Don't look at me like that... look, I've been busy... I had stuff to do around the house... it was cold outside... OK FINE! ... I have nothing to report for September!
There, happy?
The point of this blog was to "force the door" on experiences and to change my life for the positive, well it has definitely happened. I have definitely made some changes. In the month of September I have caught up with family, helped organise an 80th birthday party (oh Lord there was sooo much pink) and even sorted out my own back yard. Nothing I would call bloggable though.
I have been far more active this winter than I have in the last 5 years. I put it down to a renewed confidence that some of these experiences have given me. I can't talk for Mandy but there have been some big changes to my attitude.
Annnnnndddd...If you really want to know what I have been up to, check my twitter account (@Finklestink).
It's pretty much a pick-your-nose, blow-by-blow account of my September frolics.
Mandy and I caught up for dinner this evening to work out our plan of attack for the coming months. Thanks to a few suggestions we have pinned down Archery (again), Lawn bowls and a Makeover. Yes, someone is going to try and make a purse out of this sow's ear.
We have also agreed that the initial arrangement of only blogging events we both attend has changed, so expect to hear a lot more from us individually.
Anyhoo, I couldn't let the month go without an entry so, here it is.
Will have some more exciting news for you in the coming seconds/minutes/days/weeks.
Cas
(Written as part of the Force the Door blog: http://forcethedoor.blogspot.com.au/)
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Drinking
.
Drinking
(Written as part of the Force the Door blog: http://forcethedoor.blogspot.com.au/)
Cas and Mandy
Attempted all month - and totally forgotten
I couldn't let the month of August go without a post so I thought I would blog about the "unofficial" activities we have been carrying out in the name of self discovery and enlightenment. Granted, they all involve drinking... alcohol... excessively.
Mandy and I have been shining away the winter blues with get-togethers, shin digs and hoo-hars. We have not done them together however, hence the "unofficialness" of the activities.
For this Force the Door blog we need to complete the activity together and we need to take ourselves a little out of our normal everyday environment (you thought I was going to say comfort zone but we aren't training to become Xena Warrior Princess or anything). For myself, leaving the house in the midst of winter is well out of my normal routine. The fact that I have enjoyed gorgeous food, wine and company while violently shaking with cold has been a surprising pleasing experience.
So I will keep this blog short (and sans image) to let you know that the spirit of Force the Door was continued throughout August but unfortunately wiped from our minds in a vodka filled haze.
Mandy and I will be reviewing the activities we can officially blog about so expect to see more strange and hopefully amusing posts soon.
Drinking
(Written as part of the Force the Door blog: http://forcethedoor.blogspot.com.au/)
Cas and Mandy
Attempted all month - and totally forgotten
I couldn't let the month of August go without a post so I thought I would blog about the "unofficial" activities we have been carrying out in the name of self discovery and enlightenment. Granted, they all involve drinking... alcohol... excessively.
Mandy and I have been shining away the winter blues with get-togethers, shin digs and hoo-hars. We have not done them together however, hence the "unofficialness" of the activities.
For this Force the Door blog we need to complete the activity together and we need to take ourselves a little out of our normal everyday environment (you thought I was going to say comfort zone but we aren't training to become Xena Warrior Princess or anything). For myself, leaving the house in the midst of winter is well out of my normal routine. The fact that I have enjoyed gorgeous food, wine and company while violently shaking with cold has been a surprising pleasing experience.
So I will keep this blog short (and sans image) to let you know that the spirit of Force the Door was continued throughout August but unfortunately wiped from our minds in a vodka filled haze.
Mandy and I will be reviewing the activities we can officially blog about so expect to see more strange and hopefully amusing posts soon.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Not just Bingo. MEGA BINGO!
Cas
Bingo
Attempted 12th June 2010
If someone had asked me last year "Hey, wanna go to Bingo?" they would of heard two words containing three F's.
However as part of my commitment to Force the Door, I thought, "Why not?".
Ok, so I did drag a posse in with but I did go me (you can't turn your back on these oldies for a second). Oh and by the way, this wasn’t just Bingo, it was MEGA BINGO!!!! Yeeeeehhh! Can you feel the adrenaline pumping?!?
Posse by my side I turn up to the mega-ness that was Bingo. It was held at the local Mega Dome. The invite said the doors opened at 12pm and 'eye's down' was at 2pm. Not wanting to sit around for 2 hours with a bunch of knitting Nannies I decided a 1pm arrival was acceptable.
As we arrived and dodged the traffic jam of Zimmer frames we started to notice a common theme amongst the crocheted bags and baskets. They seemed to be carrying cushions, had containers of food and the occasional thermos of "tea". OMG! How do you come unprepared to Bingo?
When we finally made it into the venue (old people in revolving doors are a comic masterpiece) we were confronted with the “MEGA” part of the event title. I’m talking 3000 blue rinse demons lined in a maze of trestle tables and cheap plastic outdoor chairs. They were decked out in there blankets, thermos and boiled lollies. We had to squeeze past endless plastic chairs and walking sticks to find 8 seats together (hence the 12pm start) and wedge ourselves in amongst a couple of oldies.
