Brace yourselves for a trip into the worst of 80s and 90s hair. I've shared my hairstyle history before, particularly my infamous mullet-perm. But it's so hilarious it's worth sharing again.
This is one instance when I should definitely let the pictures tell the story. They're very old photos that I scanned and cropped any old how, so apologies in advance.
Long Hair
When I was cute circa 1981
Perms
Infamous mullet-perm. I was about 16
and it was 1987. That's my only excuse.
Shut up.
At my 21st. Bad perm. Bad earrings.
Bad make-up. But I did have a good
figure in those days. Sigh.
Poodle perm and weird expression.
Perhaps I was busting for the loo?
Short Hair
This was around my 30th birthday circa 2001.
I was up the duff but didn't know.
The lobster and wine look pretty good.
Not sure about the bowl hair cut.
Bobs
I looked pretty good then.
Is that me?
Helmet hair. Noice. And my awesome parents.
Bad selfie. The hair was good because
I'd been to the hairdresser.
Long Hair Again
Ten years ago. I was pregnant with Mr 9.
Who cares about my hair LOOK HOW CUTE MY BOYS WERE 😍
No Hair
2015/16 when I had tit cancer became
a hare krishna. Fortunately I have
a lovely shaped head. So I'm told.
Chemo Curls
Move over Kath Day-Knight
This was the day I went to a club
buffet for a seniors price. Winning!
Hello again! It's time for another groovy list type post! YAY! Well, I'm certainly excited. Because I'm listing ten things that make me happy. And that makes me...happy!
Because let's face it, there are many times in this gig called life when you feel flat, despondent, dejected, forlorn and just plain old blah. Shut up. Blah is totally a word.
Well, it's definitely a feeling anyway. I guess that's why I call it the blahs. Elton John can call it the blues. I can't stop him. But I'm sticking with the blahs. YOU can't stop ME. So ner.
It's important to have strategies in place to lift those blahs and hopefully feel better.
Here's ten things that make me happy whenever I have the blahs. I am challenging myself to not mention cakies whatsoever. Sure, they make me happy. Temporarily. Until I come down from my sugar high. And realise how frightfully fat I am. Sigh.
Plus I need to remind myself that there are plenty of other things out there that can help. And just back the hell away from the comfort eating. Seriously, Nesski.
Side note: my current Facebook profile picture is a photo of cakes with a 'So in love' frame. Told you. I need help.
Back to my list.
TEN THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY
Exercise. Unfortunately the feeling better bit comes after the actual exercise itself. So rude. However, it's always worth it. With this in mind, I made myself move this morning by doing some brisk aerobics. Then I ate a cupcake. DOH. See? Seriously. Need. Help.
Writing/blogging. It's quite therapeutic. With the added benefit that when I'm tapping or scribbling away I can't shovel food into my gob. That's something.
Getting out of the house. Even a trip to the library counts. I hope. Because I rarely go anywhere else. Oops. Note to self: get out more.
Patting my dog. This is usually done in conjunction with singing ridiculous made-up-as-I-go ditties to her. Such as this: "Cookie, the amazing dog! Cookie, the amazing dog! Cookie, the amazing dog! She's an amazing dog!" Meanwhile, Cookie looks at me like a I'm a lunatic. But so long as the lunatic keeps patting her she'll tolerate it.
Cuddles/playing Uno with Mr 9. Despite his issues with losing, we still have fun. Always.
Watching something funny. My current favourite is DVDS of The Golden Girls. Admittedly some of the jokes haven't worn well, but overall I still love it. And I can always laugh at the 1980s fashion. That hasn't worn well either. Tee hee.
Sing. Badly. See above. Lately (besides made up ditties to my dog) it's the soundtrack of Hello Dolly on rotation in my head. Who cares how bad you sound if makes you feel better? Well, perhaps my family. But I put up with their noise, so we're even.
Reading. Books and reading have always been my happy place. Hence my many trips to the library. It's fortunate that such a simple thing can give me contentment. I'm happier with a bargain book from an op shop than extravagant designer shoes or handbags. Winning! 😁
Dressing up a bit and putting some lipstick on. I'm fairly low maintenance these days in regards to grooming. But sometimes it's fun to pretend you're one of the Golden Girls and get your shoulder pads/earrings and a bit of lippy on. I now have the required silver hair without even trying. Just call me Dorothy/Rose/Blanche/Sophia.
All of the above things work really well for a passing case of the blahs, but sometimes things get a bit more grim and I require professional help. Talking to a good counselor or psychologist really helps. Even though it's HARD. Well, it is for me. I don't talk. But sometimes I have to force myself. Just like exercise.
Bonus things that make me happy: Notebooks and pens, listening to music, cups of tea, or a glass of wine. It's the simple things, really. Don't you think?
Anyway, that concludes my list.
Now I'm off to watch The Golden Girls. Which begins by singing the theme song. Badly.
Good morning, dear people! Or afternoon. Or evening. Depending upon where you are in the world. Of course there's less than zero chance that folks all over the globe are reading this, but it doesn't hurt to remain delusional optimistic. Anyway, I trust you are feeling fabulous wherever you may be. I just thought I'd check in here for the heck of it, despite having nothing monumental to report, and bugger all snaps to share. That's me for you. Always generous, and thinking of others. Besides, according to some dude called Ralph Waldo Emerson "All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better." Look, it's on the internet so it must be legit.
