Spoiled milk tales

I work with some chatty people. Like, Chatty. At least once a day I fall down a tangent trail that started with a legitimate work question, how do you adjust a doctor’s diary, but ends up in a full on discussion of whether a good corn bread recipe has sugar in it (spoiler alert: it does). And for someone like me, who hasn’t met a person I can’t swap a story with (I was born to be a grandma, spinning tales), sometimes I get lost for the better part of half an hour, and I have to forcibly remove myself or I will spend my entire shift sharing anecdotes.

(Hi, I am a blogger)

Today, I walked into a conversation about losing a bottle of breast milk under the seat of a car, and not finding it for a few days, and the resulting curdled horror that was found in its place. I was under a tight deadline so I couldn’t stay and share my most horrifying, disgusting spoiled milk story. So I’m going to share it with you, here since it so happens to basically be the 10 year anniversary of this revolting story. Aren’t you glad you’re following me?

 

Flash back ten years ago, I had finished college in January, and I was about to start my first real, full time office job. I was finishing up work for my part-time job, which included running errands like dropping off mail and picking up his groceries. So I go to the store, pick up the eggs, bread, milk, meat, etc, buy them, bring them to my car, and head to his house to deliver. But when I get all the groceries inside, I can’t find the milk! So I check my car, and nothing. I think, ok, I must have left it at the store, no big deal.

I go back to the store, and take my receipt to the counter where I was doing self-checkout. I asked the cashier manning the stations if she saw the milk I left behind. She hadn’t seen anything. Strange, I bought a 1/2 gallon of milk, as you can see, but I don’t have it, it’s not in my car, so I really feel like I left it here. She asks if I checked my car. I said it was the first thing I did. She directs me to customer service, because clearly I am trying to scam my way to a free gallon of milk (90% sure I was in my pajamas with dirty hair, which was my standard uniform of my post-college, full on depression days). I go to customer service, she asks if I checked my car, YES I HAVE. I end up fussing very sternly to the manager (something I don’t normally do), and she finally let me take home another milk. I deliver the milk, get my last paycheck, and go home to pack for Los Angeles, because the next day I was leaving to visit my friend Leah for a week. I tell my parents the story and we all scratch our heads. My dad asks if I checked my car. My brain deflates.

Anywho, I leave for my trip on the first day of a heat wave. I left my keys to my car with my mom, incase something happened with my car. About 4 days into my trip, I get a call from my mom.

“Audrey!”
“Hello!” (we always answer the phone in exclamation points)
“We found… the milk.”
“What?!”

My mom then proceeds to tell me the story:

She and my dad were going to visit my grandpa in Ohio, and they decided to take my car (without asking, btw) since it had better gas mileage. They opened the doors and were hit with an especially foul smell. They figured it was just because the car sat in extreme heat for four days, and that it would air out once the car got moving and the air conditioner turned on. They got about 2 minutes down the road before they had to stop at a gas station, because it was evident that something had crawled inside my car and died, and the vomitous the smell was not going to go away. They both got out, and my dad inspected the trunk – nothing. Under the driver’s seat? Nothing. Under the passenger seat?

Oh. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

The half gallon of milk hadn’t disappeared. It was on its side, in a puddle of rancid, boiled, cottage cheese diarrhoea. Apparently the milk slid under the seat when I put the groceries in, and I didn’t see it. I didn’t have any idea that could happen. And with the heat wave, the jug exploded. And with the continued heat wave, the milk just turned into every form of vile, globular, sulfuric acid baby shit mixed with hot spoiled eggs that it could.

Lovely.

So they (somehow) drove the car to a detailer, where the poor workers cleaned out the putrid shit lake, and cut the upholstery out of the floor, because there is no other way to get rid of spoiled dairy smell.

She wasn’t calling me just to let me know they fixed my car. She was calling from the road to complain to me that the botulism bomb I left had seriously delayed their trip. ARE YOU KDDING ME? I told her that decomposing dairy dump was an anti-theft deterrent, and also, you know, KARMA for stealing my car for a long distance journey.

Right? Am I right?

All summer, that car vaguely smelled like rotten milk. But I learned something valuable. 1) it is possible to lose a half gallon of milk under the seat of my car
2) soured, putrid milk lake isn’t a very effective theft deterrent when gas is nearly $3.50/gallon

So there you have it, my putrid dairy story. Happy Monday!

xo

Idiocy

I can be quite the idiot. Like, I should get a special prize kind of idiot.

