Someone Else For A Day

If you could be someone else for a day, who would that be? This is the question I am pondering for today. There are so many choices.

I could be an animal. But which one would I be? A dog? A cat? Or a bird, so I could merrily poop on people? I'd only poop on people I like - it's supposed to be good luck after all!

I could be Mickey Blue Eyes just to see what it's like being married to me. Shudders. On second thought, no. Just- NO.

I could be one of my gorgeous boys, just to see what it's really like having me as a mother. But I'm not sure I really want to know.

I could be someone famous, just to see what it's like being one of the 'beautiful people'. But I don't like being the centre of attention so I'm not sure I would really like it.

I wouldn't mind trying out being somebody who was a total horrific bitch on wheels for a day. I'm curious to see what it's like. I'm so nauseatingly sweet and nice. I just want to experience being the total opposite of that. To try to understand such a person's thought process. But I can't really say who that person is. That would be like calling someone a bitch. I'm too sweet to do that. You see what I mean? Sigh.

I definitely wouldn't want to be the Prime Minister or the Queen or anyone in authority. I can't make decisions and intensely dislike conflict.

It wouldn't be bad being a wiry, gangly teenager or child or man who never puts on weight just so that I could eat and eat and eat non-stop for the whole day until I explode. Hell, yeah! Yes, it's interesting that eating and not having sex is the first thing that comes to mind for me if I could be a member of the opposite sex. I think that probably says a lot about me. Shut up.

 It might be OK to be our dog Cookie for a day. Every time I spotted her today she was snoozing. Lucky bitch. Even now she is curled up at my feet. Also, she's adored by Mr 10 and 6. 

 Yes, I do think I'd just like to be a carefree child or an animal for a day so I could just sleep, play, eat and not worry about anything. Yeah, I'm really deep, aren't I?

Oh well, if you were looking for deep and meaningful I guess you would never have clicked over here in the first place. So don't blame me. It’s your own fault. You knew that I’m shallow and you chose to read this anyway. So who’s even more shallow? I think we know the answer to that. Just saying.

 Another thought I just had was that I could be somebody who was a genius-like speed reader. Then I could get through ALL THE BOOKS I want to read and THE ENTIRE INTERWEBS in one day!

Or, if there is such a person, (in the Guinness Book Of Records or something) the World's greatest cake-eating champion! That way I could eat ALL THE CAKE and get it out of my system forevermore. Maybe. Probably. It's possible!

 So basically what I'm saying is I want to be somebody who can eat and sleep and read and surf the web all day. You know, just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. Shut up.

 

Linking up for The Lounge.

 

Who would you like to be for a day?

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Soggy Sandwiches And Other Sagas

As usual I've been busy, busy, busy! Especially this week with the Oscars happening. I'm sure you spotted me on the red carpet. No? You just weren't looking hard enough. OF COURSE I was there! I dashed over on my private jet. Yes, I took my Dinner Fairy with me! Duh! OK you got me, I made that up.
 
As a matter of fact, I believe I would rather gauge my eyeballs out than attend this grandiose affair. It's much easier to sit at home in my leggings and t-shirt and wistfully survey all those glossy genetically blessed and surgically enhanced stars. I haven't seen one single movie that was nominated so I have no opinion about who should have won, I just watch it for the frocks. Anyway, the Oscars are like SO four days ago, so who even cares anymore?

Let's move on to more interesting topics. ME! Shut up. I'm fascinating. For instance, this week has involved packing school lunches, grocery shopping, exercising, doing crossword puzzles and listlessly flicking through TV stations.

Oh yeah, I did start a TAFE course. I've already learnt one VERY IMPORTANT thing:

Packed lunches SUCK.

No wonder I constantly fish out soggy sandwiches from the boys school bags. Bleurrrrrrgggghhhhhh.

Yes folks, it's always about the food with me. I'm still attending Weight Witches but haven't quite got my broom stick yet. Shut up.

So why I am doing a computer course when I'm already a technological GENIUS?  Well, it gets me out of the house. That's something. And maybe, just maybe I might end up getting one of those things that people do. Um....ah....oh dear... I can't even say the word. A..j..j..jo.....

Nope. Can't say it. But it has three letters. Starts with a J. Rhymes with 'cob'. Shudders. I haven't had one of those since....

Never mind.

One of my TAFE teachers was most encouraging, saying that she had another lady in one of her class who'd been out of the workforce for 14 years and ended up getting a job as a result of doing the course. So you never know.

But now that I've splashed all the details of my Weight Witches and TAFE all over this utterly fascinating blog you can be sure to be entertained by my EPIC FAILS.  As soon I make a public statement that I'm going to do something I'll fail. Yay me. So just pretend you didn't read this when you spot me a year from now corpulent and  unemployable. Thanks for that.

Anyway, it's all good. It's not like I'm going to end up destitute and homeless if it doesn't work out. So I figure I may as well give it a go. If it's not meant to be I've still got my Sugar Daddy, aka Mickey Blue Eyes. A much older*, wealthy**man to keep me in the this glamorous and lavish lifestyle to which  I've become accustomed.

Case in point: yesterday we finally got a plumber to fix our leaky taps, toilet and shower! Mr 10 nearly burst with excitement and pure joy at being able to do something as simple as turn a tap on and off with minimal effort. Last week involved a visit from the electrician to fix our dodgy power points which were full of ants. Guess what?

Now we can do something really avant garde:  PLUG THINGS IN! AND THEY WORK! See? I told you it was grand around here! Why on Earth would I want one of those things that start with a J anyway?

