We begin with theft. We end with confusion.

In the true spirit of uncreativeness and theft, I present to you this:

If you're a fan of the vlogbrothers' videos on ye awesome site of win and video watching, YouTube, you'll get this reference. If I try and explain it to those who aren't Nerdfighter savvy, it won't really make sense.
Long story short, you should definitely check out their videos, because I said so and because all of Nerdfighteria said so and you don't want to get on the bad side of Nerdfighters because we will just shoot awesome rays at you and it will hurt.
Or something.
Whatever, I'm tired.

Anyway, so today I have learned many things. First of which, never tell a Chilean grandmother that you don't need her help cleaning a house. Telling her husband who erroneously believes he wears the pants in the relationship to stop her from helping is also futile.
I walked home from work today, longing for the minute I could lie on the couch with my new books (smexily waiting in my mailbox when I arrived), music blaring in my ears and draining my phone's battery steadily. Key in lock, shoulder to door to combat the swollen wood from all the rain, and a blur of pink trackpants and matching rubber gloves barrels towards me.
"Natashita! Mi ninita liiiiinnnnnda, como estas? Como esta tu trabajo?"
I stood there, one earphone still informing me that it's never gonna give me up (yes. I downloaded Rick Astley. What's your point?), gaping at Nana. "What are you doing here?"
Nana simply picked up her bottle of bleach and aimed it towards the bench. "Cleaning, nina."
"Nana, I told you it's okay. I don't need help, I can clean myself."
She sort of scoffed at me there, and smiled pityingly.
Not moments earlier, as I had trudged home along the wet grassy highway, I had phoned Dad with a plea to not let her do this. Dad told me to tell Tata. We both got a good laugh out of that one.
So instead, it was up to me to follow Nana around the house urging her that I could actually clean.
Nana replied with telling me that she had cleaned the majority of rooms in my home and while she had only cleaned the bathrooms with a 'manito de gato' (which is a term my grandfather introduced me to, meaning to clean as lightly as possible in order to mimic a cat, but to present the appearance of being clean so as to appease higher persons in the relationship, such as parents or scarily powerful wives), I could finish it off.
In confusion, I went and stared at my dogs for a while, who stared back with equal confusion because Nana - who they're sort of familiar with - had technically broken in, and no amount of barking would make her leave.
When I returned inside, Nana was scrubbing the rust off a cutlery holder that has been rusted for as long as I can remember. "Nina, you should clean this," she said. "If your mama won't, you need to."
My nana and my mother do not get along. My nana believes my mother to be incompetent at parenting and Australian. The latter is true but no grounds for Nana's feelings towards my mother. My mother believes my nana is meddling and elitist. She has rather good points here, but Nana's also quite lovely in other ways.
I stood there, mentally figuring out how to tell Nana that I was tired and needed to be left alone, when Nana propped a now gleaming cutlery holder up on the bench and asked me to phone Tata.
"I'm finished," she said.
"I'm going to mop," I said, excited.
"Ah! We can get Tata to help you."
I blinked at her. "Nana, I mop every morning at work. I know how to mop."
She patted my shoulder. "I know, mi vida, but you can always learn."
I phoned Tata.
"You found your Nana." No questions.
"She wants you to come pick her up, because she's finished cleaning."
"Well, I'll come soon." Tata sounded apologetic. Maybe because that morning - and the morning before - I'd texted him to tell him Nana needn't come over and followed that with strict instructions to tell her.
We bid each other adieu.

