How the silly old coot failed his license

Old man on Harley Davidson

I couldn’t believe that my Dad failed his motorbike license.  He had been riding motorcycles for as long as I could remember.  When he was in his 60’s he bought himself his dream bike – a Harley Davidson! – and as his license had expired, he needed to renew it. This is what the silly old goat did …

To get his motorbike license he had to ride around the streets (on an agreed route) with a motorbike license “tester” following him (on another motorbike) and grading him on how he handled the bike and whether he obeyed the road rules.

The scene was set for his perfect day … the sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, and the beautiful roar of the motor bike was bliss in the old man’s ears.  Oh, his dream was about to come true.  Not long now till he could mount his own Harley and feel the power between his thighs on his first long ride to Glasshouse Mountains!

Everything was going extremely well … until he saw the “tester” quickly overtake him at high speed.  Dad didn’t want to lose him, so he swerved into the next lane, throttled the bike, and followed him, making sure he “stayed on his tail”!

He couldn’t believe the speed and remarkable swerving skills the tester displayed.  He presumed it was part of his motorbike road test.  Maybe he needed to do exactly as the tester did to pass and get his license.  So he increased his speed to match that of the tester, weaved in and out of the traffic (ensuring he used his indicators of course) knowing he would be impressing the tester with his previous years of experience at handling motorcycles.  Nothing was too hard for this old bikie, he could keep up with these young bucks!  He would not be outwitted or outridden!

Dad wondered why they seemed to be taking a different route to that agreed to, but he didn’t care.  As long as he got his license so he could ride his dream bike, that’s all that mattered.  The tester slowed down and turned into the long road leading into a cemetery.

The tester finally stopped his bike.  Dad stopped behind him.  The tester dismounted and started to remove his helmet.  Dad got off his bike, undid his helmet, all the while wondering why the tester made him ride into the cemetery, a funeral obviously happening not too far from where they were parked.

Dad walked up to the tester – and looked into the face of a complete stranger who said  “Are you running late for the funeral too mate?”  Oh crap.  He had no idea who this bloke was, but it certainly was NOT the tester from the licensing authority.  What had he done?  Who the hell had he been following?  He looked around perplexed.  What the???  Where was the motorcycle license tester?

He quickly donned his helmet, hoofed his leg over the bike, revved it and rode back to the testing office.  He found his particular tester and asked “Well mate, did I get my license?”   He replied “No!  I don’t know what happened, but one minute I was behind you, then you took off like a speed demon and I bloody well couldn’t keep up with you! So no … you didn’t get your license!”

 FAIL

PS:  He eventually got it!

© 2015 CEW

 

Labotomized in Boyfriendville (a very funny Reblog)!

Labotomy illustration

Illustrated by the talented “Problems with Infinity”

This is one seriously funny site!  Can you possibly read the post Labotomized in Boyfriendville without laughing out loud?  Problems with Infinity is also a talented illustrator!

I reblogged this post because …
https://catinthecactus.com/2015/09/22/how-to-pay-the-reblog-blessing-forward/

 

 

We terrorized her with an earthquake hoax

Cracked groundI’m a horrible daughter. And I have a tendency to lead my nieces and nephews astray.  I’m the bat-poop crazy aunt that all the kids love; the same aunty that terrifies their parents.  I’ve written blog posts about the atrocious things my children have done in the name of fun; and I’m starting to realise they may get it from me! If it’s genetic, it’s my parents fault, not mine.

One holiday weekend we were staying on my brother’s cattle farm in the Australian countryside. My mum has a caravan on his farm that she sleeps in when we visit.  It gives her peace and quiet away from all of her grandkids, as she’s now in her 70’s.

I took the kids shopping one day, and on the way back to the farm, I told them stories about how Nanny was “absolutely terrified” of earthquakes. They were all roaring with laughter.  It was during this trip that I hatched a clever scheme … one that would give us all a good laugh if it went according to plan.  I devised that when Nanny went for her afternoon nap in the caravan, I would gather the kiddies all together and we would surround the caravan, then start gently rocking it from side to side.  I had them convinced that if it woke Nanny up, she would think it was an earthquake!  I had them in hysterics in the car, and they were begging me to “do it today Aunty Cath!”

