Red hot cookingwoman!

Morphing from thecleaningwoman into the cookingwoman seems like a good excuse to have a picture of a fireman hottie on my blog. I've included it for the pleasures of readers only, of course. I've promised not to look at it.

*sneaky peek*

It does serve a practical purpose though. This is probably who I will be calling later this afternoon.

I have been forced to cook. Or rather bake.

Despite a scene reminiscent of Chernobyl, I currently have what I hope will be edible gluten free chocolate muffins in the oven. In January this year, I was diagnosed coeliac which means no more gluten.

For a bread lover like me, I have been in mourning ever since. Seen someone strange loitering around the italian bread counter, breathing in heavily? Yep, that's me. That pervert in the newsagent slobbering heavily over Baking Weekly? *blush*

Everyone keeps telling me things aren't so bad. After all, there's a lot of gluten free products around these days. Note, this is mostly people who aren't allergic to gluten and who tell me this as they happily munch on their pan chocolat.

Everything I've tried so far has the taste and consistency of a house brick. So, now I've decided to try and bake something myself.

*audible maniacal laughter in the background*

I'm a self-confessed disaster in the kitchen. Agencies hire me to demonstrate their biohazardous material handling capabilities. Past 'successes' have included flambe high chair when I accidentally barbecued the high chair tray on the burner. Catch my drift?

Anyway, got to dash. This smoke is getting a little choking and there's some strange deafening screeching sound. If I fail to blog again, you know how it turned out.

Wanted. Dead or Alive.

For general crimes against cleanliness.

For dynamic interior design during at open house viewings courtesy of projectile vomiting.

For nuclear waste dumping in disposable nappies. Hardly the work of a greenie, despite the colour.

For making me thecleaningwoman I am today.

Warning. Prolific poster.

Okay. So now your brain hurts.

Fear not. I don't normally suffer from blogger diaorrhea.

Just relocated my blog from elsewhere.

So. No danger of another post for at least 20 minutes.

Muahaahaaa.

Ruddy Hell!

Yes, MORE body image issues.

This is me. What is it they say about children and honesty?

AIIIIEEEEE. Say, where do I sign up for that UK cosmetic surgery show?

Find the Easter Egg

And please be careful where you look!

Don't want to get into body image issues or anything but this represents pretty much how I feel after Easter.

(Brief aside - say, is that what they mean by carrying all your eggs in one basket?)

So, anyway, my name is The Cleaning Woman and I'm a chocoholic. Get me in the same room as anything with the name Lindt or Suchard and restraint goes out the window. And, this year, Lindt sure surpassed themselves. Chocolate bunnies (dark, milk, white), chickens, eggs, Lindor balls..... and, as self-appointed chocolate taster, I felt I had to assess them for the purposes of this blog. So here's the review.....

YUM.

*burp*

Ooops. Roll on next Easter.

Botox, buttocks and armchair travel

I was reading today about some new reality show from the UK. Apparently women clamoured to be flown to LA to prove their butt-ugliness to cosmetic surgeons in order to win a complete plastic overhaul.

So what happens there?

"I'm sorry, you only have the features of the back end of a constipated baboon so we're voting you off. Live with it." Yikes. Who'd put themselves through that?

And that got me thinking about the internet and the images people present.

After all, you've probably read my profile. No hint at all that I'm really a cross dressing truck driver from the back of Bourke. Kidding, of course (and apologies to all crossdressing trucker drivers wherever you are).

Now, although my alter ego is a plastic chicken, I would like to say that's the extent of the plastic surgery in respect of this cleaning woman.
A botox free zone. And, for those of you who got excited by the title of this blog entry, this is where the buttocks part comes in. Seeing as that's how some people insist on pronoucing the supposed elixir of youth. Disappointing, I know, but this really isn't that kind of blog.

So, truth and honesty. Very important to me. Look at the photo. Remarkably good wear for my age.

And the red nose? I'd love to claim that as representative of the good, charitable side of the cleaning woman. After all, Red Nose Day is a very worthy cause but, at three months early, who's going to buy that?

Nope. Had the 'flu jab last week and been laid low with....well, what feels pretty much like the 'flu ....ever since. For a vaccine that supposedly isn't live, it seems to be doing a lot of living up in my body.

This year contains a combination of 'flu strains from interesting places like Vietnam, California and Singapore. Actually, I can't remember the exact places now but isn't it neat that your body can effectively visit these places and pick up exotic germs without even leaving your armchair?

