Titles are Overrated

Hello, dear creatures! I hope you are well and living your best life wherever and however that may be. 

Apparently, it's been a whole year or so since I posted here! Where does the time go?! Honestly, I've just been lazy lazy lazy busy busy busy and haven't bothered with this blogging thingymajig. Yep. You guessed it. There's been nonstop action, excitement and jaw dropping escapades of adventure and intrigue demanding my attention. The year has whittled by in a whirlwind of exhilarating activities and life changing achievements the likes of which have never been seen before and likely will never be seen again. Or something.

It is totally not exaggerating to say that our lives here in ye olde Boganville are akin to the most gripping television drama and should be adapted into a Netflix series IMMEDIATELY. 

Case in point: there's this show streaming on ABC Iview called Marriage starring Nicola Walker and Sean Bean. Spoiler alert: there is an intense seven-minute scene of Ms. Walker's character making a sandwich. Another, stacking the dishwasher. 

They should have just focused the cameras on Mickey Blue Eyes and I instead. I know for a fact it would be equally as riveting and avant-garde. I make sandwiches. I stack the dishwasher. Because - wait for it: I FINALLY GOT A DISHWASHER!

SEE? I told you extraordinary things were happening! 

Other fantazamagorical (totally a word) happenings:

I did something unheard of. I didn't finish reading a book. GASP. But life's too short for boring books, am I right? 

I let a little bit more of my weird out at work via a meme. I should have this on a t shirt, said I: 

I really should. 

I forgot how to spell a word! I would tell you which word, but I'd have to spell it. I guess I'm not using that word anymore. Good. Who needs you, dumbass word! In the bin, word I can't spell. You're completely UNECCESSARY. Or is it unnessacary? Two n's or one? Whatever. Binned. 

Mickey Blue Eyes and I had the opportunity for a brief interlude in Mollymook last month. My friend J (and her other friends) were celebrating 50th birthdays, and we were invited to tag along! They had booked in to go to Bannisters by the sea, which is a fancy pants restaurant connected to celebrity chef Rick Stein. However, Mick, myself and our other friends K and M decided to accept the fact that we are mere peasants with more plebian tastes. 

A courtesy bus to the local bowlo was booked. And look I'm sure Bannisters is lovely and all, but you don't get that kind of service and elegance, do you?

K fancied a cocktail, but upon arrival we deduced that it was not the sort of establishment that would serve cocktails. They did have a meat raffle in full swing however, so NER. We feasted on our basic schnitzels, steak sandwich and spaghetti Bolognese with glee and zero regret. Ambiance was provided by the raucous shouting in relation to the meat raffle. Pure class. 

Following this, we conversed with the locals while waiting for the return courtesy bus back to the caravan park. Alas, we discovered there is no such thing as shop til you drop in this neck of the woods. K and I had contemplated hitting the shops on Saturday while the others headed off to some sort of beer festival. Because beer is gross. Yuck. 

Saturday arrived. The caravan park had a wood fire pizza oven. Due to J's meticulous planning, we were fortunate enough to indulge in wood fired pizza for lunch. Afterwards most of the group headed off to the beer festival. K and I settled in for a cuppa instead. K, being the bloody legend she is, had brought a box of Cadbury Favourites. If I have to choose between beer or chocolate, no contest. Basic bitch 4EVA! Don't even care. 

As well as being a right basic bitch I'm also excellent company, and it wasn't long before I was snoring on the couch in K's cabin. Nice. Suddenly a storm shattered the peace, and I woke up disoriented. We watched a veritable river rushing past the cabin from the sliding door. The storm passed as quickly as it arrived, and we set off for a meal at The Milton Hotel. Mickey Blue Eyes and I tried unsuccessfully to hide our gauche ways at the sight of the somewhat eye watering prices (to us). 

Luckily, sharing meals was encouraged so we ordered the Wagyu steak. 

Waiter: Would you like any veggies?

Us: Yes, please.

Waiter: What are you after?

Mickey Blue Eyes: Um, a bit of everything. 

Cue me realising each vegetable is a separate dish at almost 20 bucks a pop. Yikes. We hastily backtracked and settled on a cabbage dish. 

Then the order was somehow mucked up and they gave us a free cauliflower dish as well. It all turned out to be extremely delicious, and J's friend also provided a delectable cakie to round out the meal. 

On Sunday we got up in the middle of the night to drive home because Mr 14 had a soccer thing on. We were weary but happy after a fun weekend.

Since it's been so long between posts you may or may not know we have an addition to the family! Another doggo!

Meet Ella: 

She was a skinny girl when she arrived but not now! 
See below 

Chandler is not entirely thrilled with the addition, poor dude

The funniest, cutest, goofiest, (and greediest!) little bundle of mischief. She popped up in my Facebook feed one day as available for adoption. This was in the midst of all the torrential rain. I was at work, so I frantically called Mickey Blue Eyes and said go get her. He did! I decided to keep her. And Mickey Blue Eyes too. Tee hee. 

