a theological question for australians

a friend of mine, a recent immigrant to australia, posed a fascinating theological question, and we would love to hear your answers:

"If the Last Supper was held in Australia, what time of day would it be and what would be on the menu? "

as a theology student, and a devout christian, i believe my answer is both comprehensive and insightful (quit rolling your eyes! i can see you......)

a says: it'd be breakfast, they would have laid on anything that had a mother; tim tams and bundy rum; and the apostles would have been named andy, mate, johnno, phil, baz, mate, mate, jude, mate, mate, mate and who the f*** are you???

but tell me - what do YOU think?

hic incipit la vita nova

i have always considered myself "a work in progress": a woman on a quest for self-betterment.

i have spent my life trying to be better today than i was yesterday, but not punish myself for not being as good as i will be tomorrow, or a week next thursday for that matter.

i try to develop my heart, my mind and my soul.

i have studied judaism, paganism, scientology, cardio-pulminology, ontology, oncology, oto-laryngyotomy and a few otomies i really shouldn't mention in polite company.

i have been politically active. like every good feminist, i burned my bra (although in hindsight, i really should have taken it off first). i have campained to save the rainforest, save the whales, save political prisoners in the sudan, save 3.00 when you buy six cases of mangoes, save the victims of various hurricanes, save the long-tailed, three-toed cambodian acne monkey.

i have strived to better myself physically. i have dieted and exercised. i have lifted weights. i have done yoga, pilates, spinning (THAT made me really dizzy, but i may have been doing it wrong, i'll admit), transcendental meditation and psychotropic medication.

i once tried primal scream therapy, but the other people in the library objected.

but for years i have shied away from the one thing that i knew for a fact would make me a better, kinder, smarter, faster, more egalitarian, politically astute, humble, vegetarian, and noble soul. but today, finally, i gave in to the inevitable.

that's right.

i bought tooth whitener.

hmmm..

it would appear that the underwear department at the Real Canadian Superstore is getting a wee bit........ frisky....

a rare picture of my boyfriend and his son....

well, you get the idea anyway ;-)

i love catherine willows

(and not just marg helgenberger - the actor that plays her on CSI that is. )

and what's not to love?

in ten years - i want to be her.

see, catherine willows is everything i am: a single, working woman supporting her family.

she is also everything i wish i were: gorgeous, well-educated, professional, sexy, independent, mature, logical, and scientific with strong leadership skills and a butt you can bounce quarters off.

but more than that - she has really great hair.

i watch CSI in awe. i ask myself, how is that a gorgeous, sexy woman can kneel over the rotting corpse of a man that's had his head ripped off by rampaging squirrels, or the body of a woman drowned by her crack-addicted adopted daughter in a rootbeer float, or the cadaver of two circus clowns mashed to chunky salsa in a mafia meat grinder and look so utterly fantastic.

night after night, grissom is short-handed (God only knows why - that crime lab is staffed by every ex-star trek fanboy in the state of nevada), so he calls catherine, and after a long day of scraping things and collecting samples and sniffing guns she can still rush out to a crime scene with a head of hair that is at once bouncy, shiny and perfectly coiffed.



i have at least two hours each morning to do my hair and still i cannot achieve that look of tousseled strawberry-blond glory.

i spend hours each night watching CSI trying to understand and absorb the sheer perfection, the extrodinary flawlessness of catherine's hair (while still trying to decide whether to waste some drool on warwick, nick or (heaven help me) "le grissom" himself) and yet i simply cannot achieve the unbelievable fabulousness of catherine willow's hair.

i buy all the right products: i gloss, i ice shine, i deep condition, i towel dry, i revivify, i flowby, i hot roll, i spritz, spray and sproing my naturally wavy hair, but where catherine's look is says "dead sexy professional woman with it aaall together"....

my look simply says "village idiot"

all that's missing is the straw and a few fetchingly placed twigs......