Later that evening, I went to Nana's for dinner. Nana had followed me around the house as I searched for my towel, telling me that my cousin missed me tremendously. I adore Daniela, I really do.
Her sisters... well.
Let's just say I much prefer Daniela.
So to talk to Daniela, I went there for dinner.
Lesson number 2 came:
Don't tell uncles anything, especially information about prior crushes that really should be forgotten.
Yesterday - or was it Monday? - I found out I got into UNE's Bachelor of Communications course, which I'll study via Distance Ed. So when I bounced over to Uncle today to tell him the grand news, he eyed me suspiciously.
"UNE... in Melbourne?"
"UNE in Armidale. Via distance."
"Oh. I know someone who's studying at UNE."
"Susan studied there," I said, mentioning his cousin.
He waved that away. "You know who I mean."
I didn't, not until he widened his eyes at me significantly and nodded with a grin.
"You're out of your mind," I said, stalking off.
At dinner, Uncle repeatedly said in the same contemplative tone, "So... UNE, eh?" coupled with significant eyes. I chose to ignore him until he shouted my name.
"Why'd you choose it?"
"It's more related to what I want to do, and either way I had to study off campus even if I chose Monash. I went with the course I wanted."
He sniggered at this. "Yeah, sure. So when are you going to London?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I want to do a bit of time at the Sunshine Coast, then go to India and do a missions trip if I can - "
"India?"
I nodded.
"Oh. I get it." Significant eyes beamed in my direction. "You want to go to Africa, too?"
I looked at my aunt, who sat next to me, blankly. She rolled her eyes. "He's trying to suggest -"
Daniela and I both shouted, "OH MY GOSH."
And with that we fled.

Lesson number three, don't feed dogs chorizo.
Actually, don't feed dogs lentejas con chorizo.
Inca and Tuscany were fed my leftovers tonight, much to their delight. Unfortunately, this caused Tuscany to run crazily around the yard, barking occasionally and then attacking Inca. Inca soon realised this was a fun game, and mimicked her.
I went outside to see what drugs the two had taken, and was immediately tackled by two muddy Golden Retrievers (currently, a fetching shade of volcanic-rock-dirt red). I ran back inside in fear, and was lying on the lounge when suddenly I heard the screen door slam.
Instant thought?
There's a murderer come to get me.... FLEE.
But no! The creepily smiling faces of aforementioned muddy Retrievers came into view, and Tuscany decided this was prime time to try lying on top of me.
These dogs are not allowed inside. They are way, way too clever. I pushed Tuscany off me and this only prompted the two of them to start skidding around on the tiled floor all around the house, making all levels of noise.
When I finally got Inca close enough to the door, Tuscany accidentally tripped out of it and Inca followed in disgust.

Final thing I've learned, Book Depository is awesome. I now have two new books, courtesy of the Kidface Christopher - both by Cathy Marie Hake, from the Only In Gooding! series.
If you're a fan of Christian historical romances, try these out. Okay, only me on this blog who likes them?
Well... so's your face.
So these two complete the collection - started by That Certain Spark (#4 in the series), continued by purchasing Fancy Pants (#1), then came the wonders of Book Depository with Whirlwind (#3) and finally these two, Serendipity (#5) and Forevermore (#2).
I tells ya, these be epic.

Now I'm off to bed with an extremely random post. Wooworktomorrowbooktofinisharghbamboom.

Musings about two weird golden retrievers

When I was 6, on a rainy day in my new house, I had just woken up from a nap.
(Yes, I napped. I still nap. Except now I don't complain. And we refer to them as siestas so as to seem special.)
My mother, who did not have to nap, was on the phone and was clutching a piece of paper torn from the newspaper. She was smiling, which was unusual for my mother on the phone. Usually she has this expression, known as the Ironing Face (which is similar to this picture), whenever she is doing a task she finds boring. Phone conversations never made my mother smile. Bleary-eyed and slightly confused, I knew this was therefore a conversation to eavesdrop on. I leaned around the corner of the kitchen and stared at my mother.


She hung up the phone, and just smiled at me. "Did you have a nice nap?"
Oh, how to respond? I was still tired. So I didn't accuse her of plotting. I just nodded at her and asked for some juice, which I didn't get, and promptly showed my own variation of the ironing face.


Anywho, the next day, my brother and I were bundled into the car. Chris was not amused, because he hated trips anywhere. I was not amused, because I had been told we were not going to the beach. We were going in the direction of the Hole of All Holes, Lismore. 
But before we crossed the frontier into Lismore's Disturbia, we turned. And drove to this place, perched on a hill, with puppies. Puppies.
Mum seemed to know what I was thinking. "You can pat these ones," she said. "But wait a minute."


