Lifestyles of The Broke And Aimless

It occurred to me that other day that I should be utterly appalled and horrified by own monumental laziness, but then I just couldn't be BOTHERED. In fact I have been so aimless and idle of late, that I haven't got a single interesting thing to tell you. Which is the same as usual, so let's press on.

At the beginning of April, Mr 9 was scheduled to have day surgery for some dental procedures. I worried endlessly about telling him, thinking he would FREAK. In the end it turned out that I was the one freaking. He was quite pleased with the idea of having a day or two off school and happily bounced around and beamed. The more he bounced and beamed, the more I paced and panicked. I am tragic. Pathetic.

We arrived at the day surgery at the scheduled time of 2.30pm by which point Mr 9 was ready to chew my arm off. He wasn't nervous at all. Just RAVENOUS. He finally strolled nonchalantly into theatre, while my heart pounded a chorus. Micky Blue Eyes and I then went to a nearby café to wait and have a coffee.  I then realised, I hardly ever frequent Cafes, which is, of course, in keeping with my classy bogan lifestyle. But, for somebody who considers herself the Queen of Cakies, this is just WRONG. Then we were booted out of the place when they were closing at 5pm, which was quite rude. After all we had spent a grand total of seven bucks sixty on two coffees. Hmph.

As we still had some time to fill in before Mr 9 would be out of theatre, we then decided to go on a lovely trip down memory lane and walk through the hospital where Micky Blue Eyes had had his Cancer operation and then endured six months of chemo therapy. These are the kind of memories that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. In fact, I did feel extremely grateful, as it could of turned out so differently. We both remembered the day when Mick's brother, Rob, visisted him at the hospital and took Mr 11, then a digger obsessed Mr 3, for a walk outside to see all the diggers at work as there were buildings under construction there at the time. Little did we know, that Rob would also be diagnosed with Cancer shortly thereafter, and pass away in 2008. It was a sombre reminder of how lucky we are.

Arriving back at the day surgery, we trudged back in through the car park. At this point there were only 3 vehicles still parked there. Ours and the two belonging to the surgeon and the anaesthetist. A shiny, new BMW, and an equally shiny and new Mercedes-Benz - and, a beat up corolla with a Carpenters sticker and a Western Sydney Wanderers sticker on the back. I'm sure you'd never guess which car was ours. Can you spot the bogans car?

We were then ushered back in to see a pale Mr 9 who was unfortunately rather ill from the anaesthetic. The dental procedures went well, however. Consequently, it was another hour or so before we could leave. Eventually we headed home where Mr 9 was able to sleep it off.

The following week involved going to yet another one of the 'mini' Fetes at the boys school. I am still waiting for them to have a 'massive' Fete. Not really. Mini Fete is tedious enough. Lining up for a sausage on stale bread. Yum, yum. But, as Mr 11 had seemed really keen for me to attend, asking me repeatedly "Are you coming, Mum?" I felt I should go. The real reason, he had been so anxious for my presence soon became obvious when he asked if he could go home early. It was the last week of term and less than an hour until bell time, so I agreed.

In no time at all school holidays were here, which means the boys mates have been over here nearly every day. One of them, in particular is proving quite difficult to extricate from the premises. The other day, Micky Blue Eyes had no sooner finished telling him he should probably go home after being here for several hours, as his Mum might be wondering where he was, then five minutes later I turned around and there he was in the kitchen, helping himself to a Nutella sandwich. Nice one.

So, instead of succeeding in getting the boys friends to leave, we decided to leave the premises for a day and go for a drive to Megalong Valley last Thursday. Up the mountain we meandered, finally stopping at a bakery. Cakie things! Then, we headed down the winding roads to Megalong Valley, where we went on a bush walk. We certainly did not stop in at the Tea Rooms there and have scones with jam and cream afterwards. No way. I never do anything like that. Ahem. It was, indeed, a delightful day. Five very contented bogans headed back to Boganville and our wonderful lifestyle of the broke and aimless.

In fact, I have realised there is alarming evidence of my slack-arsed, lackadaisical approach to life all around me. Such as:

• I have lots of charming baby photos adorning the walls. The 'baby' in question is turning 12 in July.
• The wardrobe in one of the boys rooms has one door on it that does not close. It has been that way for several years.
• We decided to look into the possibility of getting a brand new kitchen installed. After getting one quote, we haven't bothered pursuing it any further.
• We pondered the idea of perhaps going to New Zealand for our next holiday, then realised we would have to get passports, at which point it all seemed like too much effort. No doubt we will end up somewhere like Dubbo, where I will bitterly regret my lethargic ways.
• Similarly, I see friends photos of their overseas trips on Facebook and am jealous for a grand total of five seconds before realising, I couldn't actually be bothered schlepping overseas.
• Micky Blue Eyes suggested looking into getting a new phone. I should be excited about it, instead, I haven't bothered.
• I am finally catching up with some friends this weekend. I haven't seen them since February. I think.
• I am a 42 year old P Plate driver, after procrastinating for years from going for my license. I had the perfect opportunity to progress off my P plates to a full license, as my license expired a week or so ago. All I had to do was take another Driver Qualification Test. Instead, I didn't bother and renewed my P2 license until October 2015.

In fact it was just the other day that I had to go the RTA to renew my license. Micky Blue Eyes announced:

"I think we should walk there."

