30 June, 2012
dUBBo diSCo QuEEn & tHe GeReATRic fiREfiGhTinG SqAUd tEAm!
I went out dancing last night. In Dubbo. I really miss dancing...and singing louder than the DJ's instrumental serenade.
I am pleased to say that like a fine wine I think as we age we get better at dancing (not that aged wine necessarily gets better at dancing, but you get the point I'm trying to make). This must be because we become so much surer about ourselves, not caring about what others think and how we are being perceived. More comfortable about who we are and where we are going in life. Just living in the moment for what it is; a chance to just sing and dance. I look at the younger dancers and they seem so unsure; about themselves and their dance moves. I feel sorry for them.
Unfortunately age does mean that you know about the horrible effects of binge drinking the next day a lot more acutely. Your head wakes you up first to demand attention. You throw some panadol at your face and then in the mirror you discover that your eyes are blackened with smudged mascara that promised not to do this. You begrudgingly decide to perform eye cares on yourself, chanting in your thumping head that it will only take a minute and then you will be back in bed before you know it. Of course, ten minutes later you are still grappalling with the black tar which has now moved down from your eyes to your cheeks some how, and your eyes are red raw. This is starting to give you the shits and you wished that you were not so broke and tight when you shopped last to not buy the make-up removing soft wipes. On your way back to bed your stomach turns and your bowels twist helplessly...so you make a mercy dash to the little ladies room, so you can be anything but. Finally you make your way to bed cradeling a bottle of water like it's baby jesus. You feel like utter crap and you think that alcohol should be bannished from your life forever. This is what getting older is all about. We all have to go through it.
I am up and showered now. I've fed my starving dance temple of a body.. I look almost unscathed. I want to begin reading the latest craze in novel fiction - 'Fifty Shades of Grey' by EL James...but my brain refuses to cooperate by not delivering enough concentration cells. I am too hungover to protest. So I am blogging but it's sketchy as you can tell. My brain is unsure whether it is punishing me or not. Blogging while hungover and barely coherent is not really relaxing and it's taking me way too long to get to any sort of point. I think my brain might be winning this round.
On another interesting note, we were forced to evacuate the George Hatch Building (the dorms at Dubbo Base Hospital) when the fire alarms went off, about 30 minutes after we arrived back from the ED 2am BBQ (as you do), we turned up at 3am from being out drinking, and looking professional (and no it was not the BBQ that set the fire alarms off). It turned out to be the radiator heater steam from outside the dorms pluming through the 2nd storey kitchen window which had been left open. There were 6 disgruntled dorm dwellers outside, barely dressed and shivering and giggling awaiting the firefighters to make it all worth while. Two of us had admitted to being naked when the alarms went off and had to race to get clothes on; I was glad I wasn't the only one (refer to blog "10 things you didn't need to know about me.." that explains my naked sleeping curse). The firemen turned up about 15 mins later (just long enough for us all to have perished in a blazing fire wall of destruction), their average age was about 60, but looked impressive in their fireman suits complete with face sheilds none-the-less. Here's a 'Shout Out' to the Dubbo Fire Brigade! Thanks for getting out of bed at 3 am for The George Hatch Crew lads! I'm just glad it wasn't anything we three crazy nurses had done to set it off. Could have been a very expensive night indeed.
Back on the farm Justin's been having his own fun. A mad bull of Jono's (Justin's Dad) has escaped a transport truck in Weber and has gone rogue. The Weberians must be real stoked about that. It reminds me of that song "Cows with Guns". I had to crack up when Justin told me. I wouldn't want to come up against it or try to get it back on to a truck by itself. Good luck to the person who gets that job.
Bruce the Almighty (my pet wether lamb-ram) who's no longer cute and adorable has apparently attacked a visitor to the farm. An unsuspecting victom who thought to take a stroll through the orchard. Bruce took a running charge and struck. The poor mans back has been put out. For that I feel woefully sorry and I totally understand why Bruce might find himself in the dog-tucker freezer. I had to take advantage of the opportunity to tell Justin "I told you I wasn't making it up when I said that Bruce was stalking me and trying to charge me!". He wouldn't believe me, until now. I have broken a washing basket and badly dented a stainless steel cooking bowl over Bruce's head trying to convince him to leave me alone. Justin thought I was being ridiculous and over reacting. Really??!! Poor Brucey...I'm not there to defend my poor baby. Even though he scares the hell out of me sometimes, he's still my little lamb, even if he looks anything but a little lamb now. Sooty would be devastated to lose Bruce too. It's sad how attached I get to my pets. I wonder if this will change much when I have children. I can't see how, but people tell me that this happens. We'll see, hopefully, with any luck soon.
Well I must away because my head has taken my brain hostage and making demands for caffeine in large quantities, and as I don't have any 'zero tolerance' policies on such demands I shall go and arrange the exchange. Coffee me up Scotty!
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