We’re prepping for an Ameralian Turkey Day here, at our home, for ALL the family, tomorrow.

CrazyCatLady has, naturally, diva-like and dramatically usurped the role of Center of Attention and is cooking the turkey, stuffing, and candied yams.

Yes, I told her the latter is disgusting and noone really eats them, but she’d already loudly called Wife a “dickhead” when asked if she’d make the gravy too, so I sat and stroked one of the only cats I like over there whilst absently picking tufts of fur off my shirt.

Me and my preggolatious wifeage shopped today, South of the river in the more White Trashish section of town. There’s nothing quite like a change of scenery, and getting back to our WT roots.

Plus, and Yes I’m saying it out loud, I like to compare myself to some of the unfortunates around me and make myself feel better. Fuck it, we all do it, man up and admit it.

By that same token, sometimes I do it simply for the freedom of being “one of them” and let my asscheeks vibrate violently while emitting ducklike noises in the middle of a busy store.

It makes Wife giggle, it makes me smile that oh-so-satisfied-with-yourself-smile and it makes other people uncomfortable and somewhat grossed out. Sweet.

My feet are now propped up and resting, with the promise of a rub or two, after I’ve created, from scratch, two pies.

Crust and all, Pecan is cooling and Pumpkin is waiting to come out.

No Fucking Shit. From Scratch.

I’ve already had two today, but I SOOOOOOOO deserve some serious Sexing right now.

Tell me again why I’m typing this?

P.S. I’m Thankful. So fucking thankful.

I’m writing for the sake of it in here anymore, not for novels, but DAMN, I could go on and on.

I’m thankful, and tell them, every day, for my wonderfully sensitive and capable boy, who may be the most perfect child ever created. For my girlchild, who can be the Naughtiest Shit Ever, but loves like it’s never been done. For the belly resident, who does a disco every time she hears my voice and/or I touch her mum’s belly.

I’m Thankful for all good things and good people. You know who you are.

Go. Hug something and pretend it’s from me. Now.

GO.

The Thorpedo retired yesterday and that’s what I came up with on my own, making Wife blow a little bit of the clear kind of snot out her nose.

And I’m not even FROM here. Heh.

NO, I’m not linking and all that. You can look ‘im up.

Faaawksakes. Here:

The champion swimmer announced yesterday that he has quit the sport at just 24 years of age.

It brings to an end a remarkable era in Australian swimming, Thorpe having dominated events on the national and world stage for the best part of a decade.

The career tumble-turn began during his recent stint in Los Angeles, where he says he started to look at his life in a new light, and decided that swimming is no longer the top priority.

The Olympic champion told a packed news conference it was a difficult decision to make but conceded ‘swimming was no longer a top priority’ and said he wants to concentrate on other challenges.

Thorpe’s list of achievements include; five Olympic gold medals, ten Commonwealth Games gold, 11 World Championship titles, and nine Pan Pacific gold medals.

He’s also set 21 World Records.

That’s NewsieSpeak for “Yet another Aussie who whupped him a whole lotta ass.”

And my kids love his cereal.

I think.

Or maybe his is the one that’s got more chocolate and honey and syrup and shit in it. Crap, I forget, but it’s the one with his picture and quote on it and we make more fun of it than we do “Tang”.

Stuck in muffuckin traffic this morning and late for Weekly Company Meeting only to find out that Boss was late too and meeting was postponed.

Wrote to Wife, “T’ain’t Fair.

Huhuh, ?T’ain’t Fair? sounds like lots of wrinkly patches of funny-looking skin walking around eating Cotton Candy, riding Roller Coasters and trying to win Teddy Bears.”

I fkn kill me.

Tired of thinking about writing a Final Goodbye for this diary.

Tired of thinking that I need to write a freakin’ novel every time I’m on here.

Funny shit gets said and thought of and whispered across pillows and yelled through the shower steam. Every. Damn. Day.

Why not write it down and share it?

Mebbe even make some snot blow out. Not the big ones either, that bounce when they hit your pant leg, but the kind that’s clear and a bit runny and people only notice when you try and wipe it up.

Buddy casually walks up to Wife and says, “Guess what.”