 I decided he is demented. Then, I realised I am even more demented, as I allowed him to talk me into it. We set off. It was quite a considerable distance, through various streets I'd never walked down before in my life, in spite of living in Boganville for 14 years. At one point we walked past a house that looked like something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive. Two doors down, another house resembled some sort of spaceship. I'd never noticed it before even though I must have driven past hundreds of times. Interesting. It was actually a very enjoyable walk.  The only problem was that, after we got there, went to the RTA and bought a few groceries, that we realised that walking all the way back wasn't going to be quite so enjoyable. We had to walk back up the hill which we had walked down, carrying a shopping bag in each hand. This proved quite tiring, so we stopped and rested on a bench.

It was there that, Mick, who loves trees, plants and all nature, commented that he suspected there were marijuana plants growing right there. Only in Boganville, right?  Ironically, I wouldn't know a marijuana plant from any other plant, being totally clueless and inexperienced in all things narcotic, despite being a born and bred bogan all my life. We finally made it home, where I scrutinised my new license photo and then wished I hadn't. Naturally.

In other news, I am seeing a counsellor at the Women's Health Centre in yet another attempt to make some sense of my Ass burgers thing and all the issues I have that go with it. It is going well so far, and will be ongoing for a while. In addition to this, the counsellor suggested I could join a group she is running called Fifty Shades of Purple. It is meant to be about self-esteem and mindfulness for women. I certainly hope there is no bondage involved. I also saw the Naturopath there and started taking some of her 'Witches Brew'. It tastes like ...actually I don't know what it tastes like because I've never tasted anything so fucking vile in my life. But hopefully it will work.

That is all for this edition of Lifestyles of the Broke And Aimless. Never fear, I will be back to bore you again very soon.

Should we have taken that suspected marijuana plant home? Will I ever progress off my P plates? Who really cares, anyway? Certainly not me, I'm going for a good lie down.

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2000- A Bogan Odyssey

Before we get to the year 2000,let me take you back even further. Far back, to a time and place where men were real men, women were real women and clueless, tragic bogans from Boganville were real clueless, tragic bogans from Boganville. The early 1990's. 1993 to be exact. The announcement was about to be made about which city would be hosting the 2000 Olympics as I headed out to a bush dance, where I actually sat in the corner and didn't dance at all, being the wild and crazy party animal that I am. But clearly I looked stunning, sporting a poodle perm, way too much make-up and wearing a gorgeous combo of dark purple jeans and floral body suit. Yep, stunning. I'm absolutely postitive that look stunned people.

1993 Ness

Later that night, the announcement that (almost) everyone had been waiting for came.

The winner is - Sydeney!!

I recall my friends being gleeful at the news, excited that the Olympics would be in their city in seven years time. Meanwhile, I stifled a yawn. You see. sport bores the bejesus out of me. The Olympics = Yawnfest. I honestly couldn't have cared less. In fact the most exciting event of 1993 for me wasn't the announcement of the Olympics coming in 2000, at all,  but the release of a biography about the Carpenters entitled The Carpenters: The Untold Story. I still remember my trembling fingers reaching for it from the shelf at Dymocks and triumphantly purchasing it. I was temping at the Taxation Office in the city. Rushing back from my lunch hour I breathlessly lifted my book out to show several bewildered colleagues.

"Look what I got!" I exclaimed, eyes shining. They looked up, surprised to remember that I was even there, as I rarely spoke. Spotting the book, their surprised looks turned to ones of dumbfounded incredulity. "Oh, isn't that nice?" mumbled one person in the same insincere and dubious tone one would reserve for a lunatic as they slowly backed away and out the door, before fleeing for their life. My excitement dissipated. I sheepishly shoved the book back into the bag. You can imagine the joy it is to be me and feel so well liked and have so much in common with other people. NOT.

Fast forward 7 years and I was now a sophisticated and mature married woman, having swapped the poodle perm for an elegant, short bowl hair cut. Style icon extraordinaire. That's me. Don't even try to emulate me. You'll never pull it off. I'm unique.

It was New Year's Eve 1999. So naturally, Micky Blue Eyes and I were about to party like it was 1999. Because it was 1999. Until midnight. When it would become the year 2000. The 21st century. So futuristic. I expected we would all be wearing those jump suits they wear on Star Trek before the year was out. Such a shame that didn't happen, isn't it? Just like that Y2K virus thingy that everyone was freaking out about. It was reported on 60 Minutes after all, so how could it not be true? *gasp*

Bogans partying like it's 1999,
until midnight..when it was 2000

The count down to the Olympics began. Not that I cared. At all. While the city buzzed with Olympic fever, I remained as impervious as ever. Micky Blue Eyes wanted to attend some events. I didn't. So he got tickets. I stayed home.

Then we also heard that the Olympic torch would be coming through Boganville at Stupid O' Clock in the morning. People actually planned to get up at such a time to see it. Meanwhile, the only way I would have woken up for it is if they had literally jogged into my bedroom and set my arse on fire with it. No thanks.

Micky Blue Eyes attended several events and took some photos.

I think it's soccer. Is soccer even in the Olympics? Meh, who knows. Or cares. Okay, millions of people do. Clearly I'm not human. Who knows what species I am. Some sort of curious Carpenters loving,bogan creature from the planet Zorg. Or something.

