The Best Thing I've Ever Done

What is the best thing I've ever done?  I have NO IDEA.  Ask me what I've never done. That would be easier to answer. The list of things I've never done and will never do is rather long and detailed. The list of things I will never do if I live to be a hundred and one, even longer.

I've never:

• Travelled to far away, exotic places, unless you count Dubbo. And I certainly don't.
• Had a thriving, successful career, or even any sort of average job that I've been remotely good at.
• Made a five year plan. Or even a five minute one.
• Known what I wanted to do when I grow up. Still don't.
• Made friends easily and consequently had millions of the things coming out of my arse. Or, you know, I've just never had millions of friends. Forget about the arse thing.
• Been adventurous. I've never wanted to do anything heart racing such as bridge climbs, white water rafting or bungee jumping. I'm a two feet planted firmly on the ground kind of girl. 
• Been the owner of one of those sleek and blindingly white homes seen in magazines and on the telly.
• Been stylish, elegant and effortlessly chic. Instead I've always be the one wearing too much eye make-up and a dodgy, at home dye job teamed with bargain, sales rack clothes from not very classy stores. 
• Been one of those competitive 'Tiger' Mums, bragging about my kids  and how brilliant they are to anyone and everyone.
• Been competitive, period. I can't win the race, because I'm never in it.

Anyway, I could go on for days with this list. Instead I'm supposed to be telling you the best thing  that I've actually DONE.  The truth is, I really don't know. Or maybe I do. It's just that it's not the things I think I should have acheived.

I will never have a home that looks like THIS.

I've stumbled through life, feeling like an alien. Along the way I managed to have the odd job, (even if I thought I was never very good at any of them), make a few friends, get married and pop out a few sprogs. Nothing remarkable. Nothing remarkable at all. Seemingly.

Also, before all of that I managed to survive through several years of infertility. The fact that I ended up conceiving at all was all because of the shit I did to help myself. Actually exercising like a demon and being *gasp*, healthy. Then, after we had our first two boys, Micky Blue Eyes was diagnosed with bowel cancer. Surprisingly, that wasn't very much fun. Okay, not surprisingly, but we got through it. Just when we had picked ourselves back up of the floor from that little shock, we had another shock. I was up the duff again. But this pregnancy ended in tragedy, when I lost the little man at 19 weeks, and, to make matters worse, still had to go through birthing him. That was actually the WORST thing I've ever done. I'm  supposed to be telling you the BEST thing. I'm getting to that. I think. I hope. Maybe. Whatever. You've probably stopped reading by now, anyway. Sigh.

I think the point I am trying to make is that sometimes the best thing you can do, the biggest achievement, is to survive all the worst things. Does that even make sense?

I've survived all of the above and am still relatively sane (okay, it's debatable), as well as bumbling along through life without the diagnosis of Asperger's until I was 40. Did I mention that? That was a fairly big deal for me and a gigantic yawn for everyone else. Which is what this post is turning into.  Sorry!

Plus, the fact that I've survived all of this and went on to become a Professional Bogan, boring everyone with this bogan themed blog is quite a stunning achievement in itself. Whether it's stunning in a good way or bad way- well, draw your own conclusions. I think you know what mine is. I'm a very proud bogan blogger. So ner.

Now I am also facing one of my biggest challenges yet. Potentially giving up cakies. I know. Heartbreaking. If I survive this, it could possibly be my biggest achievement to date. I am having a Glucose Tolerance Test on Monday. I get to carb load for the next few days before finding out if my cakie addiction has caught up with me. This should be interesting. Or boring as batshit, really. Stay tuned. Or tune out. Or whatever.

Linking up with The Lounge. which is being hosted by Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided.

What is the best thing you've ever done? It may not be what you think...

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The Bogan Is Back!!

Hello everyone! I'M BACK!! How are we all? All my adoring fans. The whole two of you. I'm sure you've just been pining away waiting longingly for my words of wisdom. After all, who wouldn't?  Don't answer that. Ahem.