Therefore, I may as well treat this here blog post as an experiment. I'm sure I can pull something out of nothing. That's pretty much what I always do anyway. But today I am taking it to a whole new level. Because I have decided. Why must we always DO ALL THE THINGS? Sure, it feels good to smash that to-do list, but what if we mixed it up for a change? Did something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. Something wild and crazy. Cutting edge and avant-garde. Something so daring and innovative it's never been heard of before and likely never will again? You with me? Good. Let's try this groundbreaking experiment: instead of the ever present, ubiquitous to-do list, let's be bold and write a to DON'T list instead!!! Yeah, okay, you got me. I did talk the idea up a bit more than is strictly necessary. A dash of melodrama never hurt anyone. Unless it's like actual melodrama. That's stressful. Screw that. No, I mean pretendy type melodrama. Such fun! As Miranda would say. It works even better if you imagine rousing music in the background. Something evocative and suitably atmospheric. Perhaps the Harry Potter theme? Otherwise insert your preferred movie theme of choice. Done? Good. On with the show. TO-DON'T LIST
Don't give up. Unless it's smoking. You should really give that up. Says the woman who can't even give up chocolate .
Don't forget to be grateful for the little things in life. Like m&ms. They're little. Did I mention I can't give up chocolate?
Don't think you have to fix all the things and be perfect.
Don't mull over what's already happened in the past.
Don't worry about what may or may not happen in the future.
Don't be a piker (pyker?). Not exactly sure what that is, nor how to spell it, but still. Don't be one.
Don't watch dumb reality shows. This one is for me, really. You can watch them if you want to. I can't stop you.
Don't stop believin'. Okay, that's an Olivia Newton-John/Journey song, but whatever works.
Don't forget to pat your dog. Unless you don't have one. In which case I don't even know what to say to you. You PSYCHOPATH.
Don't be a will-o-mo-wisp. On second thought, a will-o-mo-wisp sounds quite lovely. And if it was good enough for Maria, it's good enough for me.
Don't rain on my parade. Okay, that's a Barbra Streisand song, but Babs is awesome so I'm going with it.
Don't take life too seriously. No one gets out alive.
Don't forget to eat your five a day. Unfortunately it's not five cakies. Again, that one was for me. Sigh.
Don't forget what your arms and legs are for: movement! Another one for me. Ahem.
Don't cry out loud. Just keep it inside. And learn how to hide your feelings. Actually, no. That's terrible advice. What was Melissa Manchester thinking?
Don't write to-don't lists then proceed to DO everything on them anyway.
Ditto don't write to-do lists then DON'T do anything on them either. I like contradicting myself. Shut up.
Don't worry about what other people think of you. As Dr Phil says: you wouldn't worry about what others thought of you if you knew how seldom they did. Besides, they're probably dickheads anyway. That last bit is from Dr Ness.
Don't stay up too late. Unless you can sleep-in in the morning. Why not?
Don't get up too early. Mornings are stupid. See above.
Don't take advice from random bloggers on the internet, who have no qualifications whatsoever to to give such pearls of wisdom, including me. Especially me.
Don't begin frying an egg then walk away, get distracted, and forget about it until the smoke alarm goes off. Oops.
Don't spend too much time on social media. Bahahaha! I'm so funny.
Don't forget that social media is people's highlight reels. Things aren't always what they seem.
Don't be cruel to a heart that's true. Okay, that's an Elvis song, but still. It's not bad advice from The King.
Don't expect your folded piles of washing to put themselves away. They don't. So rude.
Don't spend winter being a sloth creature on valium because summer will be back before you know it and you'll regret it. Just me?
Don't worry, be happy! Okay, that's some dude I can't remember's song. But it works to end this list. And now you'll have that lovely little earworm for a while. You're welcome!
Now for the moment you've all been waiting for! Drum roll, please... The illustrious list of all lists! The next installment of my personal alphabet. The M - Z of Me! YAY! Oh okay, it's not that exciting. Sniff. But since I've already regaled you with the A - L Of Me, I may as well finish the thing.
So here we go: M : is for Mum. These days I totally understand why my mother often said "She went mad and they shot her!" in response to my brother and I's frequent cries of: "MUUUUUUUUUUM!!" In addition to being a mum of three boys, I'm also MARVELOUS and utterly MAGNIFICENT. Modest, too. Oh yeah, and I'm married to a bloke called Mick. I like to call him Mickey Blue Eyes. He does have blue eyes, so it makes sense. Moving on. N: Now, this is a hard one. Snorts. Nah. Clearly it's for Ness. Which is my nickname. And the reason for the name of this blog. O: Isn't it OBVIOUS? I'm OUTSTANDING.