We also possess some 2000 Olympics memorabilia, including cans of beer that are still in the cupboard unopened. Yummo, 13 year old beer. As if it isn't disgusting enough, when it's fresh. Then we also have an alcohol flask, a commemorative plate and mug, in addition to wine glasses. All unused and proudly on display in a cupboard. Micky Blue Eyes out did himself. He is still unnerved by my alarming lack of interest in all things Olympic and sporty.

 That is just the way I roll. I'm apathetic and disinterested cutting edge and different. Deal with it.

Linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

Do you get Olympic fever? Or is all sport a cure for insomnia for you? Ahem.

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Devoid Of Devices

Here we are in 2013. The 21st Century. In a time and place where devices reign supreme. There are gadgets and gizmo's galore. Okay, I don't actually know what a 'gizmo' is, I just liked the sound of the word. Oh, alright, it's not actually a word. But I still like it. So ner.



These are my only tablets.

Disclosure: This is not even
remotely a sponsored post, though
I probably should be
sponsored by Nurofen, since
I keep them in business.

I must confess, I just don't have any devices. Apart from the ubiquitous lap-top. Nothing. We use a pathetic old Nokia phone. Between the two of us. It doesn't even have a camera on it.  Pathetic.  I possess no Ipad, Iphone or Ipod. The only tablets I have are Panadol or Nurofen.

I keep the Nurofen company in business. Yep, plenty of those kind of tablets. None of the other. It's too bad really. In fact, I'm not even entirely sure of what a tablet device even is. Ahem.

Actually, I don't even have a GPS. I still rely on the good old Gregory's Street Directory. Am I a dinosaur, or what? It's just not good enough. I simply need to get with the times. What on Earth is WRONG with us? We still have not become Cashed Up Bogans who text each other from separate rooms of our gigantic McMansion.

The McMansion we don't have..to match
all the devices we don't have..

It's bad enough being technologically challenged in these times by a lack of gadgets and devices. It's clearly unforgivable if you call yourself a blogger. I'm a phoney, guys. I'll be disowned by the blogging community after this confession.

 Furthermore, I supposedly have Asperger's Syndrome. I know. Perhaps my diagnosis should be questioned? It's not possible to be 'Aspie' and a technophobe, is it? As I have previously stated here. Yet, somehow I manage it.  You know, just to be different. Such irony. I could accept being a quiet, introverted Aspie if I was a technological genius along with it.

I'm not really sure how we have managed to survive such a serious lack of devices without exploding and dying.  I haven't even managed to take a selfie ever in my whole life, which is just all kinds of wrong when you're a blogger.  After all, I need to take my narcissism to the next level. You're all dying to see artistically lit photos of the bangers and mash we have for dinner, right? See what I'm depriving you of?

Since I have no devices to confess, for  the sake of further confessions, I will confess that I forgot to put out the Easter eggs for the boys yesterday morning. I simply slept in and when I awoke Mr 9 wailed: "The Easter Bunny didn't come! Ripped off!"  Then he burst into tears. Oops.

Some time later, I convinced the boys to check outside to make sure he hadn't hidden them out there, then Micky Blue Eyes hastily grabbed the eggs and shoved them in various spots around the house. That bloody Easter Bunny. He had better get his act together next year. Hmph. Ahem.

Then, Mick decided to take the boys to the Easter Show and I decided to stay home. I must confess I only felt a little teensy bit guilty about it. It was a tough decision. I could go to the Easter Show where there are rides, which I detest. Crowds, which I loathe and the lovely aroma of animal shit interspersed with Dagwood Dogs. I could trudge around dodging said shit, while the boys moaned about every single thing they wanted OR I could stay home. By myself.  Tough one, eh?

 I couldn't actually remember the last time I have been home completely alone. Just quietly, I revelled in the solitude. Does this make me a bad mother? I think it makes me an Aspie who is also a mother and I have to do the best I can to cope and having quiet time helps me cope. Quiet time that I rarely have. So, I tried very hard not to be guilty.  Deciding a glass of wine may help me with that, I poured one. Then another. Suddenly I didn't feel guilty anymore.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

What devices do you have? Go ahead, make me jealous...

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Bogans Do It Better

Before Micky Blue Eyes and I had the boys we were, of course, seasoned travellers of the most classy kind. Yep, we were jet setting bogans visiting every glamorous destination in the land of Oz.

We have been to every far corner of this vast land, including the delightful Dubbo, Denman (don't ask) and of course, Canberra SO many times because the War Memorial and Parliament House just never get old do they? And if they do there is always porn or explosives at hand as a back up plan. Apparently. I wouldn't know.

We survived the searing heat of Broken Hill in January and visited far away exotic places such as Tasmania. So, without further ado, I present to you the very best bogan holiday snaps, because, truly, bogans do it better.

Bogans doing it better
on Fraser Island

There was our memorable trip to Fraser Island, where we went on a four wheel drive expedition. Micky Blue Eyes was quite keen on the idea, and I was keen on the idea of lazing about the motel reading a book. But he dragged me along. Ironically, I seemed to withstand the rather bumpy ride quite well, while Mick was a tad shaken by the experience. This is the man who considers himself on a par with Bear Gryls. I expect he shouldn't have a problem with drinking his own wee then, should the situation ever arise. I would, however, so I would prefer it if he left me out of his outback treks. I drink enough cask wine that tastes like piss, thanks very much.

Outback Bogan Woman: I scared the dingoes away.

At least all the dingoes roaming about the island did not mess with me. No way. I looked scary.