Our WiFi was also resurrected yesterday. It's been down and out as there was work being done in our street for this NBN thingamajig.  The boys reacted as if we'd won the lottery yesterday when they arrived home from school.

This Saturday is the return of the phenomenon known as Schlepping To Soccer At Stupid O' Clock. As you can see, my life is always action packed and exciting!

Anyway, must dash. Have to go and do something else that's super riveting and totally out there: Make a sandwich for lunch. At least  it won't be soggy this time. 


* He's over 50. He can get pensioners insurance. Snorts.
** Bahahahaha! He thinks he's wealthy!

Linking up for The Lounge.

Tell me, how do you stop sandwiches from going soggy?

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Free Style

A funny thing happened. I started writing this post two weeks ago and my lap top decided to freeze and shit itself so I gave up. Then last night I checked in here and realised that my half finished draft had been published. Weird. Oh well, just as well nobody reads my crap anyway.

So here I am again. No point in explaining my absence since those two optimistic people who may still be reading at this point are used to me popping up whenever I feel like it. Suffice to say it involves a husband on crutches and a house in utter disarray. I decided it would be an extremely helpful time to have a major clear out. Somehow it ended up progressing to clearing out the carpet in two bedrooms. Now we need new carpet. I'm a very logical person. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Shut up

As for Mickey Blue Eyes and his crutches, turns out he's even more logical than me. He was still playing soccer at 51. One dislocated knee later, he may finally quit. So that's me. Running him backwards and forwards to physio therapy and playing nurse. Somebody offered to loan me a sexy nurse costume. I'm sure I would look smokin' hawt in a matron uniform but I was thinking more Nurse Ratched than Nurse Racy. Muahahaha!

Meanwhile, I also decided to join Weight Witches because I've always wanted to be a witch like Samantha on Bewitched. I imagined myself just twitching my nose and instantly being lighter and healthier. Then I could just fly off on my broomstick and ditch the whole house wife gig, Because frankly, that part of Bewitched never really made sense. Why would a witch with magical powers want to forsake those powers to be a normal house wife? You can see that nothing has changed since my absence. I'm still asking the important questions.

Anyway, it turns out that there is no magic spell and you actually have to eat healthy food! How frightfully rude. However, cakies are allowed in small amounts. Phew. I'm only two weeks in and going well, but now that I've made a public announcement on this here blog just watch me fail! Let's just agree that you'll smile politely and not mention it if you see me and it looks like I've fallen off the wagon. Okay? We're good then. Deal.

It seems that while all of the above was happening Christmas has snuck up on me in it's merry little way. Thank goodness I don't have to worry about Christmas shopping! That's Santa's job, right? It's totally his fault if nothing turns up under the tree! Sorted.

I have managed to put up a dodgy little Christmas tree. But presently the house resembles something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried  Alive in preparation for having the carpet laid on the weekend. Then we'll be able to get back to normal and just resemble a regular episode of Hoarders. What a relief.

On Friday Mickey Blue Eyes has to see a surgeon and find out whether or not his knee will require surgery. Fun times. So there will be no holidays for us and unfortunately we'll have to cancel that lavish trek around Europe I had planned. I did! When we win the lottery. And we never take a ticket, so it's really looking promising. Oh well, I can dream, can't I? Sigh.

The boys are counting down the days until school finishes and Santa arrives. Mr 10 and 6 were the proud recipients of a Principal's Award. Oh  yes, last month Mr 5 became Mr 6! We celebrated in style with a party at Maccas. Clearly I made the right decision in losing the bogan theme around here. We're not bogans AT ALL!  Shut up.

Another funny thing keeps happening. Every time I sit down to write a blog post, this lap top freezes and shits itself, so I'm just going to quit while I'm ahead and end it here.  Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year everyone!  Or something....

Linking up for The Lounge.

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A Continuing Theme

Those of you who have read my previous post may remember my description of my blogging style as being rather ad hoc. Therefore, it will probably come as no surprise to you when I reveal that my parenting style is, *coughs*..somewhat similar. Using the phrase 'somewhat similar' in the sense of EXACTLY THE SAME. Ahem...

But aren't we all just making this shit up as we go? Or is that just me?

Before I had children of my own, I had such lofty, ridiculous ideas of what a perfect mother was like.  For the record, Mr 5 informed me on Saturday evening that I AM one. A perfect Mum. I guess that settles it. Oh, and it involves giving them hot dogs for dinner and putting Scooby Doo on the telly, just in case you were doing it wrong. You're welcome.

My pre-children lofty ideals involved nothing of the kind. Sigh.

There is probably a reason why I was so deluded. Until I had children of my own at age 30, I really had little to no experience of being around babies or children. Except for being around a younger cousin or two, and perhaps nursing them now and again, absolutely nothing. I never babysat or really spent any time being a full-time carer of a child or children.

I was so judgemental of other parents. If I heard a child having a tanty in a shopping centre I would be the first person to roll my eyes in scorn. My children would never behave like that! If I saw somebody feeding an infant commercially prepared baby foods, I'd shudder. How hard could it be to puree  home made mush?

I have always been a shy, quiet and introverted person. I also have an official diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. This happened at age 40, three years ago. Somehow I did vaguely realise that my extreme need for solitude and quiet time would be a challenge for me once I had kidlets. However, I still wanted them. I figured I'd probably have two children at the most and that they would most likely be quiet little bookworms like me. Wrong.

