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.

Lady Justice

The justice system in this country is fucked.  I mean, seriously, seriously fucked.

Having recently gone through a mockery of a trial for child sexual abuse of which I was a victim, I think I’m well qualified to say that.

I was abused at the age of 8.  By a friend of a family friend.  In the home of my parent’s friends, with my parents only a room away.  Now, I’m not alone in this.  Some thirty years later, the abuse came rushing back when someone, his own nieces and nephew, decided to speak up.  At the end, there were ten victims.  Ten children who had been subjected to his sins.

Now the law is ridiculous.  I know that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, however...  it seems that the justice system has some rather odd rules that would seem to favour the perpetrator and not the victims.

When you spend over thirty years burying the memory of the trauma, you don’t really want to open up that pandora’s box because let me tell you, it’s going to be ugly.  My counsellor calls it disassociation.  You separate yourself from the trauma so it’s like it never happened.  And that’s what most victims usually do in order to survive.

Unfortunately, once that box is open, the wounds have festered for so long that you will never ever be able to close the box again.

First the committal hearing and if that goes well, the Public prosecutor will take it to trial.  This is where the pricey barristers earn their keep.  The defence barrister sets about trying to discredit the evidence.  They use your words against you, and try to confuse you by asking the same question in ten different ways.  They paint a scenario different to what you know has transpired and then ask if you’re absolutely sure about what you’re saying.  They allude to things, almost subliminally and if you don’t pick up on it, you’re in real danger.

The offender decides to plead not guilty and the one trial with the 10 victims is now 10 separate trials.  The first trial goes badly.  Not guilty on all counts.  By the second trial, the tide turns and he’s found guilty on all counts.  A major breakthrough with the third trial, he’s found guilty of sexual penetration and his bail is revoked and he’s remanded in custody.

A weekend in remand is enough to make him rethink his strategy and he comes to the table with a plea bargain.  And of course, since the justice system rewards offenders for admitting guilt, he knows he’s going to get a reduced sentence.

From the 18 charges still left to try, he agrees to plead guilty to 6 counts only.  The Public Prosecutor thinks this is a great deal and we are all summoned to the OPP to be told the news.  My charges are dropped in favour of the plea bargain. 

Abused by the pervert and now abused by the system that is supposed to protect the victims.  The prosecutor tells me he knows the truth, but it’s the best case scenario.  He’ll do jail time.  And at his age, it’s not going to be fun.

Like I care.  I don’t care how old he is.  I want the bastard to suffer.  I want him to cry until he’s raw inside and I want him to never have a good night’s sleep again.  EVER.

Sentence day arrives and the judge demands he apologise to his victims.  His words are empty and meaningless.  I want to slap the shit out of him.  By the end of the day, he’s off to jail to serve a maximum of 2 years in jail.  2 years.  For robbing 10 children of their innocence.

I can only hope he gets his just punishment in jail.  I hope someone makes him their bitch.  I pray that he gets rogered with a very large conditioner bottle every night in the showers.  I hope he gets a nasty infection in the very tip of his member that requires lancing with a rusty nail.

In the meantime, I’ll do my best to heal and move on. 

Status Symbols

I'll admit it.  I'm a sucker for the apple.  As in Mac.  


Completely obssessed with that white logo.  So crisp and identifiable.   I have coveted a MacBook Pro for many many years.  I am a laptop girl.  Always have been, always will be.  I love clacking away in any room of the house.  Except the loo of course.  That's just nasty!


Earlier this year, my dreams finally came true.  I happened upon a great deal.  48 months interest free.  I mean hello???  I could not pass it up.  No way.


So on my way home from work, I stopped over and spoke to a salesperson at the store.  I asked a billion questions, but he knew.  He could tell by the look in my eyes that it was a done deal.  I just had to convince my husband.


So I made that phone call. 


Me:     Guess what babe??  I've found an awesome deal to get my mac (or words to that effect)
Him:   What do you mean good deal?
Me:     It's like 48 months interest free babe.  I mean, 4 years to pay it off.
Him:   Wouldn't you be better off getting a pc laptop?  All of our stuff is pc.
Me:    You know I've always wanted one.
Him:  Yeah, but they are so expensive.
Me:   I know, but it's something I'll be using all the time.  I mean, I need a laptop now I'm back at uni.
Him:   Why don't we go to Harvey Norman this weekend and check out some other options?
Me:    S I L E N C E
Him:  Babe?
Me:    What?
Him:  Well how much will it cost a month?
Me:   Only $ 75 a month, but I'll try and pay it off quicker when I can, I'll pay more.
Him:  You sure we can afford it?
Me:   Yes babe, this is the perfect way to get it.
Him:  Well, ok.  If it's what you really want.
Me:   YAY!!!!!!!!