What else is happening? 

My casual work at the library came to a grinding halt as a result of all my sick leave.  However, I am still working permanent part time for a library supplier and enjoying it. I much prefer working part time and behind the scenes. I'm definitely a behind the scenes kinda girl. Behind the scenes of behind the scenes even, if that makes sense. Yeah nah, nothing about me or my blog writing makes sense... Moving on. 

What can I say about the boys? Not much, because they hate when I do that! I will say that I now have a 21-year-old, an 18-year-old and a 14-year-old. Wait...WHAT??? Again, where does the time go??? Yeah yeah, it keeps moving forward and waits for no one cause that's how time works. I get it. God damn logic. Pffft. 

Confirming the fact that time waits for no one: we celebrated our 27th wedding anniversary a week or so ago! Just- WOW. That's a bloody long time! Not as long as my parents though. They celebrated 56 years! A few days later, my dad turned 84! Forget the logic thing, someone please figure out how to stop time!  

In terms of my PPPD diagnonsense, I am thankfully much better apart from occasional blips, but I try not to let it get to me which is half of the battle. 

Sadly, an anticipated road trip to Wagga Wagga with my mum had to be indefinitely postponed due to all the floods and ridiculous weather about the place. I'm sure we will get there eventually! In the meantime, we went to the movies to see Mrs Harris Goes To Paris which was a lovely feel-good movie with pretty dresses. So that's a win.

Mickey Blue Eyes and I are planning a Christmas getaway which promises to be the kind of lavish, upscale affair you have come to expect from us. Shut up. 

Anyway, that's about it for now. I'm wishing everyone a happy Christmas and a merry new year. And if that's not possible (because why all the pressure to be happy and jolly when the silly season can be complicated and fraught for many), then remember it will pass. 

As Mickey Blue Eyes would say, take it easy and I'll catch up with you later!

Kind wishes and cakie things,

Ness

PS. All the formatting and everything here is completely weird, and I have NO IDEA how to fix it. Oops. Sorry! 

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No More Regrets

Well howdy doody and how are you? Can you believe I said 'howdy doody'? I don't even know what it means! Never mind.

I am  here to talk about regrets. I have blogged about this before and came up with a whole list which you can read here.

The thing is, I re-read the list and thought about it some more. Because I love to over think things. And I began to wonder.  The root cause at the crux of some of these regrets is my ongoing battle with anxiety.

The question I'm asking myself is this: is anxiety something you regret? I mean, if you have an anxiety disorder it's not really your fault, though it is your responsibility. Fault/blame and responsibility are two different things to my mind. You can't be blamed for struggling with such a thing, but you are responsible for managing it.

Considering that my anxiety is clearly linked to the fact that I'm autistic and that is to do with the way my  brain is wired, saying I regret certain things where anxiety is at play is almost like regretting my entire existence.

I guess I'm not making much sense. Bear with me. I mean, looking at that old list I made a lot decisions based on fear and not being able to manage negative emotions. But at the time, I didn't understand that. Perhaps I didn't have the maturity or the knowledge. I mean, I didn't even know that I'm autistic until I was 40!

And even when I knew that I had an anxiety disorder, I didn't really accept it truly and properly. When anxiety in the form of panic attacks first tapped me on the shoulder many years ago, I thought of it as something more like a broken arm or a virus. Eventually it would clear off and that would be the end of it. But as anyone who struggles with this beast knows, it simply doesn't work that way.

It's only through accepting it about yourself and taking responsibility for managing it can you move forward and live a decent life. And honestly, looking back on it, I wasn't even given adequate treatment at first. It was only through my own perseverance that I kept going and trying things. Nobody ever even suggested that I see some one or pursue any help. It's almost like you're not taken seriously with these things if you're a woman... Especially one like me who has been a stay at home parent for many years. Anyway, I was trying to make a point but as usual I am rambling!

I'm just wondering about the futility of regretting things in life when you're an autistic human who has an anxiety disorder. I can say that I regret anxiety taking over my life, but at the same time, I was never given the correct tools to address it.  Somehow it seems that I've had to be very resourceful in trying to help myself and come to terms with it.

I've had six years to digest my diagnonsense and it still seems like there are often things I have to figure out and try to come to terms with.

I'm not organised. I am not a happy bubbly type. I don't know how to put it into words without sounding really negative. I am not really the person who would ever take off and go trekking by myself or do big gutsy brave things. I am not loud or opinionated or ballsy. And while I admire people who are, I can only be myself.  I am stuck being myself. A lot of times I think I should be things like confident and positive and I'm just not.

