Excuses, excuses, excuses.

It's becoming increasingly evident that these days most people refuse to accept responsibility for their actions, if said actions are considered bad form.


I, for one, am kinda over this sort of nonsense. I've experienced the worst of human kind this week and let me tell you...  Be under no illusions that your bad behaviour does not affect people.  It does. In a very big and significant way.


Adultery.  A crime punishable by death...  Of a family. Of trust. Of respect. Of dreams.


I wonder sometimes what goes through people's minds as they take the road to adultery.  How do they reconcile to themselves the gravity of the lies that are to begin? Does reason die in the face of lust fuelled endorphins coursing through your veins? Is the ability to remember right from wrong shattered by carnal urges, in the same way you are shattering the lives of your husband/wife, children, parents, in-laws, friends?


I'm sorry but to engage in an affair, at any given point in time, while you are in a committed relationship is WRONG. BAD.  TERRIBLE. Basically a BIG FAT NO.  And there are NEVER any excuses.  No matter what you want to believe.  There just isn't.  Not now.  Not ever.


Now, I'm worldly enough to realise (and by worldly I mean old) that in this day and age, there are very few things left in life that don't have an expiration date.  Love, unfortunately, is one of those things. But again; there's a right and wrong way to deal with things.  


Why don't we talk to each other anymore?  What happened to good ole fashioned communication?  Try it people.  You may be pleasantly surprised.


The excuses for being a selfish cunt are so pathetic.  I mean really. 

• "I have needs, they weren't being met"- Well boo fucking hoo.  Did you ever once stop to consider the feelings and needs of your partner? Here's a thought...  Where you meeting their needs?  I'm guessing not, since it would appear that life is all about you.
• "I got married/involved/tied down too young" - Unless you're married/involved/tied down with an 80 year old, I'm going to go out on a limb and hazard a guess that your partner was also married/involved/tied down too young also.  And your point is?
• "There are issues from my childhood that make it hard for me" - So what?  Issues. We all have them.  Some worse that others, but issues non the less.  DEAL WITH THEM.  Stop blaming everyone for what happened in the past.  Seek help.  Confide in your partner and heal yourself.  If you can legally drink, drive, vote and pay taxes then you need to assume responsibility for your life and take whatever measures you need to take to make sure you are a functioning member of society and more importantly, of your FAMILY.
• "I would have taken this to my grave" - What? Is that a good thing? Are we supposed to applaud you for continuing the lie for an entire lifetime? Most people who 'fess up under duress do so because someone is blackmailing you.  So seriously.  Keep this to yourself because no one will be impressed with your noble move to continue the lie. In fact, it's only going to make us want to give you a couple of more slaps and swift kick to the pelvic region.
• "I didn't sow my wild oats. I need to run free" - If your idea of being fricken awesome is to shag everything with a pulse, go for it.  I mean, if that's what it takes to make you feel good about yourself, then do it.  But again, right and wrong. Become your inner slut when you are no longer encumbered with a family.

As far as I'm concerned, there's never an excuse to cheat.  Affairs indicate a weak character, someone who has no self control or consideration for the needs of those they claim to love. 


Wrong.  No matter how you look at it.  It's wrong.  It's nasty. Don't do it.  Simple.

The price we pay for beauty.

It's 2011 and as you may be aware, I've decided that this year will be AWESOME!!

In that light, I've decided to overhaul a number of things in my life and top of the list is dropping a few excess kilos. Well, ok.  Fine.  Maybe more than just a few.

Anyway.  There are a number of things going on in the peripherals of my life, none more important than the fact that my youngest child starts school this year.  Like. O.M.G.

Now.  I have battled weight issues all my life.  I do have some legitimate reasons for finding it hard to shift the weight, but at one brief, glorious point of my life, I was kinda hot.  Actually, I was really hot.  Ok. Fine. Really hot may be overstating the issue a bit.  Hot to luke warm. A man once walked into a street sign because he was checking me out.  I have witnesses who can, if required, provided a notarised statutory declaration to back up my claims. Seriously.