The lady sitting next to me was there with her mother (bless) and they both had discarded the standard issue doppers (number markers for the Bingo uneducated) for their own customised colours. I opened my game booklet and let out my first gasp for the evening. It was magnificent in its numerical glory. There were boxes and lines and numbers and boxes and lines, and... well it was a little overwhelming. How the hell do you play Bingo? I thought you just tried to get a row of numbers? Apparently not.
Apparently there is much more too it at that.
After either seeing the anguish on my face or hearing the grinding of my teeth the kind lady next to me offered her assistance. She explained the rules to me which I then relayed to the Posse, who were not impressed at all with the lack of alcohol at the venue.
Then the announcer turned on the mic and started crooning the game rules to the breathless biddies below. He had a velvet softness to his tone that reminded me of something.... something warm and soothing... something... something... OH MY GOD! He sounds like a hypnotist?!?!
It occurred to me that this might be the best strategy for preventing a full scale revolt from 3000 bingo hungry nanas. His calling style reminded me of a hypnotherapy session given by a 1st year university History lecturer. It was pure gold. He called "eyes down" and the room melted into silence. I was impressed that in the next 3 hours of silence, surrounded by 3000 "older people", I didn’t here one bottom burp. These people were FOCUSED!
I played as best I could, trying to keep up with the caller and mark my sheets at the same time. Occasionally I would have two or three numbers to go on my row. My heart was racing, breath baited, prayers in every language and religion running through my mind only to be thwarted by the banshee cry of "Bingo!" followed by "Oh bloody hell!" by one of the competitive members of our Posse. I was actually getting into it.
There was a rule which said you had to call Bingo on the last number in your line, before the next number is called. And you had to be heard. In a Super Dome of 3000 people it was a little hard to hear some of the older ladies who missed out when their mouse like squeaks were not yielded. My team and I knew that would not be our problem. If I got "Bingo" the rest of the state would know about it.
The games went on with the occasional "Bingo" followed by a polite clap or the caller's accusatory "Boggggeeeeey!" announcement and a room full of "tutts".
As the games progressed the prizes got more and more outlandish. Eventually we hit the big game. The prize was $20,000. I felt sorry for the winner. Surely he/she would get jumped in the car park (I already had my escape route mapped out).
The game started and my numbers where coming up, I was squeezing my dopper so hard I was creating puddles on my page instead of dots. Then I glanced to the right.
The lady next to me (my Bingo mentor) was white with pursed lips that had melded into the same shade as her face. I glanced at her game sheet. She had two numbers to go and we were early into the calls.
I lost focus and whispered to her "If your numbers come up, I will call Bingo, they WILL hear you". And then I willed with all my might for a 14 and 27. "Come one 14... Come on 27... Come on 14..." then "Bingo!!" followed by screams of delight.
No, it wasn't me or my Bingo mentor. Someone got there before us. Curses! I was completely gutted. Oh the highs and the lows. The afternoon then wrapped up and with a twinge of sadness we all shuffled, scootered or Zimmer framed out into the sunset.
I have to say, I enjoyed it. Very much so. The posse and I decided we would get a bigger band of renegades together next year and bring the works. Many a Thermos, many nibbles and maybe even a pig on a spit. I think Bingo could be my new hobby. I know crazy but true. Maybe the hypnosis worked?
Manda
Ahem… This is actually Cas here. Manda had an appointment with a bottle or two of wine the night before this event and was sadly in no fit state to attend, or even walk for that matter. She owes me a blue rinse. :)
Bingo
Attempted 12th June 2010
If someone had asked me last year "Hey, wanna go to Bingo?" they would of heard two words containing three F's.
However as part of my commitment to Force the Door, I thought, "Why not?". Ok, so I did drag a posse in with but I did go me (you can't turn your back on these oldies for a second). Oh and by the way, this wasn’t just Bingo, it was MEGA BINGO!!!! Yeeeeehhh! Can you feel the adrenaline pumping?!?
Posse by my side I turn up to the mega-ness that was Bingo. It was held at the local Mega Dome. The invite said the doors opened at 12pm and 'eye's down' was at 2pm. Not wanting to sit around for 2 hours with a bunch of knitting Nannies I decided a 1pm arrival was acceptable.
As we arrived and dodged the traffic jam of Zimmer frames we started to notice a common theme amongst the crocheted bags and baskets. They seemed to be carrying cushions, had containers of food and the occasional thermos of "tea". OMG! How do you come unprepared to Bingo?
When we finally made it into the venue (old people in revolving doors are a comic masterpiece) we were confronted with the “MEGA” part of the event title. I’m talking 3000 blue rinse demons lined in a maze of trestle tables and cheap plastic outdoor chairs. They were decked out in there blankets, thermos and boiled lollies. We had to squeeze past endless plastic chairs and walking sticks to find 8 seats together (hence the 12pm start) and wedge ourselves in amongst a couple of oldies.