It's like if some people work out something they want to do they seem to know exactly what to do and the steps to take and then sustain it. I'm not like that. I can do certain things at times for periods of time, but not sustain it long-term. I can do one thing really well for a while. I can't do all the things.

Having anxiety and being autistic and introverted and all those things takes up a great deal of energy. I am who I am. And it is what it is.

It sounds odd, but I've realised I have to forgive myself for a lot of my perceived regrets or mistakes I made.

Ultimately I have wonderful parents, Mickey Blue Eyes and the boys and a small circle of family and friends who care about me and mean the world to me. And I want to concentrate on that. I did make some good decisions in life. Not that I want to bang on about cancer all the time, but having a brush with it certainly makes you realise you don't want to waste energy on a bunch of regrets.

But I do regret the 'howdy doody' thing. That was pretty dumb.

What about you?

What is your attitude towards regrets? 

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Something About Selfies

For some one who can be terribly self absorbed, I am certainly not into the whole selfie phenomenon. I suspect it's partly because I'm shy and an introvert, but mainly I'm just a lazy technophobe with a dodgy old phone. I have no idea how to disguise double chins and add filters. Shrugs.

I don't really understand the whole get your boobs out on the internet and no make up selfies lauded as 'brave'. I must be extremely brave if that's the case... (Almost) no make up is my normal way of life these days.

Anyway, I've managed to take a few over the last year or two, even when I was going through cancer treatment. My bald noggin scared off one or two people. I lost a couple of 'likes' after posting it. But as the saying goes: it's like the trash took itself out.

Apparently it was National Selfie Day the other day. I didn't even know that was a thing. Thinking about it, my boys appear to not be into selfies either. It would appear we are a very introverted family.

The other thing is, I kind of have resting bitch face. Or something. I don't have much expression even when I feel really happy.

Having said all of that, I suppose I do take in interest in other folks selfies on social media. It's always nice to see someone else's smiling face, but  not so much my own resting bitch face (which will henceforth be known as RBF). 

I know I should take more selfies, it doesn't matter what I look like. Double chins, wrinkles, RBF, the whole shebang. Otherwise my funeral will rock around (hopefully many years from now!) and there will only be ancient photos from years ago available for my kids to remember me. 

My mum actually bought me a selfie stick some time ago and I never used it. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure where I put it. Weird. Hmmmm, where is that thing...

Anyway, a quick perusal of my Facebook photos shows me that my selfies have revolved around the sad saga of my hair. My tresses appear to have had an entire life of their own. See below.

THE TRAGIC TALE OF NESS'S TRESSES IN SELFIES

Me with 'normal' hair a few years ago.

Me when I decided to become a Hare Krishna.
Just kidding! Me during chemo last year.

Me being smokin' hawt in a beanie. Also during
chemo last year.

My Nanna Ness look when my hair started to
grow back. 

And finally...

Me a few weeks ago.

Now you can see why I'm not into selfies. They're all blurry and just ghastly and frightfully horrid and all those other expressions out of Enid Blyton books.

Any tips on how to make them less blurry when you have a crap phone? Plus, how do you hide double chins and add filters? Oh, that's right... I could just google that myself. Oops. Will do. As you were.

What are your thoughts about selfies?

Do you celebrate National Selfie Day?

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Ten Things I Believe

Today I bring to you ten things I believe. A serious version and a silly one. Because I can never be all serious and deep and meaningful on this blog. Well, not very often, anyway. 


Ten Things I Believe: Serious Version 


1. Be kind. 

You know that internet meme about how everybody has an internal struggle you know nothing about? THAT. Basically just be kind. Don't be a dick also works here. 

2. Introverts are awesome! 

Well, duh. I'm super duper introverted and just look how awesome I am! 

3. When you're dead, you're dead.

I don't believe in God or heaven. I think it's the same as before you were born. You just don't exist anymore. You'd think this belief might give me some sense of urgency to do something with my life beyond EAT ALL THE CAKE. Apparently not. Oops.

Having said all of the above, I still reserve the right to believe in Emergency God. You know, when you're suddenly in a crisis and you start praying "Please god, let everything be okay..." There were certainly many times I prayed to a God I don't even believe in during my breast cancer experience. I just can't say 'journey'. 

4. Family is everything. I am so very lucky to have such a beautiful family and extended family. They mean the world to me. I LOVE them so much. And I'd also love them to leave me alone now and again. See point number 2. Ahem. 

5. You don't have to like or be liked by everyone.

It took me a while to figure this one out. Some people won't ever like you no matter what. You could give them a yacht and a million dollars and they still won't like you.  Although, if you want to test that theory I'm open to offers. I'd prefer a mansion and two million dollars, thanks. I promise I'll like you! Probably. 