But that's not important right now.  What is important is that I've decided to reclaim my hotness, or rather, my luke warmness and get my yummy mummy on.  The thought of my child being ridiculed because mummy's ass is generous fills me with dread.  Plus I want to feel good again.

So, where to begin?  Well friends, this is the course of action I took.  I was in a pharmacy earlier in the month and noticed that they were having a sale on one of the millions of differently branded shakes that essentially are the same thing.  Buy one box and get one free.  Really???  Cool, sign me up.  See, it was all carefully researched and well thought out. Errrrr, ok maybe not so much, but hello???  Buy one GET ONE FREE!!  

I'm now in my third week of the shakes and I'm seeing some results.  You have to look really hard but I think I'm starting to see the outline of some cheekbones and the scales are advising that I have dropped some kilos. And I'm pretty sure my pants are a little loose.  Ahhhh  woooooooooo  hoooooooooooooooooooooo!

The only thing is...  and trust me, it's a wee little thing that doesn't really impact my life unless I cannot get access to a disabled toilet within very quick walking distance, there is one side effect.  Now I know.  Those toilets are there for disabled people.  Trust me when I say...  I need it. Besides, it's not like I'm parking in a disabled spot.  Now that warrants indignation.

Has anyone heard of sorbitol?  For those of you that have answered in the negative, allow me to enlighten you.  It's the stuff they put in artificial sweeteners so it's sweet without the sugar content.  And do you know what this stuff does to the human body?  It produces anal leakage.

ANAL LEAKAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have you ever heard of a prettier way to describe an involuntary bowel movement?  I know I haven't!

Judging from the amount of times I've had to excuse myself of late, it's doing it's job. Not that I'm complaining.  I bought like eight boxes of the stuff and with 20 sachets per box I have at least another month or two of a very brisk walk to the disabled loo very far from my office.

Here's the thing though.  I'm actually enjoying not having to think about lunch.  Plus I'm saving some $$ by not having to buy and over priced and over cooked pasta or foccacia.  I'm starting to understand the science of the shakes and the effects it has on me so I can now almost time the mad dash to fit in around my appointments.

Sure, the shakes are a bit, oh I don't know, blah.  But since I'm at work and that's a much bigger blah, who cares? I'm starting to feel better about things (although my bottom doesn't quite share the enthusiam) and I'm actually contemplating going bike riding with the kids. So it's all good.

One thing I can advise with authority.  Consider what you put into your mouth on the days that you do the shakes.  Trust me.  That falafel roll with tabouli, tahini sauce and salad may make a nice break from a liquid lunch.  But coming out...  Different story. 

And unless you want to get a written warning from management and be reported to the Department of Environment for toxic gas emissions, please, I beg you.  Use the disabled toilets.  It's the lesser of two evils.

Playlists... and the forward button.

I like to think of myself as modern and with it (laugh if you will but I've been surfing the net way longer than the new generation!) but I must confess playlists on the iPod/iPhone confuse the hell out of me.


I am a child of cassette tapes.  I have many a fond memory of loading my ghetto blaster (my sweet 16th birthday pressie) with a brand new TDK cassette; 90 minutes thank you very much; and listening with FBI secret agent intensity to the radio to record the top 40 hits.  You'd wait with baited breath, finger poised above the record button, ready to start recording the nano-second your song started.  Then you'd sit, alert and waiting, ready to hit pause or stop before the DJ could ruin your mixed tape with crap.


Ahhhhhh.  Good times.


These days, it's all about downloads on iTunes and other programs I have no clue about.  Unless of course, you're into piracy and find you tunes on some naughty programs.  I believe there's one called Lemon String ;-) or words to that effect.


Me?  I prefer to download the proper songs, not so much for karma and not wanting to rip anyone off, although that is a factor.  My main reason is that I want the pretty album art while my song is playing.  Shallow?  You betcha.  But I hate that big treble clef that you get on your iPod when the song in play has no art work.  Stupid I know, but I still cannot work out how to import art into my iTunes account and quite frankly I cannot be bothered learning. So I get my tunes from iTunes.  But don't tell my husband.


