ConspiracyCat

Happy New Year


I wish for you all a year of fulfilment, serenity, and dreams that have come true.  I wish you all health, wealth, and happiness.  Most of all, I wish you all a very happy 2017.



By ConspiracyCat

Merry Christmas!


Merry, Merry Christmas!  I loves youse guys!  You are the best friends a girl could have.  Big Yuletide hugs for you all.  Mwah!

By ConspiracyCat

Oh, The Humanity!


It’s that time of year.  I have to order all the kidlets’ school text books for 2016.


Three lots.  One of them VCE.  Most of them new to the curriculum so that the older books I’ve saved can’t be passed down.


And just for fun, the school has even had their own customised geography/history textbook printed up for next year’s new students.


The books range in price from $45 to $89.  Each kidlet requires 8 books.  And that’s not including all the stationery, and the $400 calculator.  Seriously!  A $400 calculator!


So, does anyone know of a book store that takes kidneys as payment?

Nah, only kidding.  I won’t have to sell any organs.  I’ve taken out a second mortgage instead.

By ConspiracyCat

My Blankie.


I’ve been working on a few different craft projects of late.  You probably already know this, as I’ve been bleating about them for months.  Yeah, yeah, I know I’m always bleating about something, but at least this time it’s not about my arthritis or my migraines or whatever.  Anyway, I finally finished the granny square blanket I was working on.  It’s not so much a blanket as a small throw rug.  I ran out of wool.


I bought the wool about six or seven years ago, so my attempts to find more of the same colours have proven fruitless.  It’s mauve and musk, with a mauve/grey multi-coloured counterpoint.  It would have been nice if it was bigger, because then I could have done another row of squares, but I keep reminding myself that if it were bigger it wouldn’t be finished for at least another year.  Whereas now, I have a cute throw to, well, throw.


It probably won’t last long on our couch.  Eventually the Wildebeest will chew a hole in it, or LK will puke on it, or The Gimmee will help herself to it on one of her raids… um… I mean… visits.  But for now my blankie looks nice there, and I can keep my tootsies warm while I savagely destroy more wool… um… I mean… work on my current knitting project.  Crafting is such fun!


By ConspiracyCat

The Enchiridion.


So here it is.  After many hours, much fustration, and a LOT of internet searching, I finally finished LK’s Enchiridion.  There are 8 different pages, with plenty of blank pages that I can add to later on.  Maybe.  This is the front cover, which was the most important part, and the hardest.  I couldn’t find jewels that matched exactly, so I had to be satisfied with matching the colours and approximate shapes.  Using the suede side of the leather wasn’t the original plan, but became a necessity after I made a rather large mistake with a Sharpie.


The title page


Chapter 4 isn’t fully visible, so I tore the page where the known text finishes.


I did the same with chapter 9.


Chapter 14 was new to me.  I found it in the Adventure Time encyclopaedia, but as far as the internet is concerned, it doesn’t exist.  Someone had uploaded an 8th chapter (How to Court a Princess), but I think the person who posted it had written it herself.  It wasn’t official, so I didn’t include it in my Enchiridion.


The unknown chapter.

I included a page with the Ooo Rune alphabet, so I might just sit down one day and translate this chapter.  Or maybe I won’t.


This is a page from ‘Mind Game’, the dating guide by Jay T. Doggzone.  It can be seen in the Little People episode, and also in the Suitor episode.  Contrary to popular opinion, Jay T. Doggzone is not Jake.  But I’ve included it in the Enchiridion anyway.


Out of all the maps of Ooo on the internet, this was my favourite.


The back cover.  Leather is so hard to colour in.

There you have it.  An ambitious project, duly completed – although not quite to the standard I expected of myself.  Still, LK seems happy with it, and that was ultimately the whole purpose of the exercise.  Feel free to express approval, but criticisms will be met with morose sulking, so consider yourself warned.

By ConspiracyCat

Jam Don’t Shake Like That!


My dear, talented, inspirational friends…. Between Jen posting a marvellous picture of Lego jellies on Facebook, and Quokka posting entertaining tidbits about her jelly-making forays, I have been inundated with nagging from the kidlets to make them a batch of Lego jellies of their very own.  Despite some initial resistance (because lazy), I finally succumbed today, and I am glad.  Now maybe the little pests will get off my case.