The lady sitting next to me was there with her mother (bless) and they both had discarded the standard issue doppers (number markers for the Bingo uneducated) for their own customised colours. I opened my game booklet and let out my first gasp for the evening. It was magnificent in its numerical glory. There were boxes and lines and numbers and boxes and lines, and... well it was a little overwhelming. How the hell do you play Bingo? I thought you just tried to get a row of numbers? Apparently not.
Apparently there is much more too it at that.
After either seeing the anguish on my face or hearing the grinding of my teeth the kind lady next to me offered her assistance. She explained the rules to me which I then relayed to the Posse, who were not impressed at all with the lack of alcohol at the venue.
Then the announcer turned on the mic and started crooning the game rules to the breathless biddies below. He had a velvet softness to his tone that reminded me of something.... something warm and soothing... something... something... OH MY GOD! He sounds like a hypnotist?!?!
It occurred to me that this might be the best strategy for preventing a full scale revolt from 3000 bingo hungry nanas. His calling style reminded me of a hypnotherapy session given by a 1st year university History lecturer. It was pure gold. He called "eyes down" and the room melted into silence. I was impressed that in the next 3 hours of silence, surrounded by 3000 "older people", I didn’t here one bottom burp. These people were FOCUSED!
I played as best I could, trying to keep up with the caller and mark my sheets at the same time. Occasionally I would have two or three numbers to go on my row. My heart was racing, breath baited, prayers in every language and religion running through my mind only to be thwarted by the banshee cry of "Bingo!" followed by "Oh bloody hell!" by one of the competitive members of our Posse. I was actually getting into it.
There was a rule which said you had to call Bingo on the last number in your line, before the next number is called. And you had to be heard. In a Super Dome of 3000 people it was a little hard to hear some of the older ladies who missed out when their mouse like squeaks were not yielded. My team and I knew that would not be our problem. If I got "Bingo" the rest of the state would know about it.
The games went on with the occasional "Bingo" followed by a polite clap or the caller's accusatory "Boggggeeeeey!" announcement and a room full of "tutts".
As the games progressed the prizes got more and more outlandish. Eventually we hit the big game. The prize was $20,000. I felt sorry for the winner. Surely he/she would get jumped in the car park (I already had my escape route mapped out).
The game started and my numbers where coming up, I was squeezing my dopper so hard I was creating puddles on my page instead of dots. Then I glanced to the right.
The lady next to me (my Bingo mentor) was white with pursed lips that had melded into the same shade as her face. I glanced at her game sheet. She had two numbers to go and we were early into the calls.
I lost focus and whispered to her "If your numbers come up, I will call Bingo, they WILL hear you". And then I willed with all my might for a 14 and 27. "Come one 14... Come on 27... Come on 14..." then "Bingo!!" followed by screams of delight.
No, it wasn't me or my Bingo mentor. Someone got there before us. Curses! I was completely gutted. Oh the highs and the lows. The afternoon then wrapped up and with a twinge of sadness we all shuffled, scootered or Zimmer framed out into the sunset.
I have to say, I enjoyed it. Very much so. The posse and I decided we would get a bigger band of renegades together next year and bring the works. Many a Thermos, many nibbles and maybe even a pig on a spit. I think Bingo could be my new hobby. I know crazy but true. Maybe the hypnosis worked?
Manda
Ahem… This is actually Cas here. Manda had an appointment with a bottle or two of wine the night before this event and was sadly in no fit state to attend, or even walk for that matter. She owes me a blue rinse. :)
Monday, May 3, 2010
Ten Pin Bowling
(Written as part of the Force the Door blog: http://forcethedoor.blogspot.com.au/)
Cas
Ten Pin Bowling
Attempted 26th April 2010
Bowling is awesome, but there is one thing I can’t quite hack about it… the fungus.
The fungus in the shoes, the fungus in the little finger holes of the balls, the fungus fills everything. Get hung up on the fungus and your game disintegrates into a laughable gutter smashing, no pin hitting affair.
We booked the lane, got the shoes (which looked smashing I may say, 50s retro meets Ronald MacDonald) and chose a ball each. Having not played in any serious capacity I chose a number 8, my favourite number. What do the numbers mean? They certainly weren’t finger sizes. I was playing with the same ball as the 9 year old in the next lane and I don’t think I have freakishly small carnie hands.
I was doing “OK”. I was hitting the occasional pin. Then 2 goes into the first round we had a technical malfunction and I was only awarded 3 pins for my 9 that I knocked down. Also the balls got stuck at the end and the pin-mover-thingy didn’t work. So the attendant came and sorted it all out via the computer. Mandy tried to flirt with him and get some extra points added to her total (cheat). Mandy wasn’t doing to well and I am sure she will tell you the reasons why in her part of this blog…cough.
So we were back into the swing of things, literally. I mean swinging the ball across our bodies, from front to back, etc. I don’t think any of us had a consistent technique. Mandy was yelling some choice words on her turns. I am sure the children attending the Batman themed party a few lanes down all went home with bleeding ears. Oh well, its an “early education” as Mandy put it. We were fast becoming the queens of the gutter ball and I was seriously considering asking the attendance to raise the gutter blockers. That wouldn’t be too humiliating, surely?