Look, a bit of a 'dad joke' never hurt anyone. Except that one. Oops. And there we have it. The O word that sums me up: OOPS. Also, I'm quite odd. You may have noticed that. Case in point: I have certain obsessions: Cakies and Carpenters. Yep. I mentioned I'm odd. P : is for pretending. I pretend that I'm normal, but you've already caught me out with the odd thing. See above. Q: could be a quandary for many folk. (Do you see what I did there?) But not for me. Because I'm quiet. Also; quirky. And very quaint. R: is for reading. I love it. Additionally, I enjoy rainy days. I'm reserved, often in my little own reverie and frequently ravenous. I do tend to ramble a lot here. No, I have not been reading the dictionary! Whatever gives you that idea?! I would also like to believe that I'm much more resilient these days. S: is for shy. Which is a shame because I'm truly SENSATIONAL. And you may have noticed that I always descend into self-deprecation. Sigh. Seriously though, how do I stop that? Should I? Then there is the fact that I'm a scatterbrain. I think I'm a weird cross of sweet and sarcastic. Not sure how that works. Perhaps it doesn't. I don't know. T: is for teatotaller. Is that how you spell it? Anyway, I drink A LOT of tea. A TREMENDOUS amount of tea. I'm also very truthful and trustworthy. That's something. U: is for unassuming and unpretentious. That's just the way I am. Totally unique, thank you very much. So ner. V: is another hard one. Except it isn't. Because my name is Vanessa. Ness for short. I suppose you could say I'm kinda 'vanilla'. But people tend to forget what an exquisite flavour vanilla can be. Vanilla ice cream? Yes, please. Vanilla cupcakes? Now we're talking! What's wrong with a bit of vanilla? W: is for woman. Pretty sure I am one. And I'm often wistful and whimsical. Two wonderful W words. Wow. X : is for xylophone. Which has nothing to do with me. I've never played one. I've xeroxed some things and had a few x-rays, does that count? Y : is for yodeling. I can't do it, mind you. Unless you count my enthusiastic singing along to The Lonely Goat Herd whenever I watch The Sound Of Music.. Yodelay heeee! Yodelay hee heeee!! Join in! You know you want to. Z: is for zoo. Well, I have been to one or two in my time. Plus it often seems like a zoo around here. Meanwhile, I feel like a zombie, so there's that, too. Aaaaand, we're done here! Cue trumpets, fanfare and fireworks!
Look, I'm just trying to liven things up around here. You got a problem with that? Over and out. Can anyone really think of anything about themselves for the letters X, Y, & Z?
Making: Beds. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Tea. Coffee. You know, all the thrilling things.
Cooking: Cauliflower soup. Tacos. Roast chicken and veggies. Because apparently I am not very original.
Drinking: Four dollar sparkling moscato from Aldi. FANCY.
Reading: Various library books, including: Without Merit by Colleen Hoover. Loved it. Read it in 24 hours. Now That You Mention It by Kristan Higgins. Loved this one, too. Read it in 24-48 hours.
Trawling: I do not trawl. What am I? A fisherman?
Wanting: I pretty much have everything important in life. Family, health, food, shelter... hashtag blessed and all that. But I'll still take a truck load of cash, thank you very much.
Looking: At the ceiling fan and thinking I should probably clean it sometimes. But how would I recover from such excitement?
Deciding: Which book to read next.
Wishing: We could get away on a holiday.
Enjoying: The cooler weather. I can wear my pajamas all day. Don't judge me. Hmph.
Waiting: For the kettle to boil. Exciting times if I don't say so myself.
Liking: The end of school holidays. HALLELUJAH.
Wondering: If we are sorta kinda maybe jinxed or something. Just me catastrophising again. As you were.
Loving: Quiet time I scored yesterday while Mickey Blue Eyes took the boys to the movies.
Listening: To Mickey Blue Eyes clattering dishes in the kitchen and birds chirping (is that a word?) in the distance.
Considering: Running up and down the street stark bollocky naked. Just to liven things up. But that would be ridiculous. I don't run. Also, is bollocky a word?
Buying: Groceries. Just for something COMPLETELY different.
Watching: Ridonkulous melodramatic movies on YouTube (shut up, I don't have Netflix). You know the ones. Based on a "true" story, starring Shannon Doherty or some other D grade faded television actor. I scoff and eye roll at them but then subsequently do some comprehensive research lazy internet searching and find it they are essentially true. Truth is stranger than fiction, people.
Hoping: Cups of tea can make themselves at some point in the future. Like, say, in five minutes. Surely we should have the technology by now?
Marvelling: At the word "marvelling". Isn't it MARVELLOUS.
Needing: A kick up the ciber.
Questioning: Life, the universe and everything.
Smelling: Tea.
Wearing: Trackie daks (Australian for sweatpants), teamed with an attractive purple jumper. I know what you're thinking. I should really jump into that "everyday style" hashtag thing pronto.
Noticing: All the mother's day propaganda in the store catalogues. As if all we do is eat chocolate in our pajamas all day. Hmph. Oh wait...
Knowing: I know nothing. Not a thing. Zip. Nada. Sweet FA, as the saying goes. Clueless.
Thinking: People are weird.
Admiring: People. They're SO WEIRD and they don't even know.
Getting: Fat. Well, fattER, if that's a word.
Disliking: The fatter thing. See above. But apparently not enough to actually stop eating two thirds of a packet of chocolate covered peanuts in one sitting on Saturday. The final third went to my family, so I do share. Kinda. Sorta. Shut up.
Opening: Books. What else?
Closing: The fridge. Sometimes. Mostly I open it. Which answers the above question. Ahem.
Feeling: Fair to maudlin, as the saying goes. Or is it middling?
Celebrating: Well, I haven't eaten anything in a full ten minutes. That certainly calls for a celebration! And there's only one way to celebrate: with FOOD! 🍨🍧🍦🍩🍰🍪🍫🍬🍭🍮🍮🍳🍳🍔
Pretending: I'm a sane, rational, functioning adult. Tricked you! Snorts.
Embracing: Mr 9. Love that kid.
So there you have it. That is me tacking stock this amazing April.
It's currently school holidays in my neck of the woods. Except I'm not anywhere near woods. I live in suburbia. But you know what I mean.