Then, there was also our memorable trip to Western Australia. While there, we visited Wave Rock and Fremantle. At least, I think it's wave rock. Well, actually, I have no idea. In typical lazy bogan fashion, I've justed shoved the photos in an album and hoped I'd remember where they were taken. Might be, might not be. Who cares? I look like a dick head anyway. which is the real point of publishing these photos.


A bogan at Wave Rock. I think.



I appear to be wearing some sort of ridiculous get up featuring a hat and a shirt that reaches my knees. But then, I have always been a style icon.

Now here I am looking fashionable in Fremantle. So sophisticated. Especially my knee length shirt, which, on closer examination appears to be somewhat see-through. So my knees are chastely covered but you can see my bra and nipples. Classy.

Fashion icon in Fremantle

Whilst in WA we decided to drive way up North to Monkey Mia, where we spent days sitting on a beach waiting for dolphins to arrive. One finally did.

It was worth driving THOUSANDS of kms for
this one shot of a dolphin, right?

So there you have it. I could go on posting photos for days, but I'm sure I've already made you SO jealous. so I had better stop. Bogans just do it better.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths  for I Must Confess.

What exciting adventures have you been on? Bogans do it better, right?

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Not Another Bogan Holiday

We finally touched down at Sunshine Coast Airport after our dangerous mission, exhausted but relieved.  I braced myself for the next dilemma. Finding our accommodation. I may have mentioned that I cannot read maps. 

First of all we had to pick up our car, which wasn't located at the airport. We called and they arranged to pick us up. Since there were five of us I had to wait while Micky Blue Eyes took the boys back to their office to organise the paperwork. 

Pacing backwards and forwards in the intense sun, I briefly toyed with the absurd notion of heading back into the airport to jump on the next flight to Melbourne to surprise an online friend.  I could deal with the resulting divorce later. Didn't do it, dammit.  For I was about to become more stressed. I do not fear flying. I do fear maps. With good reason.

We circled around various areas in search of our accommodation, bewildered. It  was supposed to be on the Esplanade. Should be simple, right? Wrong. There appeared to be more than one Esplanade. We were on the wrong one. Which was fortunate because it was  looking a bit dodgy.  Eventually we found the place only to be directed to an even more dodgy car park underneath the apartments with an extremely tight narrow space. We all waited with bated breath as Mick backed in.  Being a hire car, we were very cautious about procuring even the slightest scratch.

The next morning I staggered out of bed feeling like a zombie and saw all of these demented fit, energetic people jogging up and down the esplanade. Bugger that. These bogans were headed for the beach however.  At which point, I discovered I'd forgotten to pack my bikini. Possibly due to the fact that I've never owned one in my life ever. Fortunately, as I'd forgotten to have the lipo-suction, boob lift, tummy tuck, spay tan, waxing extravaganza which would be required for me to be seen dead in one. So I settled for the daily routine of dousing myself in approximately 675 layers of 30 plus sunblock, putting on boardies and a t-shirt and being done with it.

Day two meant a trip to Australia Zoo. A most entertaining day out if you enjoy becoming bankrupt (crikey, it's expensive) while melting in excruciating heat that would make the 7th circle of hell seem like the arctic. You know, with a few animals thrown in for good measure. Leaving there, we travelled further afield to a dairy farm. There were quite a ridiculous number of cows. We just missed the actual tour which would have included being able to milk the bovine beasts. This meant we could just skip to the best part. Tasting. Ice cream. Yum!

Another outing involved a cruise on the canal gawking at the multi-million dollar mansions that most likely feature walk in closets the size of our entire bogan box.  One was the three million dollar home purchased by Steve and Terri Irwin, which Terri now apparently just uses as a holiday home. Reportedly Russell Crowe had recently been staying there. This may explain why, when, a few days later we dropped into a bakery for a cakie fix, we discovered Russell Crowe had been there just the week before.

As we drifted past we also saw the boat which Steve Irwin supposedly died on, The Croc One, parked outside the mansion. Frankly, at this point I couldn't be bothered moving to take a photo and neither could Mr11 apparently. He managed to get this half arsed shot as we sailed past.  Seriously I do not know where that child gets his lazy tendencies from. Ahem.

Our next destination was Hervey Bay where we were staying at a place called The Coconut Palms. A more appropriate name would have been The Inconvenient Poles. There were poles a plenty. You were meant to park in between them. Just when you thought you'd spotted every pole there was yet another pole seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Yep, you guessed it. The inevitable happened. Mick hit a pole when reversing into our spot. Luckily he'd taken insurance so we were covered but it was still a proverbial pain the posterior.

We spent most of the time in Hervey Bay visiting Mick's sister. I celebrated my birthday there.  42 was just another number and not the enlightening experience I had hoped. Sigh. My sister-in-law was kind enough to give me a gift of various goodies, including chocolates, mascara, sun block and an intensive anti-wrinkle moisturiser. But I choose not to take offence at the latter. She just gave them to me because she works in a pharmacy, so she gets her hands on this stuff easily, right?

Leaving Hervey Bay, we headed back to Coolum. The most exciting thing that happened there was that Micky Blue Eyes took the boys to Brisbane to see a soccer game at Suncorp Stadium, so consequently I had some quiet time. Yes, that is exciting. Shut up. On the last day there we went for a drive to Eumundi. Spotting a bakery/cafe, we decided coffee and cakies would be most welcome and pulled up in front of the establishment. At which point, a woman promptly appeared and shut the doors to close up, glaring at us she did so, as if appalled at the idea of any bogan customers. Hmph. I should have stomped up to her huffily a la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman exclaiming "You just shut your door on us! Big mistake, HUGE mistake, you just missed out on business from the Cakie Queen! You would have at least trippled your daily profits! And we went to the same bakery as RUSSELL CROWE, so yours isn't even good enough for us!! So ner!"

