Tonight was family photo night. It started with a little of this:
From Family Photots
Then there was a bit of that:
From Family Photots
And some of this:
From Family Photots
Then there was this:
From Family Photots
And it ended with a little of this:
From Family Photots
Shhhhhh,
From Family Photots
don’t tell Jeanette ;). “Or Jesus.” All right then, Eden. So that was how we spent the night. Lots of fun. Here are the rest of the lovely photos.
I’m sure many Americans have heard Sydnie’s favorite story to tell about my cooking. And if you haven’t, then you clearly employ the art of not listening to Syd whilst she is in her rant mood. (A good choice. It’s what I do) “I just insult her. It’s much more fun.” “That’s because you have a black hole where your heart should be. (With love).” Anyway, if you haven’t learned to tune out her rants and you have heard the story, you can just skip the next paragraph because I’m going to summarize it. “And if you don’t know the story, skip the next paragraph because it will bore you to death.”
So, once upon a time, Sydnie and I were cooking scones. I accidently put a tablespoon of salt in rather than a teaspoon and effectively ruined them. Why? I don’t know, maybe it was because we were making the worse pastry in the world and I wanted to make cookies instead (But I was a pushover back then and always did what Syd wanted) so I subconsciously ruined them on purpose. Or maybe it was because Syd handed me a tablespoon and told me to but a teaspoon of salt in. Or maybe it truly was because I didn’t know the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon and didn’t care enough to ask. Or maybe Syd ruined them later and simply blamed poor younger me. I guess we’ll never know. The point is, me+cooking=disaster.
Now, you might be wondering what cooking with Syd so many years ago has to do with me, right now, in Australia. “Or you might have stopped reading because NOBODY CARES.” Well, I will tell you, right after this commercial break.
…
Commercial: *Strangely attractive washed up Australian actor on screen* Do you have a particularly annoying pest you could do without?
Me: “Why yes, I do. *Looks pointedly at Eden*
Commercial: Yes? Well just call the Handy Dandy Aussie Pest Exterminator. We’ll get rid of your pests the- er- humane was *screaming animated cockroaches being thrown live into a meat grinder churning out hotdogs in the background* at a fair price. No Credit? No Problem. We’ll set an “easy” long-term payment plan in which we’ll be hounding you via debt collectors until you crack. Just call our service number:
0456773822, That’s 0456773822. Terms and conditions apply. Company not responsible for return pests.
Me: Hmm, getting rid of pests in a humane way. What was that number again? Excuse me while I go make a quick phone call.
…
So, now that our little pest problem is taken care of. *Eden being dragged off by gorilla men* “Noooo, you can’t do this to me, I’m a ninja.” “Rule number 27 of being a ninja, Eden, never admit to being a ninja.” We can continue with our tale.
Exhibit one:
The Pizza.
From Other in May
Now we all know what a wonderful food pizza is. We eat it, we make it, we pay doctor’s bills because of it. But you know what makes pizza even better then the grease laden, calorie filled, heart stopper that it is? Add a little vampire (and I mean real vampires not the oversized sparkling fairies Stephanie Myers writes about) food. Yes, that’s right. Pizza is great; why not add a couple drops of human blood? Heck, for all we know, they could do it in restaurants. The sauce is red. And pizza hut changed their fifty-year-old recipe right in the middle of a “vampire” (oversized sparkling fairy) craze. Very suspicious. So these were my thoughts on pizza night. This thought (and the fact I was watching Glee while opening a package of cabanossi with a freshly sharpened steak knife) was just the incentive I needed to cut open my finger and bring our pizza making up to the twenty-first century. For those of you who don’t know, I’m a bleeder. So, this simple little no big deal cut, got me out of cooking that night. Instead, I had to elevate my finger while applying pressure. I’m not going to say that this wasn’t part of my brilliant plan.
