The good ole days.

Can anyone explain why the fuck we are in such a hurry to grow up when we are young? I mean, who hasn't yearned to be older when they were younger.


As a kid, time seems to drag on for an eternity, and the end of the year, Christmas and the summer holidays seem light years away.  When it finally arrives, it flies by so quickly that it's over when we've just settled into the groove.


These days, blink and you miss the first half of the year.  There are never enough hours in the day to do the things that need doing and you feel like life has hit fast forward and you can't keep up.


I now look back on the early days with the kind of longing that only comes with hindsight and experience.  I wish I had embraced every opportunity that came my way instead of running away from it.  I wish I had relished every weekend when all I had was the luxury of time.  I wish I had read more books when I'd had the chance, and slept for days.


Still, despite the craziness, life is relatively sweet.  I'd be lying if I said life was grand and perfect.  it's far from that.  Thankfully I have 2 little ones who still need a hug from Mummy to make everything ok again.


Seriously kiddies...  enjoy being free of adult responsibilites.  I won't lie, it can be fun being an adult and doing what you want to do.  But every ying has it's yang.  So for every great thing about being grown up (driving, drinking, partying, staying out all weekend and doing what ever you want), there will always be the negative (work, financial burden, heartbreak, disappointment) and the realisation that most of us grown ups don't have a fucking clue what we're doing 99% of the time.


Some people say it's the journey that's important.  I don't know if I subscribe to that theory. Sometimes knowing where you want to end up will help you chose the path or journey.  Whatever the case, don't be in a hurry to grow up, because once you've made the transition to adulthood, there's no going back.

Getting the hint.

This past week has been nightmarish to say the least.  I have to confess I am left mute at the blatant stupidity of people who have reached a certain station in life.


The circumstance aren't really important.  Suffice to say it's very messy, there are legal implications and I feel like I've been well and truly screwed by someone who should have known better.


The thing is, if this particular person and others of the upper echelons had bothered to say, "Whoops, our bad.  Sorry!" I think I could have swallowed the bitter pill far easier.  Instead, I've been made to feel like I'm over reacting to a paper cut, when in actual fact, I feel like someone has rammed a rusty knife into my solar plexus.


I wonder sometimes, what happens when you reach a certain place in life where you don't really need to worry so much about the people looking over your shoulder?  I'm nowhere near being this fortunate.  Most of my moves are closely monitored and scrutinised and slightest digression from the 'path' is commented on.  When you reach loftier heights, the line between right and wrong becomes very blurred and the line will invariably move to whatever side gets the person other than yourself the best outcome.


Thankfully, in the ashes of a fucked up week, I've seen first hand the real meaning of friendship.


One from someone relatively new in my life, but non the less important.  This person, who I fondly call the Dragon Lady has more balls and gumption in her tiny little pinky than about 20 of her peers combined.  You rock and it's been an absolute honour to work beside you.  I hope you know how much you've inspired me.


My BFF, the one person who thinks nothing of sitting quietly on the phone while I sob, cry and hyperventilate about my woes, who makes sense of the craziness spewing forth from my scattered brain.  And then offers an amazing gift to ease my burden.  Love you lots.


To my family, my kids, who were so worried when Mummy came home in a state of panic last week, who didn't even see the Happy meals they so adore and threw themselves into my arms to comfort me.  My Mr Nobody...  You are the reason I'm taking a stand.


Mrs Nobody is sick of taking people's shit.  No one should have to take it.  They failed to see my point of view.  I'm done being docile and accepting other people's views of what is best for me.


Listen up dick head.  I'm coming for you.

Delicate geniuses and the real meaning of intelligence.

I’ve had a very brutal last few weeks at work.  I’m made of sturdy stuff so generally I can cope with any shit people want to fling my way.  My telephone handset at work suffers a bit, however I do know when to bite my tongue and roll my eyes inwardly.

The one thing that really pisses me off however, is when people who believe they are above you in some way because they are learned and ‘educated’ treat you like shit and expect you to jump through hoops at their say so.  I call these people delicate geniuses.  Not that for one second do I believe they are geniuses, but it prevents me from dropping the C bomb and smashing things around me.

I’m going to say right here and right now that I do not, for one second, accept that anyone who’s tertiary educated is intelligent.  It’s been my experience that a great deal of people waving an undergraduate degree couldn’t tie their own shoes on a good day nor can they function as a contributing member of society on a bad day.

I’m going to go even further and say that those who’ve gone onto further studies and have earned some acronyms along the way (Dr, Prof. whatever) should get off their high horses when dealing with plebs and minimum wage employees like myself because I personally don’t care what your title is, if you cannot integrate across all levels of society and make people feel comfortable, then I’m sorry but you’re the idiot who should know better and clearly you are socially deficient and somewhat socially retarded.

Now friends, I don’t want to tar all over achievers with the same brush.  I have a number of fucking AWESOME friends, associates, colleagues and acquaintances who don’t wave their credentials around to make people feel like shit.  I just don’t get why some people feel the need to draw the line in the sand and state, I’m better than you.  I mean, is that really necessary?

I don’t know.  Is it silly to believe that we all are somehow linked and that we need to work together to make things happen?

I mean, what is real intelligence anyway?  Is it being about to discuss far flung ideals of a life no one will ever live?  Is it being able to understand, empathise and support someone you feel kinship for even if they are only a high school graduate? Would you prefer to find a partner who can debate politics and current affairs or would you prefer to find a partner who’s going to love you, care for you and give you an orgasm when you really need it?  Anyone can memorise facts.  You just have to want it bad enough.