Driving on we ended up at Noosa Heads, where obviously we were not about to attempt to enter any of the posh restaurants lining the street, and being glared at yet again like the pathetic (but hungry) bogans we were (or are). Instead we ended up in a deserted food court where the only shop open was a kebab place so we feasted on kebabs and hot chips. Classy. Hunger pangs satisfied, we headed to the beach. We sat down while the boys frolicked on the sand. It was a most beautiful scene, with the sun beginning to set lazily over the ocean, but I am not very good at descriptions (or photography) so you'll just have to imagine it.

There were many people and sand castles dotting the beach, including a most impressive one, resembling an Indian Temple. Obviously it had been painstakingly created by some nearby Indian men.  As we sat admiring it, Mr4 barrelled towards it. Cringing, I tensed as the inevitable happened before I could move to stop him and he pounced on it, destroying it immediately. The Indian men looked on, but luckily did not comment. It was a good time to leave.

Twenty four hours later, we were back in Boganville where we belong. Until another bogan holiday.

Linking up with The Lounge which is being hosted this week by Rachel from The Very Inappropriate Blog.

Do you think that woman in the bakery/cafe was a snooty bitch, or do you run for cover when you see bogans coming too?

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A Dangerous Mission

The car came to an abrupt halt outside Sydney Domestic Terminal.

"Hurry!" the driver ordered, eyes wild. I opened the car door to searing heat. Within seconds I was sweating profusely. Ten percent heat. Ninety percent nerves.

The suitcase thudded next to me. Anxiously, I gripped the handle, aware of the arduous task ahead of me.

"Come on!" I called to my young accomplice. The car sped off.  Through the doors and a sea of people. The rush of cool air did little to soothe my jangled nerves.  I headed to the agreed waiting place. Breathe, I told myself. Everything is okay. It had seemed such a good idea. So far, our plan was working.

Surveying the crowds of people, my mind raced. Where were they going? Why? Did they have such a dangerous mission ahead of them? How would I get through this?

Breathe. My heart was beating faster now. Dear God, would I survive? As I was about to do the unthinkable. Take three boys on a flight to the Queensland!!! Cue dramatic music. The Sunshine Coast, to be exact.

As per our plan, Micky Blue Eyes, had dropped myself and Mr4 off, and was heading back to his parents house, who live closer to the airport (let's face it, anywhere is closer than Boganville) to pick up Mr11 and 8 and return with his father. Because this is what bogans do. Just to save parking or taxi fairs.

An overjoyed  Mr 4 was peppering me with questions as we waited.  I answered vaguely, too busy trying to stay calm.  Suddenly, a commanding voice pierced loudly through the noise.

"Passengers travelling on flight JQ783 to Maroochydore, if you haven't already checked in, please do so immediately. This is the final call for flight JQ783 to Maroochydore. Thankyou!"

Maroochydore? Um, no problem, right? We were going to the Sunshine Coast. Pause. But where on the sunshine coast exactly?  Gingerly I unfolded the paperwork from my handbag. To my horror I read Flight JQ783 to Maroochydore! It was our flight! Mick and the boys were still not here! Shit! What should I do?

Now, obviously the best thing to do at this point would have been to just calm down and think logically. The flight wasn't until 2.50pm, which was still a way off. However, logic has never been my strong point. I immediately became alarmed.

Surveying the queues, my panic mounted.  Calling to Mr 4, I headed towards the end of a line, suitcase lumbering behind me. Mr 4 was agog with curiosity and excitement, oblivious to my frantic musings.  There I hovered, wondering what to do. An official looking woman in an orange Jetstar vest approached me briskly, perhaps noting my uncertainty.  She then began punching the flight number into one of the machines and printed out our boarding passes, urging me to join the line.

Frowning intensely, I did as instructed, willing Mick to make an appearance pronto.  The line moved along. No Mick. I scanned the crowd nervously. I let people in front of me. Still no Mick. The calls to check in for our flight came over the loudspeaker yet again. This should have been a give away that there was nothing to really panic about as they had said the previous announcement was a final call, yet here they were announcing it again!

All rational thoughts appeared to have deserted me, however and I became more and more jittery. Hurry up Mick!!  The same official woman noticed my agitation as I let more people in front of me.

"What's the problem?" she queried.  I explained the situation.

"You need to check in," she informed me, emotionless "otherwise you may miss your flight."

EEEEEK!!!

"Perhaps you should call him." she suggested.

"I don't have a phone!" I admitted, feeling foolish. The only phone we owned was with Mick.

"Oh here, you can use mine." said another lady in the line behind me, who had heard the whole exchange.  Thanking her, I punched in the number, my fear rising. Voice Mail. I left a frantic, babbling message to hurry or we might miss the flight.   The queue moved again. Still no Mick mercifully appeared.

"Call him again," the kindly lady offered me her phone again.  This time I spoke to a startled Mick, who assured me they were in the car, just minutes away.  I hung up.

"You should have told him what desk number you're at." the lady pointed out.

Shit!