From Other in May
Exhibit Two:
The Green Chili
From Other in May
Ok, so this accident has nothing to do with taste. How could it? Glass doesn’t taste good. Plus, it would give an unnecessary crunch to the green chili. Ick. So maybe I was a little upset because the amount of chilies I was allowed to put in the chili wouldn’t make a two-year-old’s tongue burn. But hey, that doesn’t mean I smashed the glass on purpose. We’ll just say it was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have happened to anything; Eden’s face, a priceless china statue, my history book, Eden’s face. You just can’t control my elbows when you tell me to shake something. Especially when the thing I was shaking was stubborn and the meat wouldn’t get coated with flour. And maybe my subconscious was making a statement about the lack of chili in the green chili. (My subconscious is very vengeful.) But you can’t blame me for that. My subconscious forced my arm to hit that stupid glass glass, which by the way, what is glass doing by me anyway? Looking at my track record, i.e. the shower door, and my cooking failures, the table should have been clear of anything precious. From now on, when I am cooking, only plastic glasses should be allowed anywhere near me. Problem solved. Anyway, when I knocked the glass over, everything slowed down. I’m surprised I didn’t dive for the glass shouting nooooooooooo. The sound came before the glass actually hit the ground. It was really weird. I stopped helping after that.
From Other in May
Exhibit Three:
The Chimichangas
From Other in May
This one wasn’t my fault. Really. I didn’t even knock over the plate. Yes, it was because of the ridiculous about of butter on the tortilla that the plate stuck to it and then shattered. And yes I was the one who buttered the tortilla in the first place, but still, I didn’t actually break the plate. You may be asking, why did you put so much butter on the tortillas. Well, this is very simple. The butter container I used to butter tortillas was the same butter container I used when scooping two large spoonfuls out for sopapillas. This means that the butter has two ice cream scoop size holes in it. This really, really bothered me. For the past two weeks, I’ve been over buttering everything trying to single-handedly even the butter. This was my chance. Each tortilla had about triple the necessary butter on it. This was both good and bad. It was good because the butter was now even. It was good because who doesn’t love butter and it makes the chimis extra crispy. It was bad because we now all have clogged arteries and I’m going to dye when I try to play rugby again. It was bad because the butter caused all the tortillas to stick to each other and to the plate. Indirectly causing the plate to break. (Opps)
From Other in May
In Conclusion:
Cooking with me is dangerous. I am easily distracted and my subconscious takes control. Glass is never safe around me. I over butter things because I like the butter to be evenly spread around the container. But, everything I’ve made tastes really good. I promise. (And you have to admit it does look appetizing.) There is one other downside to cooking with me. I leave a really big mess.
From Other in May
Oh, I almost forgot. The questions posed at the end of last entry. Is there really a moon? I will answer this with another question. Is there really anything? How can we prove that anything does exist? This could all be a figment of my imagination for all we know. Maybe the world will stop turning as soon as I die. Maybe I’m making all of this up as I go along. But my answer is, we cannot actually prove that anything does exist nor can we prove that anything doesn’t exist. And when we cannot prove that something doesn’t exist, there is always a chance that is might. And life’s ultimate question? That is quite simple. What is 6X7?
Thus ends another tale in the most excellent adventures of Hannah and Eden. Well, now that Eden has been humanely disposed of… “I’m back. Ha. I win. Everyone, Hannah is a man.” “Wow, not even exterminating you teaches you a better insult. How sad. I think I’ll get you a book of insults for your birthday. Now I should go call that company. Oh wait, not responsible for returned pests. Damn. Looks like I’m going to have to keep you around anyway.”
Bye, bye now. Show’s over folks. Next up, Uluru. Unless nothing interesting happens. Then it will just be pictures.
Despite the obvious evidence that us eating as an entire family is dangerous, as proved in the previous dinner discussions, we were planning on doing it again. Maybe it’s just the idea of us all sitting down to dinner that gets us in a strange mood, because tonight, even after Blake left for guitar lessons, we all had a feeling that a strange discussion would begin.
It started with the chips (we had nachos for dinner). Eden was in a whiney mood (like he had been all day). “Well if you hadn’t woken me up this morning I would be in a better mood.” “It was eleven. Don’t be such a baby, and you woke me up at 7 yesterday.” “That was different. This was my only day to sleep in.” “Oh, and I suppose that last Thursday and Friday never happened.” “This is different.” “How?” “This is this week.” “Plus, most of your exams were in the afternoon; you could have gone in later. And you have tomorrow to sleep in.” “Not all of my exams were in the afternoon. Name one.” “Chemistry.” “I had to go in to study.” “Well it’s not my fault you’re stupid and can’t balance equations.” So anyway, Eden was whiney mood and demanded to know why we didn’t have gross flavored nacho chips. I replied with the obvious answer, because flavored chips are icky. “Baby” “Don’t interrupt, I’m getting to that part.” Eden announced that calling things icky was very baby like of me and decided to call me a baby for the rest of dinner. (Because, again, he can’t come up with any good insults.)