My idiocy is never more apparent than when I’m trying to rush through something. it’s like, “That’s future Audrey’s problem” is my prevailing mantra (Present Day Audrey is a real dick to Future Audrey). And Thursday was no exception.

I was running late (typical) to catch my bus, and thus was rushing through closing up the clinic. The last thing I do before I leave is wash out the milk jug. When I got to the kitchen, someone else was at the sink, washing a stack of plates. I didn’t want to wait for her to finish, because I was already late, and I only had like, 2 minutes before I was really late, so I saw the boiling water tap in the tiny sink next to the girl washing dishes, and thought “oh I’ll just rinse it out with that tap, and I won’t have to wait. Cool!”  And so, I went to the tap.

IF I had taken even a split second to think about things, I would have realised the following:
– the boiling water tap produces BOILING WATER. That’s what it does.
– the milk jug has a round, flat spout and a lid that fits into the spout, that you have to flip up with your thumb using the little thumb lever
– the boiling water tap isn’t very tall, so you would have to put the jug under the tap before you turn on the tap, otherwise the BOILING water will bounce off the flat round spout and splash BOILING water everywhere
– you’re already really late, so what’s being a few more minutes late
You could politely ask if you could cut in for a second because you’re running late (nope, that’s terrible manners and I can’t do that)

But no, I marched to the boiling tap like I was on a clear mission. I turned the tap on first, put the jug under the tap, and THE HOTTEST WATER CAN GET – BOILING HOT water shot everywhere – across my hand, into the dishes in the drainer, and possibly on the girl standing next to me. It was the worst .3 seconds of my life. I instantly turned the tap off and the rational side of my brain – which was suspiciously absent 10 seconds ago but was now forefront and center — was all “SEE I TOLD YOU DON’T YOU FEEL STUPID”.

The girl next to me said, “Oh my god are you ok? That’s boiling water.”
“Yeah, it is. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it’d be boiling straight away” (this, this is what I came up with?)
“Nope, that’s literally all it does.”
“Welp, I know that now!” (once again, this, this is what I came up with)

I put the jug under the tap AGAIN (to save face?) and then put only a little water in the jug and this time didn’t spray everyone with SCALDING HOT BOILING WATER. I dumped the water out, put the jug in the drainer promising I’d give it a proper soapy clean tomorrow and ran out of there as fast as I could, all the while holding my not even burnt hand as my bully brain pummelled me with omg that is the worst thing to ever happen ever you are now the laughing stock of all the doctors you work with.

When I got outside, it was dark, raining and windy, and I was braving the elements with my shitty $5 umbrella. I got to the big intersection I have to cross before I get to the bus stop, and out of habit, I walked straight up to the edge of the curb to wait for the light to change. As I saw a car coming toward us, my rational brain finally kicked in and said “WHOA BACK AWAY FROM THE CURB OR THAT CAR WILL SPLASH THE HECK OUT OF YOU” and I turned around and took a few steps away from the splash zone, thanking my brain for being on it’s A-game.

There was a woman standing near me with her giant umbrella, who had watched me walk to the edge and back. Great, someone else saw me fuck up, I thought, as we made eye contact for a second. She smiled and said “Good thinking! Yesterday I got splashed with a wall of water that was as tall as me!” I laughed and said something about idiot brains. She laughed and agreed, and I told her the water tap story. “Some days, huh??” she said as we crossed the street. And as we parted ways, she said “Get home safe, ok!”

I don’t know if it was the commiseration, or just the niceness of this complete stranger, but I instantly felt better. Some strangers are sent to confirm your idiocy, and some are sent to say “hey, me too. It happens.” You can guess which one I appreciate more.

Some days, huh??