My boys are quite articulate and love a good chat, particularly Mr 10. They're not shy and say whatever they think without reserve. They also make me laugh constantly, which is a plus. On the flip side,  there are heated arguments and rivalry. This means constant noise and attempts to smooth things over and restore peace.

I also didn't realise that having children meant remembering stuff. A LOT of stuff. Like their names. I mean, there's a reason I call all three of them 'honeybunch'. Shut up. It beats constantly tripping over their respective names until I hit the right one.

Don't get me wrong, I love my boys passionately. I'm the kind of mother who can hug her children and say 'I love you' a million times a day, but on a practical level I'm sadly lacking. I couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery, as the saying goes. I'm also extremely ad hoc regarding routines. Even when I have managed to sustain a good habit, such as exercising everyday, I don't have a routine. I just do it whenever, at different times of the day.

I suck big sweaty balls when it comes to time management and multi-tasking. I'm constantly off with the pixies, so I suddenly snap out of my little world and realise it's dinner time when my stomach starts growling. Somehow, I'm quite astonished that the Dinner Fairies haven't arrived. I realise with a start that I'm the one whose supposed to be wearing the fairy wings and tiara. This is my job. 


 
When I do try to plan in advance and write lists, I'm STILL quite capable of forgetting essential stuff on the list. Alternatively,  I'll end up forgetting to take the list. This means that I'll try to rely on my dodgy memory and become confused about which ingredients I needed for which recipe. Plus, I agonise over making decisions about the simplest thing, so I don't really like grocery shopping. I tend to just randomly chuck things in to avoid this pointless indecisiveness and then end up buying way to much crap.

By the time I've lugged all the crap home I'm too overwhelmed to cook, anyway. I find cooking for a family everyday a chore and somewhat stressful, instead of the relaxing ritual it seems to be for some people. So I stick to the most basic, boring meals of meat and veg, or salad, spaghetti bolognase or roasts. Sometimes (okay, a lot of the time) I cheat and buy a cooked chook to have with salad or just order take-away. Then, I feel guilty that I'm bringing my boys up on crap.

I'm constantly going on at my boys about picking up after themselves, but the truth is, I'm just as disorganised and messy. At least I've got hypocrisy down to a fine art. Winning!

Unfortunately, Mr 13 seems to have inherited my tendency to forgetfulness. He forgets and leaves things at school, such as his sport uniform. Then I forget to ask him when I pick him up. I end up feeling sorry for him because I suspect a lot of 13 year olds are similar, except they have a mother who's got all that shit covered. On the positive side he also has a good heart and a sense of humour and I'd like to think he got some of that from me too, so it's not all bad.

When it comes to teaching my boys organisational skills, I may as well attempt to teach them how to speak fluent Japanese. NO FUCKING IDEA IN HELL.

I rarely talk about my Assburgers Asperger's here as I fear it will sound like me whinging and whining as weepy violin music swells in the background. I realise it's not a death sentence and I'm not in a wheel chair. This is the one of the best things about it and yet at the same time somewhat frustrating. Just because people can't see anything debilitating on the surface, that doesn't mean that I don't have genuine struggles.

The shrink (I say shrink because it's easier to spell) who diagnosed me assured me that some women on the spectrum that she sees are sometimes quite austere and don't like to show affection, not even to their children. She added that from a psychologist's (did I spell it right?) point of view this (showing love and affection) is much more important than routines and a spotless home. I cling to those words everyday. She may have just been trying to make me feel better but it's all I've got, so don't rain on my parade, okay?

So yes, my boys may always live in CHAOS*, but there will also be cuddles!  LOTS of cuddles. And cakies! Let's not forget about those. As if I could. Shut up.

* CHAOS stands for Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. I read this on somebody else's blog, but am unable to remember whose. So if I stole it from you, sorry! But I did mention my memory issues. Erm...what was I saying?

Are you a forgetful person?

Do you ever feel like a hypocrite?

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link

And a VERY belated link up with The Lounge.

 No, I didn't forget, I just have dodgy internet connection. Outta here.....
 

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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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Happy Is The Way I'm Feeling...

It feels like it's been a while since I've checked into my little World here at Nessville. In reality, it's only been just over a week. And what a week it's been. Such a sad week, with the passing of Robin Williams added to all the other usual sad stuff that is the news every day.  So sad, that the Lounge Lizards want us to get all happy just to lighten things up a bit. So I will.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am a simple deep and complex creature who can somehow find happiness with the most inane unusual and interesting things. Such as:


Why wouldn't this make you happy? Totally cracks me up.

• Carpenters (the musical duo NOT the tradesmen. Although if they were cute tradesmen...*coughs* I mean, erm, I'd still stick to the musical duo as I'm a married woman and all that. Ahem.
• Karen Carpenter (TOTALLY different thing. Sort of. Kind of.  Okay, not really)
• Music in general
• Books
• Reading (which kind of explains the books thing)
• Exercising. Yes, exercising! (Tragically, you can't get the same endorphins from sleeping. Hmph!)
• Strength training. Yes, strength training. (I have buns of steel. Well, I might if it wasn't for the next three things...)
• Cakies

  

  A few of my favourite things sent to me by my favourite
  imaginary friends. Thanks Posski and Randa!

• Chocolate
• Food in general
• Pretty notebooks
• Make-up
• Jewellery
• Clothes (comfy track suit pants ARE clothes!!)
• Blogging
• Writing
• Laughing
• Mangoes (the only good thing about Summer is all the stone fruits)
• Strawberries
• Cups of tea
• The colour green
• The colour purple ( but not necessarily together WITH green)
• Pub meals
• All meals (ahem...)