So, after this, we talked about our plans for the weekend. Eden and I are going to DFO (Direct Factory Outlit) with Jackson, Sinead, and Shirley. Eden decided to ask his parents for money for shoes. When he was explaining that he had his converse for his jeans but he needed other shoes because his converse didn’t match, I couldn’t help but point out how girly he sounded. “You’re so sexist. This is the twenty-first century, girls can’t expect not to be discriminated against and discriminate at the same time. This is just like in gym…” “Ok, I’m going to go ahead and cut you off, I’m telling the story.” So anyway, Eden went ahead and told me pretty much that. Then he went on to rant about how girls could use the excuse “I’m having lady problems” to get out of gym, as an excuse to eat chocolate, and as an excuse to let their emotions run rampage. But he can never say “I’m having man problems” to do anything. (Like I said, he was being very whiney today. Maybe he’s pmsing. That would follow my theory that he is a girl.) “More sexism. Guys can be whiney to. And I am a man. A M-A-N. Man, man, man!!!” I take it back. He is clearly overcompensating. “Am not.” All the evidence leads to it. Unfortunately, until he is willing to admit it, I have no concrete proof. “Ha” But hey, it’s a theory, and so is evolution and seeing as most people believe that. “I am not overcompensating.” “Sure you aren’t. Just keep telling yourself that.” So, the conversation went on. First, we discussed how it shouldn’t be sexism, it should be genderism. Eden explained this with some complex society and culture crap that nobody cares about. “Hey, that’s not true. Everyone, Hannah is a man.” “Seriously, you’ve called me that every blog entry, get some new insults.” “I just call you that because your reaction is so funny every time. I don’t see why you freak out so much.” “Hold on a minute, can we backtrack a few lines. You’re saying that I freak out, take a look in the mirror.” While Eden explained it with his fancy words and logic, I refuted his statement using IDictionary. You see, IDictionary defines –ism as denoting a belief and sex as reproductive intercourse. Sexism should logically mean the belief that people should reproduce. And sexist, -ist meaning an adherent (thank you studies of religion) should mean someone who believes in reproductive intercourse. In short, someone who believes that people have sex to reproduce, which makes everyone sexist. However, genderism won’t work either. Gender means the state of being either male or female. Genderism is therefore the belief that people are either male or female. And genderists are clearly people who believe that there are male and females. And with that statement, I blew away Eden’s stupid argument. “What fallacious reasoning.” “Look at the title of this blog.”
That wasn’t the only supposed fallacious reasoning we encountered. I decided to explain why Eden sounded so much like a girl in his begging for shoes. First, my sister got to make custom converses for her birthday. She was so excited that she ran off and I didn’t see her again until I was about to get off skype. The second, several of my friends (Syd comes to mind in particular) have gigantic shoe collections. Therefore, whilst Eden is jabbering on about how his darn converses just don’t match his shorts, he reminded me so strongly of Haeli and Syd. He announced that this was fallacious reasoning, stating that it was like saying “A chair has four legs and a table has four legs so a table is a dog.” And he didn’t understand why we were cracking up until Heath said, “yeah, and a dog has eyes, and I have eyes so I must be a whale.” Eden attempted to explain that I knew what he meant but it was to late. We spent the rest of dinner making ridiculous deductions with fallacious reasoning. The best:
“A chair has four legs and a table has four legs so a table is a dog” (of course)
“A planet is round, and you’re round, so you must be a planet”
“All girls pms and Eden is pmsing so he must be a girl” “Hey, we didn’t even say that one.” “But we all know it’s the truth” “I AM A MAN! Do I need to prove it to you?” “No, you’ll just embarrass yourself. After all, that will probably prove my over-compensating theory.”
“I have one!” “I’m going to regret this, ok, what is it?” “Babies say things like icky, Hannah says things like icky, so Hannah must be a baby.” “Wow, brilliant. You want a cookie. Here you go, steady, steady, good boy. *pats Eden on the head*” “I’m not a dog.” “Dogs are overly spastic, you’re overly spastic, and so you must be a dog.”