Anyway, I must confess that I've actually enjoyed having a bit of a bloggy break. I mean it is just so damn exhausting keeping up the standards that are necessary to be a Professional Bogan. Think about it. This means that I have to drag my sorry arse out of bed at 11am every single morning, or you know, just whenever I can be bothered, pull on my trackie dacks and ugg boots and then come up with these wonderfully witty and intensely riveting tales of our boring as batshit exciting and glamorous lives here in Boganville.

For instance, just this morning, I stumbled out of bed and bid farewell, bleary eyed,  to two out of three boys who set off to school, Micky Blue Eyes trailing behind them. Then I made myself porridge and positioned myself in front of the lap top where I proceeded to scroll down my Facebook news feed.

Fascinating stuff, right?

In addition to this, these last two weeks of my hiatus have been so action packed and absorbing that I simply do not know where to begin. Actually it was so exciting during the first week of the holidays that I can't even remember what happened. Yep, THAT exciting.

We did manage to get out for one of our ubiquitous Sunday drives. On a Sunday, strangely enough. Our destination was a nearby reserve or park type arrangement with picturesque gardens including a Japanese styled one. As soon as we disembarked from the car my head began to pound. Helpful.

 The boys sailed around merrily on their scooters while we meandered around behind them. Eventually though, my pounding head was too much to endure and we headed on to a nearby pub where we had lunch and I was able to have a much needed coffee and drugs. While there we decided it was indeed a very suitable and classy establishment in which to celebrate Mick's 50th birthday next month. There are pokies and everything. Noice.

The next day I did some grocery shopping, purchasing around 25 tonnes of food and spending around a billion bucks. Thereabouts*. This was all devoured within days.

On Wednesday Mr 11 became Mr 12, so I went to the tremendous effort of mixing up a packet cake for him. Caramel mud, to be precise. I certainly hope that child appreciates the sacrifices I make for him.  We then proceeded, clutching cake, to my parents house where the plan was to have pizza followed by the previously mentioned cake, with my brother and nephews also in attendance.

The only ploy to this plan was that I had apparently decided to have the Headache From Hell. AGAIN. Handy. This time no amount of coffee or drugs alleviated my pain. My head pounded steadfastly on. As it turned out, my Mum had also made her famous Apple Pie so the day could only be described as Headache Hell with an Apple Pie Heaven twist.

The next day we were scheduled to go the circus. I'm not sure why we would bother actually paying money for this when we can experience it at home. Mick is a clown, I'm the bearded lady and the boys are animals. Done. All we need is a trapeze. Just saying.

However, I was feeling somewhat wobbly and dizzy so I stayed home while Micky Blue Eyes took the boys and my mother-in-law in my place. Reportedly they had fun. Without me. How rude.

Then, after I started to feel a bit better I had another frightfully horrid wobbly, dizzy spell last Sunday, without ever even having a drop of alcohol. Smashing. What is with THAT? The no alcohol and the channelling Enid Blyton thing. Weird.

This has left me feeling rather despondent, dejected, gloomy, forlorn and any other sad adjective you can think of. I resisted the urge to consult a thesaurus there, you will be grateful to know. Suffice to say: Not. Happy. Jan. Hmph.

Then it occurred to me that a few days before these wobbly turns I was craving a good steak with a side of spinach. I NEVER crave spinach. I think my body is telling me to lay off the cakies and actually hit it with some nutrition including a bit of iron. Rude body. 

Therefore I am really in need of a good old Aussie Barbeque (you see how I did that, Loungers?)  with a steak the size of my head and lots of greenery on the side.  Weirdly enough, we just don't have enough barbecues. Disgraceful, if we are to call ourselves proud bogans.  Mick has some sort of paranoia about  gas ones, preferring the old fashioned wood ones. That all seems like too much effort for me to go to for a burnt sausage. Plus it is just too cold at this time of year.