• Wine
• Scotch and coke (these last two can make me EXTREMELY happy *hiccups and giggles*)
• Lipstick (see number 12)
• Hair dye
• Dogs (especially Beagles and Dachshunds)
• Babies (as long as they're somebody else's at this point)
• Movies
• Warm (but not too hot) weather
• Roses (the flowers and the Cadbury variety)
• Being warm
• My bed
• Snuggling in bed (see above)
• Hugs with my boys
• Houses
• Dreams
• Pens
• Phone
• Computer/Internet
• Facebook (I may be addicted. There was no need for the word 'may' in that sentence...)
• Blogger ( So I can bore everyone. You're welcome)
• Vitamins
• Autumn leaves
• Spring
• Comfy shoes
• Shoulder massages
• Any massages
• Clean sheets
• Staying in motels
• My heat pillow (because I'm like a hundred year old woman named Enid with all my aches and pains)
• Blank paper
• 'Anne' books
• Retro things
• Daydreaming
• Sleeping
• Pointless lists
• Diaries and journals
• Humour
• Special occasions
• Friends (I think I still have one or two)
• My boys
• Walks
• Quiet time
• Old photos
• Words
• Chick flicks
• Chick lit
• My cakie make-up bag
• My cakie pyjamas
• My cakie notebook (I'm sensing a theme here)
• Imaginary (online) friends
• My family
• Funny blog posts (reading them or writing them)
• Funny things my boys say
• Micky Blue Eyes (just in case he's reading this: it means nothing that you didn't make the list until now. I was just saving the best until last)

Thus ends another pointless fascinating list. Now, I'm off to my happy place.... 

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

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Online Lessons

The internet has taught me a good many things. In no particular order they are: 

• There is an inordinate number of dickheads out there.
• Luckily, there are just as many awesome people out there to balance it out.
• I seem to be fortunate or clever enough to avoid the dickheads (so far) and only encounter a lot of awesome.
• I am not alone. There are lots of other Aspergian people out there, like me.
• I am not the only weird person who loves Karen Carpenter/Carpenters.
• I am not the only introvert. Introverts LOVE the internet.
• The internet has allowed me to connect with like-minded people and taught me that I can communicate with others, even if it's not verbally.
• The internet has also taught me that are an extraordinary amount of people who like cats. Even if they're grumpy. Especially if they're grumpy. The cats, that is. Not the people who like them. Well, they might be, I suppose.
• The internet has proved that Andy Warhol's infamous declaration that everyone will be famous for 15 minutes was probably not far off the mark.
• I've also discovered that everyone has their battles. Even the people who seem have their shit together are probably just better at faking it.
• The only thing that inspirational memes inspire in me is the desire to gag or punch someone.
• It seems that with all this technology, as Jerry Seinfeld put it, we all have absolutely nothing to say to one another and we must say it RIGHT AWAY. Except it was funnier when he said it.
• I have an astonishing capacity for procrastination and time- wasting.
• That I don't really like controversial topics or opinions, even online. I'm that fence-sitting person. Shut up. I like to think of it as being tactful and diplomatic. What I really am is a chicken shit.
• I feel that I take introversion to a whole new level. I'm the quiet person in the corner in real life situations and the quiet blogger in the corner of the blogosphere. I'm happy in my own little world.
• Conversely, on occasion I do like to embarrass myself on the internet with photos of bad hair and frock choices. I like to mix things up a bit.
• That I'm a tiny drop in the ocean, or speck of sand on the shore in the bigger picture of life, the universe and everything.
• That I can trot out clichés and pass them off as blog fodder. See above point.
• That I should probably get out more.
• But the internet is addictive. Very, very addictive.
• I can be resourceful. After all, it was very resourceful of me to start this blog so I can bore you shitless entertain you with my brilliance.
• People like to take photos of their food and post them on Facebook for some reason. It has come to my attention that I did this for the first time the other day. I will totally understand if anyone unfriends me now.
• That 'unfriend' is now a word. A verb even. I think. 
• That I need to go back to Primary School and re-learn basic English and Grammar. I'm sure I'd still look cute in a uniform and pig tails.
• People can become totally engrossed with fictional characters in a soap opera and over react when they die. 
• Apparently everyone wants to dress like Nina Proudman from Offspring. Meanwhile I dress like Bogan Shazza from Boganville.
• There are an alarming amount of people who actually give a flying fuck about footy, soccer and anything with balls in it.
• There is something called Pimperest Pinterest. Don't ask me what this is. I have an account and still have no idea. 
• There is something called Twatter Twitter. I've been there and done that and I'm (mostly) over it. I just check in now and again to confirm this. Yep, I'm over it. 
• There is something called Instagram. I don't have an account and probably  never will. I'm a crap photographer. Plus, I avoid cameras but don't avoid cake. These two things may be related. Ahem. 
• I am shallow. I have nothing particularly enlightening or ground breaking to add to this list.
• I am easily distracted. I blame the internet. Which isn't fair, I've always been easily distracted. 
• Imaginary (online) friends are the bestest (look, I know it's not a word. I've just slipped it on purpose to annoy the Grammar Nazi's out there. So ner).  You can Facebook chat while still in your pyjamas and there is no need to madly race around cleaning the house like you would if they were really popping in.  
• People will keep on sending me gaming invites to Candy Crush, Farmville, Angry Birds and a gazillion other games despite me never once responding. Ever. And I never will. Supposedly you can block them, but I tried and nearly lost the will to live. I'll just keep on ignoring them. 
• I'm not smugly superior to all the gamers out there. It's just that I've already got time wasting and procrastination down to a fine art and don't need any further assistance, thanks very much. 
• On that note, I really should bring this bullet list limping to it's lame end because I'm just procrastinating. The end. 