It just so happened that as soon as we arrived back on the farm … you guessed it … Nanny was in the caravan, fast asleep.

I gathered all the children around me like a mother hen and told them that even though they were laughing hysterically, we had to be very quiet or Nanny would know it was us!  One of the oldest children’s job was to hide behind the car and use their mobile phone to film Nanny coming out of the caravan. The rest of them then surrounded the van, and I had my burly strong sons on the corners to get that van a rockin’.

I counted … one, two, three, GO! … and they put their shoulders to the metal sides and put all the strength their little bodies could muster into starting a rhythm. It began to gently sway, then the biggest grandkids got that van shaking from side to side.  They were red-faced and having the time of their lives.  We heard a noise inside, but true to their word, they kept that van rocking.

Suddenly – the caravan door burst open, and Nanny flew through the opening screaming “E A R T H Q U A K E!”.  She ran down the steps and bolted for her life, completely disoriented.  By this time, the kids were screaming with laughter.  Nanny saw the older child duck behind the car with their camera in hand, and as she looked around and gathered her bearings, noticed her beloved grandchildren’s heads popping around the caravan, all roaring and screaming with laughter and love, having the time of their lives.

She put her hands on her hips, and bellowed at the top of her lungs … “CATHY!”

Why do I get the blame for everything? And how did she know it was me?

© 2015 CEW

When you lose your beloved dog

Beautiful cavalier king charles spanielA dog is not just a dog.  And if you are a dog-lover, you will know what I mean.  This is George, my little boy. My baby.

I was shocked when he jumped on my bed one morning.  He hadn’t done that for a few months and his health had declined through the week.  Oh, he’d had such a hard, hard life.  Before he was one year old he’d had his first major leg operation.  He ended up having 3 leg surgeries over the next few years, 2 of them were major reconstructions.  He developed an auto-immune disease which caused large scabs to break out on his face.  He had a severe allergy to all proteins, so was on a special diet.  And because he was on cortisone, as well as other pain killers twice a day, we knew his life would be shortened.  But we loved him, and to us, being pain free and happy meant more than anything.  It meant he wouldn’t live a long life, but it would be a good life!

So, he jumped on my bed for a morning cuddle, which really shocked me.  I stroked him lovingly.  I’d had him at the vet the night before as he hadn’t eaten for four days – since our house flooded from a burst pipe.  Like I loved to do, I leaned over him and kissed the top of his head.  I buried my nose in his fur.  How I absolutely loved the smell of the top of his head!  After five minutes he tried to jump down but couldn’t, so I gently lowered him to the floor.  He still wasn’t well but at least he ate something the night before.

I went to work after checking him and left him asleep on the couch, head nestled on his favourite cushion.

At work I noticed I’d missed four calls from my son.  I quickly rang him.  He said he’s just arrived home from fishing and George was really sick.  He’d vomited all around the house and had severe diarrhoea.  I rang the vet to say George was on his way with my son.  He was put on a drip and admitted to hospital for tests.  I rang the vet throughout the day and kept getting updates.  I prayed for him, but just couldn’t leave work early as we had international visitors.  I was in a dilemma.

Our George was a fighter and he’d come through everything life had thrown at him so far.  I knew he’d pull through this too.  The vet rang me when I got home from work to say he was sedated and comfortable, but he was a very sick boy.  They were closing so I couldn’t pop in to see him until morning.

I waited for the vet’s morning call to say I could go and visit my George.  I just needed to know he was ok.  I ran to the ringing phone and couldn’t wait to hear about my baby.  “Hi Cathy. {pause} George didn’t make it through the night.  I’m so sorry.”  I sat on the end of my bed.  Stunned.  It couldn’t be true.  I didn’t get to say goodbye.  I wasn’t prepared.  But like all mothers do, I pulled myself together so I could tell my husband and my sons.

I went to the vet to bring my boy home, where he belonged.  The vet nurse lovingly laid him in my arms in a little white body bag.  I drove him home from the vets for the last time.  With a face covered in tears I kissed the top of the bag where his head was and breathed in deeply.  I just wanted to smell his head, just one last time.  I couldn’t’ smell him.