However, a miracle then occurred. We’ll a miracle of the bowling kind. I didn’t see The Big Guy or anything. We started the second round and the computer wigged out again and started awarding every player a minimum of 9 points. Regardless of whether or not you hit anything your first turn was a 9 pointer. This meant that you only had to achieve a spare, so you only had to hit 1 pin. This made it more interesting. We had the opportunity to get 10 on every turn, AWESOME!
Can you believe that I couldn’t even achieve that?
Mandy got her groove back and started developing a mean technique. Her expletives went down and her score went up. We did consider calling the attendant to fix the issue, for about half a second. The final results for Round 2 were Mandy 144, Ness 102 and Cas 96. (Round 1 scores were just too devastating to keep)
Do I see myself buying a pair of the funky shoes and joining a bowling club? Ummm no.
Mandy
Bowling, well what can I say another outing I totally sucked at. Thanks Cas for not posting round one as it was more than devastating for myself, let’s just say I was almost ready to go home and hurt myself, very embarrassing to say the least
Anyway I have worked something out about that game, skill really doesn’t come into it well not for me anyway, I tried numerous tactics over those two games to improve my score from untucking my t shirt, untying my hair, changing my shoe size and after all this and the yelling and swearing I did at the ball and pins the oddest thing is I totally blitzed it by the end of the second game – go figure!!
Cas
Ten Pin Bowling
Attempted 26th April 2010
The fungus in the shoes, the fungus in the little finger holes of the balls, the fungus fills everything. Get hung up on the fungus and your game disintegrates into a laughable gutter smashing, no pin hitting affair.
We booked the lane, got the shoes (which looked smashing I may say, 50s retro meets Ronald MacDonald) and chose a ball each. Having not played in any serious capacity I chose a number 8, my favourite number. What do the numbers mean? They certainly weren’t finger sizes. I was playing with the same ball as the 9 year old in the next lane and I don’t think I have freakishly small carnie hands.
So we were back into the swing of things, literally. I mean swinging the ball across our bodies, from front to back, etc. I don’t think any of us had a consistent technique. Mandy was yelling some choice words on her turns. I am sure the children attending the Batman themed party a few lanes down all went home with bleeding ears. Oh well, its an “early education” as Mandy put it. We were fast becoming the queens of the gutter ball and I was seriously considering asking the attendance to raise the gutter blockers. That wouldn’t be too humiliating, surely?
However, a miracle then occurred. We’ll a miracle of the bowling kind. I didn’t see The Big Guy or anything. We started the second round and the computer wigged out again and started awarding every player a minimum of 9 points. Regardless of whether or not you hit anything your first turn was a 9 pointer. This meant that you only had to achieve a spare, so you only had to hit 1 pin. This made it more interesting. We had the opportunity to get 10 on every turn, AWESOME!
Do I see myself buying a pair of the funky shoes and joining a bowling club? Ummm no.
Mandy
Bowling, well what can I say another outing I totally sucked at. Thanks Cas for not posting round one as it was more than devastating for myself, let’s just say I was almost ready to go home and hurt myself, very embarrassing to say the least
Anyway I have worked something out about that game, skill really doesn’t come into it well not for me anyway, I tried numerous tactics over those two games to improve my score from untucking my t shirt, untying my hair, changing my shoe size and after all this and the yelling and swearing I did at the ball and pins the oddest thing is I totally blitzed it by the end of the second game – go figure!!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Quiz Nite
(Written as part of the Force the Door blog: http://forcethedoor.blogspot.com.au/)
.
Cas
Quiz Nite
Attended 15th April 2010
Admittedly the account of this riveting (cough) night may be a little blurry thanks to the amount of alcohol I consumed. So here it goes…
We had organized a team of experts for the night. They were the best and brightest in their chosen fields. This team would be an unyielding force of mental prowess, brilliant and most importantly, quick witted.
None of those people were available so we signed up a table for the usual crew.
The function was held at a pub which put me at an instant handicap. Alcohol and my brain vary rarely cooperate. We ordered our food and drink before the first round started and wolfed the lot down (drinks especially). We wanted the table clear and ready before the first question was asked. Of course we didn’t factor Daisy into that plan. Daisy is the sloooowwweest eater in the world. Yes, I am serious. We are considering inviting the Guinness World Record judges to witness this fact. So we had a team of 4 and 1 playing with her food when the host for the evening arrived.
He was… unique. He started the session by telling us “a funny story that happened on the way over”. It wasn’t funny. He gave the vague impression of a washed up Vegas lounge singer who was forced into hosting quiz nites to support his gambling habit – only he was in his early 20s. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Amanda was off on a tirade about not wanting to here his life story and asking the damn questions. This was going to be painful. Time for another wine.
