Pictures of kids and such
 My little Pie in the kitchen, begging for treats like the dog that she is. |
 The little beggar receiving said treat. I'm a bit of a sucker sometimes. |
 Both the rugrats. |
 God Forbid I sit down to write on the computer and neglect the two of them. When they're both giggling I can usually tell they're not up to terrible mischief. This time it was only my boots that they got into. I'm usually too busy exasperatedly yelling when it's anything else. Heh. |
 "But we're CUTE, daddy, take more pictures!" |
 My boy, outside enjoying the sun and watching mommy and daddy play with the camera, much to his entertainment delight. |
 The Pie is napping, so he's got free run of things without his little sister around. |
 It may not look like it, but I'm pretty sure she's begging again. |
 If she doesn't let me help with dinner, I serenade with much enthusiasm. No, I didn't say "talent" or anything resembling it, but it's the thought that counts. |
 The kid's already better than me, but I'll break his little fingers if he keeps it up. Heh. |
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Pictures of silliness and such
 Jo and I at a party, taken from my new phone. |
 Heading out to dinner at Vultures for my birthday (31st... yeah). The timer on my camera surprised us, honestly we're excited and happy and fun at that moment, I swear. |
 She does strike quite a pose... on request. Yes, she really IS that muscular and sexy, heh. |
 Mucking around with the camera. For maximum couply-lovey-cheesiness we both have bandanas on of our spouse's respective countries. The America Bandana and the Australia Bandana both have interesting histories too. |
 We ARE our own favorite subject. In conversation, in photos... ad naseum... |
 She is, of course, MY favorite subject as well. |
 This is actually one that the boy took, after we trained him on camera skills. |
 We do have a righteously good time, no matter what we're doing. |
 Case in point, at a playground near Jo's old High School. We'd stopped to walk through the park and the playground equipment beckoned a little too urgently. Sometimes, the call of Youthful Playtime is simply impossible to ignore. |
 She's as much of a ham for the camera as her husband. |
 A bit gratuitous, but it's STILL funny. |
 We've both wondered out loud, numerous times, when we're going to grow up. |
 ... aaaaaaaand we're still wondering. |
 Attempting to fix our old TV. Yes, old. Fixed, no. |
 Try this, it's freakin' CLASSIC. Go in like you're giving a kiss, then say in a really soft voice, "Little tiny cat licks..." and flick you're tongue quickly and lightly. Serious giggles, every time. Credit to my brother-in-law, Chris, for the invention. |
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Fanny Footy Rooting
Adjustment to a new culture can be a bit of a shock to just about anyone and I'm not immune. While this would normally be associated with monetary transactions, a new language, or certain ritual involving shearing my nether regions, mine are more simplistic.
Every Friday, Golf with \"the boys\" consists of my 5-foot-nothin' Aussie father-in-law, Poppy, a big hairy kiwi, Pedro, a legally blind kiwi, Johnny, and a wild-haired Scot, Willie, who I swear is either constantly drunk or has a serious speech impediment.
I was happy that it didn't take long for them to take right to \"the big yank\" or for the constant ribbing and shitslinging to become an integral part of the game. By the second week, I'd gotten somewhat used to Willie's constant chattering in a language that resolves somewhere between DrunkenScot and AussieBloke, and was even beginning to hold actual conversations with him.
I was lighting up a smoke on the 4th tee when he came up and said, \"Ussed be Ah'd bargeredmearoot festin namoornan... wannatnayt too!\"
My mouth and brain both worked unconsciously and extreme concentration clouded my visage until I'd come to the conclusion that he was telling me that he enjoys a cigarette first thing in the morning and at night as well.
I looked at him curiously and said, \"But I thought you quit smoking, ya goof!\"
He shook his wildish-Donald-Trump-maned head while cackling before gesturing madly in front of my face with his hand, \"Root! ROOT!\" he yelled while jerking his fist up and down, \"Nahh gawdammed smoook!\"
He responded to my questioning what this piece of information concerning his masturbatory habits had to do with anything I cared about with, \"Cosyoornadda beg YANK, yerra beg WANK! BWAHAHAHAHAAA!\"
We'll see how he takes it when I whip his ass at golf next week.