So here's a lazy nifty bullet list of utterly random school holiday memories:
The buzzy euphoric feeling at 3pm on the last day of term. For some reason this sensation has mysteriously disappeared as an adult and parent. Hmph.
Staying up late just because you could.
Sleeping in late just because you could.
Me as a kid: "I'm borrrred!" My mum: "Hi, Bored. I'm mum/Alison."
Lamenting the fact that all my friends* had gone away for the holidays.
*Okay, I only had one friend. But she always went away leaving me on my lonesome. Rude.
Going to the movies to see such classics as Grease and Xanadu. Why yes, I am quite ancient.
Ditto going to the actual cinemas to see all the Back To Future films. Frightfully, frightfully ancient, I'm afraid.
Patting/ smooching my dog and singing a song I made up: "You're my dear darling adorable dachshund dog!" Remember, my one friend was away. And I was a weird kid anyway. Even weirder adult. Winning.
Listening to endless records and cassettes. Did I mention I'm ancient?
Singing into a hairbrush to the above mentioned records: Abba, The Carpenters, Barbra Streisand; and shockingly, even Madonna. Surprise! Sometimes I did behave like an 80s teenager.
Me as a kid: "Mum, I'm hungryyyy!" My mum: "Hi, Hungry, I'm mum/Alison."
A rare family holiday to the beach side town of Nelson Bay. We shared an apartment with a colony of cockroaches, sleeping on beds that smelt like congealed decades of sweat and pee. When Mum and Dad decided to end the stay early and head home my brother and I cheered.
Road trips to Dubbo, Wagga Wagga or Canberra. We left in the middle of the night and my brother and I slept top to tail in the back seat of our old Datsun.
When we woke up during the above road trips, we gazed out the windows exclaiming over any animals we spotted. "COOOOOWWWWWWS!!!!" "HORRRRRRSSSEEEEEY'S!!!" Fast forward a few decades. On one of our road trips Mickey Blue Eyes pointed out some cows. "Thanks for that, Captain Obvious," remarked one of the boys, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Me as a kid: "MUUUUUM!" My mum: "She went mad and they shot her!" Fast forward several decades. My boys:"MUUUUUM!" Me: "She went mad and they shot her!"
Going to my Auntie Eileen's place and visiting the park and swimming pool around the corner. Then we'd get chicken and chips from Happy Harry's, the milk bar around the corner.
Driving home from Auntie Eileen's, I'd fall asleep in the car and magically wake up in my own bed. It was like I could totally teleport or something!This ability has mysteriously disappeared as an adult. Hmph.
Watching the US Today show at midnight for no reason except it came on then and I had to stay up late because HOLIDAYS. Also; watching the odd mini series really late, such as North & South with Patrick Swayze in it. What can I say? It was the 80s.
Being totally bummed and peeved when it was time to head back to school at the beginning of the year, despite the fact that I'd just had six weeks off! This sensation has mysteriously disappeared as an adult and parent. Tee hee!
Happy new year, dear reader! I'm sure it will happy some of the time anyway. Except when it's not. Because that's kind of how life is. If your life is always happy then please leave a comment telling me what drugs you're on and where I can get them. Meanwhile, before I get on with this year I wanted to tell you a bit about the year just gone. In 2017 I:
January: Curly hair.
Slept for hours. And had the weirdest dreams EVER.
Folded MOUNTAINS of washing because I have SUCH a glamorous life.
Made the weekly pilgrimage to Aldi because I have to get my excitement somehow.
Started the year with curly hair and finished with spiky hair.
Ate lots of bad food.
Ate lots of good food.
Got a new shrink because apparently I am still demented.
Felt anxious in K Mart.
Felt calm in Coles.
Drank a billion cups of tea.
Borrowed tonnes of books from the library then forgot to take them back on time.
Drank cappucinos while sitting on orange chairs under fluorescent lights.
Daydreamed.
Wrote pointless lists.
Wrote purposeful lists.
Chose my 'one word': MOVE.
Decided to take this word as more of a light suggestion in favour of other entrancing words, such as REFINED CARBOHYDRATES and SLOTH.
Pondered important questions.
Pondered trivial questions.
Prayed I didn't have cancer again. And I don't even believe in God. Weird.
Had my tits crushed. I didn't have cancer. YAY!
Had a tooth ripped out. Which is always fun. Said no one ever.
Drank lots of Bailey's Coffee Liqueur in Wagga Wagga.
Drank champagne in the south of France.
Made stuff up. Like that last point. Incidentally I have no idea why the south of the France is supposed to be better than anywhere else in France. I'm never likely to find out either. Sigh.
Wrote in a two dollar journal from KMart with glitter pens from Aldi. Yes, I know. There was no need for me boast about such things. We've already established how lavish my life is.
Passed a lady at the shops wearing a vivid multi-coloured sparkly kaftan with her hair dyed just as many colours and thought she's probably quite fun to have as a friend. Or a complete nut. One or the other.
November: Spiky hair.
And I could go on and on, but it's obvious what an eventful year 2017 was for me. So it is with a wistful heart that I say farewell to you, 2017. No, we will never meet again, except in my memories. Well, let's face it, not even there particularly, because I have a brain like a sieve. So it's a firm goodbye. You were neither good, nor bad. Just meh. Boring. Beige. But I didn't mind a bit of beige. I've had quite enough of pink, thank you very much.