We had 2 rounds of 40 questions and they ranged from “Name 5 US states that end in S?” (easy) through to “What are the 3 grooming rules that must be adhered to in a Judo contest?” (WTF?). By the 8th question (each question was repeated 3 times so we’re talking 4 hours later) I was unwittingly sabotaging the team by screaming the first thought that entered my head when the question was asked. Thankfully more than half of the answers I offered where totally wrong. Then I preempted the audio snippet offered after the question “Which 80’s male vocalist sang this song?”.
“RICK ASTLEY!” I screamed before the host could hit play.
I got it right. My hidden psychic quiz nite power must be sharpening, time for another wine.
By the end of round 1 we were coming second. One point off of the winning position. We could taste it, victory was ours. Time for another wine.
Round 2 started with “Name 5 countries that start with the letter U?”,.. ummm?
The questions got harder as the night went on, I became unhinged, time for another wine.
By the end of the second round my euphoric self appreciative confidence in my general knowledge had slowly been crushed. I was pouting. Time for another wine.
The rest of the team had to carry me mentally. I had nothing, was spent. Luckily we had a guy and girl on our team who weren’t going to give up without a fight. The rest of the team could recall “goodbye” in three languages, decipher the Elle MacPherson anagram and even knew the names of 5 navel vessels from somewhere uninteresting. I wasn’t exactly pulling my weight. Daisy was still eating, time for another wine.
At the end of the round we handed in our sheet. We were one point behind the winning team. I could see by the look in my team mates eyes that we may not have gained that extra point needed to knock the other team from their perch. But hey, second place is better than last. The points were tallied up and the teams read out.
First place… not us.
Second place… not us. (Ok, ok, don’t panic, third is good)
Third place… not us. (Gulp)
Fourth place… all the other teams, including us.
WHAT!?! We were bunched into the “fourth place” category which was really the loser pool. They don’t even bother handing out medals for fourth place. What the hell happened? We were one point off first?
Time for another wine.
After that, it all became a bit hazy, I pouted and went home. I don’t believe this will be my new hobby. I don’t think I could handle the pressure and quite frankly I obviously don’t have the mental capacity to hold the vast amount of general knowledge needed to become a quiz champion. Maybe bingo is more my scene. Matching the numbers and screaming the answers is more my thing. As long as they don’t serve alcohol I should be right.
Mandy
I’m with Cas, quiz nights are definitely fun as an every now and then type of thing, not something we want to subscribe too though, plus it is very hard quizzing with other Alpha type personalities. We all spent the majority of the time arguing and I spent a lot of it justifying to Cas that I wasn’t angry as in her drunken state she was mistaking my sarcasm at the Vegas lounge singer as anger, ha ha.
But it was fun and you realize just how unknowledgable you really are. So yes Bingo next, I just hope my brain extends to the numerous shapes you need to make of numbers, cause shit I can't be shown up by an 80 year old.
.
Cas
Quiz Nite
Attended 15th April 2010
Admittedly the account of this riveting (cough) night may be a little blurry thanks to the amount of alcohol I consumed. So here it goes…
We had organized a team of experts for the night. They were the best and brightest in their chosen fields. This team would be an unyielding force of mental prowess, brilliant and most importantly, quick witted.
None of those people were available so we signed up a table for the usual crew.
He was… unique. He started the session by telling us “a funny story that happened on the way over”. It wasn’t funny. He gave the vague impression of a washed up Vegas lounge singer who was forced into hosting quiz nites to support his gambling habit – only he was in his early 20s. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Amanda was off on a tirade about not wanting to here his life story and asking the damn questions. This was going to be painful. Time for another wine.
We had 2 rounds of 40 questions and they ranged from “Name 5 US states that end in S?” (easy) through to “What are the 3 grooming rules that must be adhered to in a Judo contest?” (WTF?). By the 8th question (each question was repeated 3 times so we’re talking 4 hours later) I was unwittingly sabotaging the team by screaming the first thought that entered my head when the question was asked. Thankfully more than half of the answers I offered where totally wrong. Then I preempted the audio snippet offered after the question “Which 80’s male vocalist sang this song?”.
“RICK ASTLEY!” I screamed before the host could hit play.
I got it right. My hidden psychic quiz nite power must be sharpening, time for another wine.
By the end of round 1 we were coming second. One point off of the winning position. We could taste it, victory was ours. Time for another wine.
Round 2 started with “Name 5 countries that start with the letter U?”,.. ummm?
The questions got harder as the night went on, I became unhinged, time for another wine.
By the end of the second round my euphoric self appreciative confidence in my general knowledge had slowly been crushed. I was pouting. Time for another wine.
The rest of the team had to carry me mentally. I had nothing, was spent. Luckily we had a guy and girl on our team who weren’t going to give up without a fight. The rest of the team could recall “goodbye” in three languages, decipher the Elle MacPherson anagram and even knew the names of 5 navel vessels from somewhere uninteresting. I wasn’t exactly pulling my weight. Daisy was still eating, time for another wine.