Not as instinctually inclined as myself to shoot back a quick “Chicken’s Butt!” she simply asks, “What?”

“Bunnies,” he even-more-casually replies, “that’s all” and then walks away.

That’s my Boy.

Through the seemingly constant cries of “but we’re NOT American!” we did it. Me and my boy braved the cold and cruel elements to do our part for the propagation of my cultural identity.

We went Trick-or-Treating.

And by ?cold and cruel? I mean… um… ha ha, it?s Spring here.

Wife had a few rows with some e-folks about the origins of the celebration of Hallowe’en (which is why I now spell it “correctly” after ResearchGirl sprung into super action) and I was prepared for the worst to greet us. I figured we’d get a few “we don’t celebrate that” or “you’re not in America anymore” or even “only freaks and pagans scoop still-steaming goat entrails onto their heads whilst screaming at the moon and rubbing themselves in poo… and we’re not them.”

I understand that it’s a Consumer Culture, which can sometimes be construed as an all-devouring beast hell-bent on World Domination. I understand that there’s a difference between wanting to be like America for the cool shit, like 35 Cent and his G Unit and the ways that he carjacks and fires an Uzi, and NOT wanting to be like America for the dumb shit, like… well… the same shit really.

The hypocrisy is not lost on me though, when I am told in one breath that Burger King is called Hungry Jacks and the signature food item of this entire continent, Vegemite, is owned by Kraft, an American company, then in another I am told that “We’re NOT American, so we don’t celebrate Hallowe’en” (though they don?t spell it properly when they say it).

Sidenote

I almost officially renounced my country after the recent announcement concerning the ?V? stuff. Seriously. What the fuck?

I don?t give 5 shits if customs comes to my house and GW himself mispronounces some words while arresting me, I stowed some of that wonderfully pasty brown stuff in a package to Mom just yesterday.

It?s awesome and one of the 3 Best Ways to start the day aside from coffee and sex. Almost in that order.

/Sidenote

I listen to an extremely popular radio DJ poke a bit of fun of the ?holiday?, saying that it?s not exactly necessary to glom on so wholeheartedly to the American bullshit right fucking before he plays a song by The Fray (whom I frickin? LOVE, don?t get me wrong, and are even from Denver) that gained overnight popularity of insane proportions from a TV show.

An American TV Show. About doctors and drama and sex ?n shit.

The Morning Show DJs take this show, which had some serious dramatastic finale the night before, and TALK ABOUT IT ALL FKN MORNING. Then, when they play the song, it?s got lines from the show interspersed throughout it.

The Song. On the RADIO. HAD TV IN IT. The AMERICAN Song had AMERICAN TV in it.

But you?re too fucking hotshit for Hallowfuckingwe?en. Gotcha.

I’m not the warrior that Wife is, so I simply stated my argument against this line of thinking as “I AM American… and lollies… I mean, candy.” I?d like to thank my sis-in-law for that line, coz really. Loll… crap, Candy.

Free Candy.

Jeezus-H-Crickets-stuck-in-a-Roach Motel, is there anybody who doesn?t like dressing up and pretending to be something else?

And Free Fucking Candy?!?

My little girl had previously decided to be very naughty and blatantly ignore some very steadfast rules, so she missed out on the fun, but Buddy had a freakin? great time.

While sorting his booty in the kitchen, he quietly and earnestly told Wife that he really liked Trick or Treating, ?I was a bit shy though? he admits, ?but I got used to going to other people?s houses.?

Testament to the Wonder that is this child, his first instinct for the first 3 houses was to give THEM the candy. He honestly thought that the whole idea was to go door-to-door and give out candy, as that?s what we do when people knock on our door.

Heh, though we only had 4 visitors, they came in a group, and they weren?t wearing anything other than their school uniforms. The red-headed, heavily freckled one carrying the skateboard was wearing his backwards, Wild Man that he is, and he busted out some of the best Human Beat Box that I?d heard in a while. Seriously, my inner Talent Scout wanted to sign him to a contract.