How are you? Season's greetings and all that. How is Mrs Claus and all the elves? I expect things are quite hectic as you're doing all your last minute preparations. Loading up the sleigh. Making sure the reindeers are well-rested for the big night. Checking your lists: one titled Naughty, and the other Nice. It must be a magical winter wonderland over there in the North Pole. I can only imagine, as it's summer here in the land of Oz.
However, I wonder if could be so cheeky as to interrupt your busy schedule to ask a few questions? They've been on my mind for a long time. Years, in fact. They're really rather important. I am a master at asking all the important questions, I think you will find. Okay, here goes. I will just fling them at you randomly and in no particular order. I've been over thinking about them for so long and I just need to get them off my chest:
Where did you find FLYING reindeers?
Why are you always judging people? If they're naughty or nice? I mean, who are you to decide what's naughty?
And furthermore, aren't you actually somewhat of a... err... STALKER? Watching people when they're sleeping or otherwise is just plain creepy, Santa.
How do you fit enough presents for ALL THE CHILDREN IN THE WHOLE WORLD on one little sleigh?
Likewise, how are you able to traverse the entire planet in a single night? I'm sorry Santa, it just doesn't make sense.
How do you get into houses or apartments that don't have chimneys?
And, if they do have a chimney, how do you slide nimbly down them, given your advanced age and ample girth? Sorry to be a bit personal there, Santa.
I need to know why I never received that much coveted Barbie Dream House when I was a child? I was nice! Mostly. Oh shut up, Santa. Yes, I know I got the Barbie Camper Van, but that's not the point!
Furthermore, how can you POSSIBLY be in every single shopping centre at exactly the same time? Have you figured out how to clone yourself?
And what about the poor little elves? Isn't it slave labour making them toil away in your workshop? Who's not nice now, Santa?
Last but not least Santa, riddle me this: why is it that parents do all the work, and then you come along in your red suit and hat all jolly like and TAKE ALL THE CREDIT! RUDE.
Well Santa, I'm waiting. I want answers. And I want them NOW!
*Silence*
AHA! I thought so! You can't answer these questions, can you? It's almost as if...
YOU DON'T EVEN EXIST.
There, I said it.
I've suspected this for some time. Especially after my tragic revelation about the phoney old dinner fairy. Sigh. And not just any sigh. A deep, long sigh containing all the sorrow of the ages.
The thing is Santa, maybe you're not real. And you can't ever answer my questions. But you know what? Who cares!
I know, I know! I did a few lines ago. Details!
The truth is, we all need a little magic in our lives. To believe in fairy tales. Well, at least sometimes... To revisit our childhood innocence. We need some Christmas cheer. We all need this more than ever right now.
So on with the show, Santa! Load up that sleigh. It's nearly Christmas Eve! I'll have carrots ready for the reindeers. And I'll leave you out some wine and chocolate instead of milk and cookies, because I know that's what you'd really prefer. 😉
I was tagged by the lovely Mim to answer these sixteen questions about Christmas. And since I'm such a jolly person I say ho ho ho and on with the show...
Um. Yeah. That's why it doesn't work when I try to be jolly or outgoing or any of those things. I just sound/look like an eejit. Oh well. Here's the sixteen questions anyway. Complete with answers, because that's how questions are supposed to work...
1. What’s your favourite Christmas movie?
Hmmmm good question. I'd probably say When Harry Met Sally, even though it's not technically a Christmas movie, it does have a bit of a Christmassy theme/feel.
2. Have you ever had a White Christmas?
Unfortunately, no! Unless we're talking wine and pavlova and things like that? Then of course I have!
3. Where do you usually spend your holiday?
It' usually spent at my brother and sister-in-law's place either on Christmas or boxing day. This year we did early (yesterday!) because they are going away. So I expect we will be at home (or my parents place) on the actual day.
4. What’s your favourite Christmas song?
That's easy. It's The Carpenters Merry Christmas Darling.
5. Do you open any presents on Christmas Eve?
Nope. I don't know why. Probably because "Santa" doesn't seem to be too organised around here... Ahem.
6. Can you name all of Santa’s Reindeers?
Um. Dasher. Dancer. Comet.Vixen? No... Blitzen. Or something. And of course, good old Rudolph. So that's only half.
Oh wait, I've got a feeling there's a Donner as well. Or I could just be thinking about kebabs? I'm always thinking of food. Classy.
So yeah, the short answer is no. No, I can't.
7. What holiday traditions are you looking forward to this year?
You mean aside from eating myself into a diabetic coma? That would be drinking likewise. Just kidding! I do have a wine or two but I'm not a drunk. I guess it would be just spending time with family and listening to Carpenters Christmas music.
8. Is your Christmas Tree real or fake?
Fake as fake can be. And then I just let Mr 9 chuck whatever he wants on it. It's currently leaning sadly like it's dejected and forlorn and no amount of indiscriminate tinsel tossed at it will ever cheer it up. Poor fake tree.
9. What’s your favourite holiday treat/food/sweet?
Pretty much anything that isn't nailed down. See 7.
10. Be honest, do you prefer the giving or receiving of gifts?
To be honest I sometimes feel embarrassed about receiving because I'm always worried that my gifts are not as nice as what I've been given. Does that make sense? Yeah, I never make sense. As you were.
11. What’s the best Christmas present you ever received?
I'm still waiting for twelve billion dollars in cash, a luxury European holiday and a glamorous waterfront property complete with staff to pamper me. HMPH.
Seriously though, the best thing is getting a clean bill of health from cancer related issues for Mickey Blue Eyes and I. Nothing can beat that.