Linking up with Ann at Help!! I'm Stuck! for Things I Know
 and sneaking in late forThe Lounge with Tegan at Musings Of The Misguided.

What has the internet taught you? 

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Is Everything Awesome?

The Lego Movie is in heavy rotation in our house at the moment. For those of you who haven't had the joy of seeing it a billion times, or even once (and let me assure you, once is quite enough), I'll fill you in.

The movie centres around the Lego city of Bricksburg, which is ruled by President Business. There, we meet a Lego man (naturally), a happy construction worker named Emmet.  He begins narrating the story, informing us that, in Bricksburg - you guessed it - Everything Is Awesome!

The Lego citizens of Bricksburg only need one book entitled:


How To Always Fit, Have Everyone Like You And Always Be Happy! 

This book tells everyone in five simple steps how to achieve what the title promises. They are:

Step One

Breathe.

Step Two

Exercise.

Step Three

Shower and wear clothes.

Step Four

Enjoy popular songs like Everything Is Awesome and watch hit television shows like Where Are My Pants?

Step Five

Always obey President Business's instructions or you'll be put to sleep.


It is at this point, barely into the movie, that I find my teeth grating and am ready to call bullshit. I'm probably missing the point or something. 

There is probably a pivotal scene where Emmet realises that President Business is corrupting everyone into believing that everything is awesome. I'm not sure, I've never been able to sit through the whole movie.

At the very least, I'm definitely over-thinking what is meant to be a light-hearted, fun movie for kids. But still, bare with me, I think I have a point, and it's this:

Is this the greatest message to give to children? That you should ALWAYS fit in, ALWAYS be happy and have everyone like you? Is it possible for EVERYTHING to be awesome, ALL THE TIME?

After all, on a daily basis I certainly manage to achieve at least four out of five of those steps listed above and I'm certain that not everyone likes me. I know, hard to believe, isn't it? Go figure.

Breathe. Check. I do it without thinking.

Shower and wear clothes. Check. Okay, sometimes I skip a shower, but only if I'm staying home and not subjecting my stinky self to anyone. I often wear clothes, albeit unfashionable ones, but clothes nevertheless.

Exercise. Check.

Enjoy popular songs and hit television shows. Check. 

The fact that, a) they were popular songs 40 years ago; and, b) I watch Offspring while doing a fair amount of eye-rolling, so I'm not sure if I'm technically enjoying it; are completely irrelevant.

I do all of this, but is everything awesome and I am liked, do I fit in and ALWAYS feel happy? No.

As I said, I'm probably reading too much into this and need to get out more. I just can't help thinking that if, as a teen, I'd come to the revolutionary realisation that: you don't need to be liked by everyone, nor do you need to like everyone; this would have saved me a fair amount of angst.

In fact, the above statement has become some words to live by. Along with the following statements:

You wouldn't worry about what others thought of you if you knew how seldom they did. (Thank you, Dr Phil).

My mental health has to be more important than what somebody may think of me. (Thank you, Bronwyn Fox, author of Power Over Panic). 

Furthermore, I'm attempting to teach my boys that it's okay to not be happy all the time. As a parent, it's all too easy to fall into the trap of thinking that you just want your kids to be happy. Yes, ideally this is my preference too. But, realistically, happiness is just one of a range of emotions that we all experience over our lifetime.

Sometimes I'm happy. Other times I'm sad, frustrated, anxious, bored, furious, bewildered, amused, irritable, and every other emotion you can think of. And this can be all in the space of half an hour at certain times of the month.

"I'm not happy," Mr 5 will wail, as we trudge home from school. Or he'll sigh and say in pitiful tones: "I'm saaad."

"That's okay," I respond "nobody is happy all the time. You'll be happy again later."

Yep, I'm a mean Mum. Please note: this particular sadness is usually related to me having said a firm no to his requests to buy him a lolly at the shop on the way home, so I know he'll get over it. If I thought he was persistently sad all the time, I wouldn't be quite so dismissive.

He's also suffered from the same phenomenon that his brother had. Fear of Conan The Librarian. Every week, when Tuesday rolled around and it was Library day at school, he didn't want to go. Apparently the Teacher/Librarian is a tad scary. It seems that she raises her voice a lot. This may have been frightening to my boys as I am very softly spoken and they're probably not used to it. 

My first instinct was charge up to the school and demand that Conan The Librarian STOP petrifying my precious boy. But I didn't. I just explained to Mr 5 that some people have loud voices and that his teacher has told me what a good boy he is in class, so he has no need to fear her raising her voice at him. He seems to have slowly gotten over this fear now. 

Meanwhile, Mr 10 is not as enamoured with soccer as his brothers are. We are still encouraging him to finish the season and next year he can choose something else. He's not really into sport, like me. However, Mick and I both feel it's good for him to be outside getting exercise and mixing with other kids, instead of online or on a PlayStation all the time. In this way, I'm attempting to show him that he can be out of his comfort zone for a while and still be okay.

Sometimes I think I'm not setting the greatest example with this. I feel like I haven't challenged myself or pushed myself out of my comfort zone enough. Then I realise I'm a quiet, shy, introverted Aspie who became a mother to three boys and lives with the all the chaos, questions, noise, sibling rivalry and cuddles that go with the job description. Yep, I'm definitely out of my comfort zone. Thank God for those cuddles. Those cuddles make up for all the rest. 