The only redeeming thing that I heard from the radio talent was a story exactly like that, where he?d heard that in America they spend weeks planning and decorating houses and children, and when doors are banged upon a loud screeching ?TRICK OR TREAT? is the cheer.

By a decent contrast, he received a trio of yardapes much like us, who were wearing nothing other than street clothes, and who greeted him answering the door with a shuffling of feet and a grumbling, ?got any lollies??

8 of the 20 houses later and the end of our ?circle? completed, we?d netted a bag of Smith?s Chips, a 2 dollar coin, some chocolates that we got to pluck from a tray that was obviously an Anniversary Gift, a couple of Cherry Ripe?s from the boho backpackers that had just come back from Craving Shopping, and yes… some lollies.

We made some friends, we met some of our neighbors close up, and got nothing but rave reviews for the ?little Ninja man!? even from the old Asian lady whose dinner we apparently interrupted and who had no freakin? idea what we were on about until I repeated (for the 3rd time) ?Happy Hallowe?en!?

So embrace some ?Merican Shit or don?t. But, if there is any reason to loosen your sphincter up and ditch that goddam hypocrisy about my culture, I can?t think of a better one right now than dressing up in something cool, visiting all of my neighbors, and wangling some free candy.

Ed: Attempted to post last night, but techinical difficulties in the form of a bottle of Madfish Wine prevented me from doing so.

A not infrequent occurrence in our household is to have a waking-up-way-too-goddam-early child unlatch our bedroom door and poke his little head in with a ?HiGoodMorning!? before gently clambering across Wife?s swollen belly and eventually my chest and/or junk.

This morning I was simply too close to recapturing that ever-elusive Last Bit O? Sleep before the alarm went off and just wasn?t in the mood for a cuddly, yet sharply elbowed, child to land on me. Door opened and boy made his way quietly in while I growled at him with a ?wazzdazzhimmin…? saw him say something to Wife and then scitter out the door.

?SherzamfegDERR!? I started to shout at the quickly vanishing curly brown head when Wife rammed her butt back into my mid-section while ordering me to ?shut up!? with a harsh whisper. ?BudeezsherzamfegDERR!? I argued, to which she answered once again with ?shut! up!?

My dismay and growliness apparently meant nothing to Wife. I wondered how she could be so insensitive, letting Buddy run rampantly in and out of our bedroom and waking me up on my… own… special… day?

This question was answered by Buddy stumbling back into our bedroom, labouring under the strain of a large, newspaper-wrapped, toolbox-looking item, and announcing loudly and happily (despite my grumpiness), ?Happy Birthday Daddy!?

My feelings of jackassedness lasted only as long as it took Pie to come bouncing into our bedroom and for the both of them to start helping me unwrap my spoils.

Grogginess gave way to raw excitedness for the simple and pristine beauty that lies within a tool as versatile, usable, and fuckincool as the Dremel…
only Cordless.

Wife treated ME to coffee in bed and children treated me to lack of pointy elbows in my crotch whilst playing on our bed, and a good time was had by all. Kids ate cereal that Buddy proudly prepared himself and Wife and I played TickleButt in the shower in preparation for our appointment with the TV Lady.

I?ve done some cool shit in my life. I?ve been a part of an assload of very noteworthy things. Too many to list, all I can be somewhat proud of, but nothing, NOTHING, can top this:

I helped make this.

TV Lady showed us this too:

If you look closely…

at just the right angle…

and squint your eyes just right…

you can see that it?s a baby.

Wife informed bro-in-law D?d that he was about to be treated to yet another niece with this:

Yep, gonna have me a little girl.

?Course, we?re only figuring on this because Mother-in-law CrazyCatLady pyschicicked it, both children tipped it that direction (though Buddy ?weewwy weewwy wanted a widdle bruvver?), Wife and Batgirl Visioned it, and because the TV Lady said so. Actually, TV Lady?s boss took over the TV show just long enough to tell us that baby is awesomely rockin? though she showed barely the slightest interest in the sex of the child-to-be.

I was a bit perturbed, but still too face-splittingly grinning to say something like, ?Can ya run that thing over the little squirt?s crotch some more? I don?t reckon I saw either junk or bits.?