SO not a morning person doesn't BEGIN to describe me

school days are brutal. mornings simply aren't my friend.

bleary eyed and groggy, i awake to a scratchy wet tongue in my ear. for a moment i think i am back in bed with my ex, but then i realize its one of my cats, deciding that since its 5:30am, breakfast is long overdue.

i slip out of bed an manage to get my slippers onto my feet. it is enough for me at this point that i am simply wearing one per foot - getting them on the correct foot is beyond me.

yawning and scratching bits of me that really only get a good scratching once a day (oh, too much information, annie!!!!! - ed), i stagger to the kitchen and succeed in putting the kettle on. i grab a cup from the drying board, pry open one sticky eye to determine its relative cleanliness and pour one shake of coffee into it, two shakes of low-fat creamer and 36 shakes of sugar into the mug as the kettle boils. i manage to pour most of the water into the cup and retreat to the bathroom, biting down on my tongue to keep myself from screaming in horror at the zombie staring back at me from the mirror. taking a few deep breaths, i take a closer look and realize that the cherry-red of my eyes actually compliments the dead fish pallor of my skin in the early morning light.

only careful planning allows me to succesfully navigate the shower. after an unfortunate mix up a few months ago involving hair remover, a bottle of apple cider vinegar and a sea-sponge loofah, i have learned to keep these potentially deadly objects separated in the stall.

considering how tired i am, i decide to take very quick shower, shortening my regular beauty routine down to the barest of necessities: pre-shampoo colour lock treatment, hydrating extra-volume fortifying vitamin-enriched shampoo, deep-treating shine enhancing volumizing conditioner, apres-bain shimmer guard keratin-replacement therapy anti-dandruff split end repair gel, lavender and cucumber body wash, apricot and dead-sea-salt exfoliant, foot pummice, cuticle softener, in-shower hydrating skin conditioner, lilac baby-oil gel treatment for-elbows-and-knees, retinol and collagen firming creme with infused oxygen cellulite fix, and essence of orange blossom aromatherapy invigorator.

climbing out of the bath, i grab my hairbrush, apply toothpaste liberally and shave my legs with it. drying off, i apply deodorant to all the parts that really need it, and a few that might, and one that usually doesn't (but i have a busy day ahead of me.)

throwing on some clothes, it only takes me a few minutes to determine that the awkward, though oddly intruiging pinching sensation means i've put my bra on backwards, and i manage to find a pair of socks that match in colour, even though one comes up to just below my knee and the other barely covers my ankle.

i throw together some lunch and take very special care to ensure that this time the beef curry and the chocolate pudding remain in separate containers, then its out the door and into the most perfect autumn day imaginable, and i heave a sigh of relief that i have successfully navigated yet another hectic morning.

and i am not bothered for a moment by the fact the neighbours are all staring at me.....

its amazing how much of your time being in love takes up....

i think my friends are feeling a bit neglected...


(thank you, brock)

i seem to be unwell....

there is something very wrong with me, i believe.

for the past few months i have been feeling.....unusual (though not terribly cruel)..... i'll grant you, yet recently, whatever it is that is causing this ague seems to have intensified.

the symptoms are intense and pronounced: my palms are damp, my heartbeat races, i have trouble sleeping. i seem to have a compulsive need to check my email for love letters (which, i will say, never fail to arrive daily).

i giggle. often. my face cramps from smiling.

i am hallucinating, too. every time i close my lids i am haunted by images of a gorgeous man with a dead sexy smile, broad shoulders and fifteen different shades of grey and hazel in his eyes.

people have begun asking me what's wrong. they tell me i am wandering around with a silly smile on my face; that i am looking oddly feminine, that i am more relaxed, pleasant and cheerful than they have ever known me to be.

clearly, i am no longer myself, and its getting worse.

i have begun wearing earrings again, and other pretty things, but it was only today, when i decided to wear pink, that i realized how badly off i really am.

i have no idea what's wrong.

any suggestions?