Yeah, I know, like that’s going to happen.

Mum!  Mum!  Mum!  Mum!  Mummy!  Mummy!  Mummy!  Ma!  Ma!  Ma!  Ma!  Mum!  Mum!  Muuuuuuuuuuum!

Mum! Mum! Mum! Mum! Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Mum! Mum! Muuuuuuuuuuum!

To be honest, though, I’m glad I have the kidlets to nag me into these things.  If they didn’t nag, I’d probably never get off my tushie to do anything fun at all.  And now that I’m all inspired, I’m pondering what Lego themed noms I can make next.



Should I try Lego head cake pops?


Or Lego bikkies?


Or should I get really adventurous and attempt a Lego birthday cake?


Yep, I know, I’m definitely over-reaching with that last one.  Not that it would matter; cake decorating failures taste just as good as the successes.  I should know.  I’ve had plenty of them.  (No, I am not going to post any photos of my numerous disasters.  I still have some dignity  —  Why is everybody laughing at that?)


One thing’s for sure.  I will definitely be making more Lego jellies.  Mainly because the kidlets ate the bloody lot before I got to try them.  *sigh*


By ConspiracyCat

Where There’s Smoke….


Our holidays have gotten off to a fun start.  We were all keen on a nice, long sleep-in, but my body clock had other ideas.  So I jumped online, hoping to catch up on a few hundred emails before the rest of the family awoke.  After a while, I noticed a faint burning smell.  Thinking the computer might be complaining, I logged out and went into the kitchen.  Oh.  Oh dear.  There was a faint haze of blue smoke filling the room.  Not quite as strong as a combie full of hippies, but close:


It was worsening rapidly as I hurried from room to room, looking for any sign of fire.  I realised the smoke had to be coming from the heating vents in the ceiling.  The Boss was duly awakened by my shrieks, and despached through the manhole with as much alacrity as my prodding could muster.  As he staggered up the ladder, I said a prayer of thanks that he wore underwear to bed last night.


Then I grabbed four of the five things on my ‘Must Grab In Case Of Fire’ checklist, and herded the children out the front door.  Poor Mother In Law was still in her PJ’s when we swarmed through her door, demanding breakfast and safe haven.  Father In Law’s curiosity was aroused, so he rushed out the front door, ready to run over and help the Boss.  But MIL dragged him back inside and made him get dressed.  Smart woman.  Two men up a manhole in their undies could so very easily have been misconstrued by the fire department.

Smoke alarm in a smoky room

Meanwhile, I was waiting impatiently in MIL’s kitchen for some sort of feedback.  My predominant thoughts were:

  • Considering the amount of smoke in the house, why did none of our smoke alarms go off?  I replaced all the batteries two weeks ago, so they should have all been howling.
  • I know for sure there are five things on my ‘Must Grab In Case Of Fire’ list.  Why did I only grab four?  Despite scratching my head for an hour, I could not for the life of me remember what the fifth thing was supposed to be.  Also, I may have nits.
  • If the house burns down, will our insurance company pay up?  I have suggested taking a torch to the hoarded crap on more than one occasion, and although we all know I was joking about that, I doubt our insurance assessor would find it particularly funny.


Finally, at around lunch time, the Boss and his dad came in.  The Boss had stopped to don pants, which is always a good sign.  No, the house hadn’t burned down.  They had discovered that the motor on the ducted heating was not working so the fan was not spinning, and there was a burnt capacitor.  The question is whether the burning capacitor had caused the motor to stop, or whether a fault in the motor had caused the capacitor to catch fire.  They took off to buy various spare parts, and for about the billionth time I thanked God my FIL is an electrician.


The boys got back in the roof, where FIL did some fixy-fixy, and now everything appears to be working again.  There’s a lingering smell in the heating unit that will take a couple of days to fully dissipate.  My carefully structured holiday schedule is in tatters.  But we and all our crap piles are unharmed.  Huzzah!