I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing or not in forcing my boys out of their comfort zone a bit. Maybe I'm wrong. But, unfortunately, life isn't always happy and comfortable all the time.

So I guess a silly little Lego Movie where Everything Is Awesome for an hour or two probably isn't a bad thing for my boys. As long as we balance it a bit with other things. 

The only other remaining question is: How do I get that damn song out of my head? Somebody make it stooooop! 

Linking up with Emma from Five Degrees Of Chaos for The Lounge. 

                                  
            Do you think children should be happy ALL the time?

                              What are your words to live by?

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What I Suck At

What do I suck at, you ask? Okay you didn't really ask, but I'm telling you anyway. Don't worry, I'll make it quick, even though I could write a thesis on this topic. 

At the top of the list I would have to put blogging. I never seem to get my act together for these linky things. Case in point: on Monday I finally got around to writing my I Must Confess post after dinner, only to somehow manage to accidentally delete it  before I posted it. Genius.  I can't remember a word of it but I’m sure it was BRILLIANT. I can say that since no one will ever know. Ahem...

What I really, really and truly suck at is being organised. In every conceivable area of life I am woefully and abysmally disorganised and forgetful.  The only things I remember are eating and the words to every Carpenters song. I can assure you that this is definitely not helpful in life. Well, eating is somewhat helpful in order to survive. Eating cakes the size of your head isn't. Not that I would ever do that. Especially when I can eat cakes twice the size of my head. I'm classy like that. 

The thing is, I got my diagnonsense  diagnosis of Ass Burgers  Asperger's a few years ago and that’s when I realised that I have significant impairment or issues with what is referred to as Executive Functioning.

According to Tony Attwood’s Complete Guide To Asperger’s Syndrome the psychological term executive function includes:

• Organisational and planning abilities
• Working memory
• Inhibition and impulse control
• Self-reflection and self-monitoring
• Understanding complex or abstract concepts
• Using new strategies

I may have burst into tears upon reading this section. My tears miraculously disappeared as I read on and discovered Tony Attwood’s absolutely brilliant solution to these issues.

He says: one solution to reduce problems associated with executive function is to have someone act as an ‘executive secretary’.

This is the Reader’s Digest condensed version but he then goes on to add:

I encourage a parent or teacher to take on this very important role of executive secretary. We hope that this will be a temporary appointment as the person with Asperger’s Syndrome achieves greater independence with organisational skills. However, the executive secretary mother may not be able to resign until her role is replaced with an executive secretary wife.

Upon reading this sheer brilliance my tears just evaporated.  Now I felt like killing someone. I was INFURIATED by this advice. What I would like to know is: where the FUCK is my executive secretary wife?

Oh wait. All I have to do is grow a cock, divorce Micky Blue  Eyes,citing irreconcilable cock differences, ask a well-organised woman to marry me and be my executive secretary. Easy peasy. Why didn't I think of that? Any takers out there, pending my sex-change?

No? How rude. Hmph. Oh well, I can always get a cheapie sex-change operation overseas and then place an add on E-Harmony:

Middle aged woman turned pretend man with a pretend cock seeks executive secretary wife because Tony Attwood says I need one. You will need to be extremely well-organised but clearly insane and have a striking resemblance to a pre-anorexic Karen Carpenter; she is the only woman I could possibly consider 'turning' for. 

Then I would just sit back and wait for the eager responses to come piling in. Done. 

Meanwhile, I am left not only cock-less and executive secretary -free, but I have conveniently backed myself into a corner where I am expected to be not only my own executive secretary, but also to my three boys who all would appear to need one as well. And I suck at it. Did I mention that? 

Other things I suck at:

• Parking
• Talking
• Cooking
• Sewing
• Craft
• Team sport
• DIY/Decorating
• Art
• Dancing

And almost anything with an 'ing’ on the end of it. Except catastrophising. I’m brilliant at that. Gotta be gifted at something. Right, that’s me. I’m off to grow a cock. Cheerio. 

Linking up with Robomum for The Lounge

                                                     What do you suck at?
                                                     

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Time Machine And Things I Know

I know that if I had a Time Machine I would blast myself back to the 1970's so that I could rock out in the mosh pit at every Carpenters concert. Shut up. Of course they had them.  Otherwise what else was Karen Carpenter doing below besides plunging into the mosh pit?

I know I would also go back and tell my younger self the current Lotto numbers so I could file them away for safe keeping.

I know I am deeply shallow to only think of doing the above two points when there are so many other historical events I could be present for; or disasters and crimes that I could potentially avert.

I know that it would be quite interesting to go back in time and attempt to explain to anyone in the past about our current technology.

I know that the whole concept of those Back To The Future movies was completely flawed. Think about it: Marty McFly goes back in time from the 1980's to the 1950's where he meets his future parents and has to ensure that they meet and fall in love so that he isn't obliterated from Earth for all time. However, wouldn't his parents tend to remember the dude who introduced them and notice the bizarre resemblance to their son years later?

I know that this lack of logic didn't stop me from avidly lapping up the films as a teenager.

I know that if I went back to the 1950's I would  definitely want to meet my Mum and be her bestie.

I know that I should stop fantasising about having a Time Machine and come back to reality and 2014 and do something constructive with my life.

I know that instead of doing the above I'll go meh and keep typing this drivel.

I know that I should quit procrastinating but I'll get to that later.

I know that I should probably do something about my rather significant facial hair, not to mention the entire forest growing on my  legs. 