My husband, sons and I stood together around the mandarin tree and laid our boy to rest.

I now live with the guilt that I didn’t say goodbye to my little man.

“I’m so sorry Georgie.  I didn’t realise that last cuddle you gave me that morning on my bed was you actually saying goodbye to me.  I will treasure that moment forever.  I will see you again one day.  With Max, Winky, Kizzy, Chrissy, and all my little boys and girls that I’ve loved over the years.  RIP my little brave man.”

George died on 24th January 2015.  Forever loved.

 © 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site

 

Fitness Block

For anyone/everyone that is trying to lose weight, this lovely lady is open and raw about the battle many of us face. Read her post and I encourage you to Follow her and encourage her on her journey to motherhood … good luck cathymack62!

Middle-aged Maverick

For five days straight, I was a fitness guru. I was very conscious of everything I ate and very carefully planned out my meals and snacks. I drank water over sweet iced tea. And every day after work, I came home and without even arguing with myself about why I couldn’t, I laced up my tennis shoes and got on my elliptical. I kept my legs going no matter how high the resistance got on the pre-programmed routine I selected. Once I finished, I took a sweaty selfie and posted it proudly on Facebook. I began to feel a physical difference in my body. My husband mentioned something about my metabolism changing. Then, it all stopped.

I went to a conference with my principal and a fellow teacher. We had to stay overnight and because it was only one night, I mentally prepared for coming home the second day and…

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Warning – My best friend spews at the worst times

little girls - best friendsMy best friend has a weak stomach. She tends to vomit at the worst times imaginable – causing public humiliation for me – as well as for her {I should think}.

My first experience with her publically displaying the contents of her stomach was when we both worked in the city.  We were on a train during the peak hour rush; of all places!  She hadn’t been well and the doctor had prescribed her penicillin.  We were in the back corner of a very crowded carriage and there was no way we could get off the express train.  She didn’t look good and kept turning pale, and was whispering to me “I think I’m going to be sick!” She started emptying her plastic bag that held her lunch and whisper-yells “I can’t hold on, it’s coming!” As her concerned friend, I told the people around us to … “Stand back, she’s going to barf!!” She grabbed the handles of her plastic bag, opened it, leaned her head in, then projectile vomits her breakfast in one long fat stream.  And what did the stupid commuters do that were near us?  They all leaned forward to get a good look!  When they saw the multi-coloured rainbow spewing forth, they jumped back horrified.  Serves themselves right.  I hoped they enjoyed the accompanying smell.  It surely cleared the carriage when the train stopped.

Then there’s her moment of fame in front of thousands of people …

My husband and I, with her and her boyfriend, went to the horse races for a famous racing day. She apparently ate an off dim sim from a vendor.  It didn’t take long before it needed to make a reappearance.  We had no idea where the toilets were, so she ran to what looked like a sink in the middle of the spectator area, and emptied her guts.  Oh no … it was a public drinking fountain, on a hot day!  How is it that you eat some dim sims, and bring up vegetable soup? We needed to take her home, and fast!

As we walked to the car park, she clenched her stomach with her hands and looked for a safe place to … well, you know … go again. She saw a grill on the ground and made a bee-line for it.  She just leaned forward and let go, in the standing position.  Unfortunately, a lovely picnic blanket was on the ground not far away, and a group of well dressed ladies looked at her and made comments about “disgusting drunk women”!

Imagine my horror when I looked up – to see this all happened in front of the main grand-stand, in front of thousands of people. Many of them were pointing, laughing, and I’m sure I even heard a round of applause for her.  Actually, a group of bogans even gave her a standing ovation.

In the car on the way home, she opened the window, leaned out on a crowded highway, and off she goes again! Carrots, bile, yellow-looking soup rolled down the side of my car, and sprayingly greeted all those that were behind us.

I try to be a compassionate best friend, really I do. But I suck at it!