I might have to make an exception though and get my barbeque on this weekend if possible. Why not? Bogans love burning things. We could even be really Klassy Bogans and throw a few pineapple rings on the barbie instead of shrimp. I have honestly never been to a barbecue where there have been 'shrimp' on the barbie, anyway. Plus, we call them prawns. Get it right, Hoges.

Until the next scintillating chapter, it's over and out from me.

*May be a slight exaggeration.

Linking up rather late (better late than never, right?) with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Also linking up with Robomum for The Lounge.

What exciting things have been happening in your world? Do you like a good old bogan BBQ?

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Rambling Rants

Since I already banged on about mindfulness last week and how absolutely brilliant and fabulous I am with the technique, I figured I would have nothing to rant about this week for The Lounge. Then, I found myself in a perfectly charming mood for most of the week. I felt like punching anyone who had the misfortune to glance sideways at me. Nice. This was when I wasn't feeling all bloated, blah and sooky sooky la la. Thank you, PM Fucking S. I hate you.

These mood swings persisted for most of the week, until the other day when I was innocently sitting down minding my business, and BAM! It felt like I’d been stabbed. Nope, just period pain. Oh, the joys of being a woman.

Which brings me to another joy of being female. Bra's. I am 42 and I’ve never found a comfortable one yet. I’m beginning to think that using the word bra and comfortable in the same sentence is an oxymoron.

While I am here whinging away, I may as well whine about the weather. It’s COLD. I have to put up with freezing my tits off for at least another 2 months before I can begin whinging that it’s TOO HOT!! Hmph. 

What else can I whinge and rant about? Oh yeah, yesterday I had Mr 9’s Parent/Teacher interview. I don’t know what it is about these things that make me feel like I’m a little girl at school again, being chastised by the teacher for reading my  Enid Blyton book under the desk when I was supposed to be working. Not that I ever did that. Nope. No way. Ahem.

The teacher mentioned that Mr 9 often doesn’t complete his homework. Yeah, there’s a reason for that. He sometimes needs my help and I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT. Year 3 Homework. THE SHAME.

Why does homework have to be so freaking complicated? And why is there so quite so much of it? I sent my kids to school instead of home schooling them so I didn't have to deal with this stuff. In fact, I can’t even believe there are people who would seriously consider that as an option. I mean, of course I admire it think it’s sheer insanity, but I couldn’t do it myself.

What's that? I'm a lazy arsed bogan? Well, duh. EXACTLY. I need the freaking teachers to do all that shit for me. It's not like my boys will learn much from me other than Advanced Cake Eating Skills. I've got that covered. 

Of course, being such a lazy arsed bogan, I left it until the last minute to come up with this post (so far, it's been worth the wait, right?) then Thursday rolled around and it was time for The Lounge link up and I had nothing prepared, when I woke up feeling all dizzy and nauseous without even having had a single drink the nigh t before! What is with that? 

But then, this morning, I had the house to myself, as Micky Blue Eyes had taken the car to be checked for rego and Mr 4 was at my parents house. After dutifully trudging up to the school with Mr 11 and 9, I then came home, happily made myself a coffee and sat down, in glorious silence, thinking I would be able to do some blog posts in peace. Wrong.

The computer DID NOT WORK. I spent hours fucking around unplugging and re-booting it, swearing at it and feeling like throwing it. Now it appears to be working, but who knows how long that will last.

 

 

 

Another thing which had me peeved this week, was when I decided to dye my hair. I  bought one of those new foamy ones. It was super easy to apply. The only problem was, it has a very strong perfume, so naturally, because I am super sensitive to such things, by the time I went to bed later that night I had a pounding headache. Which pisses me off, because it probably means I can’t use it again and it was  so much easier than the other messy, drippy dyes and having to cling wrap my head. Hmph. DOUBLE HMPH, EVEN.

