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Posts Tagged ‘Glügg’

Yesterday morning, my husband woke up to a grim reality. Not only did he face the  possibility of a conservative State government, but he also had to deal with the memory of FatherOfCrankyPants and I singing karaoke the night before. In his mind, it was hard to know which was worse.

“Perhaps the new government will do something about the karaoke problem in this area!” he said, trying to look at the brighter side of things. “The Brumby government had eleven years to fix karaoke but they did nothing. Nothing!”

“Huh! To think that our rendition of ‘I Will Survive’ might have been avoided with a more robust policy making process at a state level,” I replied, shaking my head.

Still, we’d had ourselves a great party. A chance meeting on the street had led to us inviting the CrankyPants family over for an afternoon barbeque. And then, when Mistress M had rung, scratching around for something to do on a wet Saturday afternoon, the party was complete.

I must admit that I’d had a few misgivings about having nine children trapped in our tiny house by the rain, imagining they’d be bouncing off the walls like silly putty. But the stars must have been in alignment for us because the kids quickly broke into splinter groups and discovered the dress-ups, the Wii and the Lego, leaving the adults to eat, drink and make merry for six hours.

And merry we made. Even the Glügg came out – to a far more receptive audience than the night of my 40th, it must be said, but perhaps only because the vodka came out, too. Even Mistress M’s husband ‘The Sculptor’, a naturally temperate person, entered a world of “Yes, please!” once the vodka arrived.

And then I cracked open the karaoke on the Wii. Although, FatherOfCrankyPants was the only taker amongst the adults, I did notice that The Sculptor stood in the doorway in a nonchalant “I can turn and leave at any moment” kind of way but was singing along all the same. Yes, I saw his ‘karaoke potential’ in that moment and swore to bring out the vodka and the karaoke earlier next time to fully convert him to (what my husband calls) my “karaoke ways”.

[An aside: I later found out that The Mild-Mannered Lawyer was at that very moment in the city being forced to play charades with a group of senior insurance managers, wherein she found herself having to mime ‘Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon’ to her husband’s boss. So it’s fair to say I’m not the only person who knows how to have a great time.]

At eleven, our guests left in a big walking bus (or, rather, “staggering bus”) outside our house and my husband turned to me.

“Now that,” he said. “That was my 40th.”

“What? Even though your birthday’s not until next June?” I asked.

“Well, if I was going to have a fortieth, that’s exactly what it’d be like,” he replied. “Maybe not with the karaoke, though.”

Yeah, right. As if he has any choice about that.

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I don’t know about anybody else but I’d have thought that if I had my hair done (two words: Mad Men), wore a tiara, donned a strapless black velvet dress and heels (okay, so not the mismatching red heels but heels nonetheless), bought $1000 worth of alcohol, called in favours from all my friends so there was great food, great music and a dance floor with moving lights and a motorised disco ball etc., etc., etc.,  that the night of my 40th birthday party would have been All. About. Me., right?

But nooooooooooo.

I had to endure guest after guest (after guest) coming up to me to say: “I want to meet the Mild-Mannered Lawyer!” and “I heard the Mild-Mannered Lawyer might be here!” and “That Mild-Mannered Lawyer is hot tamale!”

The MML! Shuh! (*shakes fist*)

I mean, I’m the NDM, people! Of course, I have to concede that it would have been a bit weird if all the party guests had been asking to meet the NDM or had been pointing and staring and saying, in hushed tones, “There’s the NDM! She’s sohotrightnow!” since, you know, they were my friends and knew who I was, anyway. But still!

Near the end of the evening, my friend Miss Deb came up to me.

“I’m so excited!” she said. “I met the Mild-Mannered Lawyer!”

“Whatevs,” I said. I may even have done the hand gesture.

“But to be honest,” Miss Deb continued. “I don’t think I could tell you which one she is now.”

Ha! In your face, MML! As I said to the MML later, “I MADE YOU. I CAN UNMAKE YOU!” Although, arguably, getting Miss Deb drunk enough that she couldn’t recognise the MML a few minutes after meeting her was more about unmaking Miss Deb than anything else.