I DID suggest that we shouldn?t fret too much over what we may or may not be seeing, as I proudly announced that any potential son of mine would leave absolutely ZERO doubt that he was a-swingin?. Wife gave me that all-too-familiar smile that suggests she?s overwhelmingly in love with me while thinking I?m a Great Big DoofusHead Tardigan at the same time and this may actually make her more in love with me.

We made a brief stop at home for some food before going back to pick up the pics from TV Lady, and Wife paused long enough to call CrazyCatLady in order to preempt the gloating.

CCL was not at her best. Auntie L has finally succumbed to the Big C we were told.

Mere days after we were made aware that it was SERIOUS and she is gone. Just like that.

I liked her. She wasn?t family in the technicalities of blood, but neither am I, and the two of us were always treated as if we were and more.

I?ll miss her.

There were some hugs. Lots of them. In a quiet and somewhat cold kitchen on my birthday, there were quiet hugs for a wonderful woman.

We grabbed TV Lady?s pictures and then our other little ones from CCL?s. I can?t help it sometimes, and something about my nature means that I have to hug those that are grieving. I?m not sure why, maybe it?s my own need to feel comforted by comforting, maybe it?s because I?m compassionate and noble, maybe I?m secretly a pervert and enjoy rubbing myself on others.

CCL grips me tightly before pushing me away and a little too loudly proclaiming through a choked voice and wet eyes, ?I?m holding it together!?

?Yep. Sure you are,? I thought to myself as I brought the room to the tantamount of distraction (another part of my nature) with the announcement to the kids of their future siblings gender.

Their reactions could not have been more different.

I mentioned before that Buddy was very much wanting a little brother but somehow Knew that it was a girl, but I wasn?t prepared for how hard he was going to take the news. Pie couldn?t have been more elated and, no shit, I haven?t seen a reaction like that from the new Tea Set, Just Like Me Baby, Christmas Bike, and Pillbug the Puppy combined.

She ran around in circles shrieking in excitement, he gently cuddled into my shoulder and sulked for a bit. He saw some of the pictures and is now convinced that he?s just cemented his place in history as the Ruler of the Yard Apes in our household. He?s over it I reckon.

I look back on today, a significant day for me, and choose now to reflect.

Par-for-course around here, NOW is when my newest daughter chooses to start her Baby-Fu Fighting in Wife?s belly again.

I felt it. I just felt that. And I helped make her.

Surreal. Simply surreal.

I?d like to tell you a little bit about this country I live in.

I could go on and on with social diatribes and any random, yet no less poignant, observation that I may have made since my arrival here. I?m not going to do that.

Hell with it, I?ll simply drop you into and out of a day in my life. Today, for example.

The news this morning was heavily-laden with the terrorist doings. Naturally. Then the newsies say things like, ?Um, Aussies… it can happen to us too, so don?t go anywhere for a while.? No long, drawn-out messages about traveling safely, what to consider when planning a holiday, who to scrutinize when getting on buses in the middle of Beirut… nope.

?Don?t go where they blow shit up.?

That?s the message. The rest is just fluff.

I get into the classroom with my son after stumbling late, once again, out of our house a mere 2 and a half minutes away. We are greeted with no less than 5 kids that Boy describes as ?brown people.? Though they may all be (in relative order) Indonesian, Aboriginal, Indian, Liberian, and Malaysian, he really only comments on their differences in light of the fact that their skin is darker than ours, and how much he loves when some of them speak ?Chinese? (because when you?re 5, every foreign language is Chinese).

While we read a book about a duck that?s learning to surf, I notice that, of the 15 children leaping randomly and flea-like about the room, there are no less than 9 different nationalities represented. This is only an estimate, of course, because I?m guessing that the slightly olive-complected boy named ?Kalib Hashnihakanahhakansomething? has roots from somewhere near the Middle East.

You?ll never hear anyone there calling it a ?Melting Pot? though. It?s just the Pre-Primary School.

I fought traffic whilst flipping through stations that are playing the same song at the same time (probably the same one you flipped from this same morning). There is some meaningless banter between the flamboyantly gay host and a footy star, which I pause on because I?m hoping for far less tolerance from the jock and more lisping and wrist-limping from the poof.