My definition of real intelligence is this; Being able to interact at a multitude of levels with people from all walks of life.  As a person who is blessed with smarts, you should be able to go up and down some levels and be able to make people comfortable in your company.  Those of us who aren’t blessed with smarts don’t want to feel stupid.  It’s not a nice feeling having shit kicked in your face because you’re not genetically predisposed to be ‘intelligent’.  Being smart is one thing.  Being a smart arse is completely another.  Real education stems from developing empathy towards others.

Don’t get me wrong.  Sometimes people need a smack across the chops or a well timed eye roll: But not all the time. That’s just misplaced arrogance and probably means you need a root or a stiff drink...  Or both.

An alternative road to recovery.

So I've been seeing a spiritual for some time now.  Yes, ok.  Roll your eyes.  I know I second guessed the entire thing when deciding what path to take.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for experimenting with mind altering substances and things that make you 'check out' for a while.  I spent a number of years smoking nothing but God's best with a friend (good times, we can talk about that later!) however in my quest to heal myself internally (and no I don't mean a colonic irrigation), I've opted to not take any happy pills and try something on a more spiritual level.

Which led me to my healer.  Now, I'm going to confess that as a younger woman, I was really into psychic readings and tarot card reading and anything that would tell me my prince charming was just around the corner and we'd get married, live a charmed existence and be forever happy.  Then of course, I grew up and realised that life is just not like that and I thought, fuck it, I better sort my shit out and bought my first house, moved out and started to enjoy life.

But I digress...  The healer.  She's lovely and very knowledgeable on chakras and spirit guides and healing and auras and light and essential oils and crystals. I on the other hand, know naught about any of that.  Except for oils.  I like to burn then cause they smell great.  As for healing properties...  I'm sorry, you lost me there.

So this is what I do.  I drive to her absolutely gorgeous home and she's always so lovely and smiley.  We retreat into her healing room which is bathed in a yellow glow.  She's got some combination of oils.  We discuss a range of things that have been bothering me or we discuss any concerns I may have.

I then lie on a bed, covered with a blanket and she gives me some crystals to hold. She then rubs oils into her hands and I inhale deeply.  By this stage, I'm starting to unwind and relax and she goes to work.  What she does, I have no idea.  I don't open my eyes because any opportunity I get to lie there and not have say or do anything is so freaking awesome that I plan to make the most of every second.

In the back ground, there's plinky plonky music designed to either relax you or piss you off.  Me???  The first time I went I found it very hard to let go of every inhibition I had.  By the third session, I woke myself up with a snort.  Yep, I'd drifted off to sleep.

Does it work?  I'm not sure. After my first session, I was consumed by fury, an anger that surprised even me, Mrs Cranky Pants.  I'm not sure if this was due to the fact that for the first time ever, I'd forced myself to face some things I'd buried so deep inside that 30+ years of repressed anger came spewing forth.

I've been told that it's a process and that things won't change immediately. Ok then.  But I'm starting to look forward to being that that room with the golden glow, to smelling the oils and to breathing in the oil mixes. I very rarely get down time in daylight hours and to just lie there and let your mind drift, if only for 90 minutes is a blessing. Like I said, last time I was there, I snored.

Maybe healing the soul will be the better option.  I've been reading about anti depressants and the entire changing your brain chemically freaks me out.  I like who I am, even if I'm riddled with flaws and far from perfect.  The road to loving myself may take some time, but with the oils, plinky plonky music and some time to just shut my mind off will be a massive help.

But if I start to talk about unicorns and world peace...  Intervene.  I beg of you.

Giving thanks for the things that matter

After a particularly brutal week at work, rather than focus on the bad things that took place, I've decided to say thanks to the people who've made the experience bearable.

Firstly, I must say thanks to my family.  My poor, suffering family...  they bear the brunt of my impatience at idiots who do not;

• read their correspondence
• take ownership for their own shortcomings and fuck-ups
• LISTEN to sage advice from someone old enough to know better and who has perspective borne of life experience
• know when to let their babies grow up.

Despite my crankiness and exhaustion, there was never a shortage of cuddles and snotty kisses from my babies and my man.

My workmates rock.  A shared pain is halved when you have people who can truly understand why at the end of the day you want to pound your telephone handset until it resembles dust.  Why you sometimes want to scream at the insanity of 'executive' decisions that have no chance of working in the real world.

My PFF (poofter friend forever - his words, not mine!) who keeps me sane with his incredibly funny and extremely politically incorrect emails remind me that sometimes you just have to say FUCK it and laugh at the insanity that is our lives.

My BFF, my friend who's been with me for over 3 decades...  a great sounding board for the truly heinous days, when only someone who truly gets you allows you to vent like a complete lunatic without missing a beat, with no judgement of my filthy language, my insane rantings or the millionth email about the same old thing.

And then there's the surprise friends you make.  The ones who come out of nowhere, that you don't see coming but who somehow make a lasting impact and make you strive to be a better person. 

I must say, somewhere along the line...  in living my life, I must have done something right to have reaped such a great diversity of friends.  I don't have a lot of friends, but I have quality friends.  While I'm not rich in material things, my wealth lies in the ties I've formed.

So thank you to each and every one of you.  Without you in my life, it would be dull, colour less and empty.

Heros and role models.

For some time now, I've lamented the loss of real role models and heroes in our modern society.

The media, aka 'them' and 'they', thrust down our throats pathetic, vacuous and shallow people like Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan and the other train wrecks in Hollywood.  I mean really... what have these nuff nuffs contributed to society other than the word 'like', a predisposition of eating disorders, an overuse of spray tan and a new meaning to the word useless.  They all look like they need to be dipped in dettol and receive a scalding sponge bath before you shake their hands.  Yes friends, skany people spread germs!