I know. That doesn't make sense, but when do I ever make sense? Plus, I used the word 'rambling' in the title, so that should have been a give away that this post would be a heap of rambling CRAP. You knew you what you were getting yourself into right there, okay? So, I'm not going to apologise for the few minutes of your life you'll never get back after reading this drivel. Oh, alright. SORRY. Better luck next time. I might come up with something readable. Not promising anything, however.

 

Linking with The Lounge which is being hosted by Robomum.

 

What has you ranting and raving this week?

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Leaves On A Stream

Hello there! I am linking up this old post for Life This Week. The one where I took the piss out of being mindful. Then I got cancer and suddenly shit got real and I had to start taking this stuff seriously... But that's another story.

Anyway here are my rantings from 2013. Enjoy.

As a general rule I am usually quite placid and easy going. Consequently it does take rather a lot to really piss me off. So therefore I knew I was going to find this topic extremely difficult. Not much truly riles me. I am languid and sedate. Especially now, as I am slowly becoming proficient at this whole mindfulness marlarkey, you see. So even that barking dog next door, barely ruffles a reaction in me. I am focused in the present moment with impartial non-judgement. I won’t let it bother me. Nope. No way. It’s just a dog barking. ENDLESSLY. Big deal, right?

Similarly, that mountain of lego that seems to multiply and spread to every corner of the house, is just lego. Silly old lego. EVERYWHERE. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve trodden on it.  The hours that it takes to painstakingly make sure every single last piece of the crap, erm.. I mean, the lego, is off the floor before you can vacuum, is just another part of life. Impartial non-judgement. Yep, that’s me these days. I get it.  It’s neither good nor bad. It just is. Doesn’t bother me AT ALL.  If I miss a few pieces and therefore inadvertently vacuum them up, so what? It only means the vacuum cleaner will become blocked LOSE SUCTION AND I HAVE TO FUCK AROUND TAKING IT OUTSIDE AND TAKING IT APART TO SEE WHERE THE PIECE IS STUCK…but, oops, why am I shouting?  Sorry.  Back to the mindfulness. Breathe. It’s no big deal. This mindfulness is really the SHIZZ. Totally works.

If I slave over a hot stove cooking a wonderful meal for my family only to serve it up to three ungrateful bastards lovely boys who recoil in horror as if I had served them dog shit on toast, why should I let it get to me?  Especially if, at that precise moment, Micky Blue Eyes decides to talk to me about something accountant like and tedious important, saying something like “Blah blah blah spreadsheet, blah blah blah profit margins blah blah something blah blah”(or at least that’s what I hear), it doesn’t make me want to poke my own eyeballs out. No way. I’m too calm and centred for that.

I can sit down to have a cakie and it doesn’t annoy me that it’s bad for me, while boring old broccoli is extremely good for me. Because I’m eating mindfully, so that means I’ll be able to stop after a few mouthfuls. Somehow the whole cake is gone with those few mindful mouthfuls, though. Ahem. Details. 

I am totally grounded and centred in the moment. NOTHING bothers me anymore. Now that I am mindful the following things simply never annoy me AT ALL:

·       Waiting in queues.

·       Vague Facebook status updates.

·       Sales assistants who are nowhere to be seen when you need them, but fling the curtains back to the change rooms while hollering “How are you going in there?” when you are half naked.

·       My boys endless fascination with Spiderman and all superheroes.

·       Ditto their Harry Potter fascination.

·       The Voice judges and all of their phoney gushing over the contestants. When Ricky Martin says “you took me to another place” I no longer think, well why don’t you go to that place and stay there, Ricky? Nope. No way.

·       Having to share a computer.

·       Making a doctor’s appointment and STILL having to wait.

·       Making a doctor’s appointment at 8am for the first appointment to avoid the previously mentioned waiting and STILL WAITING.

·       The gross unfairness of male grooming and maintenance versus female grooming and maintenance.

·       Telemarketers.