Mind if I don't?

The reading was proving less than successful. Could think of way too many things I'd rather be doing......like watching endless reruns of Titanic, listening to Adam Sandler singing whiney songs as he accomplished himself on the ukelele, taking the washing off that handy treadmill and actually using it for it's intended purpose. Riiiiigghhhttt.

Moving right along. Plenty to do, little motivation to do it.

Mindfulness Training. The CD has been sitting on my desk long enough 'minding' (ha ha) it's own business. How stressful can that be? I listen attentively, suddenly full of purpose and good intentions.

Ahaahahahaaaaaa. Le Guy has an outrageous French accent. I expect him to burst out into 'Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries' at any moment, yet alone 'fart in my general direction.' Not a good start.

I get over my Snickers (gratuitous product placement - Mars, please send humungous cheque) and try to get into the present moment...that being the point, of course. Except my brain is being non-cooperative. 'Is there toilet roll left in the bathroom?' Weighty matters like that. Things that really keep the world turning. HEY. we've all been stranded in that situation at some time. Tell me it's not dire (and hopefully not diaorrhea).

Focus. F-O-C-U-S. Deep breath. Listen. 'Let the mind go and the body will follow' to quote Steve Martin. I did, it did. I got it back about an hour later, complete with the imprint of the latest headline across my cheeks from the newspaper my head was resting on.

Someone poke me with a big stick. ZZzzzzzzzZZzzzz.

My brain hurts!

Today is a 'working at home' day. Ha! An oxymoron is ever I heard one. Working at home means I should be reading from the huge pile of research papers conveniently hidden around the side of the book case so I can avoid thinking about them. Works for me.

I have read one.

But, then, I realised that I just had to look up that intriguing article about naked chickens on the internet....

In the big scheme of things, could be important, you know?

Mighty relieved to say this is not any relative of mine. The hussy! Don't think we don't know who you are though...

Reminds of that classic piece of poetry...."I'm not a pheasant plucker...." Maybe I should google that.

Hell, yes! Sure I can waste another couple of hours there....

Oh Pollocks!

Anyone know the telephone number of this bloke?

Of course, you'll know him as Steve Martin the comedian/actor/musician. This is his hidden side, Steve Martin, home decorator. Very secret, hush-hush.

I'm asking because he looks kind of how I look right now but a whole lot neater. While I'm also covered in white from head to toe, any resemblence ends there.

Steve, as always, is pristine, I'm just plain mucky. His appearance is orchestrated, mine is non-intentional.

See, I've been concurrently painting a room and learning that I'm not really aren't that good at it.

If only the finished product looked like Steve's room above - instead it looks like a bad day in Pollock's studio.

Sigh. Handy man wanted!

It Ain't Half Hot Mom!

Above - somewhat dodgy British sitcom from 70s to early 80s. I remember loving it at the time but, as a spring chicken, I doubt my funny bone was adequately developed.

Scary that I even remember this. However, this image (okay, well maybe not this particular image but probably one with Gloria in drag) popped into my head as I lay awake through another hot and sticky Sydney night (I refer to the weather only. Let's not go there..! )

What's going on? It's AUTUMN. Autumn. Autumn.

Whoever manages this globes meterological schedule has fallen asleep on the job. Autumn means cooler. Where's the atmospheric air conditioning?? Someone flick the switch please.

Call me a whingin' Pom (Brit) if you like but I loathe the heat.

To be honest, I reckon someone slipped a little too much Ribena mixer in my water when I was filling out the application forms and Canada suddenly became Australia. That'd explain the moose outfit in my suitcase....

Thoughts from the Janitor's Cupboard

Blogging.

Seems everyone is doing it.

Except me. Until now.

Thought you were safe from the mundane ramblings of the cleaning woman? Think again! Muhahahahahahaha. I can rant on as much as the next rubber chicken with it's butt stuck in a metal bucket (and I do wish they'd watch where they put that mop).

It seems like most people are gifted at thinking of witty titles for their blog. I thought of calling this a 'blog about nothing' but that wouldn't be witty, it would be darn truthful. And it's a name I'd share with a million other bloggers also partial to Seinfeld. Ditto 'blahda blahda blahda', although I think only 874343 bloggers have used that.

So...back to basics and 'Thoughts from the janitor's cupboard' it is. Manages expectations nicely. After all, not much goes on in the janitor's cupboard, although with all those cleaning fumes, who knows what might happen?