And then the Victorian government goes and spends an obscene amount of tax payer $$ to bring out Tiger Woods, serial adulterer, complete and utter knob who couldn't spell the word apology if he tried.  Thank the Lord, someone up above saw the sense to rain on his parade.  I sincerely hope Mrs Ex Tiger Woods enjoys her generous settlement.  I would have sliced off his willy with a 9 iron had I been in her shoes.  Dirty man whore.

Thank god I am surrounded by amazing, strong, generous people who inspire me every day. 

To all the unsung heroes out there, I thank you.

To the skanks and man whores.  Get a life.

Like sands through the hour glass...

I've had cause to be at home on a number of occasions during the past few weeks and I've discovered that daytime TV sucks.  Like BIG time.


Quite frankly it amazes me that Days of Our Live (or DOOL to most fans) is still going, because I was watching this show when I was 18, and let me tell you that was almost 25 years ago.  Back then, I was a die hard fan, totally committed to the show.  I used to tape the episodes when I started working.  Bo and Hope. Patch and Kayla.  They were my main reasons for watching.  Nothing made me happier than suffering for these couples, willing them to get together and have their first kiss.


I also dabbled in Young & The Restless, Another World, Santa Barbara and was 'lucky' enough to watch the very first episode of Bold and The Beautiful.  Yes friends, I am kinda old.


I used to rush to my local newsagent to buy Soap Opera Digest (the US version).  When I moved out of my parents house and into my first home, I think there were two or three boxes full of them that I conveniently left behind.  At the time I just had to have them.  Years later, I wondered what possesed me to fork out $5.95 per edition back in the late 80s.


Twenty years ago, Marlena the enduring heroine, the one who battled through so many obstacles to be with Roman. These days, Marlena still looks amazingly preserved and there have been like a million different actors playing the Roman character.  In fact, if memory serves, there was once a brain washed dude who thought he was Roman, but was in fact a man called John.  And I think that the evil Stefano (who has died and come back to life more times than I care to remember) planned it all.


I must give credit where credit is due though.  If anyone knows how to put obstacles in the path of true love, it's soap writers.  I mean my God...  the dramas these characters go through to be together.  Most of us only deal with exes, in laws, and feuding friends.  They go through kidnapping, brain washing, corruption and more sub plots and loopholes than a legal document.


But Bold and the Beautiful.  Now there's a soap.  Back then Brooke Logan was a scientist from the wrong side of the tracks.  Some twenty years later, she's now running a fashion house and seems to have a penchant for men with shared DNA and has an appetite for her daughters men.


She's married her way through and entire family, Dad, brothers and anything with a penis and pulse usually.  Giving credit where credit is due, she looks fucking awesome for a woman of her vintage.  


One question though.  Why does she feel the need to 'accidentally' screw over her daughters?  Not that I can keep track of who and how many daughters she has.  Between Taylor and Brooke, the lines of familial ties is very blurred and I'm convinced that if it were real life, those children they spawned would look vastly different to the pretty people portraying them on screen.  I'm no scientist, but all that inbreeding would seriously screw with their DNA, bringing about all manner of scary things!


Ok, I can admit...  maybe the first time she bumped uglies with her daughter's man, you could say, "Shit, now there's a massive OOPS on mummy's part!".  But seriously, every subsequent time later you have to ask yourself.  Honest mistake or is she just a HO?  I say ho.


With all her money (I mean, how many times has she married the different Forrester men, her alimony payments must be freaking awesome), you think she's be able to afford a holiday to some Four Seasons resort somewhere, where she could meet a man with no ties to the Forrester clan and do the horizontal tango with them.  No, she prefers to stay closer to home to be a good mom.  NEXT!!!


I seriously need to get Foxtel.  Donations are accepted ;-)

Forks in the road and do overs

So after a stressful weekend, I've spent the day ignoring trick or treaters because this is still Australia and Halloween is an American holiday.  More importantly, as you may all be aware, I spend most of my Sunday afternoons on my sizeable arse, folding mountains of laundry.


Today of course, was no different.  And since I had the mother of all meltdowns yesterday, I've had sole control of the plasma all day, which is rather lovely.  So thus far, I've made my way through Legally Blonde and I've finished up with Suddenly 30.


I love Suddenly 30.  It's not just because Jennifer Garner is so wholesomely lovely and shiny, nor is it because Mark Ruffalo is so god damn hot in the most nondescript way (and OMG he can park his loafer on my door mat ANY day).  It's because it touches on a subject that I love.


Would you, if you could go back in time, change things and perhaps take a different fork in the road or do something over again?  I mean, how freaking awesome would it be to go back to an age where you know, with the benefit of hindsight, that something was so totally wrong for you, that you go in the complete opposite direction?  Imagine having the chance to do something again, and getting it right this time.


Of course, having that kind of knowledge would change the course of your life, but even if it's for the better good, is it the right thing to do?


I don't know...  Sometimes better the devil you know is the preferred option.  But what if it's not?  An ugly divorce, a violent relationship, an assault, a missed opportunity with the possible love of your life.  Or maybe it's just buying a GHD or that special pair of shoes that were on special (and you thought, nope, I'll get it next week) only to find that someone else is wearing your shoes.  Whatever the case may be, getting everything you wish for with the benefit of hindsight could be a very dangerous thing.


I'm not particularly religious, but I do believe in God.  I think it's important to have faith in a greater power/good/being, other wise what's the point in raising our children to walk the good path?  There's a saying that I hear a lot, although for the life of me I can't remember it right now, but it goes something like God only gives us challenges he knows we can handle... or words to that affect.


Perhaps that's why he makes some people so ridiculously gorgeous and talented (Angelina, Beyonce, Katy Perry, Brad Pitt, George Clooney et al) and the rest of us in his image. Because he knows we can use our other skills to get ahead.


Many years ago, we emigrated to Australia.  Apparently applications were sent to Australia, Canada and the USA.  Australia got back to us first and here we are.  But what would my life be like had the US application been processed first?  I'm happy we came to Australia, I like my accent.  But the shopping would have been way better in the US.