Edit: two hours after posting this blog, I locked myself out of the apartment and had to take an Uber to the city so I could get Joel’s keys. #somedayshuh

Hodge Podge – Wednesday

1 – After another night of broiling temps waking us up every few hours, and walking into work looking like I’d run a marathon (how does it get so sweaty at 8AM?!) I walked out of the office today and I had to put my cardigan back on. And now I’m wearing sweat pants. AND long sleeves. I am content. Continue reading “Hodge Podge – Wednesday”

Hodge Podge – Wednesday

We had a hot one today, folks – so hot that I went to work simply so I could have air conditioning (that’s serious) even though I really wanted to stay home and smother myself in aloe (my sunburn still really, really hurts). Continue reading “Hodge Podge – Wednesday”

Hodge Podge

I have nothing to blog about. But I want to blog. So, why not do a little catch up post? Heck yeah.

So, what’s been happening?

Work – I got a semi-promotion, I love my team, there’s a cafe near by that makes my most favourite coffee, I don’t have to keep email on my phone, and it’s the right amount of challenge and ease. I go to work, I come home, I don’t want to kill myself. And really, I can’t ask for much more than that.

Home – I love our little place. Would it be better with an actual kitchen room, an extra bedroom, hard wood floors, and air conditioning? Of course. But I love it anyway. We’re coming up on 12 months here, and I’m crossing my fingers that our rent doesn’t jump up a million percent.

Writing – I’ve been so hella inspired to write. I found a writer’s group that meets at a Communist themed bar near my work, so I go there on Wednesday nights and try to jam out as much as possible in 2 hours – in October I got about 10 pages written. But when I sit down, lately, nothing happens. So that’s great. I need to have a sit down/Come to Jesus meeting with myself.

Hair – I finally treated myself to the salon, and I now have heaps more blonde. Next week, I’ll get a few inches chopped off. Hello, Summer!

Therapy – I love my therapist. I want to hug her at the end of each session. But I did cancel this month’s sessions so I could get my hair done. Adulthood is knowing you need to go to therapy, and also knowing you need to have your roots done, but realising you can’t do both. But, as I rationalised, my neuroses will still be there next month. #worthit

Lettering – I’ve gotten really, really into lettering lately. I’ve been following graphic designers on IG and doodling in my spare time. I’m not even in the same stratosphere as them, but it’s fun.

Joel – absolutely wonderful. +10, would move to Australia for him again.

Bacon – I found “streaky” aka AMERICAN style bacon that’s just to die for at the fancy pants grocery store near our house. It’s $10, or for $7 there’s a slightly less delicious one, but it crisps up and tastes just like home. I’ve been working it into dinner at least once a week.

Cooking – I have some good recipes I’m planning to launch here on the blog, and all but one of them are my own creation – which is neat. I’m basically a master chef now.

Christmas – I’m pretty jazzed for Christmas this year. Probably because Christmas last year was awesome sauce, and probably because I’ve already started planning and plotting what I’m doing for gifts, not leaving it for last minute and $$$$$ like I did last year. Also I’m obsessing over what our Christmas tree will look like. We’ve had a teeny tiny tree, and a big twig tree. This year, I want a medium sized, full tree. And I want to decorate. I want to watch Christmas movies and pretend that it’s not insanely hot outside. I’ve even gone so far as to Google Christmas decor – seriously, I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I think the key to hot weather Christmas is avoiding the traditional green and red colour combo. Green and Red makes me think of snow, cold, hot cocoa and tacky sweaters. But bright colours and weird trees don’t. So I’m going for non-traditional decorations this year. My only caveat is that we have to have an actual tree. Our twig tree was pretty, but it didn’t have the same Christmassy feel.

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I’m only slightly terrified of this urge to decorate – but it was bound to happen sooner or later. My family has 3 trees and 3 floors of Christmas decor almost every year. And I secretly love that shit. Stay tuned.

Summer – We’ve had a few super hot days sprinkled in between our lovely cold mornings and nights, but the cold nights are getting few and far between. I’m determined to get my Australian driver’s license so that we can go on some adventures this year. Or at least hit the beach on the weekends. I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car in 2 years – it’s kinda terrifying to think that I’ve had this long a break + I’ll be driving on the opposite side. WATCH OUT AUSTRALIA.

What’s going on with everyone else? Stay tuned for recipes, CHRISTMAS, and much more – the unproductive Audpodge & Blither Blather will dazzle you with its content and relevancy. Sheeeeeit.

 

xo

Your 9 Year Old Self

I saw this on Instagram today –

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side note – I want one of these boards. And I ain’t even mad at myself for it.

 

And instantly, my first thought was, “man, 9 year old Audrey would think 32 year old Audrey is pretty lame.”