"Ring him again, it's fine," she handed back her phone for a third time. All I could do was thank her exuberantly.

 I told a distraught Mick we were at desk 39. He said he was just coming in the door. Finally!  A minute or so later they all appeared, pale and panting. Thanking the lady again, we hurried to the counter.  We checked in our suitcases and headed through to departures. After putting everything through the security conveyor belt thing, we then hastened to our departure gate. 

Quickening our pace, we rounded a corner. A luggage buggy beeped at us to get out of the way. Mr 8's Ipod clattered to the ground in front of it. Mick lunged, grabbed it just in time and we continued our break neck pace through the airport. A long ago memory flashed through my mind. Of returning home from a family holiday to Holland when I was only ten years old. Somehow my parents had miscalulated our boarding time for our flight back to Australia.  We were strolling around the airport, window shopping, when we had heard our names called out over the speakers! The plane had been delayed because of us. I still recalled the humilation of dozens of disgruntled eyes boring into us, as we shame facedly boarded the flight. Hopefully we weren't about to suffer the same humilation!

Breathlessly we reached the gate. Bored people sat around, listlessly flicking through their Iphones or scrolling down lap tops. The plane hadn't boarded at all!  We sank onto a seat, exhausted already.  There we waited. For at least another forty five minutes!! After all our racing, the flight was delayed! Silently I cursed that official woman for stressing me uneccessarily.

Eventually we boarded the plane and prepared for take off. Due to the searing Sydney heat that day we circled the tarmac for at least another half hour. Apparently it was so scorching that the breaks over heat, so we had to wait until they had cooled sufficiently for take off. After what seemed like an eternity of Mr 4 endlessly asking when  we were going, the plane finally rocketed down the runway. We were airbourne, headed upwards and towards the Sunshine Coast.Yep, exactly what we needed More sun. Find out what happened next time.

 Linking up my old crap with Kim from Falling Face First for The Lounge's freestyle session, because that's what lazy bogans do.

 Do you like flying? Have you ever missed a flight?

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A Great Big Bogan Thankyou Take Two

It has come to my attention that I have been tagged yet again for another award. This time for something called the Leibster Award. To explain what that is I pinched this from one of my taggers:

"The award is given to support and recognise up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers (on their blog) or likers (on their Facebook page). The word “Liebster” apparently has German origins and is reported to mean sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome. By following some basic rules (answer 11 questions set by your nominee, write 11 questions of your own and pass the award onto 11other bloggers to answer) it enables readers to get to know new bloggers and connect with a wider audience."

 

Thanks are due to Tracey from Bliss Amongst Chaos who  tagged me.

 

Now I will answer Tracey's questions:

 

1. What is your favourite colour?

Green

 

2. Best book you ever read?

There are so many but The Magic Faraway Tree and Anne Of

Green Gables are still my favourites since childhood.

3. What is your 'houseworking' music of choice?

None really. If I put music on, no house work will be done, because I'll do anything to avoid it.

 

4. Do you have a habit that others would consider weird and if so, what?

Oh boy, we could be here for a while on this question. Deep breath. I have a Karen Carpenter obsession and stimming behaviours, such as hand flapping and rocking, due to having Aspergers.

 

5. Are you messy, or a neat freak?

Horrifically messy, I'm afraid.

 

6. What is one word your friends would use to describe you?

Probably 'sweet', because they are too kind to say nauseating.

 

7. When choosing a milkshake, what flavour do you always go for?

Chocolate, of course. Chocolate makes everything better.

 

8. What is your favourite quote?

Be yourself, everybody else is already taken- Oscar Wilde

 

9. What is your favourite movie of all time?

A bit stuck on this question to be honest, but I do love Barbra Streisand, so maybe Funny Girl or The Way We Were. As I mentioned, I'm nauseating.

 

10. What is your favourite Christmas tradition?

Besides eating myself into a coma? Um, no idea really.

 

11. Do you prefer wine or spirits?The only spirit I like is scotch, so possibly wine.

 I have also been tagged by the bad ass Tegan (see, I didn't call you 'lovely' or any of those nauseating adjectives) from  Musings of the Misguided

These were her questions:

How long have you been blogging?
Since March 2012.
 

What was the first Blog you read?
Karen Carpenter Avenue. Or something to do with Karen anyway. Shut up.

How did you come up with the name for your Blog?
It's basically a pun of the classic novel Tess of the D'urbervilles and since my name is Vanessa, everyone calls me Ness for short and we do, indeed, live in Boganville, it seemed to fit. Though I've since realised that anyone making the connection between bogans and classic literature might be a bit of a stretch.

Summer or Winter?
They both suck. I can't figure out which one sucks more for me.

How do you start your day?
With a cup of tea.

One thing you couldn't live without?
Oxygen. Yep, I'm a smart arse.

If you were stuck on a deserted island, who is one person you would like to be stuck with?
Barack Obama, because then there might be a rather good search party coming to rescue us.

Your favourite indulgence food?
Chocolate

Do you blog to a schedule?
Nope. I'm not organised and I never know when I can get computer time anyway, as I have to share. Wahhhhhhh.
 
If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?
In a five star motel, in any capital city, by myself, with my books, a lap-top and unlimited room service.

Are you ready for Christmas?
As ready as I'll ever be. (ie Not ready AT ALL)


Now, I think the way it works is that I am supposed to think of some questions and tag people, however it is at this stage that I will gracefully bow out of the tag game, as I suspect that all the people I was going to tag have already been tagged. I'm always a bit behind with these things. With everything, in fact. Oops.