6. You wouldn't worry about what others thought of you if you knew how seldom they did.

This one is courtesy of Dr Phil and fits in with the previous point. At least I got something out of hours of my life watching his show that I'll never get back. 

7. Happiness isn't the natural state for human beings a hundred percent of the time.

I read a book called The Happiness Trap by Russ Harris and it completely changed my way of thinking about happiness. Truthfully, happiness is just one of the gamut of emotions that everyone experiences during their lifetime. Nobody feels blissfully happy and contented every single second of every day, no matter what the highlight reels on their social media look like. 

8. What some one thinks of you is none of your business. Related: if  you happen to think my blog sucks I'd prefer not to know. Just click away...

Oh wait. Judging by the paltry amount of folk reading here, this is already happening. Sigh. 

9. I'm in no competition with no one.

This is yet another internet meme. But whatever works, right? This resonates with me. 

10. Letting go of the notion of having high self-esteem or self-confidence. 

This is another light-bulb moment courtesy of The Happiness Trap. The idea is that you stop judging yourself as a person. This is still something that I fall back into from time to time and have to keep reminding myself.  

Upon reflection it appears that I have gleaned a lot of wisdom from internet memes. Who said Facebook can't be educational and enlightening? 


Ten Things I Believe: Silly Version


1. Mornings suck.

I remember thinking that there should have actually been laws invented against getting up in the mornings before you were ready. That's how much my body protested against it. Mind you, I was having this thought in my late teens and early 20's. So you can imagine how eager I am to jump out of bed in my mid 40's. 

2. Cake should be the sixth food group.

Sure, it's fattening and terribly bad for you. Details!

3. Ditto chocolate.

4.  I believe in laughing at yourself and trying to see the funny side of stuff even when life is a tiny bit shit. 

5. There should be Carpenters music piped at a loud volume through every shopping centre and public place. Then every one else would vacate the premises in horror and this introvert would have it all to herself! Genius!

6. Weight should be like height. You get to your most healthy weight for your height and it stays there permanently no matter what you eat. Why didn't I design the human body? 

7. I believe in sleeping-in. 

This is pretty self-explanatory. See point number 1.

8. I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky...

Okay, not really. But I DO believe that's one of the most annoying songs EVER. Says the woman who can listen to Carpenters songs about birds suddenly appearing and every sha la la la ad nauseam. Ahem.

9. I believe there should be a dinner fairy. 

And a washing up fairy. And a housework fairy... And just fairies in general. And unicorns. Basically what I'm saying is I believe in wine. Shut up. 

  


10. I believe I am all believed out. I believe I need a lie down.

Linking up for I Must Confess. 

What do YOU believe? 

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One thing I wish I did differently

There was a time when I wished I did absolutely everything differently. Every single personality trait I have, I wished was the opposite.


Everything I wished was different


I'm quiet - I wished I was... not loud exactly, but bubbly and articulate.
I'm an introvert - I wished I was an extrovert. 
I'm shy- I wished I was outgoing, fearless and confident.
I'm scatter-brained and disorganised - I wished I was focused and efficient.
I'm a drifter and daydreamer - I wished I was driven and disciplined.
I'm nonathletic and uncoordinated - I wished I was sporty. 
I'm a night owl - I wished I was a morning person.

Blah blah blah.

Luckily, I don't have any gender confusion. I don't wish I was a man. Except for rare moments in grotty public toilets when the ability to be able to pee standing up would be an asset. But I digress.


Have I come to terms with all of the above?


I would like to be able to say that I've triumphed over all of the above and am blissfully happy and contented with my quiet, scatter-brained, nonathletic, night-owl self. But I can't. Well, to be honest, being quiet and introverted doesn't bother me as much as it used to, (although it often continues to bother others). However, I still find myself wishing I was much more organised, driven and disciplined. 

I guess it's because I'd like to be able to have something to point to in self-defence. People may like to point out that I'm quiet, but then I'd like to be able say "Well yes, I am, but on the other hand I'm really efficient and organised."

Um, no. No, I'm not. And it kind of irks me, to be honest. I get all whiny and pouty and pissed off like a three year old being denied cake. Or a 45 year old. Details. Shut up.

 If I'm going to struggle in one area, why can't I have another that is a strength? Nope. Lucky me, I get to struggle with social skills and executive functioning.


Always be yourself


And to make matters worse, it's not like my Aspie brain decided to fixate on a really helpful special interest like say, math or, I dunno, gardening or something. My mind decides to fixate on Karen Carpenter. I can remember every little tiny detail I've read or heard about her career and life both good and bad, yet I can't remember where I put my glasses five minutes ago or which school notes are due or what day it is. It's probably Monday if I've posted this. Is it Monday?

The only thing this (my Karen Carpenter obsession) is useful for is time-wasting and making people look at you like you have two heads. Winning! 