And then I thought, wait – 9 year old Audrey’s day during the school week consisted of

  • taking an hour to wake up in the morning
  • fiercely debating cutting her own bangs every morning
  • sneaking her mom’s coffee
  • taking too long to pick out clothes because she was too busy fantasising about clothes she didn’t have
  • going to school where she was equal parts I CAN DO THIS and help me I’m so overwhelmed
  • walking home through the woods so she could act out little stories running through her head
  • typing out said stories on her typewriter while listening to music; or making elaborate plans to do or build or create something; or drawing killer whales, researching killer whales, becoming a killer whale, basically engaging whatever I was obsessed with at the time
  • staying in the bath (never a shower – thanks Psycho) until the water turned cold
  • falling asleep while watching a movie
  • waking up to go to bed and reading books or comic strip collections until she passed out with the lights on

And I was all “that’s basically my same routine now.” So I’m basically living like my 9 year old self was watching. And my 9 year old self thinks I’m pretty rad – I mean, I can take showers without the fear of a cross dressing schizophrenic with PTSD stabbing me to death. I mean, I’m sure she’s disappointed that I’m not a marine biologist/killer whale trainer by day, novelist by night, actress and movie director on the weekends, married to Brad Pitt and living in a log cabin with a herd of dogs, but hey. You can only do so much in 23 years. Plus, now I can stay up late watching movies whenever I feel like it. Fuck yeah.

Hey inner-child, high 5!

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So early 90’s it hurts. Not pictured: Brad Pitt Legend of the Fall poster directly to the right of those sick Aladdin wall decals.

How would your 9 year old self judge you?

xo

Ohhh, time. Or, everything makes me feel old.

A few weeks ago, Joel was mimicking a guitar riff that my inner mid-90’s angsty teenager gland instantly picked up – Zero. And that spurred an instant Smashing Pumpkins sing a-long ROCK A-LONG, and then I found myself listening to all their albums on Spotify as I cleaned house.


(enthralling, yes.)
It made me think, though. I was 12 when I “borrowed” Siamese Dream from my brother Shayne (I still have it, beeteedubs), and 13 when I asked my dad to get me Meloncollie and the Infinite Sadness. I was on the too-young-to-be-angsty side of the scale during the hey day of The Smashing Pumpkins, and here’s baby Joel, who probably was in his Teletubbies or Bananas in Pajamas phase during said hey day. And yet, here we were – singing along rocking out to Bullet with Butterfly Wings and getting all wistful to Thirty-Three and 1979. 

It also made me think, what’s Billy Corgan up to lately?

Because the last time I checked, he looked like this:

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and then this:

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But this is him now:

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Holy dad bod, Billy.

Finally, it made me think, fuck I’m old*.

And then I thought of perspective – image how my parents felt when I was 10 and knew every word to The Doors Greatest Hits. And then I thought of another 90’s gem that I was too young to be included in the demographic for:

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Oh hey, Clueless is 21 years old. Jesus.**

 

*No surprise there – everything makes me feel old now. I didn’t realise that one the scariest parts of being in my 30’s is that everything I enjoyed as a kid now has antique status.
**See?

 

Very Important News: I have new hair.

In the mess that has been my life these past few months, I’ve really needed a hair cut. Like, really needed one. Physically and emotionally. I mean, I’ve been in a dark, depressed place, but my hair has felt 10x worse.

I love going to the salon. My mom says she took me to get my hair cut by a professional when I was about 7, and she was never able to cut my hair at home after. I looked forward to getting my hair cut the way most kids look forward to Christmas. And I’ve changed colours and styles at least 3x a year since I turned 17 and got bleached out streaks for the first time. My mom had told me I couldn’t do anything permanent to my hair until I turned 18, but I was 3 weeks away from turning 18 and on a vacation with my friends, so I did the most rebellious thing I could think of (and my mom only spent one week not talking to me as a result)

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sooooooo rebel.

So to go 18 months without stepping foot in a salon, and not thinking about hair dye since October was very strange for me.  I had a multi-coloured, grey speckled, shaggy mess, mostly because I couldn’t get the energy, time, or shekels together to get something done. But, I decided last week that my new chapter needs new hair. But I didn’t know where to go.