I used to sing in a choir years ago.  Won some prizes even.  Had Australian Idol, X Factor and the other million talent shows that are all over tv been around then, would I have tried my luck?  Probably not, or maybe I'd have auditioned and punched that smart arse Kyle in the gonads.


When I'm having a shit day, I sometimes wonder where I'd be now if I'd never met my husband.  I believe our meeting was destined.  I wasn't looking for anything.  It was such a random meeting that there's really no other explanation for it.   But would I have remained single?  Would I be upwardly mobile, driving a sports car and going to the gym every night, spending my entire wages on anything I wanted?  Quite possibly.


My oncologist told me I'd never have children.  I think I fell pregnant despite the odds just to prove him wrong.


So here I am.  A frustrated, pissed off, sleep deprived mother of two who wouldn't change a thing.  I can tell you this though.  I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, this time next week I'll be back here, on the couch, folding another mountain of laundry.  I'll be yelling at my kids and cursing at the fact that I need to go to work tomorrow.


I took all the right forks in the road, because they all made me the person I am today.  A little crazed, but overall, not a bad chick.  And I still have my dvds to make me happy.

Sticks and Stones

Forgive me, but that saying is total bullshit.  There is nothing in the world that is more soul destroying than a few choice words delivered like poison arrows.  It erodes your self-belief, your self-confidence and can render you speechless in the blink of an eye.

I say this because last week, after what I thought was a rather funny exchange on facebook, an old friend sent me an sms telling me she was deleting the thread because I was tough on her other friend who was mentally fragile.  Mind you, I was responding to her friend’s comment that I was a joke. 

Now you may be asking yourself, what’s so wrong with that?  Well nothing really, unless you’re me and have had enough of people calling you tough, hard arse, bitch.  I think it’s fair to say that we all have a touch of the bitch in us all.  I’d certainly hope so, because if being strong, proactive and creative means being labelled a bitch, then where do I sign up?

Fragility comes in all shapes and sizes and manner of people.  Ditto for strength.  You are never just one or the other. There are people in the world who suffer terribly from mental health issues, which thankfully, some of us will never ever experience. As someone who’s dealt with a number of mental health issues, I have made a commitment to myself to never allow my own issues to become an excuse.  I’ve made a conscious decision to be a participating member of society because I believe that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  Cliché I know, but true.

I think what hurt me the most, what really upset me to the point that I spent the morning in tears, was the assumption by someone that I’d shared so much with, really didn’t know a thing about what has made me the way I am today. Like I said, I don’t use these events as excuses, but every experience we have, both good and bad, has a marked influence in making us the people we are today.

I was bullied as a child, severely, continuously; a group of girls once dumped some a tub of water over my head for no reason other than they didn’t like me, they’d chant terrible things in the street.  My friends from primary school abandoned me in year seven, leaving me alone every lunch until I made new friends.  I had an emotionally absent mother.  I could go on but I won’t.  Because it really doesn’t matter what’s happened in the past. 

The thing is, you develop ways to deflect the negative. You compartmentalise the bad things and file them away deep in your subconscious so that you have a chance of living a somewhat normal life while keeping a lid on the crazy buried deep within.  I learnt very early on that the main person I could count on for anything is me.

You become a hard arse after a while because you develop a shell to protect yourself.  People find it harder to attack someone who can stare them in the eye and say ‘Fuck You’, without verbalising it. If people feel they can be honest with me and tell me things I don’t want to hear, but if ‘it’s for my own good’ then damn it, so can I.

The conditioning over 40+ years of life experiences have made me the woman I am today.  I love my kids, I love my husband, I love my family, I love my friends...  And I’m really starting to love me.

I sent my friend an email that morning, letting her know that while I understood her decision came from concerns she had for her other friend, that I could no longer surround myself with people who failed to understand me.  She was genuinely shocked and distressed that she’d upset me so much.

That’s the thing about getting older.  You learn to be kinder to yourself and you realise that you don’t have to take people’s perceived notions of who you are.  All that matters is how you see yourself.  Yes, I am a hard arse, I can be a bitch, I crave vengeance at times, I have a sharp tongue and an ever sharper wit.  I could have turned out much worse.  But thankfully I am blessed with friends, those who really truly know me, understand that sometimes my demons get the better of me and love me anyway.

And I think that’s the thing about friends and how their words, no matter how casually delivered, can cause you more pain than a slap across the face or a punch in the guts.

The clothes off my back.

Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like without clothes to hide behind.  You  know...  like at the start of civilisation, when doing a nuddy run was just what everyone did.  I bet life was less complicated than it is now.


Firstly, the advent of clothing meant laundering.  And lots of it.  I mean, despite what's going on around me, work, home, studies, illness, death, anger, fights with the hubby, fights with the kids, nuclear explosion; jocks, socks, frocks, t-shirts, pants, towels and sheets need to be washed, dried, hung out, folded and put away.  It's a never ending cycle (pardon the pun) of wash, dirty, clean.


Having said that, thank the Lord that we are no longer required to wear corsets, long skirts, petticoats and foundation garments that could kill you.  I mean, who in their wisdom deemed that attire fashionable??  I'm going to say probably a man.  Because they didn't have to wear it. 


I'm certainly not recommending getting rid of clothes, because we all know that there are some things that just need to be kept private.  Like your privates, which really aren't the most beautiful of appendages, particularly the male ones.  Sorry boys, true story.


When you're a kid (or at least this was the case in my younger days) you really didn't care what you threw on, as long as it covered you up but allowed you a comfortable range of movement.  As time passed, you began to realise that certain attire was view on more favourably by members of the opposite sex, although for me this awakening came very late in life.  Slow learner.


