Not So Guilty Pleasures

Good morning Groovers and Shakers (or afternoon as the case may be). Welcome to another fabulous Thursday, which is only one day away from Friday! This thought is comforting until the moment you realise you're a parent and Fridays mean nothing anymore. In fact, I have to be up on Saturday morning to take two out of three boys to trial soccer matches at 9am. YAY.

Today the illustrious Lounge Lizards want to know what my guilty pleasures are. I'm not sure I'm sufficiently guilty enough about any of my vices. I haven't been persuaded to abandon any of them that is for certain. Sadly it would seem that most of my 'not guilty enough' pleasures revolve around food.  Of the cakie kind. What a shock. You were expecting me to admit to having a Friday night bong every week. weren't you?

I'm afraid I agree with the wonderful Dolly Parton who famously said in her biography My Life And Other Unfinished Business: "Food is my weakness. I'll take a sandwich and a shake over a jug and a joint any time." You'll have to imagine Dolly's unmistakable twang.  Okay, so I read biographies by Dolly and other stars. Guilty. I may also own at least one Dolly CD titled Both Sides Of Dolly Parton. I'm not sure whether she was trying to be funny with that title.

Anyway, I think we've already established that I have the worst taste in music EVER, but since I'm shameless in my Carpenters addiction I'm not sure if it qualifies as a 'guilty' pleasure. I don't have one iota of ironic distance in my passionate love of their music. In fact, apparently this adoration makes me old school Emo. I knew I was sensitive and emotional.

When it comes to TV, I don't really watch much of it. I'd rather poke my eyeballs out than watch My Kitchen Rules or The Biggest Loser, but I have been known to take in a bit of Big Brother. This is purely for research purposes. Meaning, I have to keep up my bogan cred somehow for the sake of this blog. That's my excuse anyway. I mean, the whole Carpenters loving, goody two shoes Pollyanna image is totally ruining my bogan status. I need to shake things up a bit and watch some puerile Reality TV. It's either that or taking up a pack a day and slab of VB a week habit. Or giving my boys rats tails. Tantamount to child abuse some would say.

I'm also partial to bit of Dr Phil at lunch time. How's that working for you? It's working out okay, thanks Dr Phil. Until that stoopid The Doctors show comes on after it, then I have to switch it off because SQUEAMISH. Plus I don't want to be worrying about all the possible illnesses I may have. At least hypochondria is the one illness I'll never have. BOOM TISH.

The only other guilty pleasure I can think of is actually blogging itself. Then there is all the reading and commenting on other blogs which can all be time consuming. Meanwhile, there are a million other things I could be doing. At the very least I did my exercise first and broke a sweat before I paid any attention to this blog again this morning. All the other stuff can wait. Of course, I'm also addicted to Facebook. There's a very good reason for that.

I do feel somewhat guilty about the pitiful example I am setting for my boys by being online constantly. On the positive side I don't have an Iphone or Smart Phone so at least I'm not always online when I'm out as well.

But surely my most embarrassing guilty pleasure is when I come across an old Enid Blyton book and start reading them again as an adult. Frightfully shameful. Especially when I read a passage from Six Cousins Again the sequel to Six Cousins At Mistletoe Farm where the character says:

"Surely our ducks quack more loudly than any others?" groaned Mrs Longfield, early in the morning. "And need we keep that cock, he wakes me regularly at dawn?"

Upon reading this I chuckle as if I'm an immature eight year old reading it for the first time again. But you have to admit those Enid Blyton books were rather smashing. For children. Ahem.

Now, you'll have to excuse me. Dr Phil is starting. Shut up.

Linking up with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for The Lounge.

                                               
                                                        What are your guilty pleasures?

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Hormones From Hell

I fear I am alarmingly fat. Side on I could definitely pass for being six months pregnant.  With quads. As for my notorious double chin.  It's becoming triple. I seem to remember life on a parallel universe where I could devour hot chips and lasagne while size 8 hot pants still fit. And as many chocolates as a chocoholic likes. Which is quite a lot, actually.  After all we all know the old line: The answer is chocolate. And I don't give a damn what the question is. Boom Boom.

Of course I am presently living in the wonderful world of PMS. Nothing is guaranteed to turn me into a sobbing wreck more than these feral hormones from hell. I will sob at the sight of a Huggies commercial. I will sob when pants that fit me yesterday, suddenly decide not to zip up today.

I will be found weeping tears of utter desolation, unable to contain my heartfelt and utterly sincere despair over - absolutely nothing. To only minutes later, feeling palpable rage, rancid and real, coursing through my veins.

Slamming doors and glaring at anyone who has the misfortune to glance in your direction.  Micky Blue Eyes innocently looks at me and enquires "New top, is it?"  I am certain that what he really meant was "Looking a bit pudgy aren't we?"  He becomes the unfortunate recipient of the 'death stare' and wisely retreats behind a newspaper without waiting for a reply. I will snap at my boys for the slightest thing then begin wailing seconds later convinced I'm The Worst Mother In The World Ever for behaving like such a monumental bitch.

You will find me walking around feeling like a bi-polar, bloated balloon, with breasts swollen to Dolly Parton like proportions, so tender to the touch that a mammogram would seem like fun in comparison to your partner even attempting to come near them in a futile attempt to have sex. SEX?!!!  You, must be joking, I hear all you ladies shriek along with me, just give me a jumbo size block of chocolate and GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!!!

Of course, it's comforting to know that all of this will eventually subside only to be replaced by unbearable cramps, the equivalent of 500 knives being stabbed into your lower pelvic area and twisted around torturously for several days, after which you have the luxury of being allowed to be normal again for a couple of weeks (assuming you are one of the lucky ones who has clock work cycles, most of us don't) before - YOU START IT ALL OVER AGAIN!!!

Then, if all of that isn't bad enough, the only way out of this cycle of hellish hormones is to get older and then experience the wonderful world of even more hellish hormones called - menopause.  This is a prospect that sounds about as thrilling as being forced to attend a One Direction concert with a bunch of those idiotic, screaming teenage girls, with their hormones raging. GAH! You see what hormones are responsible for??!!

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

What causes you to have a good old sooky la la sobbing session?

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