That's why expressions like 'be yourself' and 'feeling comfortable in your own skin' annoy me. 

It seems like when advice like the former is doled out it really means: be yourself, but only if you're an outgoing, type A, driven extrovert. 

And I don't know if I'll ever be truly one hundred percent comfortable in my own skin at all times. Maybe accepting that I'm always going to be just a tiny bit awkward is as good as it gets. In this way perhaps I'll worry about it less. I can already see this working. I know I'm always the most quiet person in any given situation, but I can still show up and sit there with my resting bitch face on. It's all good. 

The ONE thing I wish I did differently


Of course I'm just over thinking. As usual. 

So I guess if I was going to pinpoint one thing that I wish I did differently it would be that. I wish I didn't over think about stuff. Especially all of the above. After all, people still genuinely like me the way I am. Some of them even love me and would lose a kidney for me if necessary. And they feel this way without me changing a thing. They like quiet, scatter-brained me, complete with a cake and Karen Carpenter obsession. Well, I'm sure Mickey Blue Eyes wishes I'd get over it at times, but I wish he'd get over his soccer obsession, so we're even. 

And some people will simply never like you even if you gave them a Ferrari, and that's OK. Being liked by everyone sounds exhausting to an introvert like me! 

I suppose I could try an experiment George Costanza style and do the opposite of every instinct I have for a day or two to see how it goes? But then I'd have to not eat cakies. Bugger that!

Yep, it's definitely time to stop over thinking. Now if only I could stop over thinking about over thinking....

I'll have to think about that...



Linking up for I Must Confess.

Linking up again for Friday Reflections.

What's the one thing you wish you did differently?

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Introverts Are Awesome!

Howdy folks! Here's something I dragged out of the vaults for today's burning question: 

Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

Quiet and reserved?

Or a bubbly, outgoing chatterbox?

The person sitting sedately in the corner at social occasions?

Or do you prefer dancing on the tables and being the centre of attention?

Maybe you're somewhere in between these extremes? I'd like to know! 

As for me,  clearly it's obvious. It's table-top dancing exhibitionism all the way, baby! And talking? I never stop! 

The fact that this is all a figment of my imagination is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT.

Oh alright, sometimes I like to pretend I'm the opposite of what I'm really like. I mean, it was okay to sing into a hair brush in my bedroom as a child and pretend to be a pop star. Can't I still play pretend as an adult? The problem is, I have difficulty translating my flights of fantasy into real life 'fake it until you make it' situations. Sigh. 

The truth is that I'm so introverted I make all other introverts seem like Alan Carr Chatty Man on Speed. In addition to my extreme introversion, I am also ridiculously shy. If that wasn't enough, I also have Asperger's Syndrome. Oh yes, I've scored the ultimate hat-trick of excruciating social awkwardness. Yay me! 

Just make sure you invite me to all your parties if you really want to them to just  GO  OFF!  I mean completely, OFF. Literally. I'll bore all the guests rigid in seconds. If my riveting personality isn't enough, all I need to do is whip out my Carpenters albums. DONE. 

Anyway, as you can see, all of the above traits have led to me disintegrating in self-deprecation quite frequently. However, since the publication of the book I mentioned, there has been a subtle shift. Us introverts are finally getting our fifteen minutes of fame. There is even a Facebook group called Introverts Are Awesome.
I absolutely agree. So I stole the title for this post. Ahem.

As mute as I can be in person, I have a feeling that I have plenty to say on this topic. So feel free to skim through to the end. 

Otherwise, strap yourself in, it's going to be a self-indulgent ride. You're welcome.  

Apparently it was some dude named Carl Jung who first coined the terms introvert and extrovert. Although there still appears to be some ongoing debate about the true definition of these terms, the simple lay person's guide is this:

An introvert is somebody who finds too much social interaction over-stimulating and needs to recharge with solitude. Extroverts, on the other hand, are energised and thrive off being around other people. 

This is a pretty basic, abridged definition. Obviously there has been reams of stuff written about the two different types and there can be variables. For instance, not all introverts consider themselves to be shy.  

Personally, I was so sensitive about being shy as a young person that I failed to realise that I was also introverted and that this is perfectly fine. Looking back I can see that I sabotaged myself in some ways. 

After I finished High School back in the olden days of the late 1980's, I studied at TAFE to become a Library Technician. My shyness caused me so much agony, especially in the form of job interviews, that even though I managed to secure temporary positions, I finally convinced myself that I was not cut out for the job.

Guess what? You don't have to be extroverted to work in a Library! Who knew? It never occurred to me to see being quiet and introverted as a positive instead of a negative.

There seems to be way too much emphasis on being extroverted in our culture. For so many years I always believed that being shy/introverted was this bad, hideous, awful thing about me that had to be changed at all costs.