In a girl's life, the day you realise that life as you know it is over is the day you wear your first training bra.  I still remember with clarity and lingering post traumatic stress that it took me about two weeks to feel comfortable wearing one.  Don't be fooled into thinking it's a right of passage that's fun.  It pinched, it pulled, it dug into my shoulders and I just hated it.  Quite frankly, I could quite easily strangle, or at the very least torture the spark plug that introduced underwire.  That shit is just...  OMG effing annoying!! Although in an episode of Alias, an undercover spy used the wire to stab someone in the eye and free herself from captivity, so I'm reviewing my initial assessment.


So from that moment on, you realise that your boobies are kinda like currency.  If you're blessed with big ones, your popularity at school goes up in a big way.  The older you get, the lower your necklines plunge.  And why not?  Cleavage gets you dates, drinks, sometimes flowers and a lot of rubber necking from people who aren't subtle.


I'll admit, I used cleavage to my advantage in my twenties.  I didn't really have any other chips to throw into the poker game of life, so I used whatever resources I had available.


Now, I was child of the 80's.  Great music.  Appalling dress sense.  I mean, like, really, really, really bad. I'm going to be honest, I have no fucking idea what the hell we were thinking back then.  Fluro colours, tube skirts, satin shirts, the pirate or romantic revival, lace, crucifixes, shoulder pads, peplum jackets.  Thanks Culture Club and Madonna.  Because of you, I stole large O rings from my Dad's work van to foster my coolness.


I now stick to basic black most days. I laugh inwardly at the teen babies who follow the pages of Shop Till You Drop religiously and groan inwardly as they reinvent a 'new' look by introducing an updated version of what we wore 20+ years ago.


These days, the bra comes off about ten minutes after I get home and it's fabulously liberating.  If I could, I'd wear elastacised waisted trakky daks every day, with a generously sized t-shirt and havaianas.  Alas, real life means you have to engage with your surroundings which means I'm forced to wear more polished outfits from time to time.  And that's not a bad thing.  I quite enjoy frocking up.


But the bra thing...  Still trying to get used to it.

The wonders of the human body.

No dear friends, this is not a celebration of the wonders of the human body, soul, psyche or anything of the sort.

I wish to discuss the things we never talk about: stuff that goes in and then comes out of the human body.  Tied to this theme is the greatest of all inventions:  The public toilet.

I don’t know.  I’m going to go out on a limb here and say there are some things we just need to keep at home, preferably behind closed doors and without sound effects.  I mean, I know what you’re doing.  I just don’t NEED to know...  you know??

This brings me to the phenomenon widely known as the public toilets/loos/dunnies.  Don’t get me wrong, they are a vital, vital part of modern day life.  The amount of times I’ve scanned the road for a McDonalds restaurant so I can make the mad dash in to use the lavatory...  I’d need about 20 sets of hands and toes to work that one out for you.  But really, with careful planning (and a firm commitment to ease up on overly spicy food during work hours) you could probably hold off on the really toxic movements until you reach your home.  Imagine sinking into the white porcelain and being totally relaxed.  Your bowels (and the public in general) would thank you for your consideration.

I’m driven to discuss this for two reasons.  The public restroom at my place of work is next door to the office.  Today I ducked in for a quick pit stop and was greeted by the plopping sounds of a chockito hitting the water (poo for those of you who miss my meaning).  One whiff I knew exactly what the occupant had consumed for dinner and let me tell you, I think she overdid the mint jelly on the roast lamb.  Not what I needed at 10am.

I’m a big believer in mind control.  Allow me to share a story with you all.  I was born on another continent and as a single girl I spent many years delving into my cultural homeland by frequently visiting.  Now, I adore my family.  Love them to the moon and back.  Unfortunately, you become very accustomed to the lifestyle we are lucky to have here in Australia.  When you decide to see the world, you experience and see things you may never ever EVER see here. 

So one year, I made a surprise visit to see the family.  As luck would have it, that year they had planned a getaway to the country, staying in the ‘holiday house’ of a family friend.  So off I went, to visit them all for a week.  To my horror, when I arrived, the only toilet on the property was in the kitchen, separated from the cooker with a curtain.  Like...  O M G.  Furthermore friends, it did not flush.  You had to fill the cistern with a bucket of water from the creek to flush away the stuff, so the house rule was only number ones in the house; number twos’ had to use the outside toilet.

By this stage I was desperate to get back on the plane and come back to the safety of my ensuite, instead I let my cousins take me to the outside toilet, which turned out to be a lean-to above the river below, covered in ants, spiders and rotting wood with a bird’s eye view to the running water below.  I’m sorry but WHAT THE FUCK???????

So I held on people.  Not number ones but definitely number twos.  The mind control, especially at night, was my greatest feat.  No amount of cramps or spasms could bring me to use that outhouse.  Five nights, I held on.  The level of commitment and mental toughness I invested in those five days...  I can’t even tell you.

Granted, when we finally returned to civilisation, the explosion in that tiny little room was probably felt in the neighbouring countries.  But I had a flushing loo and privacy.

So please, I beg you.  Mind over matter.  It’s not that hard.  Really.  There are some things in life that just don’t need to be shared.  The chronic overuse of spices in this day and age has made this situation worse.  Cumin is NOT your friend as it exits the body.  Neither is curry or garam marsala  I’m still suffering post traumatic stress at the smells I experienced as a child at the ladies toilets at Myer in Bourke Street.  Granny poo.  Bad, bad, bad. 

I apologise in advance if you’re eating while you’re reading this.  My bad.

Beauty VS Brains

It's that age old question.  Which quality holds more value?