Saturday, Wife and I were stoked because the kids were shipped off to the grandparent's for the weekend and our plans consisted of leaving the sweaty goodness of our bed only for sustenance, but we'd almost forgotten the game.Footy. Australian Rules Football. For those of you that are truly sports fans, listen to me now...
This Shit Rocks. Seriously. It whups all kinds of ass on the NFL I am almost sad to say.
For as much clich�s as we may tend to fulfill as newlyweds, wife-as-a-faithful-servant-while-hubby-watches-sports went down the tubes the minute that Wife sat down on the couch, out-belched me, and screamed something mildly intelligible at the player on the television while drinking a beer.
Oh yes, we be us some big 'ol Footy fans.
Non-stop action and a tense and tremulous finish provided an atmosphere of adrenalinized testosteronity on our back patio that only playoff sports can bring and Wife and I sipped beers while recapping the game we both just watched. After we went next door and rubbed CrazyCatLady's (Mother-in-law) nose in our win, of course. She's not a West Coast Eagles fan and made the mistake of telling us this quite proudly, so we figure she was much deserving of the pajama-ed whistling and taunting we provided on her front porch.
Life with my 21-year old brother-in-law has been an interesting ingredient to the mix of Judd's New Aussie Life. In an effort to save up some money and get a fresh start on things, he's been staying in our spare room and has been quite a joy.
And by \"joy,\" I mean, \"a 16-year old girl.\"
He's an awesome guy, but the life of a 21-year old gay male in Perth, Australia apparently consists of clubbing and drag shows late into the night and MSN chatting with 97 potential boyfriends all day. Properly motivated, he's a champ with the dishes though.
For being the other \"man\" of the house, I was quite appreciative of his contribution to our post-Footy-playoff-win-reveling when he excitedly told us the recent happenings at AsianQueenFriend's fashion show.
To be jolted from my own daydreams of AFL stardom (\"He's never played before folks, but this new American is a delightful surprise to the entire league!\") with soap-opera-drama-like announcements of how the wrong name got on the labels of the outfits (or some shit like that) was yet another reminder of my continuing adjustment to life here.
Thankfully, Wife is with me every step of the way. Literally. Especially when I'm kicking my shoe to her across the front yard and getting tackled by the letterbox.
She's awesome like that.
Or she may just be with me until I'm a million-dollar Footy Star. We'll see.
One morning, Wife had stepped out of the shower a bit before me, so when the plastic accordion door was shoved aside shortly after, I thought little of it as I began toweling off.
\"Daddy?\" my 2-year old asked in the manner that suggests she's either in trouble or about to be.
\"Yeah Pie?\" I replied, forgetting that shorter towels mean my boy bits are exposed while I dry my hair.
\"Oh!\" she exclaims (she starts most sentences this way), \"you have a willie!\"
After pulling the towel off my head and debating whether or not to cover myself, I looked down as if to somehow verify that I did indeed, have a willie. I'd decided that showing no shame or awkwardness about it would provide the right message and said, \"yep, sure do.\"
While I stepped to the mirror to shave, she showed no discomfort while she prattled on with, \"I don't have a willie, I have a fanny!\" ('fanny' being the Aussie's word for the girl's part in the front as opposed to the American's use of it for anybody's part in the back) and she continued with, \"my brother has a willie too! And Mommy has a fanny too!\"
I was enjoying this bit of cuteness right before shaving cream haphazardly smeared across my face when she calmly said, \"Nanny (Mother-in-law) has a fanny too!\"
I spit a good portion of said shaving cream into the sink as she finished with the loud statement of, \"An OLD fanny!\"
Too much laughter can bring the kind of reinforcement that a statement like that just doesn't need. The kid KNOWS when she's funny, but CrazyCatLady DOES live right next door, and I don't need that kind of shit coming out of my kid's mouth randomly and damaging my mother-in-law's unblemished opinion of me. For this reason, I slapped my hand over my mouth and coughed shaving cream into it while she looked on bewildered.