At the end of the round we handed in our sheet. We were one point behind the winning team. I could see by the look in my team mates eyes that we may not have gained that extra point needed to knock the other team from their perch. But hey, second place is better than last. The points were tallied up and the teams read out.
First place… not us.
Second place… not us. (Ok, ok, don’t panic, third is good)
Third place… not us. (Gulp)
Fourth place… all the other teams, including us.
WHAT!?! We were bunched into the “fourth place” category which was really the loser pool. They don’t even bother handing out medals for fourth place. What the hell happened? We were one point off first?
Time for another wine.
Mandy
I’m with Cas, quiz nights are definitely fun as an every now and then type of thing, not something we want to subscribe too though, plus it is very hard quizzing with other Alpha type personalities. We all spent the majority of the time arguing and I spent a lot of it justifying to Cas that I wasn’t angry as in her drunken state she was mistaking my sarcasm at the Vegas lounge singer as anger, ha ha.
But it was fun and you realize just how unknowledgable you really are. So yes Bingo next, I just hope my brain extends to the numerous shapes you need to make of numbers, cause shit I can't be shown up by an 80 year old.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Chocolate cooking class
(Written as part of the Force the Door blog: http://forcethedoor.blogspot.com.au/)
.
Cas
Chocolat!
Attempted on the 8th April 2010
I am a stranger in the kitchen. A stranger and a danger. A majority of the food I "create" comes in two flavours. Raw or Burnt. I excel at burnt.
We decided to attend a cooking class which centered around our favourite obsession, chocolate.
The write up centered the theme around Chocolat! the movie. There were delicate morsels of velvety loveliness to make and we were going to learn how to make them in 3 hours. Hoorah!
So we turn up - in usual fashion we are an hour early, either early or late, never on time - and I am bitterly disappointed to find there's no Johnny Depp in this Chocolat! session. It's a group of people we don’t know so naturally I am nervous. So nervous I tell the whole group about my hideous disaster the week before when I attempted to make Rocky Road and burnt a bucket of chocolate to a fine ashy powder (I told you I excel at burnt). Why? Why don't I have the reflexes to cram the words back into my mouth before they spew all over the unsuspecting folk?
We were divided into teams and given a set of recipes. Gorgeous things like Frangelico truffles, Fallen Chocolate Heaven Cake, Chocolate Pots of melted gooey yumminess, Chocolate Banoffi Pavalova, etc.
My story meant that Amanda and I were given the "Chocolate Muffin" recipe. Yep, the instructor had me pegged the moment I walked in. No need to melt, separate, skim or whisk any delicate ingredients, nope it was flour, butter, choc chips and milk for me.
My muffin experience has always been of the shake-and-bake kind so I was completely stumped at the first ingredient. The recipe said to add all the dry ingredients to a bowl. We had to fend for ourselves, hunting through the kitchen to find out instruments of disaster and the soon to be cremated ingredients. I then had to ask the instructor "Do I have to sift the flour?". She looked at me like I had a crayon up my nose.
Well, that was it. Amanda was off, she was laughing at my complete lack of confidence. You see I thought a cooking class would be a sit-there-and-watch-someone-else-do-it kind of deal where you learn from a master and feel enlighten by the whole experience. This however was an Ikea style cooking class. It was a here's-the-instructions-there's-the-kitchen kind of deal with an added bonus of "by the way, everyone will sit down and eat what you have massacred at the end".
I was terrified. Not to mention the group we were with seemed like breezy, confident "foodies". They were folding and whisking and laughing and being carefree and wonderful. I was completely lost and only making muffins. Then there were issues with the trays, patty-pans, and the levels that I filled them (less is more I found out). But surprisingly, they turned out alright. Who would have thought there would be an idiot proof muffin recipe?
The class sat and drank and ate the chocolate morsels at the end of the session. We swapped information on how we made each item. I embellished the "I pressed the button on the mixer" story as much as I could but hey, they were muffins, not rocket science.
By the end of the class I was fully chocolated out! Death by chocolate could be an actual occurrence I am sure. Sooooo much chocolate.
So is there a budding chocolatier in me?
Hell no. I may try another cooking class but I will have to bring reinforcements and an asbestos suit.
Mandy
I love cooking so this was one challenge I was really excited to partake in, I immediately felt comfortable from the moment we walked in but Cas on the other hand was super nervous. She first gave this away when she couldn’t work out how to open the front door – it was a standard door - strange I know ha ha
Everyone was really nice and the experience was good however I’d like to be thrown in the deep end with more challenging recipes, so if I can persuade Cas to come along to another class somewhere, minus the reinforcements and asbestos jacket and hone in on those cooking skills of hers that I’m sure are there somewhere, maybe her family and friends will actually get an edible Christmas gift this year
.
Cas
Chocolat!
Attempted on the 8th April 2010
I am a stranger in the kitchen. A stranger and a danger. A majority of the food I "create" comes in two flavours. Raw or Burnt. I excel at burnt.
We decided to attend a cooking class which centered around our favourite obsession, chocolate.