I ask this because I'm non sexually in love with a lovely young lady who's just gorgeous who's so impossibly sunny that I believe there is not an ounce of bitterness or rancor running through her veins.  She's insanely sunny, has an impressive amount of 'Huh?' quality about her and she's probably the most correctly accessorised person I've ever met.  She's effing awesome and I love her!!


I met her under duress, in a situation that makes most moderately intelligent people quake.  Not her...  Nuh uh!


She handled the drama with what I believe is her usual flair.  She smiled and was gracious and accepting and she looked gorgeous doing it.  I ran into her again earlier this week and and am still feeling the after affects of that run in.  She was bronzed to within an inch of her life, her eyes were the colour of an azure sky in Mykonos and she looked like she'd just stepped off a photo shoot.  She was filled with renewed vigour and looking forward to the next phase and while we chatted, I realised that despite being blessed with beauty and a very sunny disposition, she's sadly lacking in smarts.


And to be honest with you, I don't think that's a bad thing.  I mean, lets face it.  These days, it pays to be pretty.  Pretty opens doors that remain firmly shut for us mere mortals with hormonal imbalances, acne, mammary gland deficiencies and the inability to coordinate.  
It's just a fact.


I mean, how useful is having brains anyway??  I mean really??  Who cares if you can engage in witty verbal sparring, debate government policy, contribute ground breaking advances to science, dissect world news or the booming exchange rate??  That kind of madness cuts in to your shopping/gym/beauty treatment time.  I mean hello???????  


After we said our goodbyes, I had a feeling I'd run into her again, most likely in anxious times (hers, not mine) but I get the distinct impression that whatever life throws at her, she's going to be fine.  Things have a way of falling into place and quite frankly, I'm always going to have her back.  Because I hope that some of that glamour and gorgeousness will rub off.


In my next life I want to come back as a gorgeous woman with absolutely no brains.  Either that or a pampered poodle.  Kinda same same really ;-)

The spoken word.

My youngest child is seeing a speech pathologist.  It’s nothing major, in the grand scheme of things.  We’re very lucky we have two healthy, happy, incredibly cheeky children.

We had an appointment last weekend.  While we’re making good progress, it’s going rather slowly.  I’m not the most patient person on earth, and since we’re seeing the therapist under the auspices of the Extended Care Plan through Medicare, I’m well aware that we only get five sessions per calendar year, which sees the fees reduced to $70 per half hour.  Yes people, you read correctly.  The normal fee is $200 per half hour.

The therapist is great.  She’s been doing this for years and came very highly recommended.  Like most geniuses, she’s kinda quirky but really engages with her patients, which, as a mother, is comforting.  It seems to be working too which rocks!

We’ve discussed the problems, she works out exercises for us to do at home and sends us on our merry way thirty minutes later.

In the car on the way home, I looked at my baby, gazing out of the car window, watching the world whizz by.  There was such a serene look of happiness from the maxi-rider in the back seat, that I couldn’t control the tears that came.

Kids are remarkable.  At three years of age, life is just a massive playground and everything is fun, there is nothing that they won’t try.  They don’t care that there are ‘milestones’ they need to reach at certain times.  They just want to play and run and ask for chocolate milk and have a cuddle.

As a mother which a child who has learning difficulties, you punish yourself for not being perfect.  You go back to the pregnancy and try and work out what you could have done to put your child in this situation.  You second guess every decision you’ve ever made and wonder if there was something you should have done differently...  or better.

I know I’m lucky.  Learning difficulties just pale into insignificance when you look at families who are dealing with real health problems.  Cancer, heart defects, autism, spina bifida, the list goes on and on.  I don’t know how those parents cope.  How the enormity of their kids problems don’t make them want to scream until their throats are raw with white hot fury.

As a mum, you just want to make sure your child never suffers one day of knowing they are different, or not keeping up with their peers.  The early years are so crucial.  It sets the scene for all the learning to come.  I’m willing to go to every specialist in the country if need be.  As long as my baby is well adjusted and happy, then I’ll be a little step closer to being a good mum.

Of course, life has a way of bring equilibrium back when you need it.  My tears dried when we arrived home.  My husband was left in charge of our eldest while I took our youngest to the appointment.  And what did I see when we arrived home?

Apparently my eldest child had decided to embrace the savage within and was sitting in a pool of mud, covered head to toe in brown sludge, playing with river pebbles.  My youngest squealed with delight and was desperate to join in the fun.  The kids had a ball.  

I had a laugh and then inwardly cursed.  The white t-shirts will never be white again.  But who cares?

Political correctness.

***** WITHOUT PREJUDICE*****

It's a fucking crock.  Seriously.

Why are we all so afraid to tell it like it is??  Don't get me wrong, in one of my earlier posts I talk about 'telling the truth' and all that that entails.  Tact is something we all need to think about, especially when you're dealing with a loved one.

It has been my experience of late that we are all too happy to hide behind PC so as not to anger the gods. 

Well I'm getting off the bandwagon.  Here's a few things that have caused me much distress of late.