I have to say, it was worth the wait.  I love love love my baby.  Although if I'm honest, he seems to spend more time on it than I do!!


What is it about status symbols we feel the need to have or own?  I mean, I was seduced by a plain white apple logo.  I mean logically I know I could probably have bought about 4 laptops for the price I paid for mine.


But I wouldn't change a thing.  I work hard.  We both do.  I don't think it's a crime to indulge every now and again.  It makes life worth living.


Now if only I could buy magazines again.  I love a good mag.  It's something about the smell of the very expensive paper they use.  So shiny, glossy and smells......  expensive.


Maybe one day...  when the kids are off our hands :-)

Chick Flicks

Love them.  

They don't have a deeper meaning, they don't try to save the world.  It just affords me some time so sit and enjoy.  Get a handsome man, a beautiful woman, throw in some obstacles they need to overcome, but at the end of the day, they end up together and everyone ends up happy.

Some time ago, I sat in class surrounded by some very young students and one ego maniac of a tutor.  He claimed in class that anyone who indulges in romantic comedy has no life.

Ummmmm  what?

Most of my classmates were very quick to agree and the discussion turned to 'serious' movies, you know, the kind that 'intelligent' people prefer.  That kind of attitude really pisses me off.  Wait until you've got some life experience before you cast such a broad and offensive statement.

What's wrong with wanting a couple of hours of lightness, bubbles and happy endings?

NOTHING!!!!

I watch other types of movies too, but the other day I was tortured by watching The Road.  By the end of this movie, I felt like taking a hot bath and then rocking in the corner in the foetal position.  It's spectacularly depressing and not a movie I'd recommend to anyone who may be in a fragile state of mind.

Life is shitty enough without having to resort to watching further depressing plots and the possible future that awaits us.

I'll stick to my movies, the ones that make me smile, the ones I can share with the kids.  Demonic possessions, armageddon and zombie producing viruses can find a home somewhere else.

What... This old thing?

You know I never imagined I would be one of these women who hides things from their husband.

I was working for over 15 years by the time we met and fell in love.  So I was very accustomed to doing what I wanted, when I wanted.  And buying whatever took my fancy...  within reason of course.

Now, with a large mortgage, two children to educate, life's very different.  Every purchase needs to be second guessed and considered, especially the bigger stuff.  Lucky for him, I'm neither a clothes horse, I don't go out with the girls, neither of us drinks or smokes.  My only weakness will forever be handbags.  Leather.  Always leather.

So a few months ago, I came into some money.  As did he.  It's called tax time and this time my agent really earned his fee!

So I did what any normal red blooded woman would do.  I bought myself a gorgeous red Oroton.  Ok, well not just one.  I also got the brown hobo too.  I've earned it!  I work my arse off, I juggle being a full time parent and a full time employee while juggling part time studies.  Something's gotta give; don't you think?

So there they lay, in the back of the wardrobe, wrapped in their protective bags, waiting for their day in the sun.

Be patient my pretties.  Your time is coming, sooner than you think.

And when he asks, I'll reply; "What?  This old thing?  I've had it for years."

Another Saturday night.

Twenty years ago, I could not fathom staying home on a Saturday night.  Back then, nothing happened until after 10pm.  These days if I'm conscious at this time there's something very wrong.


I've been loading my itunes with all of my old cd's.  Each one carries a special memory; some good and some not so good.  But all of them helped shape the person I am today.  I love my music.  I am a massive fan of pop and anything with a beautiful lyric, melody or harmony.  I don't do angry music.  I don't see the point in listening to anger and angst and all the other weird shit people write songs about.  I have no problem with anyone who favours this type of music, but it's not for me.


I prefer to surround myself with happy songs that make me smile and at times, help me through a really bad times.


There's nothing like hearing an old song that triggers a memory and suddenly, I'm back in my bedroom at Mum and Dad's place.  I'm 16 again, yearning for a boyfriend to love me, dreaming about what might be.  My heart skips a beat and the past twenty odd years fade away to nothing.