The inference from other people was  always that if only I tried hard enough I could 'come of out my shell'. I have grown to hate that expression. Having people subtly put you down in this way constantly just reinforces all the above feelings. I felt that everything about me was intrinsically WRONG. 

After ditching the Library work, I started working in a call centre. Yep, I'm a genius. This is the introvert's version of Hell. Only worse. Anyway, I used to envy the fact that my co-workers seemed to have all this easy banter and rapport. I'd see groups of women trotting off to lunch together laughing, and wish I could be one of them. 

Then, the rare times that I was actually invited out to lunch with others, I'd find myself feeling....well, frankly....bored. Not shy. Not anxious. Just plain old bored. While they chattered on about how hammered they were on the weekend (perfectly normal for a bunch of twenty somethings), I had nothing to add to this conversation. This is when I realised that I do sometimes prefer my own company. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not totally anti-social. I just prefer small groups of close friends and family than over-whelming crowds of lots of people. And sometimes I just don't click or have anything in common with some people. I've decided that this is okay. After all, you don't have to like or be liked by everyone. 

Even when I socialise with close friends and family I suffer a 'social hangover' afterwards. I enjoy it, but I then I need time alone to re-charge. Instead of feeling refreshed and energised I feel  like I've done 50 rounds in the ring with The Rock, then been run over by truck and put through a blender. 

See, I knew that I would ramble on about this subject. Whatever the written equivalent of verbal diarrhoea is, I have it. Ahem.

I  ain't coming out of my shell for anyone! 

Even alcohol doesn't 'bring me out of my shell'. Instead, I just feel sleepy and mellow after one or two drinks. After a third I'll either feel light-headed and sick or slip into a coma. I'm SUCH a party animal!


Fortunately, I never attend many parties. Unless they are children's parties. Nobody appears to have 'at home' parties anymore. Or, if they are, we're not being invited. This means that I may have to sit in a McDonald's/Play Centre/Bowling Alley with a few other unfamiliar parents and make polite chit-chat. Not surprisingly, I suck at it. 

I'll either go with my favourite option: mutism. Or, alternatively, I'll completely put my foot in it and blurt out way too much information. 

Like the time one Mum was chatting away about a friend who had tragically lost a baby half way through her pregnancy, yet still had to give birth.

"I couldn't imagine having to go through that!" she said, almost in tears "It would be terrible!"

"Yes, it is," I replied, without thinking "the same thing happened to me." 

The poor woman looked thunderstruck. Of course there was no way she could ever have known that. I wouldn't say it was exactly helpful of me to bring it up. She apologised, clearly wishing the ground would swallow her. Good one, Ness.

Ditto the time when I used to attend Playgroup with Mr 5 before he started school. One of the Mums there expressed her worry about her Dad who was having a colonoscopy that day. I proceeded to inform her how Micky Blue Eyes has one every year after having had bowel cancer in 2004. Her worried expression turned to one of terror. Well played yet again, Ness.  Way to go with the social gaffes!

As Mr 11 would say in a faux American drawl:

AWWWKARRRRD!

No wonder I mostly stick to what I'm best at. Shutting right up.

Yes sir, selective mutism and I are besties. 

ALL VALE NESSKI: Bringing you awkward silences since 1971!

Another phenomenon that came into play during the Play Group era was my introverted tendency to suffer from a 'social hangover'. I briefly touched upon this before.

Playgroup only consisted of a measly two hours a week of social interaction.  That's nothing, right? So why did I go home every week and feel like sobbing from exhaustion? The next week would roll around and I'd feel barely recovered.

Meanwhile, the other Mums revealed how they schlepped their kidlets to various groups on multiple days of the week. I was STUNNED to learn this. Seriously. STUNNED. 

I couldn't have been more shocked if they'd revealed that they liked to snort cocaine off a hooker's arse while their kids watched. 

Okay, I may be exaggerating just a teeny bit. But it is quite amazing to me how you weirdo extroverted folk like this socialising caper so much. 

I guess I could force myself out of my comfort zone once in while. 

It is quite interesting being a shy, introverted Aspie and being a mother of three amazing but noisy boys! On the one hand, I often crave peace and solitude. On the other hand, my family are my coat of armour against the World.

An oldie but a goodie 

In all my many awkward moments I can remind myself that I don't have to worry about what others think of me. I have Micky Blue Eyes and the boys who love and accept me. We are a family of introverts. The only difference is, my boys are certainly NOT shy! 

Anyway, Susan Cain has a Manifesto for Introverts.

I'd like to make up my own manifesto, but I'll have to think about it further in order to come up with something poetic and wise.

In the mean time, you can always count on good old Grumpy Cat:

Linking up for  IMust Confess, Open Slather and Mummy Mondays. 