But I wouldn't mind the clean bill of health PLUS the twelve billion just to see what that's like as well. Someone arrange that for me. Pretty please?
12. What’s your dream place to visit for the holiday season?
Anywhere that isn't the equivalent of the seventh circle of hell, given that it's summer here in the land of Oz.
13. Are you a pro present wrapper or do you fail miserably?
Fail ABYSMALLY. They just get wrapped any old how. And I drive myself mad misplacing tape etc while I'm doing it. GRRRRR.
14. Most memorable Christmas memory?
Gosh I'm not sure. Other than my boys first Christmasses.
I do have a vague memory of receiving one of those vintage 'Baby Chrissie' dolls when I was around four. You could pull their hair in and out or something. Anyway, I dragged it by the hair outside. Needless to say, my mum wasn't impressed because she'd had to pay it off back in the days of lay-by. That wasn't exactly the kind of heartfelt, touching tale you were looking for, right? Oops.
15. What made you realise the truth about Santa?
I can't remember anything specific. It was just the slow dawning realisation that there was no WAY that Santa could be in all the shops at once. Nor did it seem plausible that he could traverse the entire world in a single night with a bunch of flying reindeer. I mean, come ON!
Plus if he really did exist,then what was going on with the fact that my cousin sometimes stayed with us for Christmas and would usually receive twice as much as my brother and I put together?This was after my aunt declared "She's not getting much this year." What? Ripped off! And anyways,Santa ends up getting all the credit after mums (and dads) do all the work!
What I'm saying is, I still wish he WAS real. *SOBS*
16. What makes the holidays special for you?
It's kind of trite but I guess it's just spending time with loved ones. Well, that and the fact that all thoughts of diets, being healthy and all that nonsense can be forgotten for a month day and you can eat until you EXPLODE. I did mention I'm classy.
Today I will wake up in the morning bursting to pee with enthusiasm. Then I will go for a lovely refreshing walk. To the kitchen. Specifically, the fridge.
Today I will hug my boys. Well, Mr 9 at least, because he's the only one who lets me these days. Today I will breathe and be thankful and all that hippy drippy positivity stuff. When I'm not being grumpy or bored or irritable or anxious... Who me? Nah, never. I expect I will have a cup of tea. Actually, several. Hence the bursting thing... See above. It's highly likely that I will stare vacantly into space at some point. Furthermore, I am quite certain that I will walk into a room and forget exactly why I did so. I will eat healthy food and nourish my body. Unless there is cake, because let's be honest, I'll shovel that shit in. I might go shopping. Well, I will be in the shops. I may not do much actual shopping because apparently they expect you to pay for things which I find quite rude. I will reluctantly lovingly prepare food and feed my family. Well, they'll eat something at some point anyway, even if it's cereal. Today I will be purposeful and proactive instead of meandering and reactive. Snorts. Strike that. Reverse it. Today I will jot my lovely list in my bullshit bullet journal and cross off ALL THE THINGS. OK, some of the things. Shut up. Today I will laugh at the absurdity of everything. Because seriously, what else can you do? Today I will read memes on the internet and share them. Because I enjoy wasting my life on such frivolities. Today I will try not to compare myself to others. After all, I'm awesome. Well, flawsome at least. Sniff. Today I will wear my comfy shoes. And no bra because comfy and bra in the same sentence is an oxymoron. Today I will type this sentence. Done. I will wash a mountain of dishes. That's always fun. Said no one ever. No wait, I'm supposed to be MINDFUL while I do so. Okey dokey. I will mindfully wash a mountain of dishes. Nope. Still not fun. I will tell my monkey mind 'NOT NOW' when it tries to trick me with its taunts. Today I will read some words and write some words. I will probably only utter one or two words however, because that's just how I roll. Today I will do lots of housework because I'm a dedicated and diligent housewife. And also we're expecting visitors so I kinda have no choice. Details. Today I will scratch my ears because they're always so damn itchy. Why are they always itchy? Today I will ponder upon the fact that in one month and four days I will be 47 years old and I'm so glad to be getting older and that I don't have to start chemo two days before my birthday like I did in 2016. Today I will pick up random crap as I go about my housework (see above) and become baffled about what it is, where it came from and what the hell are we living like. Just me? I will pause for a cup of coffee mid morning. Because I like to mix it up from all the cups of tea. Today I will focus on just today instead of thinking about tomorrow or pondering on yesterday. Until I get into bed and brain doesn't want to oblige. Silly brain. Today I will type an ending to this blog post. Otherwise I'll still be here rambling on tomorrow and nobody wants that. OK. Done. What about you? What will you do today?
Another Friday has rolled around. They tend to do this. Predictably, right after Thursday and just before Saturday. Funny about that. Anyway, this means it's time to join in, yet again, with the fun that is called, Friday Reflections. You may recall that I wrote a sweet little story last week, and ended with a teaser for a part two. Well, here is that promised finale. If you don't recall, you can read Part One here. I've also cleverly managed to weave in this week's prompt, which is: Heart's Content. Yep, I'm a genius. Or something.