I know that it's (the excessive hair) not a classy look unless I am planning on auditioning for the role of Chewbacca in any future Star Wars films. As a ranga, I'd be a sure thing for the part.

I know that I need a nanna nap.

I know that the pesky old Dinner Fairy won't show up tonight as per usual.

I know that some of my clothes are feeling not quite as snug, so perhaps this 'Get Healthy' stuff is working.

I know that I'm simultaneously pleased about the above and peeved that I can't have the same results while stuffing my face at will. Classy.

I know that I watch Offspring while rolling my eyes the whole time about how ridiculous it is.
.
I know that I'll still keep watching in spite of the above. It's a sickness really.

I know that I know everything about nothing.

I know that I have EFD. Big time.

I know that I haven't got a fucking clue in hell what do about having the above.

I know that nobody gives a fuck and will just think I'm lazy.

I know that I may appear to be lazy to somebody else judging from the state of my house.

I know that I do sweaty exercise every day so the above isn't true however much it appears to be. So ner.

I know that beginning a sentence with the words 'I know' starts to get really old after a while.

Therefore I won't do it this time.

I'm just mixing it up a bit . You're welcome.

In other scintillating news, I have raging, feral PMS AND I CAN'T HAVE CAKE OR CHOCOLATE!!!

I know that this is a TRAVESTY! OUTRAGEOUS!

I know that as a result of the above two points I am probably an utter joy to be around.

I know that the highlight of my day will involve folding washing while watching Dr Phil.

I know I should probably get out more.

With this in mind, I will be leaving the house tomorrow to watch Mr 12 march in our local festival with his school.

I know that there will be rather a lot of these strange things called people there.

I know that outwardly I appear to be one these strange things called people but I think we've established that I'm a completely different creature altogether.

I know that it's time to bring this pointless list limping to it's feeble end.

I know that if you're still reading at this point you deserve all the chocolate and cake that I can't have. Please avail yourself of this.

I know that I hate you if you did. Don't take it personally. I HATE EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW. It's the PMS. Or it could be....

I know that I'm not an owl but I'm wise so same thing, right? Shut up.

I know that the limping end to this post that I promised previously is now crawling. Apologies.

I know that I might as well jump to it. Over and out.

Linking up (belatedly) with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for The Lounge

Linking up with Ann from Help!! I'm Stuck! for Things I Know

                                                 Where would you go with a fictional Time Machine?
                                                
                                                  What do you know?

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In My Own Distracted Little World

As the tag line underneath the title of this blog suggests, I am very easily distracted. Constantly off in my own little World. I simply can't help it if this alternative universe is preferable to the real World. It's not my fault. I've always been an off with the pixies space cadet. In addition to this I am constantly forgetting things. In fact, I recently came to the stunning conclusion that the only reason I've managed to exist on this planet for 43 years is because eating is the one thing I don't forget.

Seriously.

As my Mother is fond of saying "If my brains were dynamite, they wouldn't blow a part in my hair. She doesn't say it about me, she says it about herself; in spite of the fact that she has a sharper mind than me at almost 73.

Lately though, something very strange has been happening in the land of Nessville. Yes, I'm certainly as distracted as ever, but this time the distractions are not cake shaped with frosting. It seems that the real Ness has been abducted by aliens and in her place is this creature who is eating healthy food. Additionally, I've also been cleaning and attempting to be ever so slightly more organised. Who is this person? The emphasis is on the word 'attempting'. All of my past efforts to do this were monumental failures so we shall see how long this little foray into la la land pans out.

Case in point: I certainly haven't managed to become an organised blogger. Oops. Maybe I'll get there. One day. Eventually. Definitely. Maybe. Did I mention that I'm also indecisive as well as distracted?

The one thing that distracts me the most is my fascination with Karen Carpenter. I could spend hours watching every piece of retro footage that she appears in on Youtube. I belong to approximately ten million Facebook fan groups where we discuss every little detail of her short life and her music. This is quite bizarre when you consider that as a general rule I couldn't care less about most celebrities, particularly current ones. In fact, in most cases I couldn't even tell you who they are! However, when it comes to worshipping in the cult of Karen, I am shameless. The only consolation I have is that I am not alone. There are lots of other weird people like me around the interwebs. One of the good (and bad, depending on your point of view) things about the online world is that whatever your unique brand of crazy is, you can be sure you will find like-minded individuals in a Facebook group/Blog link up near you. Isn't that right, my fellow Karen devotees and bloggers?

Quite often when I am miles away in Carpenterland, the boys might be attempting to kill each other right in front of me while I'm utterly oblivious.

Micky Blue Eyes will bark at them to stop and then continue barking at me: "They were right in front of you! Didn't you see that?"

This will cause to me to abruptly have to land back on Earth with a thud and a sheepish admission that no, I did not see or hear because I was totally and blissfully tuned out. I do feel - perhaps selfishly- that if I am in my own house I should be able to indulge this inclination to tune out; to a degree, anyway. But Mick doesn't always agree with me and it can be a source of frustration for him at times, which I do understand. I can see that I could be a pain in the butt to live with, but aren't we all at times?

It's amazing that anyone manages to stay married when you think about it. We will be clocking up an impressive 19 years this year. Only one more year until the big two zero. It remains to be seen if we will do anything to mark the occasion. When it comes to birthdays and anniversaries we are a very low key and low maintenance family. If I've been able to remember them in the first place then I consider that a win. I don't want to push my luck any further by attempting to plan a party. I'm disorganised as well as distracted and forgetful. Plus, I'm notoriously socially awkward. Therefore, I'd rather be the quiet person in the corner at a party and not the hostess. Frankly, I suck at that. Especially those painfully awkward type of get togethers where you try to mix your family and friends and everyone just sticks to their own cliques while you're in anguish imagining that they are all miserable and not enjoying themselves.