Are you an introvert or an extrovert, or maybe a bit of both? 

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Introverts Are Still Awesome!

You may remember my lovely little self-indulgent stroll down an introverted lane. Well, I now want to take another wander down this path and present my much anticipated Part Two! I know you've probably been waiting for it with bated breath. What's that? You have no idea what I'm on about? HMPH. You can read it here.

Anyway, as I was saying, I am really quite the massive introvert. Even alcohol doesn't 'bring me out of my shell'. Instead, I just feel sleepy and mellow after one or two drinks. After a third I'll either feel light-headed and sick or slip into a coma. I'm SUCH a party animal!

Fortunately, I never attend many parties. Unless they are children's parties. Nobody appears to have 'at home' parties anymore. Or, if they are, we're not being invited. This means that I may have to sit in a McDonald's/Play Centre/Bowling Alley with a few other unfamiliar parents and make polite chit-chat. Not surprisingly, I suck at it. 

I'll either go with my favourite option: mutism. Or, alternatively, I'll completely put my foot in it and blurt out way too much information. 

Like the time one Mum was chatting away about a friend who had tragically lost a baby half way through her pregnancy, yet still had to give birth.

"I couldn't imagine having to go through that!" she said, almost in tears "It would be terrible!"

"Yes, it is," I replied, without thinking "the same thing happened to me." 

The poor woman looked thunderstruck. Of course there was no way she could ever have known that. I wouldn't say it was exactly helpful of me to bring it up. She apologised, clearly wishing the ground would swallow her. Good one, Ness.

Ditto the time when I used to attend Playgroup with Mr 5 before he started school. One of the Mums there expressed her worry about her Dad who was having a colonoscopy that day. I proceeded to inform her how Micky Blue Eyes has one every year after having had bowel cancer in 2004. Her worried expression turned to one of terror. Well played yet again, Ness.  Way to go with the social gaffes!

As Mr 10 would say in a faux American drawl:

AWWWKARRRRD!

No wonder I mostly stick to what I'm best at. Shutting right up.

Yes sir, selective mutism and I are besties. 

ALL VALE NESSKI: Bringing you awkward silences since 1971!

Another phenomenon that came into play during the Play Group era was my introverted tendency to suffer from a 'social hangover'. I briefly touched upon this before.

Playgroup only consisted of a measly two hours a week of social interaction.  That's nothing, right? So why did I go home every week and feel like sobbing from exhaustion? The next week would roll around and I'd feel barely recovered.

Meanwhile, the other Mums revealed how they schlepped their kidlets to various groups on multiple days of the week. I was STUNNED to learn this. Seriously. STUNNED. 

I couldn't have been more shocked if they'd revealed that they liked to snort cocaine off a hooker's arse while their kids watched. 

Okay, I may be exaggerating just a teeny bit. But it is quite amazing to me how you weirdo extroverted folk like this socialising caper so much. 

I guess I could force myself out of my comfort zone once in while. Speaking of which, I'll be attending Mr 5's school assembly this afternoon. There will be crowds, noise, parents, children and off-key singing. Last time I attended Mr 10's assembly I accidentally sat in the wrong spot in the school hall. This resulted in me being mistaken for a casual teacher twice.

It only occurred to me later that I should have totally went with it Jack Black/School Of Rock style and pretended I was. I'm sure I could have had those kids belting out Carpenters songs before school ended! Shut up, they are rock! CLASSIC rock, I tell you! Oh all right, classic soft rock. Adult contemporary? Okay, so they're bloody easy listening! So what? HMPH. 

I'm rambling again, aren't I? Oh well, this is the only place where I do it, therefore I'm allowed. So ner!

It is quite interesting being a shy, introverted Aspie and being a mother of three amazing but noisy boys! On the one hand, I often crave peace and solitude. On the other hand, my family are my coat of armour against the World.

An oldie but a goodie 

In all my many awkward moments I can remind myself that I don't have to worry about what others think of me. I have Micky Blue Eyes and the boys who love and accept me. We are a family of introverts. The only difference is, my boys are certainly NOT shy! 

I'm still plodding through Susan Cain's Quiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Can't Stop Talking and finding it fascinating.  See, introverts ARE fascinating! I knew it! I'm totally riveting. So the fact that you're probably nodding off around now is not my fault. No way. 

Anyway, Susan Cain has a Manifesto for Introverts.

 I'd like to make up my own manifesto, but I'll have to think about it further in order to come up with something poetic and wise.

In the mean time, you can always count on good old Grumpy Cat:

Linking up for The Lounge and Laugh Link.


Do you have a manifesto?

What does family mean to you? 

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The A - Z Of Me

A is for absent,  because I always seem to be absent from this space lately. Oops.  I’m an absent-minded sort of person as well. A is also for Asperger’s which I was diagnosed with at age 40 in 2011.