So, anyway, so long and thanks for all the tags!

 

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My Christmas Wish List

 I just realised that I was tagged in the Christmas Wish List Thingy by Tegan from  Musings of the Misguided. Thanks Tegan!

Similarly, I only just realised it actually was going to be Christmas presently a week or two ago. I'm a tad slow. Anyhow, here goes:

1. I know I'm in the minority on this one, but if Mariah Carey would please stop warbling about All She Wants For Christmas everywhere I go that would be great.

2. I wish there really was a Santa, so I didn't have to brave the shops and consequently hear Mariah Carey warbling every five minutes.

3. I wish I could take the credit if my boys are blissfully happy with their gifts instead of bloody old Santa getting the credit.

On the flip side if they are less than thrilled with their loot, I'm more than happy to blame Santa. After all, what has he ever done for me?  He didn't even bring me a Barbie Dream House when I wanted one so desperately in 1980. Or a Ken doll. I had to make do with my brother's GI Joe with the dodgy leg that fell off when you tried to pretend they were having sex. (Come on, don't tell me I was the only one who ever did that. Was I?)

4. I would really love to have a time machine. What for? Well, then I could hop in and have it whisk me back to May 1972, so I could go and see the Carpenters perform at the Chevron Hotel in Sydney.  Oh, shut up.

This may or may not be the 1972 concert, either
way, I wish I was there. In the mosh pit.

It's not lame that I want that. Or even that I know that they did, indeed, perform at the Chevron Hotel in Sydney in May, 1972. And that, while here, Karen Carpenter bought a stuffed koala bear and named him Sir Bear Of Sydney and that is why I call myself that on Twitter. Again, I reiterate, shut up.


5. I wish that the afore mentioned time machine could not only whisk you back in time, but also figure out a way to make more time in the day so I could spend hours listening to Carpenters, blogging and reading and still find time for other stuff. Like those pesky kids I have. Ahem.

PS. I also wouldn't mind finally becoming Cashed Up Bogans and getting that McMansion in Boganville Heights. Oh, and world peace.

PPS. There is really nothing at all wrong with Mariah Carey. She can't help it that she's not Karen Carpenter.

Oh, and I should tag people. As I've mentioned I'm a bit slow and spacey, so if you've already done this, ignore me.

Homemaker Mummy

Mum's Take Five

A life of peace and gratitude

Mrs Sabbatical

MummyManifesto

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To Be A Bogan, Or Not To Be A Bogan? That Is The Question

As you know by now, Micky Blue Eyes, the boys and I live in the truly glamorous area of Sydney I've called Boganville.  The blog title is a bit of a give away. 

This begs the obvious question.  Are we, indeed, bogans? I must confess, I'm not really sure that we are.

I am currently sitting here in my most alluring outfit of old tracky daks and a polar fleece jacket that I have owned for years. In a home that is in utter disarray. A ramshackle old fibro box.  All extremely classy.  We will usually have some sort of elegant and refined meal for dinner. Like bangers and mash.

On the other hand, I'm not terribly fond of many of the things that the stereo-typical bogan supposedly is.Which, according the web-site Things Bogans Like include:

• Reality TV
•  Acca Dacca
•  Tatoos
• Meat Lovers Pizza
• Pauline Hanson, and erm..
•  Hot Asian Chicks

I mean, I have nothing against Hot Asian Chicks, of course, they're perfectly fine.  They're just not really  my thing, if you know what I mean.

The list is very comprehensive and can be found here.


Frankly I'm not even entirely sure what Dikileaks is, which is #205 on the list.  Can anybody tell me? On second thoughts, do I really want to know?

In fact the only things (or celebrities really), that I do like, after a quick squiz at that list, are Michael Buble and Sarah Jessica Parker, in spite of her alleged resemblance to a horse. I must admit, I am also rather partial to a mild curry.

However, not one of my boys has a rats tail. Or a wacky, weirdly spelt name that sounds like something out The Days Of Our Lives. Only worse.  You know, something like Blayze or Foxx or Jaxxon.  Apparently those are just some of the Baby Names Bogans Like, as well as:

• Calcypher (I guess you could shorten it to Cal)
• Caramel ( I thought this was a milk shake flavour, not a name. Silly me.)
• Chaos (well, children do sometimes cause chaos so it could be apt)
• Chardonnay ( Yes please, but chilled and in a wine glass, not on my child's birth certificate)
• Frolic (once again, it could be apt where children are concerned as they often do. Frolic, that is)
• Luscious  (Sounds a tad like a porn name, but maybe that's just me)

I could go on, but the list is rather long. 

In addition to my boys having boring names, I am so tedious and tragic that I don't have any tatoos or piercings.  To make matters worse, my favourite music is Carpenters. In other words, Nanna music or elevator music.  Doesn't exactly scream Bogan does it? (It may scream mega nerd from hell, but that's another story.)

A woman this classy
could never be a Bogan.
Nope. No way.

Of course, as the site points out, the old concept of the Bogan has evolved  from just the flannie wearing, mullet-headed, heavy metal loving, garden variety Bogan to the more upwardly mobile Cashed Up Bogans.  These Bogans favour McMansions, Masterchef and rather pretentious weddings.

As I've mentioned in previous blogs, I did sport a quite fetching mullet-perm as a teenager, but that was when I was suffering from *TES, as opposed to being a bogan.