The write up centered the theme around Chocolat! the movie. There were delicate morsels of velvety loveliness to make and we were going to learn how to make them in 3 hours. Hoorah!
We were divided into teams and given a set of recipes. Gorgeous things like Frangelico truffles, Fallen Chocolate Heaven Cake, Chocolate Pots of melted gooey yumminess, Chocolate Banoffi Pavalova, etc.
My story meant that Amanda and I were given the "Chocolate Muffin" recipe. Yep, the instructor had me pegged the moment I walked in. No need to melt, separate, skim or whisk any delicate ingredients, nope it was flour, butter, choc chips and milk for me.
My muffin experience has always been of the shake-and-bake kind so I was completely stumped at the first ingredient. The recipe said to add all the dry ingredients to a bowl. We had to fend for ourselves, hunting through the kitchen to find out instruments of disaster and the soon to be cremated ingredients. I then had to ask the instructor "Do I have to sift the flour?". She looked at me like I had a crayon up my nose.
I was terrified. Not to mention the group we were with seemed like breezy, confident "foodies". They were folding and whisking and laughing and being carefree and wonderful. I was completely lost and only making muffins. Then there were issues with the trays, patty-pans, and the levels that I filled them (less is more I found out). But surprisingly, they turned out alright. Who would have thought there would be an idiot proof muffin recipe?
The class sat and drank and ate the chocolate morsels at the end of the session. We swapped information on how we made each item. I embellished the "I pressed the button on the mixer" story as much as I could but hey, they were muffins, not rocket science.
So is there a budding chocolatier in me?
Hell no. I may try another cooking class but I will have to bring reinforcements and an asbestos suit.
Mandy
I love cooking so this was one challenge I was really excited to partake in, I immediately felt comfortable from the moment we walked in but Cas on the other hand was super nervous. She first gave this away when she couldn’t work out how to open the front door – it was a standard door - strange I know ha ha
Everyone was really nice and the experience was good however I’d like to be thrown in the deep end with more challenging recipes, so if I can persuade Cas to come along to another class somewhere, minus the reinforcements and asbestos jacket and hone in on those cooking skills of hers that I’m sure are there somewhere, maybe her family and friends will actually get an edible Christmas gift this year
Ice Skating
(Written as part of the Force the Door blog: http://forcethedoor.blogspot.com.au/)
Cas
Ice Skating – As in, totally uncoordinated on a cold wet surface
This was actually attempted on the 28th March 2010.
Yes, ice skating. We decided to try something completely juvenile for our first adventure and completely juvenile it was. I had vigorously celebrated a wedding the night before so as you can image there was a fair bit of balance impairment going on.
So Amanda and I decided to meet a 4pm at the designated ice arena. Dread.
What do you wear when you go ice skating? Bring a jacket, don’t bring a jacket? Wear extra padded underwear? (Do they even make that?).
So we enter all giggles and nerves.
Double dread… we are crashing a pre-pubescent birthday party.
Great, I could see it playing out ahead of me. Two of the oldest people there clinging to the rails in sheer panic while we are being lapped by giggling gangly acne riddled smart arses. We were going to suffer. However we had promised each other we would do this, so we bravely strolled up to the counter and ordered 2 adult tickets… cough.
We were brave, we opened the frosty glass doors and fought the cold air (I knew I should have bought a jacket) making our way to the skate rental counter.
Then we did a u-turn and got a coffee at the cafeteria.
Time for a pep talk.
No, no-one will be staring at us.
No, we won’t fall over and break anything, be it bones or giggling pre-teens.
No, we would not back down.
We abandon the coffee (which by the way was too hot for even Satan to consume) and we head back to skate hire counter. The 6 year old boys behind the counter dubiously gave us our skates. I think the panic stricken stuck-on smile was making us look like mass murderers who stalk kid’s parties at ice arenas.
After 5 minutes of trying to work out how the damn things went on (why can’t skates have laces anymore, is it really that hard to learn how to tie a shoelace?). We were ready to roll, literally. Amanda and I were well pleased with ourselves when we worked out we could stand in them. Nice. Good start. Feeling confident now.
That confidence completely vanished the moment Amanda put her foot on the ice as two things simultaneously happened. A) she screamed, loudly. B) she bent forward, backward then forward again and gripped the low wall with the tenacity of a terrier on a chew toy.
Crap! I was next. I had been ice skating when I was a teen (probably at a birthday party) surely I could remember something, like falling of a bike huh? I followed Amanda’s lead and stepped on. I was ‘OK’, it was going to be ‘OK’.
Amanda on the other hand, not so good.
Amanda made 1 panic stricken lap around the rink. To her credit she had NEVER done anything like this before and she laughed the whole way. There was a chorus of “I want my $17 back!” and “This is not fun, how can this be fun!” and I am sure the kiddies learnt a few choice words today.
We laughed so hard I thought I was going to wet myself. After the first lap Amanda stepped out and “rested”. I gave her another pep talk and we decided to go again. By the end of the hour and a half we had circled the rink 3 times, with many rest stops. Children had become accustom to Amanda asking them to move from the edge of the rink as she was unwilling to let go of the ledge. By the time the third lap was completed the pre-teens were giving us a wide berth. I don’t think the screaming helped.