And with that logical fallacy, and my complete control over the keyboard, I bid you ado with two questions left in your mind. The first, does the moon really exist? And the second, what is the ultimate question to the ultimate answer? Find out next time at Hannah and Eden’s Most Excellent Adventure. (Haha, I’ve always wanted to say that.)
Last week was a welcome dessert dinner for the liasees. (Yes that is a word. I added it to the dictionary.) This night of welcoming made me incredibly nostalgic. Then, Paradise by the Dashboard Lights came on and I took it as a sign. So, I’m going to spend this entry reflecting on the last year and all that has happened in it.
Eden lost his pants in L.A.
Paradise by the Dashboard Lights
Cannibalism (I think we talked the subject to death. Haha) “Not funny” “Shut up.”
The Kaleidoscope Kow
One story spread out fat Asian whores
Just urban dictionary in general
Taking a walk
Warning, the following blog post contains information on a certain rude gesture commonly known as the middle finger, the bird, or the Trudeau salute (in Canada). For this reason, the following entry has been rated PG-13. Please take this into account before continuing.
Today we had a lovely dinner where the entire family was present. So, of course, chaos ensued. After a few minutes of pleasant conversation, it happened. The conversation took a horrible turn. We learned about the middle finger, the bird, the Trudeau salute, whatever you wish to call it. It started out innocently enough. With a discussion of why it was insulting. A little history lesson “Nobody cares” “Oh there you are Eden, I was wondering when you were going to speak up because now I can show you this in honor of our theme today. *makes hand gesture that is blurred out by God’s editing team*” So anyway, the origins of the so called evil finger (Eden is to shocked to comment).
Well, once upon a time, in a far away land “are you all tucked in with a glass of warm milk?” there was a war. This was before the time of guns and nuclear weapons. In fact, the people still used bows and arrows. “How medieval of them” “My point exactly, thank you Eden.” Anyway, the archers would use their middle finger to draw back the bow. “Causing it to become a bad omen to see a middle finger right before battle.” “Not exactly. And I’m telling the story here.” When the enemy caught archers, they didn’t kill them or send them to prison back in the day. They disgraced them and sent them packing to be a burden on their own country and family. This meaning, they cut off the middle finger so that the archer could never handle a bow again. Now, people back then were into gloating. So, when a country won a battle, they would show their enemies the middle finger in order to mock them. As if to say, “I have a middle finger. You fail.” Well, the insult developed, and soon became the obscene gesture it is today. Coincidently, this is also the origin of the f word. The archers would shout out to their retreating enemy, “I can still pluck yew” meaning they can still shoot their bow. “Wow, riveting stuff here. They were so creative then.” “Oh yes, because you are so much better.” “Shut up. Hannah is a man everyone.” “My point exactly.” “What? Oh, damn, stupid American.” “And Eden gets the reward for proving my point twice in a row.”
So, after our little history lesson about flipping someone the bird, we shared the best ways to do it. The top six were:
Applying makeup
Pop goes the weasel
Fireworks
The telephone
Finger Linger (Finger Linger sat on a wall, Finger Linger had a great fall, all the kings horses and all the kings men had to put Finger together again)
And, the typing fingers.
Sadly, archer fingers didn’t make it into the equation. This little dinner extravaganza proves that we should never all eat dinner together. Dangerous things happen.
Today’s blog entry is dedicated to the mothers of the world. I hope you all are enjoying this lovely Mother’s Day. To commemorate this day, I have written a lovely acrostic poem of the word mother.
Marvelous
Occasionally irritating (but we love them)
Totally awesome (with the A Very Potter Musical hand motion)
Hip and Happening
Easygoing
Really great people
After I wrote this poem, I decided to practice my Spanish and I wrote another one for the word madre.
Mujer
Amable
Divertida
Regañón a veces pero nos encantan todos modos
Elogioso
When I was little, I used to hate Mother’s Day. I used to think that it wasn’t fair. Parents got their own day, but what about the kids? I used to think, where’s Kid’s Day. When do we get presents and get to do whatever we want for one day? Your birthday people would say. After I explained to them that on Mother’s Day and on her birthday, Mom got what they wanted, they told me that everyday in the rest of the year was kid’s day. I always thought this was a crappy answer. Now, I realize why parents get their own days. It’s because they’ve earned it. Cause they were crazy enough to repopulate the earth and therefore they deserve their own day. With that, I give every mother reading this blog a dozen of virtual flowers. I have also posted a slideshow of pictures of both my own mother and my nonbiological mother just to show them how much I care.