1. There are a number of groups of people who cannot drive a car.  It's unfortunate, but if you can recognise the groups in question then clearly I am not alone in my assessment.  To these people I say, good for you, stay off the roads between 6am-9.30am and then from 3.00pm -8.00pm.  This are the times when your lack of skills contribute to road rage and accidents.  You've done your bit for socitey with your culinary delights.  We thank you.
2. Hypochondriacs.  OMG shut up already.  Everyone has something going on.  I do not care about your infected ingrown toenail and quite frankly I fail to see how it has incapcitated you to such a degree that life as you know it has ceased to function.  Take a couple of Nurofens, get an early night then get on with it.  Turn on the telly and watch a couple of Discovery docos and appreciate the fact that you are alive, you are functioning and that there is ALWAYS someone worse off than you.
3. People who think they know it all.  YOU DON'T!  And FYI an opinion is a judgment and not grounded in fact.  It's just what you think and since no one really likes you but won't tell you to your face, it renders it null and void because no one cares.  Face it, although you may not realise it, you're stupid.  True story.
4. The automatic assumption that the male is still the dominant one.  Hello banks.  My name is on the account.  I am, in fact, the wearer of the pants in our household.  It really really really irks me that all the correspondence goes to my husband.  Bless him, he's a great husband and father, but a record keeper or organiser of anything is not his forte.  I'd appreciate it if you would direct your enquiries to me.  Trust me, if you piss me off enough, I'll take my business elswhere.  Just ask Westpac.  Get with the effing program already.
5. Gen Y.  What the hell?????  The world does not owe you a thing.  Get off your arse, get a job and earn your place in the world.  Get used to hearing the word NO.  You hear it a lot in the adult world.
6. AFL & NRL.  You are creating a culture of neanderthal men who think that women are objects for their gratification.  Pull your head out.  You get paid the big bucks, earn your effing keep already.
7. I have a husband, not a spouse or partner.  I'm a Mrs, not a Ms.  I have a gorgeous friend who is a self confessed poof who likes a good 'prosty bashing' (his words, not mine), I yell at my kids, like ALOT.  I try to remember positive reinforcement but I usually rely on bribery.  My bad.

It's been a bad morning.  Can you tell??

Glee.

The tv show.  I love it.

As the world gets increasingly scary, insane and out of control, I find myself escaping the daily news with this show.  There is something really comforting in absorbing yourself in forty five minutes of song, dance and eye candy.  It's my happy pill for the week and look forward to it with the kind of anticipation that children reserve for opening Christmas presents.

With so much going on around me that requires me to be grown up, sensible, practical and everything else 'non fun' it's really really nice to lose myself in the music and silly story lines.  

As stupid as this may sound, it makes me feel like I'm a teenager again.  I feel like the future is still undecided, that the slate is clean and that the possibilities are endless.  I feel like that dorky teenager who struggled with so many issues (as all teens do) but still had that flame inside.

Don't get me wrong, I love my life.  It's crazy, messy, difficult, frustrating, busy and very very full.  I'm not the best mother or wife in the world, but I work at it every day.  Some days I ace it.  Some days I don't.

I think it's necessary to have a reprieve every now and then. We all need to replenish the soul.  If you don't, the bitterness will grow and take over.

So for those forty five minutes, I get all gooey inside.  I sing along, I cry, I laugh and I share my joy with my friends who love it too.  The sms and facebook messages let me know I'm not alone, that somewhere, hundreds of kilometers across the country, my soul sisters are right there with me.

The best thing of all, my love of music, musicals and all things pop has been inherited by my eldest child.  Job well done Mummy.

Colour me beautiful.

Make up.


Don't question it, don't try to work it out.  Girls love it.


It's amazing how a little tube of lipgloss can bring us out of a major depression.  The love affair  begins very early on.  Sneaking into your mother's make up bag.  I was a child of the 80's.  Lots of blue eyeliner, frosted lipstick, pink and blue eyeshadow.


Blue Opal, Whispering Lilac...  these are the things that stay with you forever.  Terrible colours but I felt like a goddess wearing it.


Then came the Poppy revolution.  Red, matte and bold.  I was blessed with a pout.  Red was my colour.  The powder used to dry my lips, but I used to bring it back in the day.


It's a woman's armour.  No matter how flat we feel, putting your face on makes you feel like you can take on the world...  most times.  You go through stages where you are learning.  Clumpy mascara, pancake base, wrong colour, not blending in properly, drag queen eyes...  should I go on???


And then one day, miraculously, you find your groove and can apply your look with no lights or a mirror.  You've arrived.  You look natural but you've artfully highlighted your cheekbones with luminizer, bronzer and smoky eyes are popping.


I haven't put on makeup for many years.  The kids, sleep deprivation and never having enough time are contributors.  I miss it.  Years ago, I paid a large amount of money to learn to apply makeup in the Napoleon Perdis way.  I bought the brushes, a case and lots of pots and potions.  It was the most fun.  Nowadays if I do put make up on, it makes me look special.  Not 'look at her glow' special, more like 'don't speak in long sentences' special.  Or a drag queen.


There's something about a pot of colour, or a tube of lipstick that can fill you with such joy.  Men will never understand.  Although maybe for them it's the same as a golf ball, a car magazine or a PS3.


My makeup bag at the moment contains 3 year old Avon stuff.  Which is ok.  For the amount of use it gets, it doesn't make sense to spend the $$$ buying the good stuff.


But we all strive for the same thing.  Mac, YSL, Chanel, Stila, Nars.  The creme de la creme.  One of everything in every colour thank you very much.


One day I'll learn how to apply again. I'm looking forward to it!

Spring has sprung!

For the past week, we've been basking in glorious sunshine.  Hooray!  Spring is here!

It never ceases to amaze me, the effects of some UV rays on people state of mind.  This week, there has been a distinct shift in attitude and dress sense.  There are two categories of people when it comes to spring.  Those who love it and those who hate it.

THE LOVERS:

This week saw the arrival of havianas and sun dresses;  which is great.  But, it's still like only 6 degrees in the morning so it's a tad premature.  I know the sun's out, but the chill factor in the wind is biting.  Don't get me wrong, I'm a massive fan of havianas.  In fact, I'm planning on getting me a swarovski crystal embossed pair this year in TWO colours.  (They exist ladies, trust me.  Google it).

The tell tale sign of being cold is goosebumps  Not a good look.  So please, chuck on a pair of leggings.  I beg you.  You can dispense with them in a few more weeks.