Don't look at me like that, I didn't teach her to say that.
I'm still working on getting her to tell people that hockey goalies are well hung and beer and cigarettes are good for you.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Life in Oz… so far
For as much as I can feel like a bit of a novelty sometimes (American in Australia and all that), I'm really not that much of an anomaly here in Oz. Perth has an extremely multicultural society and I blend fairly well with my different accent and uncommon way of requesting goods and services (for the record, asking for a "box" of smokes will get you a "cah-ton" of 10 packages, and also refers to a "case" of beer, or 24 bottles).
I still occasionally, randomly, and loudly announce to all within earshot, "Sorry! I'm a dumb American!" but I'm getting along rather well with my new culture. This is in no small part thanks to my wonderful wife, who never condescends to me or looks at me like I'm a drooling-short-bus-riding-gotard while explaining that "capsicum" isn't a mineral supplement or a sexual technique she'd like to try, but is in fact what I would call "bell peppers."
I'd like to think that I'm adapting to life here fairly well, given all of the cross-cultural challenges, and have even started to pick up the vernacular, putting groceries into the "boot" of the car, throwing trash in the "bin," and "sussing" things out. True to my inherent nature of being a complete Smart Ass though, the phrase, "No worries" still comes out, "Don't Worry!" or "Hey you with the worrying going on... Stop That!"
My goal with the children, as far as the transitioning to my living here and the fathering both go, was to ensure that they always know above all else that they are loved, and that was fairly easily accomplished. A loftier goal, one I should have definitely foreseen, is to get them to understand the difference between the effects of a tantrum and the effects of simple, clear, communication using words. Their short lives haven't been easy on them, and I'm doing my best, along with their mother, to give them a more comfortable place in this world. It's been anything but easy, but I knew it wouldn't be. At the base of it all though, is still a tremendous amount of love, and I highly doubt know that I could ask for much more.
For being a far-away, foreign, place, the food really isn't that different, but I'm quickly learning that there are certain things that kick much ass on what I'd previously associated them with. Chocolate, for example, is made differently here, and it's milky, creamy, dairy, goodness is something that I don't know that I'll tire of. A simple candy bar, Bounty ("Mounds" in the States), is such a treat for me that I've taken to buying them whenever I'm in any establishment that sells them.
Sweet Chilli Sauce is something that I've only found in Chinese Restaurants in the States, but here it is quite common, and after tasting it on a freshly fried-up batch of French Fries I nearly wept openly at how happy they made my mouth.
The beer could be cheaper (HEAVY taxation) and the variety of anything of a non-urine-like consistency could be more assorted (sighing now at all the microbreweries in Colorado), but I've found that Toohey's Old is my new favorite, and I could drink it all day and night. In fact I have, as it's also one of my wife's favorites, and we've spent many hours on the back patio drinking, smoking, and bullshitting like the best friends that we are.
Fast food is, of course, the same, with the exception that they no longer number their Value Meals (an infamous faux pas of mine that will live on forever under the reference of "I'll have the Number Nine"), and they occasionally like to stick something called "beetroot" on their burgers. Wife warned me that I wouldn't like it, and since we're basically composites of each other, I believe her. There is a small comfort in that Hungry Jack's still has "Burger King" printed on their cups and bags as well, since it's the same place with an Aussie-ized name.
I've surprised both myself and my wife at the ease at which I took to driving, though I figure it may be a by-product of the fact that we've been borrowing my step-Father-in-Law Poppy's car, Bob (an aged Mitsubishi), and I've been adjusting to it's smaller structure and 20-year old mechanical workings as well as rules of the road. Once I figured out where all the mirrors were and how fast I was actually going ("doing 100" really isn't that cool, by the way) I've scarcely noticed a difference in my driving other than the most obvious. I only panic mildly now when completing a right-hand turn and briefly thinking that the oncoming car is trying to ram head-on into me.
