Um, okay

To the person who found my blog looking for decapitated possum. Why? Why on earth would you search google for that?

That is just plain odd.

In your head

I often wonder what really happens inside my head, and how my thought processes do what they do. How do I remember some very peculiar things, but can't keep track of where the keys are?

This week has had some pretty special examples. I was at my physio appointment on Tuesday, and my physio asked me what I had given my mother for Mother's Day. A pretty reasonable question, and it was only 2 days after the fact. What did I say I'd given Mum? A watermelon and three bags of potting mix. She looked at me askance, and I tried again. I gave mum a watermelon and three bags of potting mix. I felt myself giving that head shake that you do when you are trying to get something out of your head and tried again. I gave mum a watermelon and three bags of potting mix. I gave up and wrote it down.

I think I've got an evil sprite living in my head, programming the very scary jukebox from hell. So far this week on high rotation I've had Blame it on the Rain by Milli Vanilli, Take it from me by Girlfriend, Help me Rhonda (conjuring up scary visions of Gordon from Melmac) by the Beach Boys, Delilah by Tom Jones (velvet, that was you!), and Zombie by the Cranberries. The only way that I know how to get rid of any of them is to start singing god save the queen. I don't mean the lyrics either, just that dum dum dum dum dumdum over and over, clearing the mind for the next scary set of song lyrics.

The words that I'm thinking in my head aren't the ones that I'm typing either. This blog entry has taken ages to do, because I have to keep rereading and realising that when I type wear I really mean where. It has happened with the other thing I've been writing (aka righting) too - I seem to have a bad case of the typing homophones. It really is most disconcerting. Even more unfortunate has been my inability to type my name incorrectly. If one vowel is replaced by another vowel, my name becomes something quite obscene. If nothing else, I've been very entertaining for the people around me.

Oh, and for those who may be wondering, it was a wheelbarrow.

Oh my!

My sister and I managed to get some pretty serious retail therapy in on Saturday. We found ourselves in a row of outlets near home - there is truth to the rumour that by the time we were done the car held new dinner plates and martini glasses, a new overnight bag, a new chopping board and new lingerie. And that was just me.

And then we entered the shoe shop, to be known forever more as Skanks are Us.


This one was one of the classier shoes in the shop. What disturbed me most? It wasn't that it came in 3 different colours. It wasn't that they had them in multiple sizes. It was that they had them on the discount table, but the $20 table instead of the $10 table. Might want to rethink that pricing.

Oh, and neither of us bought anything there!

Huh?

I'm confused - heck, I'm really confused. I've been seeing a lot of ads lately for Palmolive Pure Cashmere Shower Cream. The blurb has me stumped, and I'm reproducing it in the hope that I'm not going nuts.

"Experience the irresistible feeling of cashmere softness when you shower. Palmolive Pure Cashmere Intense Hydration contains extracts of 100% natural cashmere and moisturising milk. "

Am I strange? Have I missed Cashmere coming from anywhere other than goats? Does Palmolive really want me to shower and clean myself with extracts of 100% natural goat? I've smelt goats and I'm not sure I really want to smell like that on a daily basis, especially fresh out of the shower.