So what did we learn from the experience? Absolutely nothing.
Only that ice skates leave bruises and gangly pre-teens are fearless and swan-like on the ice.
It was fun though. We will have to try with a large group, safety in numbers and all that jazz.
The funniest moment was after when we ended up at a food court which happened to be holding a karaoke competition?!?!? We had coffee and listen to a few 70’s classics being sung by 50 plus year olds who really should have washed their t-shirts. It wasn’t until “My boogie shoes” was being wrenched out of the speakers that Amanda turned to me, she was reading the auto cue, and said “I always thought the words to this song were ‘I’m gonna put on my, my, my, my picka choo, who’s looking at you?”*
I think karaoke may have to be added to the list.
Next on the agenda is a chocolate making class. We have tried juvenile and crazy (kind of) and now we are going for gorgeous and gourmet.
*If you need to find the correct words to the song (and you’re not alone) look up “My boogie shoes” by KC and the Sunshine Band.
Amanda
Ha ha very fun Cas, now to my take on the afternoon
It was as hard as I thought it would be, I am as shit at it as I thought I would be but it was actually kinda fun and I know if I had to do it again I would be able to let go of the rail for more than 2 seconds, ha!
Cas
Ice Skating – As in, totally uncoordinated on a cold wet surface
This was actually attempted on the 28th March 2010.
So Amanda and I decided to meet a 4pm at the designated ice arena. Dread.
What do you wear when you go ice skating? Bring a jacket, don’t bring a jacket? Wear extra padded underwear? (Do they even make that?).
So we enter all giggles and nerves.
Double dread… we are crashing a pre-pubescent birthday party.
Great, I could see it playing out ahead of me. Two of the oldest people there clinging to the rails in sheer panic while we are being lapped by giggling gangly acne riddled smart arses. We were going to suffer. However we had promised each other we would do this, so we bravely strolled up to the counter and ordered 2 adult tickets… cough.
We were brave, we opened the frosty glass doors and fought the cold air (I knew I should have bought a jacket) making our way to the skate rental counter.
Then we did a u-turn and got a coffee at the cafeteria.
Time for a pep talk.
No, no-one will be staring at us.
No, we won’t fall over and break anything, be it bones or giggling pre-teens.
No, we would not back down.
We abandon the coffee (which by the way was too hot for even Satan to consume) and we head back to skate hire counter. The 6 year old boys behind the counter dubiously gave us our skates. I think the panic stricken stuck-on smile was making us look like mass murderers who stalk kid’s parties at ice arenas.
That confidence completely vanished the moment Amanda put her foot on the ice as two things simultaneously happened. A) she screamed, loudly. B) she bent forward, backward then forward again and gripped the low wall with the tenacity of a terrier on a chew toy.
Crap! I was next. I had been ice skating when I was a teen (probably at a birthday party) surely I could remember something, like falling of a bike huh? I followed Amanda’s lead and stepped on. I was ‘OK’, it was going to be ‘OK’.
Amanda on the other hand, not so good.
Amanda made 1 panic stricken lap around the rink. To her credit she had NEVER done anything like this before and she laughed the whole way. There was a chorus of “I want my $17 back!” and “This is not fun, how can this be fun!” and I am sure the kiddies learnt a few choice words today.
We laughed so hard I thought I was going to wet myself. After the first lap Amanda stepped out and “rested”. I gave her another pep talk and we decided to go again. By the end of the hour and a half we had circled the rink 3 times, with many rest stops. Children had become accustom to Amanda asking them to move from the edge of the rink as she was unwilling to let go of the ledge. By the time the third lap was completed the pre-teens were giving us a wide berth. I don’t think the screaming helped.
So what did we learn from the experience? Absolutely nothing.
Only that ice skates leave bruises and gangly pre-teens are fearless and swan-like on the ice.
It was fun though. We will have to try with a large group, safety in numbers and all that jazz.
The funniest moment was after when we ended up at a food court which happened to be holding a karaoke competition?!?!? We had coffee and listen to a few 70’s classics being sung by 50 plus year olds who really should have washed their t-shirts. It wasn’t until “My boogie shoes” was being wrenched out of the speakers that Amanda turned to me, she was reading the auto cue, and said “I always thought the words to this song were ‘I’m gonna put on my, my, my, my picka choo, who’s looking at you?”*
I think karaoke may have to be added to the list.
Next on the agenda is a chocolate making class. We have tried juvenile and crazy (kind of) and now we are going for gorgeous and gourmet.
*If you need to find the correct words to the song (and you’re not alone) look up “My boogie shoes” by KC and the Sunshine Band.
Amanda
Ha ha very fun Cas, now to my take on the afternoon
It was as hard as I thought it would be, I am as shit at it as I thought I would be but it was actually kinda fun and I know if I had to do it again I would be able to let go of the rail for more than 2 seconds, ha!
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