B is for boring as batshit. I’m even boring myself with this blog let alone anyone else which is why I’ve been so conspicuously absent. B is also for my three boys aged 12 (almost 13), 10 and 5, who are anything but boring.

C is for cake and Carpenters: my two obsessions. C is also for classy. Clearly I am.  Classy, that is. Shut up.

D is for daydreaming because I’m constantly ‘off with the pixies’ and a space cadet.

E is for effort. I find everything in life to require monumental effort while I’d much rather be daydreaming while eating cake and listening to the Carpenters. It’s weird that people won’t pay you do so. Hmph.  E is also for exercise endorphins. I have to force myself to do the former daily in order to achieve the latter. An even louder HMPH! . Did I mention effort? Why can’t you get endorphins by sleeping?

F is for forgetful. In fact, the only reason I’ve survived on this planet for 43 and a half years is because eating is the one thing I don’t forget. Which brings me to the other F: FOOD.  Some people eat to live, I live to eat. I mentioned that I was classy.

G is for great, galloping, gargantuan, garrulous guacamole. Oh okay, I couldn't think of anything for G, but that's pretty impressive alliteration there, right?

H is for hope. I’m hoping I’ll come up with something interesting. Nope. Sorry.

I is for Infertility. Unbelievably now, there was a time when I thought I’d never be a mother. My boys were all miracle babies. I is also for Introvert. I take introversion to a whole new level. I’m so introverted that I make other introverts seem like loud, exhibitionist extroverts. At least I'm good at something. Thanks to  Susan Cain we’re all the rage now. Introverts are awesome and all that. So ner to all you lowly extroverts.

J is for the juxtaposition of two of my favourite things. Read on...

K is for Karen. Carpenter, of course. I sort of like her a bit. Ahem. I realise this is just repeating part of C but I couldn’t think of anything else for K, okay? It’s ironic that two of my favourite things are food and the World’s most famous anorexic but I like to mix things up. This is what I was referring to above with the whole juxtaposition thing. I'm not really sure if that's a word to be honest but it sounds impressive.

L is for Lego, the evil nemesis in my life. This Cancer of toys seems to multiply and spread to every corner of my house while I run around trying fruitlessly to keep it one area. Sigh.

M is for Micky Blue Eyes because I should probably give him a mention seeing as we are coming up to our 19^th anniversary later this year.

N is for noise which I don’t like very much. N is also for Ness which is what most people call me and led to the title of this blog. I’m so original.

0 is for original. See ‘N’ above.

P is for People, those weird, scary creatures. I find them simultaneously fascinating and terrifying. But, as Barbra testifies, people who make people are the cluckiest people in the world. Or something. Therefore, I’m glad I made my little ‘tribe’ of people where I belong.

Q is for quiet. I have always been quiet. If I had a dollar for the amount of times I’ve heard expressions like: “You’re the quietest person I’ve ever met!” or “You should come out of your shell!” I would be richer than Gina Rinehart.  My greatest skill is the impressive ability to just shut right up. This is a skill that more people should consider developing. Shut up. Literally. It’s not that hard. I do it all the time.

R is for reading. I’ve always been a book worm. I’m happier with a bag full of dollar books from Vinnies than a closet full of designer clothes or shoes. R is also for ranga. I am one. The fact that I need a little..erm..’help’ (hair dye) to remain one these days is completely irrelevant.

S is for scotch which is a favourite drink.

T is for tea which is my favourite non-alcoholic drink.

U is for unicorn because I am a majestic unicorn. This meme says so. So ner. See also: R

V is for Vanessa because it’s my name obviously. Duh. Everyone calls me Ness, though. Except Mick and my parents who’ve stuck with the Vanessa thing. The boys call me Mum when they’re not calling me other things.  Apparently Mum originally wanted to call me Rachel or Rebecca but Dad wasn’t as keen. They briefly decided on the name Monique until Mum saw Vanessa Redgrave in the movie Camelot and thought she and her name were beautiful. Therefore I became a Vanessa. Thankfully, as I don’t think I look like a Monique but I look exactly like a young, beautiful Vanessa Redgrave. The resemblance is uncanny really.

Me

Vanessa Redgrave. It's like we're twins...

 

W is for weird. I’m quite weird. But you already knew that.

X is for x-ray. I’ve had one or two in my time which isn’t very interesting but I’ve never played a Xylaphone so that’ll have to do.

Y is for “Y’s a crooked letter and Z’s no better!” which is something my Mum used to say to my brother and I when we were children in reply to our constant round of “Why’s?”

Z is for the sound of everyone snoring by this point. My cure for insomnia is now complete. You’re welcome.

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

                                            Who can honestly think of anything about themselves for X, Y and Z??

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