Here is Part Two:
SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALLS: THE SEQUEL
Have you ever had one of those weekends? You know the kind. You're really looking forward to it. You have it all planned. And what you're planning is, a whole lotta NOTHING. Yes, you can plan to do nothing. In fact, I take great pride in doing so. Then, absolutely everything goes pear shaped. It's ridiculous. Until you realise, you actually quite like pears. Pears can be delicious. Look, I'm going somewhere with the pear analogy, stay with me. First, my car was ruined. Then I was locked out of the house. In a robe. In the rain. Which led to me eating spaghetti and meatballs with a handsome stranger. Mr Strong and Silent Enigmatic turned out to be surprisingly easy to chat with. I found myself loosening up. I was witty, charming and self-deprecating. He laughed in the right places, was courteous, kind and interesting. Oh, and he was also single, I discovered. And then I ruined it. Evidently, I was much more exhausted from my hectic week than I'd realised. Next thing you know, after only one glass of wine, I was snoring on the couch. Classy. I was having a dream about an Italian dude with smouldering eyes. He was leaning in towards me and... "Carolyn!" That accent. I was jolted awake to see those very eyes. "Your sister is here with your spare key." Oh, SHIT! I stumbled outside, still half-asleep. There was Diana waving the key. Dressed head to toe as a dominatrix. "You know what your problem is, sis? You need to get out more. Get a life. Make friends. Go on dates. HAVE SEX!" Marco seemed to have adopted a permanently bemused expression. He hovered behind us, watching the exchange. I snatched the key. "Couldn't you have changed?" I hissed. "No." She smiled, completely unfazed. "But YOU definitely should. What in the living hell are you wearing?" "It's a long story... I..." But Diana was bored already. Vanilla and dull were so not her style. That was clear. To the entire neighbourhood. "OK, gotta go!" She interrupted me." Can't stay and chat. I have someone waiting to whipped." She clattered to the driver's side of her car, adding in a stage whisper "By the way, he's HAWT. Go for it!" I stood there flushed and flummoxed as she drove away. "Your sister is... very interesting." Marco observed. I laughed a little uneasily, not sure what to say. Then I shrugged. To hell with it. "Her job is certainly unconventional, but she has a good heart." I figured if my sister had no shame about her lifestyle, then neither should I. Though we had one pact. Our mother must NEVER KNOW. Not for the first time, I was thankful she had moved to Queensland after our dad passed away. The endless phone calls, texts and emails about our single states were draining, but at least we had a buffer zone. "Well, thanks for everything." Now that I had a key and an escape route I was curiously reluctant to leave. Especially having no idea when I'd see him again. "No problem," he replied. There was a pause while I waited, for what I don't know. Did I really think he was going to ask me out? That he would be so taken with me he'd want to see me again. Maybe Mum and Di were right after all, I did need to get out more. "Okay, well seeya." I sighed. He nodded politely and headed back inside as the rain began to patter again. The next day, my car was towed away. I washed and dried Wendy's clothes and waited until a respectable hour. I had to return them. It wouldn't hurt to fix my hair for once. And what about some lipstick? I mean, I hardly ever wore it, but why not? And what should I wear? Wait a minute, you're just returning some clothes. Get over yourself. In the end I settled on jeans and a nice top. But I fixed my hair. A girl has to have some standards. Okay, a middle aged woman. So sue me. "Carolyn!" Wendy greeted me like a long lost friend. "Come in. Excuse the mess! Vince has taken the girls to the park for a bit now that it's stopped raining. Thank God! They were like caged animals. Sorry about your car! Coffee?" All of this while she kept moving and bustling to the kitchen. I glanced around. The mess didn't seem to much more than a lot of toys on the living room floor. I remembered those days with my three quite vividly. I'd been a young mum. Consequently, I had a 20 year old daughter, and the boys were 16 and 15, being only 18 months apart. I was glad those toddler years were over. "I just came to return your clothes and say thank you." I was glancing around for other reasons. "You're so welcome!" Wendy handed me a coffee. "I'm glad my brother-in-law was here. We thought about leaving the girls with my mother but she was unwell and Marco wanted to baby-sit, so it all worked out beautifully. Sit down!" she motioned to the couch that was littered with toys. "If you can find somewhere to sit!" I shoved some things over and sat. I sipped my coffee. Clearly Marco wasn't here. I should have taken more notice of his car. Wendy chatted while I imagined an alternative world, where, instead of the pile of ironing awaiting me, Marco and I were alone, eating spaghetti and meatballs and drinking wine to our heart's content. Just like a scene out of The Bachelor or Bacherlorette. I blame my daughter. She forced me to watch such vapid programmes. Oh okay, she didn't have to try too hard. We both watched and made droll remarks, as if we were regulars on Gogglebox. It was fun. Note to self: do something about that getting out more thing. Meanwhile, back to my imaginings. Beach side setting. I would be wearing a gown. This was a fantasy, so I'd be at least five kilos lighter. No, make that ten. My legs would be shaved. My hair and make-up perfect. And as for Marco. He was already perfect. A sexy cross between George Clooney and Mark Ruffalo. He'd be looking suave in a suit. He would... "Carolyn?" "Huh?" I was jolted out of my daydream. "I was just asking what you do," Wendy said. "Marco was asking so many questions about you, it made me realise how little we know about each other even though we're right next door!" He did? YESSS. "I'm an office manager for a small legal firm," I replied. My job was so boring compared to my sister. And I preferred it that way. I wondered if Marco had mentioned her. I sipped my coffee. I was bursting to ask about him, but I didn't want to appear too obvious. He'd asked about me! That had to be a good sign, right? By the time I left, we were firm friends in real life as well as Facebook . Only a matter of time until I crossed paths with Marco again. Maybe I should speed up the process by inviting them all over for a dinner party? I decided this was a brilliant plan. Except for one small thing. I don't cook. Unless you call shoving things in the oven cooking. So I called my amazing caterer friend Gavin, who agreed to do it for mates rates. He's a great friend, and the only reason we aren't anything more is because he is very gay. Also, according to Gavin I have embarrassing taste in clothes and music. And I'm too messy... And the list goes on. Fair enough. We could never live together, but I adored Gavin. . I scheduled the dinner party for a weekend the kids weren't there. Wendy had her mum babysitting the twins. It was all systems GO. Gavin arrived. "Hello. I've been dumped. I don't want to talk about it. Don't worry. I'll get cooking." he swooped through to the kitchen. Oh dear. This wasn't good. Gavin was usually the dumper, not the dumpee. I left him bustling away and went upstairs to get ready. This was fun! Why didn't I do this more often? Probably something to do with the days of maniacal cleaning that were necessary beforehand. Note to self: price a cleaner. The wine was chilled, music on - 80s vintage, much to Gavin's disgust - and I was in a fabulous mood when the doorbell rang.