It got me thinking, though.  When it boils down to it, if there are only five items on my Must Grab list, why do I need so much other stuff?  And do I even need those five things?  Probably not, seeing as I still can’t remember what number five was supposed to be.  Anyway, after a morning of deep consideration on the subject, you will be pleased to know that while this wake-up call has not resulted in actual hoard reduction, it has added a frisson of urgency to my desire to clear out the crap.  Instead of ‘Maybe One Day’, I am now thinking of junk-clearing as a ‘Definitely One Day Soon’ occurrence.  Definitely.  Really.  Honest, this time I mean it!


By ConspiracyCat


Wrong sort.

Wrong sort.

No, I’m not being a copy cat… or is that Copy Catty?  This is a tribute to Quokka’s gorgeous Afghan pictures.  They looked so yummy, I had to make some of my own.

No, that's not the right sort either.

No, that’s not the right sort either.

But I was not going to make them until I had the right sort of cocoa.  You may remember my waffle (mmmm…. waffles….) about cocoa, and I am happy to say that the Woolworths Home Brand cocoa far exceeded my expectations.


It was rich and dark, just like good cocoa should be.  Those Germans sure know how to make cocoa.  The spilled bits (o.k, so I’m a pig) even stained the benchtop slightly, although that wore off after a day or two.  (Yes, I do occasionally wipe down benches.  I’m not a pig.  Oh, that’s right.  Yes I am.)

Anyway, armed with this marvellous cocoa and a hastily acquired bag of pecans, I set out to make Afghans.

Stop it, Catty.  Now you're just being silly.

Stop it, Catty. Now you’re just being silly.

I didn’t have regular corn flakes, so I used the crunchy nut variety.  The mixture looked dark and beautiful, and tasted pretty good.   The smell from the oven was pretty good, too.  So good, in fact, that the Boss loitered around the kitchen until the trays came out of the oven.  I told him they were too hot to eat just yet, and he said he didn’t want one anyway, because they were too soft.  Yes, he’d stuck his finger in one.  *sigh*

Cut it out, Catty, I'm warning you.

Cut it out, Catty, I’m warning you.

After they’d cooled and hardened, I used some of that magnificent cocoa to make icing.  The Boss was annoyed.  He hates icing on biscuits.  (Smirks quietly, perfectly aware of this.)  It set really quickly, as the cocoa seemed to cause the icing to dry out faster than normal.  And then it was time for taste testing.

Finally!  See, that wasn't so hard, was it Catty?

Finally! See, that wasn’t so hard, was it Catty?

You know, I didn’t enjoy them as much as I’d expected.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, they were amazing!  But after decades of eating chocolate slice from the Common Sense Cookery book, my taste buds kept looking for coconut, and they weren’t very happy when they couldn’t find it.  The kidlets, however, went biblical on the plate.  But then, my kidlets go biblical on any plate of home made biscuits.

So the verdict is in.  Next time, I replace the corn flakes with coconut.  That ought to shut my whiny taste buds up.  Also, I want to marry Woolworths Home Brand Cocoa.  Thank you, Quokka.  You’re an inspiration.

*sigh*  Go home, Catty.

*sigh* Go home, Catty.

By ConspiracyCat

A Quick Question…..

question_makrs_cutie_mark_by_rildraw-d4byewlO.k, so here’s what happened.  The Boss is loyal to a fault.  When he sees an old mate in need of a helping hand, he’s there with bells on.  One such mate is the star of this story.  For reasons that shall become apparent, I shall refer to this friend as Nigel.  Nigel No Friends.

You may ask why I call him No Friends, when I have just said the Boss is his friend.  Well, for reasons that shall also soon be apparent, the Boss is no longer his friend.

babycryingIt’s a sad story.  Like so many young men who went to high school with the Boss, Nigel was lured into a life of Heroin addiction.  His greatest achievement in life was giving it up.  Unfortunately, he has replaced the Heroin with several other drugs (including Ice), and washes them down with copious quantities of alcohol.  After several years of this, Nigel is now a gibbering mess, unable to function normally.

drugsEver since his mum took out a restraining order against him, Nigel has been living in an Assisted Living unit, paid for by his father.  Nigel’s daughter refuses to speak to him.  All his friends have deserted him.  All except the Boss, that is.  The Boss would go and see him occasionally, just to see how his old mate was doing.  And as the Boss likes a drink or nine, he would have a few beers with Nigel.  When I say ‘a few’, I mean a carton between them, plus anything else they can get their hands on.