Trying to find a stylist always fills me with anxiety. When I was in the States, I had a girl named Katelyn who could read my mind when it came to my hair, and talk all things Teen Mom with me. I met her soon after I moved out my ex’s place and back in with my parents. She was a tiny, perky ex-cheerleader with a love for make up and leopard print, and we bonded instantly. Over the next two years we saw each other through battles with depression, moving, relationships, and finally finding our soul mates. Countless highlights, 2 ombres, bangs, growing out my bangs, lobs, trims, brunette, auburn, blonde, and the absolute best red with blonde highlights I’ve ever had, Katelyn is a badass.

When I moved, I knew I was leaving behind my safety blanket – my hair girl. But since I was moving to a city, I thought finding an awesome salon would be a piece of cake. However, the first person who cut my hair in Sydney cut it two inches too short, and traumatised me. Plus that salon was in North Sydney and I didn’t want to take the train. So I Googled salons near me, and I found a place right down the road from me that had over 30 five-star reviews (Stanley & C0). Mostly I was excited that it was a two minute walk away and had a legit website. I made an appointment and spent the next few days worrying.

I make no bones about how vain and shallow I am – not only do I have a blog about me, I take an inappropriate amount of selfies, and I can’t pass a reflective surface without checking myself out. It’s just who I am (#leo). And I think the too-short, too-dark hair cut I got last May really threw me out of whack and probably contributed more to my year of discontent than I actually acknowledge. So I was incredibly nervous.

But all’s well that ends well, and I really lucked out. The colourist I worked with was hilarious and super cool, and the owner who cut my hair was ridiculously detail oriented. I felt like I was getting my hair cut by a surgeon. It’s turned out to be one of the best hair cuts I’ve ever had, as it basically styles itself. And it looks good straight or “I haven’t brushed it in three days” (which is my entire hair styling skill spectrum).

There was a mis-communication about the colouring, and by Monday I realised I didn’t exactly get what I wanted. I wrestled for a while about whether I should call and ask for a re-do, because it felt like sending food back – when you send food back, you don’t order anything else because it’s guaranteed to have spit in it. I didn’t want anyone to spit in my hair. I even considered just saying Fuck It and going some place else. But, I remembered that New Me is honest and stands up for herself, so I called and politely asked for another appointment.

It took a week to get back in there, and even though the owner was understanding and cool, it was still a week of omg they hate me they will make my hair even worse because I complained and I’ll still have to pay for it all over again and I’ll hate myself and shame eat an entire pizza by myself while watching Dance Moms. 

Buuuuut, once again, all’s well that ends well. I worked with the same colourist, and everyone was just as nice and awesome as they were the first time I came in. My colour came out exactly as I wanted it, and they did it for free.

I was pretty jazzed about the whole thing.

Before:

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Note the peeking grey, the casual fade from ash to burgundy to auburn to gold to shaggy split end mess. Also recurring adult acne because I have all the luck.

During:

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Great cut, but the blonde was too subtle, and too dark. Also after these photos I realise I need to invest in some lipsticks. 

After:

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What my hair looks like after half an hour of curling and careful dishevelling and lots of product. I.e. I will never achieve this look at home.

 

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Blonde highlights and a subtle ombre to tie in all the different colours. I skipped doing an all over colour because I didn’t want to murder my hair.
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I also call all of these photos the “Audrey Hearts Cardigans and T-Shirts” series. 

 

I love it. I feel like I’m a new person. I can’t remember the pretentious kale muncher who wrote that article I read when I was 22 about hair holding in bad energy, but I actually buy into it. It feels like I cut off all the old, bad hair and all the bad memories of the last year or so. I looked in the mirror after the stylist was done and I wanted to cry. I think it all comes back to feeling like yourself, and my hair feels like me again. I’ve spent so long not feeling like myself, and trying to be someone I’m not. It’s taken a verrrry long time and a year of stalled out confusion, but I’m really starting to understand what I really want and need from myself. With a new hair cut and a major closet overhaul (coming soon to a blog near you) Vain and Shallow Audrey is appeased. Now I’m ready to do this. 

Also my greys are mixed in with blonde so “you can’t make an educated guess about my age.” which is pretty good. Also also, I found a salon that feels like home (I gave bear hugs to the girls and was near tears when I left). I had such a happy and positive experience, and that in itself was worth every penny.