I tend to find the weather highly interesting, if for no other reason that the clouds here are extremely low and move very quickly across the sky. The parallels between Perth's chilly winter nights and a mild mornings and Denver's coolish summer nights and warm mornings is not lost on me, and I'm enjoying the serious heat-seeking cuddling under a pile of blankets with my wife as much as relaxing in the afternoon sun with her. Sorry, that's not actually true, as one almost always leads to amazing sex and the other only occasionally leads to amazing sex. You can surely guess which and my preference for it.
I've not yet learned to fear the "bush" and all it's assorted bitey, stingey, kill-ya-dead-in-two-steps creatures, as I tend to be both inherently foolish and fearless about Mom Nature (I've also only been exposed to any sort of wildlife on a park trail and at the golf course). My biggest problem with the Australian flora and fauna thus far, has been the gimongous-man-eating snails and their penchant for devouring our mail. I did kill a poisonous spider hanging around our back shed the other day though in order to protect my young ones, but I'm still highly curious as to the varieties and deadliness of the arachnids that can all be found in just our humble backyard.
Plants and birds tend to look different, but I admit that I never really paid an exceptional amount of attention to either in the mountains I grew up in, and instead simply enjoyed their presence. The crows here give me fits though, with their guttural bleating, and we've come to refer to them as "hangover birds."
On one of my first days here, wife took me up a valley that lies behind one of her old homes, and we hiked to one of the most picturesque and beautiful waterfalls I've ever shared the presence of. Playing in the water and walking up the trails fed the same part of my soul that a quiet day's fly-fishing would back in the Rockies. It surprised me how much of a "nature fix" I was needing, and how much this satisfied it. When such Zen-like-centering happens in such places, they need to be visited as often as the need arises without hesitation.
Until I'm able to work, our days are spent here at home, drinking coffee, reading, writing, and talking for hours on end. I don't imagine that the laid-back, extremely comfortable life that we have now will change much once I actually do have to leave for work every day. We'll see though, as no one knows what tomorrow will bring, and I may or may not give myself back up to the "grind" in the conventional ways that I've always known. Maybe I'll start my own business making candles and furniture, maybe I'll end up doing Texan impressions for spare change down at the mall, you never know. I'm kidding.
I do know that I'll get a good job and we'll always be happy and will always have adequate food and shelter. The quality of which is becoming less and less of a concern of ours as we realize that our needs and wants are interminably humble.
I've found a peaceful place, not here in the tangible, geographical sense, but within myself. For the first time in my life I'm completely comfortable and content, not only with who I am (which is HUGE), but with who I am in love with. I could never have known that for all the facets of Life and all the things that we inherently and desperately need from it, I could have found all of them residing within one person. She is absolutely amazing.
In the not-so-distant past, admitting this to anyone would've been difficult and somewhat tentative, yet we've both found that bringing these things to the other's attention now only serves to validate our own sentiments as well as give voice to that which we are both separately, yet identically, feeling internally. The word "coincidence" no longer holds any sort of meaning to either of us. We are simply that perfect together.
Leaving the life I had was difficult, saying goodbye to anything dear always is, but I couldn't ever imagine anything being worth more to me, and my life, than being with her. She is my Everything, simple as that, and I make zero apologies for this, though I have been told such things as it's co-dependent and/or unhealthy, or even downright foolish and silly, nothing will convince me otherwise. For those detractors, I offer time and space in the hopes that they'll either come to view my situation on it's own merit or, failing this, at least compare it to their own while applying some semblance of functional perspective.
I'm truly happier than anyone has ever been. The fact that I bring that exact same feeling to the person that brings me that complete happiness is so utterly perfect I hesitate to even write it out, as my inner-cynic chides me that few could ever even ponder such a concept. While I am as somewhat tempted to seek substantiation from those few as I am to weep for the many, I honestly feel the need to do neither, for either would feel too much like I was disrespecting that which I already have.