And 10 minutes later, I had a puppy in my arms. 


Inca was nameless for a while. We vaguely referred to her as Puppy, You There, Oi, Dogface, and a variety of Spanish swears if it was my father seeing her eat the rosebush. So when my parents decided naming her after a civilisation which may or may not be part of my ancestry, and was butchered by the Spaniards, the poor thing was understandably confused.
Dad went outside upon this decision to test out the new name. Inca was eating a stick.
"Inca!" he yelled triumphantly. Inca lifted her head to see who he was calling, looked around, and continued chewing.
Dad looked a little confused, and tried again. "Inca!"
Inca peered at Dad in apparent sympathy. In her eyes, all you could see was Look, I'm sorry, but there doesn't seem to be an Inca here. Can I help? She couldn't, though. So she returned to her stick with gusto.
Dad strode over to her, and put his hand on her. "Inca."
Now Inca looked confused. I'm not Inca. I'm Puppy. Or Mierda. What is this?
"Good Inca," Dad said, triumphantly. He came inside. "The dog knows its name."

When Tuscany came along, we had given up on training Inca. I had written a letter to a TV vet begging him to make Inca go in her kennel (I got a letter and a leash as a reply), we had realised how to make her obey us, and she was not fat. We had succeeded. 
Tuscany, however, was like her chubby 7-year-old owner. She was round. Unlike her 7-year-old owner, Tuscany waddled most places. I instantly adored her, because unlike Inca, this dog seemed to not have much in the way of smarts. She seemed to think it a clever idea to try stealing Inca's food - a year younger, certainly not the most likely to survive if it came to a battle to the death, and fat - and came out of it with a scar on her eye, where Inca calmly told her that it was not in her best interests and bit her eye. 


While Inca was scolded for her efforts (possibly making her the dog she is now) it was still very, very amusing.


Anyway, so now these dogs are getting old. Tuscany still acts like a puppy and now thinks it's okay to constantly steal Inca's food (and Inca now lets her). She has this blanket which she carries everywhere. Her best display of athleticism was when I left the side gate open. She nervously walked out (I watched her do this, for giggles, because I knew I could actually catch her), looked around and sat decisively in the middle of the driveway. She has eaten a lorikeet, feathers and all, after it swooped Dad as he hung the washing. She ate a bee (very, very amusing). I dropped a chilli, and she put her nose to it, and spent at least an hour swatting at her nose in confusion.
Inca is a little more clever. She has realised that if you're not patting her, she can either hit you and get your attention, stare at you creepily, or shove her head under your arm. (She stares creepily a lot.) She used to be able to play soccer, but now she enjoys getting Tuscany stuck in places where she shouldn't be. She runs away with great skill, and more often than not I have yelled threats to her because someone like me shouldn't be running, ever, no, not even when the zombies come and take over Brisbane. I love her dearly, though.


A weird post but I miss them a lot, now I'm up here. I need puppy cuddles. 


(By the way, train your puppy to snorkel. Inca used to do it. Get a bucket, fill it with water, and drop a rock in it. Yes, Inca ate rocks. Anyway, if you do it right, your dog will drag the rock to the side of the bucket with its paw, take a deep breath and dunk its head in to grab the rock. First time she did it, I almost cried laughing. 
Also, try convincing your parents to not fill in the hole your dog has dug in the throes of pregnancy. Tuscany dug one that Chris and I were really impressed with. It reached the stage where we couldn't see its end, so we tossed Tuscany's ball down there. She had enough room to reach the ball, turn around comfortably, and return to us, ball in mouth. We told Mum gleefully and she filled in the hole. All the poor dog's efforts, wasted.
And Golden Retriever doesn't guarantee that they are gold or that they retrieve. They were bought white, often were red from the volcanic dirt, and never gave us anything they collected.)