It certainly seems easier to just book a party at the bowling alley, like we did for Mr 10 in March. That way I can just hover around drinking bad coffee as my eardrums burst and the paid for hostess does all the shouting. Works for me. Besides, the boys love it anyway. As long as there is cake, that's all that matters, right?

Speaking of cake, I appear to have gone cold turkey. ONE WHOLE WEEK cake free! I haven't exploded and died, surprisingly.  I was watching Australian Story the other day, which was about Olympic swimmer Kieran Perkins and I was struck by something his Mum used to say to him; which was: "Never give up on what you want the most for what you want at the moment." This seemed fitting since what I want at the moment is ALL THE CAKE but what I want most is to be healthy. Damn. So where's my Olympic medal? I most certainly DO deserve one for resisting cake! HMPH. After all it does take the equivalent of Olympic style dedication and herculean effort for me. It's like an addict trying to give up heroin. Sugar is my heroin.  Ahem.

My Get Healthy coach called yesterday to check in. I proudly reported all of the above.

"Have you noticed that you've been agitated and/or cranky lately?" she asked.

"I have, now that you mention it," was my rueful reply.

She told me this was likely to be due to sugar withdrawal. Apparently sugar does make you sweeter. Who knew?

If you are still unconvinced that I deserve an Olympic medal, then let me tell you the following; Micky Blue Eyes, my parents and I went for a drive out to Windsor for the day last Friday. While there, we had lunch in a pub where I watched them feast on steak with chips and gravy. Meanwhile, I stuck to grilled fish and salad.  Mr 12 is fond of drawling: "So? Do want a medal?" in response to just about any statement. Why yes, I believe I do want one. Hand it over!

Other than all of that, the most exciting occurrence in my life at the moment is watching Offspring on Wednesday nights and Call The Midwife on Thursdays. Yay! Okay, excuse me while I go and get a life...

Okay, later dudes. Over and out.

Linking up ridiculously and pathetically late with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Also linking up with Kylie Purtell: A Study In Contradictions for The Lounge.

                                                     What's been distracting you lately?

                                                     How do you celebrate birthdays or anniversaries?

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My Ideal Mother's Day

Apparently it is Mother's Day on the weekend. I know this because of the plethora of catalogues and commercials I have seen. In fact, if you were to believe these catalogues and commercials it would seem that all us Mums ever do is sit around in our pyjamas all day, soaking our feet in a foot spa, while eating chocolate and listening to Michael Buble. Hmph.

I must take umbrage with this preposterous notion. Admittedly, I'm not exactly sure what umbrage is, or if it is even a word, but it certainly sounds impressive, so umbrage it is. Yes, umbrage! HMPH! What a ridonkulous suggestion. As if I would ever do THAT. Meaning the foot spa, chocolate eating scenario I described above.

Of course I do sit around in my trackie daks, faffing around on the internet while eating cake and listening to the Carpenters. Which is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. This is efficient multi-tasking, not lazy time wasting. No way. Sometimes I may even have a cling wrapped head just to complete this picture of sheer elegance. This is because I may be also home dyeing my hair as well. You see? Mutlti-tasking people!

Oddly enough though, this appears to be the only type of mult-tasking I excel at. Somehow, when I am attempting to cook dinner, fold laundry and help the boys with their homework simultaneously, it doesn't seem to work out so well. Sigh.

Anyway, I don't really want anything spectacular for Mother's Day. Just a couple of random, simple things in no particular order:

A new house
New 'everything in the above mentioned house'
A new car
A first class trip around the World
Diamonds
A new body (although I suspect this last one may involve ditching the cake, which is a damn shame)

That's not too much to ask for, is it? I mean, I already have a foot spa. And let's face it, I am fairly proficient at procuring my own chocolates. Okay, extremely proficient...

Seriously though, all flippancy aside (just briefly - sorry for the glitch in regular programming) I am keenly aware of how lucky and blessed I am to be a Mother. It's hard to believe now, but for a few years there it looked like it wasn't going to happen at all.  I know there are so many ladies finding Mother's Day and everything about it extremely difficult as they are still battling infertility or have had to accept a child free life. Therefore, I realise how fortunate I am. On Sunday morning I will receive my five dollar trinkets from the school Mother's Day stall from a beaming Mr 5 and 10. Mr almost 13 is too cool for all that but I'll be force cuddling him anyway. While I've never believed in force feeding, force cuddling is essential once they hit a certain age. I will be as thrilled and happy with my trinkets as if I had just received diamonds. To me, my boys are my diamonds. Sorry for going all mushy on you. Warning: more mush forthcoming.

My Mum and I at my 40th birthday
in 2011. I seem to have inherited
my antipathy towards having my
photo taken from her as I don't have
any current photos. Oops. 

Additionally, I am so lucky to still have my Mum and Mother-in-law, both in their seventies, still around to celebrate the day with. I am one very blessed Mum and daughter. My ideal Mother's Day is exactly this: spending the day with the people I love most in the whole World. And having a convenient excuse to get out of any cleaning, washing up and cooking for the day isn't bad either. Yes, I do need one! Shut up....

On that note, I am going to quit while I'm ahead as my computer and keyboard are doing some very strange things today, as if they are possessed. It's short and sweet from me today. As you were.

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

                                                 
                                                           What is your ideal Mother's Day?

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