"I brought some wine," Wendy handed me a bottle. More wine. Yay!
The were loud curses from the kitchen. Everyone politely pretended we hadn't heard them. Wendy began gushing about my place as I led them through to the open plan kitchen slash dining slash family room. Gavin's chopping now appeared to be frenetic. Hesitantly I introduced him to everyone.
"How are you? I was dumped today. I'm fine." he deadpanned. "Dinner will be served in half an hour." His eyes flitted to Marco. He raised an eyebrow at me. The first course was finally served when the front door opened and slammed. McKenzie stomped in. "He dumped me!"
"You too!" Gavin said. "Men are bastards." "Darling!" What happened?" I jumped up. "Everyone, this is my daughter, McKenzie." "Some bullshit about needing space." "Maybe it's for the best." It wasn't the time for me to admit I hadn't particularly liked her boyfriend. They'd probably make up, and then where would I be? "HA!" Gavin scoffed.
McKenzie burst into tears. "He's broken my heart! I'll never get over it." "Maybe we can talk about this later..." "FUCK!" Gavin bolted to the oven just in time. Our main course had narrowly escaped ruin. "I couldn't eat anything right now," blubbered McKenzie. "But I'll take some wine." She poured a generous glass. Marco and Vincent exchanged glances while I stood there awkwardly. I had pictured a civilised and sophisticated dinner party. Trust my overly dramatic daughter to disrupt things. Gavin served the main courses amid more lamenting over the general hopelessness of all men, straight or gay.
"Present company excepted, of course!"
The doorbell trilled. What next?
"Excuse me." I hurried down the hall.
"Surprise!"
"MUM!" I was stunned. What was she DOING here?
"You're always saying you'll visit and don't, so I thought I'd surprise you. Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"
I had a choice? I seriously considered slamming the door, but she bustled in and immediately began telling me how to live my life. "You've put on weight! What are you eating? Do you have guests? I heard what happened from your sister and I agree with her. Sweetheart, you just need to HAVE SEX!" The last two words reverberated around the room as an unexpected silence descended. "Nan!" McKenzie jumped up to hug her grandmother. "You really DO, Mum." she said. "Haha," I managed a weak laugh "enough about that."
I introduced my mother. Marco had that same bemused expression he seemed to adopt around me. When I caught his eye, I thought I saw his lips twitch. I needed more wine. Oh well, what could go wrong now? It was supposed to be a rhetorical question. But the doorbell rang. This was ridiculous! "Diana!" Or should I say, Mistress Delphine. "I need your shower. Mine's bung. You owe me one!" "Okay, but before you go in there you should know..." It was too late. She'd barged in, without waiting for a reply. OH. MY. GOD. "MUM!"
"What...? Who...?" There was a gasp of recognition. "DIANA?!" With that, my mother fainted. That was how my dignified, elegant dinner party ended. My guests made a hasty exit.
"You obviously have a lot on your plate." Wendy said. The next few weeks were a blur. I was busy with work and the boys. My mother had imploded. She was all set to move back to Sydney, convinced that her daughters were degenerates. It took every ounce of my energy to get her back on a plane. Diana was predictably unrepentant. McKenzie had gotten back together with the unsuitable boyfriend. Even Gavin had moved on, judging from his Facebook posts. And I was still very single. Marco was in Italy. He'd gone back to visit family. Wendy wasn't sure when he'd be back. My beach side visions had vanished. What was a girl to do? Well, for one thing, I was finally going to have that quiet weekend. A bubble bath. A bottle of wine. You know the drill. I relaxed into the tub and the doorbell rang. I threw on my trusty old robe. It was probably McKenzie. She often forgot her key. I flung open the door. There were those eyes. The ones that could go straight from smouldering to bemused. Either way, they were hypnotic. "Marco!"
"Hello Carolyn. I'm looking after the girls again and I have A LOT of spaghetti and meatballs. Would you like to help me eat them?"
"Love to!" I stepped outside to go with him, under the spell of those eyes. Then we both began laughing. I'd locked myself out wearing my robe.
THE END.
So there you have it. A tad corny, but whatever. It was fun to write. And I will continue to write to my heart's content. (See what I did there?) Even if it's corny. What do you like to do to your heart's content?
Hello! I'm Ness. Mum of three, Karen Carpenter obsessed nerd and quiet, shy, Aspergirl. Usually found in my own little World...Which is why I invented one. Thanks for stopping by!