Last night was such a night.  The Boss brought Nigel home for a few beers and a chat.  When they walked in, I was a bit worried.  Last time he was here, Nigel stole a full box of Valium as well as a bottle of the Boss’s 40% home brewed Special Water.  But he was the Boss’s mate, so I didn’t complain.  I noted that Nigel has developed quite the pot belly.  Laughing, I asked him when he was due.  Unfortunately, as it turned out, it was in two hours’ time.


At first it wasn’t so bad.  The men stayed out in the shed while I kept the kidlets inside.  Then just before dinner, Nigel came in to use the toilet.  After half an hour of stench that could melt varnish, Nigel gave birth to a Poo Baby.  On the floor.

Not satisfied with merely desecrating the floor, Nigel managed to get afterbirth all over the walls.  It was even smeared into the hinges on the back of the toilet seat.  The tub where I keep new rolls of paper was empty, and also smeared with the stinking, vile stuff.  Two rolls, gone – double length bog rolls, at that.


All that was left was a couple of shit-smeared cardboard tubes, stuffed behind the s-bend.

Then, because new mothers are often a little confused, Nigel stepped on his new baby, and made his way to the bathroom to wash his hands.  You could see where he’d been.  There were footprints.  But it was o.k – he wiped his feet clean on the bath mat.  His hands weren’t quite so clean, as they left very obvious calling cards on the tissue box and the hand towel.  Then he calmly staggered back out to the shed.

Meanwhile, we were completely unaware of the new little life lying on the toilet floor, and were trying to eat our dinner without gagging at the bewildering stench.  Windows were thrown open, the fan was on, but the smell was pervasive.  Suddenly, the Boss came in and announced that I was to drop what I was doing and drive Nigel home.  Right Now.


So I did.  I was kinda glad to get away from the stink, to be honest.  Unfortunately, Nigel brought the stink with him.  I had all the car windows down, but the smell kept punching me in the face.  It was terrifying.

By the time I got home, I realised that the car was going to need fumigating.  Nigel might have gotten out of the car, but the stink sure hadn’t.  On the drive back, the Boss (who had come along for the ride) told me how Nigel had returned from the toilet, picked up a 3/4 full bottle of scotch, and chugged the lot down in about 4 gulps.  It made him aggressive, almost immediately.  He tried to throw a few punches, but the Boss wasn’t quite as Rat Arsed, so he was able to drag Nigel out of the shed and into the car.  To be honest, he was going to kick him to the kerb, but remembered that he had promised Nige a lift home.  See?  Loyal to a fault.

Eventually we got back home, where  The Gimmee was waiting with a ‘You’re REALLY not going to like this‘ look on her face.  While I was out, they’d found the Poo Baby.


So Catty snaps on two pairs of rubber gloves, arms herself with a bucket of heavy duty cleaning products, and announces bravely, “I’m going in.  If I’m not back in an hour, remember me with fondness”.

Almost an hour later, Catty staggers out and announces gravely, “It is done.  We shall never speak of this again”.


But they did speak of it.  Which brings me, finally, to my not-so-quick question.

Although I am convinced that the car, the hallway carpet, the dunny and the bathroom are all now completely clean (thanks to a full bottle of Domestos, many disposable cleaning rags, a lot of elbow grease and two cans of Glen 20), nobody is game to test the theory by actually using the toilet.  The Boss declared that he is going to rip up the carpet and throw it out, or if I won’t let him do that, burn down the house.


Can any of you give me some advice on any cleaning products or methods of cleaning that will reassure the Boss enough to prevent this happening?  I kinda like my house and I’d really rather the Boss didn’t take a match to it.

It may interest you to know that the Boss’s loyalty has wilted in the face of Poo Baby’s fragrance.  He has (Thank God) finally decided that the friendship is over.  And now Nigel truly does have No Friends.  Which is sad.  But if he ever gets lonely, I’d be happy to return the Poo Baby, to keep him company.  It’s the least I can do.

By ConspiracyCat