the church *URP* barbecue

there is nothing quite as...... unique... as the church barbecue. it is a time of fellowship, caring and indigestion shared by people who worship together, come together in faith, and use each other for covert, and yes, even nefarious food-related medical experiments.

you see, the church barbecue is the one place in all creation where you will find food, and dishes, that you cannot identify but you eat anyway.

under most circumtances, if you cannot immediately name the food on your plate, you do not eat it. but when the sun is shining, the children are playing and the Spirit of God is moving through the place, even strange salads made with quasi-illegal combinations of foodstuffs become somehow comforting.




and so it was with me last sunday at the church barbecue where, in the name of the Lord and His holy church, i decided it was my solemn duty to consume overdone hotdogs, underdone hamburgers, and salmonella-inducing macaroni salad.



then came the wobbly orange salad with even wobblier yellow bits in it (no-one ever manage to actually identify it), mystery meat sandwiches, crunchy brown things in sauce, coleslaw, bean salad, rice salad, meat salad, greek salad, potato salad, more potato sala and something called "tofantasy salad". curiously absent, though, was anything called "salad salad".



then there was something in a cheese sauce, and cheese in a something sauce, fourteen different kind of inexplicable rice dishes, a crusty brown object in a casserole dish, objects wrapped in pastry, fricassee of boot and what (to my unsophisticated palet) tasted like fried lego.



several of us then noticed that the dessert table was sagging dangeourously, and out of the goodness of our hearts and the love of our fellow christian, leapt to the rescue. in full-on emergency mode we ate fifteen different kinds of pie, thirty two kinds of cake, donuts (both with powder and without) , stuff with icing, stuff without icing, crunchy things, mushy things, pink-and-green spongy things, thing filled with caramel, cakes made with vegetables, and sixty-six times the daily recommended allowance of refinced sugar; but most important of all; we proved to the civilized world that when anglicans become patissiers, rice krispies truly ARE the most versatile food in the world...



i can't wait to find out which part of my gastro-intenstinal tract cramps first.

care to lay bets? '-)

the joys of internet dating: part the eighth

"now you have found him never let him go"

so, you have spent days, weeks, months trawling through site after site, profile after profile, email after email.

you have made contact with well over a hundred people. some of them have been nice, some have been insane, some have been online casinos in disguise.

you have discovered that meeting people over the internet is rather like walking into a crowded room of random strangers; there are those that are funny and engaging, those that are are as dull as a bag of hammers, those that smell like cheese. you begin to make connections with a wide variety of individuals, and engage in the process of "getting to know them".

one or two begin to emerge from the pack.

so you exchange emails, photos, phone numbers. you discover that you have been fortunate enough to connect with several lovely people - all of whom merit further attention. you feel very lucky, very privileged; you've managed to avoid the homicidal stalkers, the gold diggers, the con men and the involuntarily incarcerated.

but eventually, one of these lovely people begins to stand out. you can't quite put your finger on it - all the people you have chosen to correspond with are intelligent, funny, Godly, charming and so on and so forth - but there is something very, very special about this one man, you soon come to realize.

maybe its because he is the smartest man you've ever met.

maybe its because he carries himself with a confidence and quiet good humour that you find utterly devastating.

maybe its because he is a man who gives you the sense that he will take you by the hand and be your friend, your teacher, your playmate, your loving critic, your confidant, your rock and your partner in ministry.

maybe its because he is an amazing writer, and his work just blows you away.

or maybe its because he has broad shoulders, dark curly hair; deep, incredibly intense hazel-and-grey eyes, a strong jawline and a wicked, impish smile... (annie... hello annie??? get a grip girlfriend! - ed)

oh, who knows??? could be anything, you know?

but its his email you wait for each morning, simply because you have discovered that exploring his mind is your greatest pleasure; its his phonecalls you schedule your evenings around because the sound of his voice does something .. wonderful... to you; its his photos that you begin to carry around with you because his eyes make you ...tingle; and its his name that begins to creep into your conversation as a new, long-absent half-smile settles itself permanently around your lips.

well, ok. this is good. this is very good, as a matter of fact.

you've found him: the one that made it all worthwhile, the one that made every last dating disaster worth the pulitzer prize winning blog entry (yeah, right - ed)

good for you!