© 2015 CEW

Image courtest of <a href=’http://www.freepik.com/free-vector/best-friend-greeting-card_801192.htm’>Designed by Freepik</a>

Why drivers love to hate me

Lady in car singing her heart outWhy do other drivers hate me?  Why does my family call me “The driver from hell”?  I don’t speed, I always check twice, I make sure when I stop I can see the wheels of the car in front of me – what’s wrong with everyone?  They all say it’s because …

I’m the driver that plods along the freeway in a 100km zone, sitting on 80, oblivious to what’s happening around me, singing and trilling to my little heart’s content.   When other drivers pass me blasting their horn and giving me the bird, I think “I must know them” and cheerily wave back.  Then I see spittle squirting out of a purple mottled face and wonder what their problem is.  Then I notice my speedo and think “Oops, I did it again.”

I’m the one that was driving on a long dark road at night and couldn’t see a single car in front of me.  When I looked in my rear vision mirror I noticed a mile long row of headlights behind me and said to my sons, “Wow, look at all the traffic behind us, there must be an accident somewhere.”  Then sons blasted me and said “It’s YOU Mum.  You are SO embarrassing, drive faster!”  And I sing to them … “Oops, I did it again.”

I’m the one that was driving the boys home from school one day, ever so relaxed in pixie land, when a bicycle went past my car. The rider screaming at me through my open window “I can bloody well ride faster than you lady!”  Sons ducked down hoping no-one recognised them.

I’m the one that was driving through a 40km work zone, and I noticed a police car stuck in the traffic on the opposite lane and he started waving his hands in the air at me and flashing his headlights.  I said to sons “Oooh, look at that nice policeman waving at me.”  Son said “Slow down Mum, he’s abusing you and trying to get your attention.  If he had room to turn around he’d come after us.”  Well, that was a new one.

I’m the one that pulled out into speeding traffic but refused to speed with the rest of the lunatics.  I got followed by an irate driver tooting his horn and flashing his headlights trying to get past me, but I refused to speed or pull over,  I wasn’t going to break the law!  In fact, I got a wee bit giggly.  You should have seen his face through my rear view mirror, he looked like an enraged grizzly bear with his face squashed up against his windscreen and his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to catch an invisible snapper.  When I stopped at the traffic lights and he pulled up beside me he wound down his window and was screaming abuse at me and using words my poor little ears had never heard.  I gave him the biggest smile I could and waved back like a ditzy baa-lamb and said “Jesus loves you!”  He started throwing things at me out of his car window.  My son nearly got hit in the head by a cigarette lighter!

What’s wrong with people?  I think other drivers hate me because I’m a good law abiding citizen.  Time for a new song …

“Doh, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden suuuuuuun…..”

Image courtesy of: Freepik

 

 

The stunning males of the animal kingdom

beautiful blue wren on window sill“Tap, tap, tap.”   I listened intently to ascertain where the sound was coming from, only to realise it was on my bedroom window. {Was Husband Romeo trying to get my attention?}  I sneakily peaked through the curtains and saw two little birds hopping around and merrily pecking at their reflections. I quietly opened my curtains wide and sat on the carpet, watching them for ages.  And with my tinted windows, they couldn’t see me at all!

I had no idea what species they were, and after a little investigating, discovered they were “blue wrens”; and would you believe that the stunning blue one was the male! {What the?}

I looked at these gorgeous birds and thought my facts must be wrong.  The pretty one would be female, surely.  Nope.  It was definitely the male.  And I realised that there are other animals where the male is the strikingly attractive, spunky, gorgeous piece of work, and the female … well … just isn’t!  At least I’m not the only plain looking female on the planet.   {Poor bloody animals.}  Is this God’s sense of humour at work?  If so, then I don’t think He’s funny at all.

fancy peacockLook at the peacock, for example, compared to the peahen (yes, a female peacock is called a peahen).

The male is all electric stunning colour with co-ordinated feathers. And he wiggles and waves his fail feathers to catch a female’s attention.  Bleedin’ show off.  He’s a chick magnet and he knows it.

peahen with peachicksThe female is … well … not really that memorable. Mind you, this poor hen is probably exhausted from looking after her brood of “peachicks” all day, while her other half is busy preening himself into immaculate glory.