Anyway, I should concede that the MML really is hot tamale even though I’m not entirely sure what ‘tamale’ is. And that the night really was All. About. Me. – as proven by my mothers group donning feather boas and providing back up to my dear friend KT singing her heart-of-gold out to “Reach Out I’ll Be There” just for me and then, later on, my Facebook Friend performing a spontaneous interpretive dance entitled “The Four Decades of [NDM]”, which involved a lot of primal screaming and, at one point, licking of the television screen. Tasty. Even my friend The White Lady, who every time I saw her told me, in no uncertain terms, that “THIS IS A SHIT PARTY! I’M SO FUCKING BORED!”, managed to drink and dance until the early hours, shortly before riding someone else’s $500 mountain bike home wearing heels instead of the clip-on shoes required.

And there was the Glügg. Of course there was the Glügg. HOW COULD THERE NOT BE THE GLÜGG? As predicted, a  group of people joined me in a shot of Glügg some time around 3am. I’m not entirely sure that Glügg is meant to be drunk that way and, indeed, some might argue that the best way to serve Glügg is to pour it directly down the drain, but still… my friends honoured me with those shots.

As for the karaoke, all I can say is that some people still can’t get ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ out of their heads four days later. Yes, they took that bullet for me and I love them all the more for it.

And then there were the hangovers right across the city the following day. Yes, my friends continued to honour me (and perhaps curse me a little) into the late hours of Sunday – and in some case, well into Monday, too.

So now I am forty. Pah! With such friends and family dancing up a storm in my corner, I think it’s fair to say that I’ve made forty my bitch…

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I have to admit that I went on my recent Ikea junket with a hidden agenda: find the rudest sounding Ikea product name.

After fifteen minutes of being led through the story by my charming guide Mark, I blurted out my agenda.

“Oh, great!” he said, rubbing his hands together with glee. “My favourite one is just around the corner…”

And he led me to a DUMBASS wardrobe – although it was ostensibly spelt DOMBÅS. I knew then that I was in good hands.

I was there to learn about the Ikea Family, the loyalty program recently launched here in Australia. Oh, and to receive my Ikea goody bag, which didn’t disappoint, not least because it contained a complimentary bottle of Glügg. Yes, Glügg! For the record: I’m still unsure of what, exactly, Glügg is, but I expect that there will be a Glügg Occasion at my 40th birthday party, some time after 4am when the wine’s run out.

A few things I learnt about the Ikea Family:

  • It’s free to join and you can join online from the comfort of your own home or in-store at your next visit.
  • If you forget your card or your small child has played 52 pick-up with the contents of your wallet back in the car, you can print yourself out a temporary one in-store.
  • Swiping your card at the checkout earns you savings on a host of different products throughout the store – most are ongoing and with a few “limited time only” offers thrown in for good measure.
  • Every time you use or swipe your card in-store, Ikea donates 10c to charity and somewhere someone opens another bottle of Glügg (OK, so I made that last bit up).
  • Your purchase is insured from store to home which is good news for people who do things like drive into a low multi-storey carparks, completely forgetting they have new roof racks on their car – should such people exist.
  • Ikea’s usual 90 day return policy is extended to 365 days for Ikea Family members. Ikea’s policy is generous, according to my guide Mark. You can return something as long as it is in “re-sellable” condition and with its original packaging.

“So!” I piped up, when Mark shared this last point with me. “Let’s just say someone who was about to turn 40 – don’t know who – bought a whole heap of garden furniture and party lights – for example – and then discovered a few days after they’d turned 40 that they actually need it any more?”

Mark, thinking I wasn’t serious, laughed and told me a story about once selling a man 148 folding chairs and then seeing him the following week trying to return them, each with a little bit of grass on the bottom of their legs.

That chair-returning man was a loser. I totally would have crocheted little booties for the chairs to protect them from the grass. You know, with my non-existent crocheting skills – the same non-existent crocheting skills that I plan to use one day to crochet my friend Mrs Woog a merkin. What’s more, I would have given those crocheted chair booties a fabulous Ikea name like KNUBBIG (which is actually the name of an Ikea table lamp and looks a little like BIG KNOB, tee hee hee. I hope it comes with ANSLUTA power cord connection. A SLUTTER, geddit?).

Anyway, Mark, if you ever see someone trying to return 148 folding chairs and the Ikea Dodgy Returns Crime Lab picks up acrylic wool fibers on the base of their legs, it’s fair to say that the perpetrator got the idea here.

Also, if there’s a sudden rush on Glügg, you’ll know who to thank.

Glügg!

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