·       Bra’s.

Yep, mindfulness has cured me of all of all that annoyance. What a relief Sigh.

 So when I went to see a shrink, riddled with crippling anxiety and she suggested this mindfulness crap technique and gave me a cd, which I listened to and some dude implored me in a flat monotone to just let my thoughts drift past like leaves on a stream, it didn’t totally annoy me that I paid $150 bucks an hour for this ABSOLUTE FUCKING CRAP!!! LEAVES ON A FUCKING STREAM!! I’M MORE LIKELY TO IMAGINE MYSELF THROWING THE FUCKING CD AT YOU!!  FUCKING MINDFULNESS!! GIVE ME SOME FUCKING VALIUM AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!!  YOU TOO, YOU FUCKING STUPID BARKING DOG!! FUCKING SHUUT UUUUUUUUUUUP!

AHEM.

Good lord. Where did that come from? Oh dear. Right then, I’m off to practice watching my thoughts drift past like leaves on a stream. Or, to kick something. One or the other.

What are your pet peeves? Do you 'get' mindfulness?

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Bogan For Hire

The Lounge Lizards have us talking about careers and jobs this week, which is timely, as I happened to come across my old resume tucked away in a cupboard a few weeks ago. Upon perusing this ancient epistle, I was sincerely astonished.  Amazed, in fact. How it is that I never set the whole career world on fire with that thing I will simply never know.  I mean, apparently I could answer the phone and everything. Those are some serious skills right there.

Don't worry, if that sucker rings I know EXACTLY what to do.

 

This answering the phone ability certainly came in handy in THE WORST JOB I'VE EVER HAD. Which was in a call centre. Enough said, right?

It was a call centre for a major NSW Insurance Company and Road Side assistance concern. Let's just call them NR NO WAY. Their commercials would have you believe that they are exceedingly helpful to people. They probably are if you are broken down and need assistance. However, other than the exciting moment I actually spoke to Anthony Warlow when he called one day, I didn't find it find very helpful to my mental health working there.

 If ever I have to call them in present times I still have traumatic flashbacks to when I worked there. It was approximately 16 years ago since I left. It still haunts me. I sometimes have appalling nightmares that I am back there, with my head phones on and an obnoxious car dealer is shouting at me "ALPHA, ROMEO, FOXTROT, BRAVO, 137865 VICTORY, QUATRO!!"

Yeah, I didn't know what that meant either. My skin is crawling just thinking about it. Then there were the wonderful things we had there called Performance Reviews. My performance wasn't so sterling apparently. Hmph. Hard to believe with such an outstanding resume.

In addition to having the tremendous skill of answering the phone, one of the tasks I mastered in my role as an Assistant Library Technician at the State Library Of NSW many years ago, was the opening and sorting of mail. Impressive.  I simply don’t know how I never ended up actually becoming the State Librarian. 

Also, these skills were only the tip of the iceberg of my extraordinary ability. Evidently, I could also do filing and place bar code stickers on books!!  Such incredible attributes in one person!  Oh, and I could also shelve the books, use the photocopier and write up order forms!  I know. It’s just too much. No wonder I never achieved a permanent position in a library.  I was just too damn good.  Ahem.

Yep, I am ALWAYS doing this in my spare time.
I can even do this while eating cake. Or typing. Too easy.

If my stupendous skill list wasn’t quite enough awesomeness to take in, I was also intensely fascinating away from work. I had listed my interests as:  Reading, writing, typing, yoga, dogs and cooking. Interesting, since at the time I never managed to even write a shopping list, I accidentally murdered my dog , have dubious cooking skills and wouldn’t know a downward dog from a dagwood dog.  And since when is typing an interest? Typing??  I might as well have put down stamp collecting to make myself seem even more cutting edge.

Of course it has now been years, okay, decades, since I used all of those fabulous afore mentioned job skills. But, this is fine, because during  that time I have not been simply resting on my laurels. No siree. I have, in fact, added many more skills to my repertoire.