Much love and Happy Mother's Day everyone.
Mother Montage (I feel like I'm using that word wrong)
A dozen virtual flowers for all the mothers out there
From Other in April
Dear Everyone, Eden called the blog boring on my facebook status. As a result, he is not allowed to make any comments on this entry. Now, let's begin.
Life in Australia has been so busy. I’ve followed behind in the blogging of my adventures. Unfortunately, the only way I will ever be able to catch up is to sum up the last two months. So here we go.
On the 16th, we went to Cobra Starship, Owl City, and Amy Meredith. The concert was amazing and so much fun.
On the 23rd, we met up with the others on the exchange for the third time in two weeks (that’s a new record) to do the Sydney Bridge Climb. The climb was, of course, brilliant. The views from the top of the bridge are breathtaking. On the way down, we got to watch the sunset. This was amazing. There was just enough cloud to make the sunset glow. Unfortunately, cameras aren’t allowed on this amazing climb so I only have the pictures I bought for $50 (totally worth it). But, because I bought them, I am going to take credit for them. So there.
That weekend, we went to Ashley and Ashleigh's birthday parties as well as the pairing breakfast for next years group. My first Aussie parties were lots of fun. The new group's pairing breakfast was so exciting. It reminded me of this time last year when we did our pairings. I remember the excitement, the shock, the nerve-racking first phone call. So many memories I'll never forget started with that night. (Oh my goodness, that sounds cheesy. I'm going to stop now before I get reminiscent and you all have to suffer.)
The next week was uneventful. Term was ending so all of the large projects were due. (This is something that doesn’t change even if I am across the world. I don’t know why teachers insist on giving themselves things to grade over breaks.) On April 2nd, (good Friday) I went to the Easter Show with Tara, Nicole, Cairene, and Sylvia. We rode a rollercoaster, looked at the animals, ate (a lot), cheered on the United States in wood chopping (or at least I did, we got second, damn Canada) and watched the night show from the field with a better view then we would have gotten in the stadium. Somewhere during all of that, I managed to spend more money then I had, lost at a bubble gun war (in my defense, I didn’t have a gun and they ganged up on me), and got wacked in the head with a plastic light saber. On Easter Sunday, we went into the city. We did a ferry ride and went to the Rocks. I just cannot get over what a beautiful city this is. On Easter Monday, we went to Eden’s uncle’s for homemade pizza.
April:
From Other in April
Tuesday, we headed off to Campone. The entire experience was amazing. There were 200 kids there and they are all just from Eden’s church and in 9th to 12th grade. We spent six hours a day eating. During the rest of the day, we did various things, from writing Emily’s family history (long story) to making our own deck of cards. We found out ten minutes after we did this that one of the girls in the next room over had a deck. On the first day, Emily, Brittany, and I decided for no particular reason that our door was off limits. We made this clear to everyone by posting a simple warning that read: DANGER OF FALLING INTO THE FIFTH DIMENSION. For some reason, this made them want to go through our door even more. On the other side, a sign read OUT OF ORDER, PLEASE USE OTHER DOOR. We found that people respected an out of order sign more then they respected a warning sign. It may have had something to do with the fact that the door was locked from the inside. Camp went by quickly and before we knew it, it was Saturday. On Saturday, Alissa was baptized. It was very cool, she gave her testimony, we prayed for her, and we went down to the river, where Steve dunked her under the water.
The rest of April passed by quickly. Sylvia’s birthday was on the 18th and we had a McDonalds Happy Meal picnic. On the 25th, we had Alissa’s surprise party. It was a lot of fun, aside from the fact, that all the guys want to talk about politics with me. We went to the Crunulla sunrise Anzac Day service. It would have been amazing except the sun forgot to rise (it was really cloudy).
So lovely people, that is what happened to me all of March and April. Enjoy. Look at the amazing pictures I’ve taken (with the help of many others) and comment on this entry to make me happy.