No such luck, and then I doze at a light while 3 people in a row try to sell me radio airtime, energy bars, and car insurance (which they neglect to tell me I don?t really need as it?s included in my licensing fees).

At work I talk to a guy on the phone with such a thick Romanian accent I start giggling and dropping Ali G references with nary a hint of suspected ridicule. I have a meeting with a couple of Poms that want to sell flowers online here in WA, but aren?t sure how many other online florists they may be competing against, but assure me that it?s ?absolute rubbish? that they can?t register their company name because it?s too close to an existing company that also sells… *gasp* flowers.

I entertain my coworkers with the same trick I do for my wife. I take ordinary, average, run-of-the-mill SPAM emails that want me to have longer lasting erections and eat painkillers by the handful, and read it like it?s a personal letter from family or a close friend.

My journey homeward involves more fighting of traffic, and the obnoxious and highly entertaining afternoon hosts are giving shit to Hugh Jackman for being so incredibly humble:

?Seriously mate, Harrison Ford doesn?t get in an interview and say, ?So, it?s a pretty good show, hope you go out and see it, the archeological stuff isn?t TOO heavy and over your head, and there?s some pretty good action too, with a whip and a cool hat thrown in.??

He takes it all in stride and ad-libs some theoretical lines from X-Men 4: The Musical.

Laziness rules out over DinnerPreparingness, and we feed the kids ?Baked Beans? which I recognize as the item I grew up calling ?Pork and Beans.? As Wife points out that ?Fruit Cocktail? always has a multitude of cherries on the label and there are freakin? 3 in a liter can (and they?re HALVES), I share with her that ?Pork and Beans? is really ?Baked Beans and a Square-Inch Hunk of Pigfat Potentially Construed as ?Pork?.?

I eat a Tim Tam as pre-dinner, and it?s still one of the finer compilations that Chocolate and Cookie ever did together. I won?t even go into Hedgehogs and Caramel Slices. Oh, Sweet Baby Jeebus.

We read The Jungle Book, stick the kids in bed, and settle in to The 2006 MTV Movie Awards. While I?ve forgotten the reason behind a channel originally devoted to music videos (called ?film clips? here) hosting an award show that had more to it than the BIG ones (the ones with the little golden alien dude with the sword on the trophy), I did enjoy all the hooplah. And the fact that an Aussie won one award and a dude got another for kissing an Aussie dude. And they were COWBOYS. That?s realistically one of the only things that keeps the ?ew? factor as low as it is for me.

The highlight of my night arrives. Well, the other highlight that isn?t hanging out with my incredibly awesomely cool wife, bullshitting for hours about nothing and everything.

No, the highlight is a Toohey?s New beer commercial. If you?re here in Oz, you may have seen it.

A city, any city. It?s downtown inhabitants are using gigantic trebuchets to launch Volkswagen-sized bags of Malt, Barley, and Hops into a nearby cloudbank. They happily fling them from throughout the metropolis as folks in their offices watch them disappear into the vapour.

They all slow to a bit of a halt, and on a taller buildings rooftop an elevator dings, and those that were previously loading another ton?s worth of beer-brewins turn to stare excitedly at… a deer.

It took me a few times of watching this ad to realize that this is the same deer from the label on the bottle I was imbibing, but that changed NONE of the comedic impact of those beer-craving idiots leading that wide-eyed, innocent, impressive-looking creature onto the trebuchet and WHOOSH… off he flies stoically into the clouds.

Then, it starts to rain beer and every single living soul in that city is engulfed in pure rapture. That part gets me a bit teary… give me a minute… *sniff*

I love this country.

Hell, I left out the part from the longer version of that ad where they load a couple of Lauderdale-esque chicks onto the thingy and shoot ?em into the clouds too, giggling and hooting all the way.

It?s late now, and even though it?s Friday Night, I know that yet another beer and additional hours of non-sleep will only hurt me when it?s pre-dawn and two little yard-monkeys are clamoring for pancakes, because I may not actually be a grown-up, but I play one in the kitchen.

Good night folks. Love where you are and the ones you?re with.