I have amassed 1400 songs to date on my iPhone that I have personally selected.  There are over 4000 on my computer. Somehow, there are playlists I've not created myself with the exact same songs that are in other playlists.  How did this happen?  I'm too scared to delete them, just in case someone is watching and plans to haul me before a magistrate.


With so much to choose from, you'd think there'd be nothing to complain about.  Fear not friends.  Too much is never enough.  With such a large selection, there's never anything to listen too.  I mean 1400 songs FFS!!! And for some reason I spend most of my drive skipping songs until I find one I want to sing too.  WHY??????????


I have spent hours in front of my laptop, scrolling through my playlist and not being able to delete songs I haven't listened to for over a year.  What is it that compels us to keep stuff 'just in case'?  


Some songs I repeat.  Over and over again.  Others?  NEXT!!


Anyway.  That's my whinge for today.  I kinda pissed myself off tonight on the drive home.  It's like men and the bloody tv remote.  But that's fodder for another post.

Babies... a fiery and controversial issue.

Really?  Apparently so.

Nothing creates a bitch fight, or storm in a tea cup quite like babies.  As in making them, giving birth to them, raising them, feeding them, dressing them.  Shall I go on?

This past week, in a flurry of satin, organza, lace, lip gloss, hair pieces and glory, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban announced they had welcomed a second child into the world via a 'gestational carrier'.  Weird term, it means surrogate, but whatever.  At the end of the day, they wanted another child and went down the road of surrogacy in order to fulfill this dream.

The level of vitriol directed at this couple has left me somewhat shocked.  Some of the comments posted on facebook were vile.  I mean really people, you should be ashamed of yourselves.  

Even the press got in on the action, with accusations of designer babies and other nonsense.  Miranda Devine wrote this little article:

Buying a baby - not a pair of shoes

While she writes beautifully, I have to say I vehemently disagree with everything she's putting forth in her argument.

As a woman who has had issues with fertility, I can understand the lengths that some people go to fulfill their dreams of parenthood.  Some are luckier than others and can afford the option of surrogacy, while those of us that can't go down that road exhaust every other option available to us.  

No one has the right to pass judgement on anyone's journey to parenthood, unless of course you have first hand knowledge on the fertility issues of the parents in question.  Which I suspect Ms Devine does not have, re; Nicole Kidman.

The term designer babies is used too easily these days.  My idea of a designer baby is one that is custom made.  That is, eye colour, hair colour and perfect genetics predetermined and chosen before conception.  Not a couple's egg and sperm fertilised and then placed into a surrogate to carry.  What's designer about that?

People whinge and moan and carry on about a loving family wanting to have another child when out there, there are 'natural' parents who don't understand the concept of being a parent.  How many children are there in our society who live in fear and danger at the hands of parents?  I'm betting a lot.  Isn't it a better idea to focus on this issue?

Carrying a baby doesn't make you a parent.  Raising one does.

Congratulations Nicole, Keith and Sunday.  I hope your darling daughter and sister brings you all a lifetime of joy.

A new beginning??

So, I think it's fair to say that the last year, aka 2010, was brutal.  I mean, really fucking brutal.  On a scale of 1 - 10, with 10 being the worst, I'd rate it as a 25+.  You follow?

In fact, those poor souls who had to be in close proximity to me at the end of last year heard a large amount of C bombs, F bombs and not to blow my own horn here, I think I may have invented some new foul language that would make some truckies and bikkies blush.

Without rehashing all of the drama, I had a car accident (my fault), dramas at work (NOT my fault), meetings, threats of intimidation and finally a court summons.  What can I say...  December 2010 was freaking awesome duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.

Needless to say, New Years eve we were all in bed sleeping.  Now I know that the change of a calendar does not a better year make...  but here's hoping.

To aide the recovery and to hearld in better times for me and my kinsmen, I've decided to feng shui my life, see a spiritual healer and run a smudge stick through my house to release the negativity.  I reckon one of these has gotta stick!

So here I sit, crushing dreams and creating a world of pain for myself and my colleagues in the line of duty. I'm living the dream.

Here's to a better 2011 people.  We can only hope!!

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.