So, I can only come to the logical conclusion that this is yet another of those little ironies in my life. I'm a non-bogan living in Boganville. Yep, definitely not a bogan at all. 


Now that we've settled that, I think I'll go put my Uggs on, my feet are freezing.

*Tragic Eighties Syndrome

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Do you like 'Bogan Style' Baby Names? Or anything that Bogans Like?

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Computer Wars

Now that Micky Blue Eyes is working from home it is quite interesting.  Having failed to become Cashed Up Bogans thus far, we currently only have one computer.  This has become the most coveted item in our home as everyone including Master 3 clamours to get online.

It is of the utmost importance that he should be able to watch Spectacular Spiderman on Youtube. Since Youtube doesn't work worth a damn on our dodgy computer, this can be quite tedious.  When his demands are rebuffed he immediately becomes irate. His little face contorts into a scowling grimace as he glares at us and defiantly declares "I HAAATE YOU!!" 

As I am attempting to type this, he climbs on my lap and starts pleading "Five more minutes and I go on here Muum?" Then starts grabbing at the mouse.  I send him on his way, sulking.

Similarly, Master 8 becomes incredibly distraught when his waddling around on Club Penguin is interrupted or denied. It is very dramatic.

Very, very, dramatic.

Very, very, very dramatic.

Very, very, very, very dramatic indeed.

That, or we have just been reading too many Mr. Men books lately. (Master 8's favourites)

 It is as if he has had to endure all the suffering and injustices in the World ever, since time began.  And it really does feel like that at times when we are all vying for computer time.  Which is probably an indication that we all desperately need to get a life. Or another computer. FAST.

Micky Blue Eyes spends hours upon hours online doing Accountant type stuff involving spreadsheets  and all that stuff that sends me to snooze land...zzzzzzzzzzz.

But I also need time to type these blogs because all my millions (ie. one - thanks Mum) of fans are so demanding and they have just been bombarding me and begging me to resume. Oh okay, only one person enquired when I would be posting a new one. So I forced myself on here for longer than five minutes, much to everyone's disgust. 

It is rather galling to realise that the average 5 year old probably has their own laptop while I am begging for whatever computer crumbs I can procure.  But then again we have always been a tad behind the times.

I have a pathetic Nokia phone which doesn't even have a camera. While all other parents pull out their whizz bang phones for a photo opportunity at every occasion, I stand there feeling like an antiquated fool.  We also possess an archaic Corolla for a car.  Not to mention the charming old fibro we live in.  

We really need to get with the times and become one of those modern families.  The ones where every family member has an iphone, laptop, xbox, ipad, etc, etc (I'm sure there are gadgets I've never even heard of) and they never talk to each other but instead text each other from the individual rooms of their gigantic McMansion. 

We actually sit at the table for dinner.  And suffer a lot of indigestion, as everyone tries to be the first to finish so they can get on the computer.  Which reminds me, I really need to make dinner, but if I move from the computer it will be promptly taken.

It is not unusual to sit here desperately busting for the loo but too afraid to move for fear you will never get back online. So hopefully, it won't be too long before another bogan installment.  But if you don't hear from me for a while you now know why.

Computer Wars.

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The Box

Home is a charming, quaint, little cottage. ie. an old, tiny fibro in Boganville, obviously. We desperately need to upgrade or renovate. 

"It has potential." Micky Blue Eyes commented when we originally bought the home.  Yes, it certainly did have potential. In the following ways:

• Potential to grow mould on the roof and ceilings of the front bedrooms.
• Potential for the roof to leak (tragically our boys will never be able to thank us during their wedding speech for bringing them up 'under a roof that didn't leak'. This is how Mick thanked his parents during his speech at our wedding).
• Potential to cause all five of us to suffer from lifelong paralysing claustrophobia.
• Potential to cause chills in winter as it so cold. Brrrrrrrrr.
• Potential to feel like a sauna during summer as it is so hot. Phew.
• Potential to become a gigantic, cluttered mess- FAST, due to lack of space.
• Potential to look rather pitiful among some of the other renovated or knock down/rebuilt  homes popping up on our street.

Still, it is our house. We own it, not a bank. Aren't we lucky?  So we try to make the best of it.  Mick started painting. I helped.  (Making him cups of coffee is helping, isn't it?)

  It is half done.  Hopefully the half done look is in, as it may not be finished for another ten years.  The other day we noticed that Master 3 has already helpfully scribbled on the fresh paint. A very cutting edge look indeed, so we might just go with it.

We also have a lovely combination of mismatched, dodgy furniture, including a sofa bed that doesn't match the two dilapidated recliners.  A kitchen sideboard cupboard with the glass missing out of the doors.  And a wardrobe in the boys bedroom which can't be shut. All so very classy and in keeping with our true bogan status.

I'm sure our home could be a candidate for a Home Beautiful shoot.  If there was a Home Beautiful for Feral Bogans issue that is.  Unfortunately, Micky Blue Eyes and I are of the stressy types who would not be able to sleep at night with the worry of a massive debt/mortgage over our heads. Others wouldn't be able to sleep at night in Boganville, ironically.  Me, I'm a born and bred bogan, so I don't know any different. So here we stay, debt free and bogans.

Meanwhile, we can always keep dreaming of the day we become Cashed Up Bogans and finally get that McMansion in Boganville Heights. It's always better to dream big, I find.

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