Fake tan.  Ok, I'm just going to say it.  It's NOT a good look.  Ever.  Orange legs don't look natural.  No one is buying it.  Most of us know your rubbed it in (we can see the streaks) and no one believes for a second that you've been to Fiji, Bali, Bora Bora, Phuket or even the Gold Coast.  Over use of this product is rampant.  

Not long ago I saw a young lady walking around looking like an Oompa Loompa that had escaped from Willy Wonka's sheltered workshop.  To compound the problem, she was ensconsed in white which really did her no favours.  I wanted to stage an intervention but instead I kept on walking.

Please please, oh please.  This must stop.  

Getting fit.  On my drive home from work, I'm seeing lots of people out walking dogs, jogging, riding bikes.  Doing what they have to do to kick start their metabolism after a long winter.  I take my hat off to you all.  You have inspired me to do the same.

To the gentleman I saw cycling yesterday.  Sir, I applaud you.  Well done.  I admire a person who throws himself into a get fit campaign with gusto.  I hope that by summer, you are lean, buff and ready for some serious fun in the sun.  A suggestion?  You may want to consider leaving the cycling lycra for later on.  I think I speak for my fellow drivers when I say the vision of you reaching the crest of that hill was awesome.  And kinda disturbing.  Girth like yours is highly valued in some cultures.

THE HATERS:

Spring = allergies.  Red eyes, severe sinusitis, hives and a revolving door at your local pharmacy for antihistamines and nasal spray.  It sucks balls and is not fair.  Nuff said.

You have my sympathies.

Happy spring everyone!!

One day in September...

Well, actually no it isn't.

I'm sorry but how fucking hysterical was last week's draw??  And I mean, who really cares??

Oh, sorry.  Yes.  That would be the thousands of fanatics who's hearts leaped to their throats in the dying seconds of a drawn grand final.

As a somewhat dispassionate bystander, I just don't get it.  Don't get me wrong, I think loyalty is a wonderful thing.  It's the fanaticisim that makes me go huh???

My somewhat sane friend was so distraught at the draw  that she had a meltdown at the ground and had to be slapped back to reality.  I mean really people.  Have you all taken leave of your senses??

The brainwashing starts very young.  The amount of official merchandise in sizes 0000-0 is mind boggling. 

What exactly do you pledge your allegiance to??  Is it the team, a certain player, the colours??  Do you even know what it is you adore so much?? 

Maybe there's something wrong with me.  Am I missing the bigger picture?  I've been to a number of AFL games, and apart from perving on the extremely buff and dare I say HOT jail bait running on the field, I've got to say I'm at a loss.

The food is shit, it's bloody cold and the people around you can be kinda boganish.  I don't get the face painting, the screaming and it makes me laugh my head off to hear overweight, unfit supporters mouthing off at the opposition.  If it's that easy sunshine, out you go and show them how it's done.

So as the state prepares for another go at the Grand Final, creamy pasta salad and thin BBQ sausages are enjoying another round of popularity. 

The ballons and streamers have been pinned in front windows, the bets have been placed and the barbie has been cleaned in readiness.

I'm getting ready to sit back and watch the yelling and screaming unfold.  And while I don't really care who wins, I must confess I want the Saints to come out on top.

I can't explain why but the Collingwood Magpies drive me insane.  I blame the fans.  And Eddie.

Happy Grand Final everyone!  Lets hope we have an outcome this time.  I can't do this again for at third time.

Blood is thicker than water.

Family is a right pain in the arse sometimes.
I mean, I've heard and seen more dramas arise from family situations than anything Underbelly writers can cook up.  


Money, for some reason, seems to be the driving factor for rifts between family members.  Blood means nothing if someone feels cheated out of a few bucks.


Many moons ago, my family emigrated to Australia.  We arrived to no family, not speaking the language and my parents set about carving out a life for us in this new strange land.  As a four year old, 


I can still remember my mother crying in her room, the loneliness eating at her while she coped with three young children on her own as my father worked two jobs to support us and give us a better life.


I am in awe of their bravery, of making such a massive decision to leave all and everyone they knew to try for a better life.  I don't know if I'd have done the same had I been in their shoes.


Some years later, my fathers brother emigrated with his family and we had cousins and a support system that we'd not had for a while.  And then the wheels fall off.


Despite being family, we are all individual people with our own thoughts and opinions and sometimes they just don't mix.  Personalities drive wedges, create problems and fracture relationships that sometimes can be insurmountable.


My father is a pushover and sees the good in everyone, even when it's not there.  My mum is prickly and a ball breaker who always always speaks her mind.  Tact is not one of her strengths.  So yes, she can rub people up the wrong way.


For many years, we were estranged from my cousins.  I guess when they absconded with my dad's car and forgot to say buh bye, it was only going to end one way.  Badly.  I still remember getting calls from creditors chasing them for bad debt.  That's a problem when you have an unusual surname...  you always get everyone's calls.


Fast forward a decade or so and they reached out again.  And of course, my father being so generous of spirit, welcomes them back with open arms.  By this stage, my father's sister had also made the move to Australia and jumped on the taking advantage bandwagon.  Needless to say, my mother was less than impressed.  They fought over family for years, and still do.


As much as it pains me to say this, I am on my mother's side in this one.  It boils my blood no end.  It drives me fucking insane that the only time we hear from them is when they need something.  Is it that fucking hard to pick up the phone and say, hi, how are you doing?  Apparently it is.


That's the thing about family.  The perceived notion of having to work at a relationship is null and void because blood is blood.  My father is regarded as the sensible, reliable one in the family.  He's made a comfortable life for our family and there is a line of 'family' that think it's their right to a bit of that life.  Family sticks together.


Not always.  Quite frankly there are about 500 people I'd put ahead of my blood relations.  I'm onto you.  Don't think I'm going to allow this shit to continue.  The gravy train is coming into the station and the ride is almost over.