NOW WHAT?????

well, people crazy enough to read my drivel my loyal fans, this is why i began this neopseudoencyclical missive (cut that out!!! - ed) in the first place, because having been down this road before, i actually think i might have something useful to say on the subject.

you need to trust me when i tell you that you can indeed meet that very special person online, just as easily as you can in church, at work or in central booking; you simply have to follow a few simple guidelines to get you over the unique dangers of falling in love with someone far away in time and space...

first, remember that with a long-distance relationships comes a heavy measure of fantasy - but that does not mean that you have to give in to it. be very leery of creating your ideal love in your head an hanging it on the very good-looking man that's just sent you his photo. do him the courtesy of getting to know him as he is, not as you want him to be (and of course, offer him the same kindness), and always be prepared to

a) back away when it becomes apparent that he might not be who you thought he was
b) allow yourself to take one step closer to him each time he shows you that he just might be

second, listen to him - really listen to what he says, and try not to read what you want to hear into it. if he's who you think he is, he will be more fascinating and intriguing than anything you could possibly make up yourself.

third, be VERY leery of immediate declarations of undying love and marriage plans. it is worth waiting to see if he lives in the real world, has got a good head on his shoulders, his feet on the ground and healthy dose of common sense.

fourth, don't be afraid to slowly share things with him, and see how he reacts to your revelations: is he supportive of you? is he interested in what you are interested in? is he kind and good humoured about your less-than-perfect moments? does he offer you his own surface vulnerabilities and less-than-ideal moments in return, and are they things you can accept, laugh with him about and support him in?

fifth, ask yourself ~ do you share a common aesthetic? do you see the world the same way? share the same values? are you both devoted christians? vegetarians? members of amnesty international? do you both agree about which parts of the body should be hairless and which should not? or that yoko ono music is just weird?

sixth, take a long hard look in the mirror: do you like who you are when you are with him? does his care, encouragement and presence in your life improve it, and you? do your friends say things like "He better be good to you. I think he is. You know how I know???? Come on, ask me. Something in you has changed. You seem more like the old Andrea I knew who was self-assured, confident, brilliant, and all that other good stuff. It's like you got ok with being yourself again. And it's not so much anything I can put my finger on, but you just seem more sure of yourself. And that's always a good thing. Ya know?"

seventh, ask yourself, do you fit into each other's lives? and always bear in mind that love - real love - is never about two people alone. it is about the blending of two worlds: is his a world in which you can live happily ever after? is his a world you can take, in its entirety, into your heart? do you think his child is really cool and can you respect the way he is raising him? will he be able to withstand more than an hour in the car with your mother? is there a crazy aunt on either side of your family that that no-one talks about who is 73 and still single, who has saved every newspaper ever printed since 1976 and lives with forty-two cats?

eighththth (?), be patient. take the time to talk to him, hear him out, ask him questions. go sloooooowly, give him the space and time to ask himself the same questions about you. be prepared if his answers differ, and he comes to the natural conclusion that you are as crazy as a loon. don't begin planning the wedding and naming the children until after at least the fourth email.

ninth, take the time to discover the most critical thing of all: do you make each other laugh? do you part feeling better than you did when you came together? do you look forward to spending time with him because you know your face will ache from smiling when you say goodnight?

and tenth, make sure he looks good in a bathtowel.

these are things you can discover from afar. you do not need to touch, kiss or bump nasties to find these things out about a person. you can explore, discover and fall in love with his soul from a world away if he lets you in....

and if all of these criteria are met, then for heavens sake, don't be afraid to take that next, tiny step over the edge of that cliff....

dis-am-big-u-a-tion

disambiguation: S: (n) clarification that follows from the removal of ambiguity

a return to HELL

i did it.