I'm going to enjoy life, for as long as it may last, and show my appreciation and gratitude for it in everything that I do, but most especially in the one person I'll be spending it with.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.The Number Nine
I thought I'd start this diary as a way of keeping folks up on the happenings of my life here in Oz. A place to post pictures and video of the wife and kids, share news and tidbits, or just tell funny stories, I figured since my old blog introduced me to my wife that the new one would be a good way to keep in touch with everybody that cares. All 3 of you. Ha.
Plus, and this is important, I'm terribly lazy, and know myself well enough to know that I won't email everybody that I want to email and, even if I did, I'd get sick of telling the same story or sharing the same news more than once. Lazy.
I'll start with a story explaining the name of this diary, one that pretty much encapsulates the manner in which I interact with this society in my new home.
I'd never been anywhere off the North American continent before April, so that in and of itself was a bit of an adventure. Flying halfway around the world to meet someone that I was in love with for the first time was no small stroke either, but the cultural differences were something that I wasn't necessarily worried about though was conscious of.
They rented me a car at the airport with barely a sideways glance at my Driver's License, my Colorado Driver's License, issued me no warnings of laws, and sent me on my way down the wrong side of the road. I figured that after I mastered that whole bit, I could get by just about everywhere here. I was adapting quickly.
In just a few days I learned how to more effectively communicate that I was buying a round of drinks, that I was tired, hungry, or had to urinate, and that doors to establishments typically open inward as opposed to out as I was used to. When I tugged repeatedly on the unlocked door to the motel's office until the proprietor opened from inside, I did completely miss the meaning behind her question of, "What're you, IRISH?" I think I replied with something like, "Noooo... I'm AMERICAN. I don't look Irish, do I? What? Is it the jacket?"
My future wife, her best friend, and her best friend's boyfriend were all willing passengers in my rented car and I'd only almost killed all of us once. Their faith in me was astounding and my confidence grew. So much so that when we pulled into the Drive-Thru lane of Hungry Jack's (Burger King in everything but signage) I was positive that I could do the ordering for the carload.
I scanned the menu for a Value Meal that wouldn't clog my arteries too terribly bad and spied a Spicy Chicken Baguette meal that had a small green sticker next to it with the number "9" on it. The Something Chicken Baguette meal below it had the number "10" on it, and I wisely deduced that the other meals were numbered as well and their stickers had just come off in the coastal weather.
I leaned casually out the window and said in loud American, "Hi! I'll have the Number Nine!" The squawking little box was strangely silent, so I repeated my order, only louder... and probably more American. I attributed the snickering in the back of car to girls simply being girls and ignored BestFriend's Boyfriend muttering, "Just say ‘Spicy Chicken' Judd" and continued repeating my order over the confused FastFood Girl's "umming" and "huhing."
My considerable experience with Drive-Thru employees has taught me that their IQ, customer service rating, and vocabulary combined tend to add up to roughly my shoe size, so I was bound not to get frustrated. My continued patience wasn't appreciated by my passengers as their laughter only increased and Boyfriend strongly insisted that I simply say, "Spicy Chicken Meal" and all will be well.
I relented, extremely reluctantly, thinking that these silly Aussie's must not be as efficient as myself and my numerical ordering style, finished ordering, and pulled forward.
As we moved around the bend and drew closer to the menu board, I happened to look closer at the "Number Nine Meal" and it's partner "Number Ten" below it. I had wondered why their stickers were so clean and new looking when obviously all the others had been so worn that they had come off until I noticed 3 little words underneath each of the sticker's numbers.
"Grams of Fat" it read.
There IS NO numerical system for fast food meals here.
I AM an idiot.
We left Albany for Perth, ~400 km to the North, and the laughter and ridiculing of my passengers lasted for only, oh, the ENTIRE WAY.
To this day, ordering food, or anything really, with anyone acquainted with this story always opens with someone saying, "Hmm. I think I'll have the Number Nine. Whaddya think Judd?"