Then there’s lions.

majestic lionOhhh laa laaaaaa, check out the majestic beauty of this powerful male beast!  He has an incredible coiffed hair do.  And he knows it too.  Look at his proud “I know I’m beautiful” look.  He wakes up with hair like this.  It’s his bed hair!  I wake up in the morning with a witchy-poo-fuzz-ball that sticks up on one side, wraps around my head to be plastered to the side of my face and is accessorised with a drool clump.

lionessCompare now the lioness. Oh hooray, I do have something in common with her.  Bloody chin hairs!  I know how this poor mumma feels.

{Long drawn out sign …}

So back to my beautiful blue wrens …

They have been pecking at my window every day for a few weeks now. Husband and Sons look out for them, and we can get very close without them knowing we are only a few inches away.  They must have their nest in a tree on my front lawn.

Unfortunately … we are not the only ones who have noticed them!

cat looking at birds on window sill

© 2015 CEW

 

Why Is There So Much Hatred?

Now folks, here’s a post that’s worth reading every word of. I don’t think this is just relevant to America, but to Australia and the rest of the world. Whether you agree or not, it’s a great post!

I reblogged this post because …
https://catinthecactus.com/2015/09/22/how-to-pay-the-reblog-blessing-forward/

Miles of Life Lines

My Facebook feed is filled with such animosity these days. Did you know we’ve been living among Syrian refugees these past months? I sure didn’t. I mean, I’d heard the words uttered on various outlets, but I wasn’t aware it was actually happening. This is my point. They came, they settled, they lived. And then 1% of the world committed an act of terror and suddenly it’s out with the innocents! If you feel my disdain for America and don’t feel like reading further, this is your exit point. If you disagree with me and think they should “stay in their country and deal with it”, you sit your butt in that dang chair and read every dang word I’m about to type because I’m going to make your inhumane stupidity very damn clear. This is my animosity.

  1. From the Christian point of view, refusing hospitality to those in need…

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Worst moment – when you realise it’s his ball!

Squirrel in the snowWhat do you do when your hand accidentally contracts around your colleague’s testicle?  That was the dreadful predicament I found myself in recently.  I probably shouldn’t talk about this horrific workplace accident, and especially not blog about it, but I can’t help myself.  I just can’t take myself seriously.  What’s the use of having these ridiculous moments if I can’t share them with the world!

I related this story at a family dinner because I needed to spill my guts and confess my accidental actions.  But instead of my family being horrified, some of them were choking on their food and roaring with laughter.  Here’s what happened.

I’m a short 5 ft 2 1/2″.  Maybe I’m a tall midget.  Or a short giant.  Whatever.  Anyway, my colleague is over 6 foot tall I’d guess.  I was on a mission to get to the photocopier quickly, and in full throttle mode I power walked around a corner.  With hands swinging like a little marching girl I turned the corner and bumped so hard into my colleague that my face actually bounced off his chest.  I think I even got a taste of his navy blue jumper.  In fact, my face hit and bounced back so hard that we both “gripped” our hands instinctively.

Luckily for me, his hands jumped upwards and gripped onto my upper arms and stopped me landing flat on my back on the floor – where I probably would have knocked myself senseless on the reception desk.

Unfortunately for him, my right hand gripped in shock, and for a split second I wondered what the ‘ball’ was that I was tightly gripping onto.  Then I knew!  In my head in that split second I realised it was the solid outline of his testicle.  {In Australia, this action is called a “squirrel grip”.} 

I let go.  You could say I literally dropped the ball.  We stood stock still.  He looked down into my face, stunned, his eyes so big I could see completely around his pupils.  And I was looking up with my mouth agape.  I didn’t know what to say.  Neither did he.  I needed to break the ice … and quickly … so I blurted out “Just so you know, that’s not the worst thing I’ve done in my life!”  Then I quickly turned and scurried away.  Behind me, I suddenly heard his bellowing laughter.  I was too embarrassed to ask what was so funny and neither of us have ever mentioned the encounter since.

Luckily for me, my colleagues all know I have an out of control sense of humour, especially if I’m on a sugar high.  Maybe this story will come out at our next social function.  Then again … maybe not.

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site