today, i returned to hell.

and why?

well, because they had canned meat on special, and what red blooded, all-canadian, slightly-australian-at-heart, sort-of-amazon woman doesn't love canned meat???

it was a fateful decision, and i should have know that my gluttony would have dire consequences.

but erring on side of caution as i entered the gates of hades, i asked for directions to the tinned meat aisle at the customer service desk and was immediately provided with a packet that contained a compass, a bottle of water, a packet of t-rations, a first aid kit, flares, GPS tracker and three surettes of morphine all marked "compliments of the real canadian superstore" and so armed, i set off following the explicit directions i'd been given:

"just head down this aisle and turn left when you see the blue bin full of two-for-one anti-fungal cream. keep going straight around the pharmacy and when you see the dairy section in the distance, turn left and keep going to the waiting room at the end. when you see a guy named murray, ask him to point it out to you..."

it was virtually inevitable that i would get lost the moment i passed the big screen tvs. see, like most canadians i am easily distracted by bright shiny things that go *ping!*, *bleep* and *whoot! whoot! whoot!*

dazed and a bit bewildered, and taking a right when i should have taken a left, i soon realized my mistake.



dammit! i thought. this is the scuba-diving aisle! there's no canned meat here!

quickly doubling back, i swerved to avoid the screaming toddler in the kayak and ducked quickly into a shadowy side alley. slowly looking around me, i realized with mounting distress just HOW wrong a turn it had been.....



backing slowly towards the bright lights of central highway, i searched the skies frantically to find an aisle..any aisle... that would cleanse my mind of the horror i'd just seen. there! to my left! a display!

it said... free bloo... free blood!!!

my God, i thought. they really DO carry everything here, and their specials are fantastic!!

but then i got closer:



realizing that if i actually did attempt to check my blood pressure at this point i'd likely blow the machine to bits (and i think this store may have a "you break it you bought it" policy and "what would i do with a broken automated sphignomanometer (now cut that out! - ed ) in my little apartment?") so i moved hastily on to........

the superhero aisle!!



superheroes were just what i needed to wipe the thought of adult incontinence and sky high systolic pressure (i said CUT THAT OUT! - ed) out of my mind's eye, i thought, so i walked slowly down the superhero aisle, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth until both my sense of purpose and equilibrium had returned. i needed canned meat, i reminded myself, and any further deviation from my purpose could cost me dearly.

i decided to press on.

swerving hard right into the produce aisle, i fully intended to lose myself in the verdant peace of leafy greens and root vegetables until i could regroup and get my bearings, maybe take a GPS reading or two. but my relief soon turned to deep unease as i looked around me and realized that i couldn't identify a significant number of the vegetables on display.




i have no clue what these are, but i bought two as they were on special:



i tucked them into my rucksack, deciding that if i ever made it back to civilization i would either try to eat them or wait for them to evolve into a dominant species. but as made my bewildered way to the far side of the produce aisle - lured by the bright shiny lights of the bath and bedroom department -frustration, hopelessness and a touch of fear began to colour my soul. i was lost, and i was scared, and if i was going to get out of this alive, i needed a plan.

crouching down behind the arugula, i uncorked the bottle of water and took a generous swig, then ripped into a packet of rations as i considered my next move. chewing mindlessly, like an automaton, i realized that logic wasn't going to help me. i needed another way out, so, with little to lose, i gave myself over to the power of the universe.

going purely on intuition, like a bee returning to the hive, like an ant finding its way back to the nest, like a man fishing the last piece of weiner out of the baked beans, i struck out into the wilderness, twisting and turning through aisle after aisle, seeking potted meat.

i veered past bathtowels and raffia baskets, iPods and basket balls, self-inflating life rafts, roach spray, plumbing supplies and three-per-package cotton underpants with reinforced gussets (gussets??); caromed past fourteen aisles of cleaning products, screeched past three ladies offering samples of maple cured ham (what disease does maple cure? - ed), peanut-butter-and-bacon crackers and genuine mongolian kefir, i and finally ground to a halt somewhere in the subtropical rainforest located between the food court and indoor carpets.