I still remember taking a long leisurely shower, rubbing perfumed moisturiser all over me.  Stressing about what to wear, how to style my hair, the make up and of course the handbag and shoes.  Back then, spending $300 for a pair of shoes was nothing.


I'd crank up the latest release and sing away as I got ready for whatever the universe would put in my path.  It was all about matte lipsticks and Poppy King was THE lipstick queen.  I was blessed with a serious pout.  And a red pout was hot.  Mummy had it going on back in the day, although to look at me know, you'd never know it. 


By 10pm, I was in my car, showered in Poison or Lou Lou, on my way to pick up my then best friend...  a person I thought I'd never live without.  


We've drifted apart now.  I miss her.  I miss the freedom of being young and crazy.  When life was a blank canvas and anything was possible.


Now my idea of a perfect night is dinner with the kids and my hubby.  Watching a dvd or falling asleep in front of a dvd.  How life has changed.  


I miss the old days sometimes; when life is crazy and there are a million things I need to do.  But when I put my kids to bed, and they are sleeping like angels, my heart constricts with pure love.


Sssssshhhhhhhhhhh...  Don't wake them!

An apple for the teacher.

So I've gone back to uni this year, after 20 years.

I have to say, I'm loving it.  My fellow students, however, kinda irritate the crap out of me; particularly the school leavers.

In my class, there is a group of young boys, who continually stare and smirk at the old chook (me) in the tute.  I'm not exactly what it is about me they find so funny, but it's all there on their faces.

Sure, I may have twenty years on them, age wise, but seriously boys, I'm actually not an alien. I wonder if they've even stopped to consider that I was once as young and stupid as they are.  It's hard to relate to someone with life experience when your slate is clean and wide open and you have yet to make the kind of mistakes that shape the adult you will become.

And then there's the two students that spend the entire class on facebook and twitter.  I mean, why?  What's so important that can't wait until you're free?  I'm a massive fan of the internet, but there's a time and place for everything don't you think?

So while they sit across from me and smirk and laugh at what I have to say, I'll roll my eyes inwardly and just eyeball them.  In 20 years time, you'll know what I mean.  Ditto for the internet twins.

A form of torture.

Sleep deprivation.


It's still a common form of torture, and as a parent you readily surrender yourself to this torture without a thought.


I have been sleep deprived for about 5 years now.


I don't get kids.  During the week, mine carry on about being tired and wanting to sleep, but on the weekends they are up and ready for trouble at 6am.  If I'm lucky, I get to sleep in till 6.30am.  Woooohhoooooo  bonus.  NOT.


I wonder what part about sleeping they don't get??  They get cranky and moody if they don't nap during the day but actually getting them to relax and rest is like pulling teeth.


Seriously...  all I seem to want to do at the moment is SLEEP.  There is nothing more delicious than laying in bed and floating in that warm fuzzy place while life goes on outside your window.  I need some one on one bonding time with my doona and pillow.  


I've decided that when the kids are ready to sleep in till noon on the weekends, I'm going to crank up the ABBA tunes and also Milli Vanilli.  Payback's a bitch and so is Mummy.

God helps those who help themselves.

I am pissed off.  In a very big way.

I like to think I'm open minded enough to rise above the usual bullshit and still offer help to those that need it.  I will not, however, knowingly allow someone to continually blame me and the world for their lot in life.

At some point in life, you have to step up and accept responsibility for your own life.  I am so fucking over this percieved sense of entitlement that people seem to have.  I am therefore I deserve. AAhhhh no actually, you don't.

Here's the thing.  Regardless of what you think the world owes you, the only person responsible for you is YOU!  Wake up to this and everything will be much easier.  It's really easy to blame everyone else for the fact that you aren't cutting it in the big ole world but at the end of the day... what are you actually doing to better your own situation.

These days it's all about mental health and depression and anxiety.  That's all well and good and I know that some of these issues are extremely debilitating.  But if someone extends you a helping hand, don't bite it then whinge and moan at how hard your life is.

Today I saw first hand a person so crippled by rage and percieved injustices that they could not see the help that was there all along.  And I'm sorry, while I understand that life has dealt you some knocks, blaming everyone around you is not going to get you the help you need.

Sometimes in life you just have to say...  Ok guys, I fucked up big time.  Is there a way forward from here? 

I'll be more inclined to help you if you're honest.  If you blame everyone else, the door will close.

I need a laydown.  And some Bex.  With a nip of sherry.