i paused only long enough to channel my psychosis into a helpess pachysandra



... before pushing off to catching my breath in the replica of MOMA that housed the supermarket's fine art collection.



then, in the pinata aisle, i realized i was coming unglued as i paused to toy with the idea of filling them with wasps.

what fun that would be! i thought, tears springing to my eyes...

steady, annie! i thought, stay frosty... if you die in here you'll NEVER eat canned meat again!

a sob escaped me as i sank to the floor, my butt resting against the harsh, unforgiving linoleum of the floor, the gentle crinkle of the directions i'd been given rustling gently in my pocket.

i froze, my heart hammering in my chest like... umm... a hammer.

the instructions!!! of course! i thought, bursting into gales of hysterical laughter. pulling the paper out i let my eyes caress the page, drinking in the words that were my salvation. no work of shakespeare could have sounded sweeter to human ears.

"just head down this aisle and turn left when you see the blue bin full of two-for-one anti-fungal cream. keep going straight around the pharmacy and when you see the dairy section in the distance, turn left and keep going to the waiting room at the end. when you see a guy named murray, ask him to point it out to you..."

raising my eyes ever so slighty upwards i saw it, like a vision of the madonna. suffused in a golden glow i beckoned to me, lifting my to my feet and guiding me gently forwards, my hand reaching out to carress its sleek, navy lines.... thank God, i thought, thank God:

the blue bin full of two-for-one anti-fungal cream!!!! and there, beyond it, THE PHARMACY!!!

i tore off at full tilt, knocking over display pyramids of creamed corn, a forty-five foot tower of cheerios and a hindu grandmother. i rocketed through the dairy aisle, cream cheese, yogurt and small-curd cottage cheese a creamy blur as i saw it: the waiting room!

saying a quick prayer for the single lost soul that seemed to have been sitting there since the store opened last week, waiting for something that she couldn't name, i grabbed the nearest pimply teenager in a real canadian superstore ball cap by the lapels, and i hauled him upwards until his feet dangled three inches off the floor and slammed him against the wall as i breathed fire and brimstone in his face.

murray! i hissed... where's MURRAY?????

terror stricken, his eyes bugging out of his head, he lifted his shaking finger and pointed to the seafood section.

"murray," he gasped, "customer service... white guy... black eyes... bald...."

sweat stinging my eyes, i dropped the little punk to the floor and tore of towards murray, confident that canned meat only moments away. every sense on the alert, i scanned the section for murray... white guy... black eyes... bald.... echoing through my head until i spied him.

murray.

customer service. pale guy... black eyes... bald...

MURRAY!!!!

... to be cont'd...

*sigh* WHY am i single??

having immersed myself in myspace.com, i have been flooded with the ubiquitous ((Adj) "Anywhere at any time") and inevitable ((adj) incapable of being avoided or prevented; "the inevitable result") question of "hey, babe, how you doing. what you up to this weekend?"

well, in the interest of honesty, i try to be, well.......honest in my reply:

hmmm...well. lets see... my friend kevin made me dinner last night (meatloaf, potatos, rice and veggies - God bless the germans!) then we watched "poseidon" starring kurt russell.

so i learned about "rogue waves"; about how they were no longer a myth, and how the main areas of defense were prediction and avoidance, and an increased emphasis in structural integrity in the architecture phase of sea-going vessels.

but then i started to wonder about the practicality of emasuculating the rogue wave itself; which got me on to waveform theory, which got me on to integral, differential and lambda calculus; which got me on to the fourier series; which got me on to trigonometric functions; which got me onto differential equations and der Entscheidungsproblem; which got me on to symbolic logic which got me on to.........

yeah

ok

sorry................

how was YOUR weekend??? ;-)