I completed a Statement of Attainment in something called Computing Skill For The Office to add to the Library Practice Associate Diploma that I completed more than 20 years ago.  In doing so I achieved a monumental typing speed of – wait for it- 33 standard words per minute!!   STUNNING! Skills, people. Skills.  Especially taking into account that typing was supposedly one of my interests.  Snorts.

I’m also mollified to realise that I have lovingly kept and archived my old High School written references should I ever decide to bring my brilliance back into the workforce. They are obviously essential in this day and age when prospective employers can Google  you instantly, and the only way that an employer would know that I was punctual and always had the necessary equipment required for lessons. That sentence alone is clearly enough to have me hired immediately. Ditto the fact that my appearance at High School was apparently neat and tidy. I’m also impressed that I had tact and diplomacy in my dealings with people. This trait was mentioned in both my Year 10 and my Year 12 references, when they obviously couldn’t think of an original way to put a positive spin on the fact that I never uttered more than three words during all of high school. Maximum.

 But even taking everything that I have already mentioned into consideration this is still only the tip of the iceberg in regard to how brilliant and employable I am. I mean, I have so many other untapped skills and abilities that I would need to add to an already overwhelmingly wonderful resume. They would include the following:

·         I know the words to every single Carpenters song ever recorded.

·         I also know the words to quite a lot of ABBA songs.

·         Ditto Barbra Streisand songs

·         I am completely mute and silent at least 99.9% of the time. You know, the whole ‘tact and diplomacy’ thing. This is a helpful attribute in the workplace, because haven’t we all had work colleagues that we wish would just shut the fuck up?

·         I can eat my entire body weight in cake on a daily basis.  Essential for all the birthday celebrations that might take place in a busy office in any given week.

·         I have Ass Burgers Aspergers and everybody knows that all Aspie people are genius’s. Just because I haven’t figured out exactly what my genius is yet, doesn’t mean I’m not one.  I must be.  Of course I am. Shut up.

·         I have the singular ability to stare into space vacantly for long periods of time. An intense form of daydreaming meditation that makes me much more relaxed and focused at forgetting  completeing my work.

·         Clearly I am an amazing writer and this blog is a testament to that, having won the obscure but prestigious Best Blog Featuring Bogans Award.

·         Oh alright, I made that last bit about the award up. But, if there really was such an award OF COURSE I would win it, right?

·         I can make up all this boring as batshit bogan bullshit. Brilliant. And clearly I rock alliteration.

Right then. There we have it. The blinding brilliance that is me.  I may as well stop there or we could literally just be here for DAYS.  I’m off to re-write my resume.  I’m sure the perfect job for a mute, cake- eating, Carpenters obsessed Aspie who can type 33 words per minute and sort mail is out there. Don’t bother applying. It’s MINE. So ner.

Linking up with The Lounge, which is being hosted this week by Kim from Falling Face First.

 

 

Is your resume as brilliant as mine?  What incredible skills do you possess?  And what was your worst EVER job?

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Fashion Fails: Bogan Style

Hello all! Another Monday. Another Confession. This week Kirsty has asked us to share our most humorous post. I wasn't sure which one of mine to choose considering they are all  pretty ordinary comedy gold but judging from the comments, this one seemed to elicit a few laughs. So for the second time around, I present my Bogan Fashion Fails. You're welcome!

This week the illustrious Lounge Lizards have us talking fashion. It tends to strike me that 90 percent of the fashion I spot on the telly or in magazines looks completely and utterly hideous even on tall, slim, stunning models.  I shudder to think what it might look like on me. Perhaps it's a blessing that I can never afford it anyway. Therefore I've cultivated a certain look and style of my own. I like to refer to it as - Bogan Chic.

Once upon a time I delighted in clothes shopping.  This was some 20 years ago when I could dress in clinging black lycra, unperturbed by the thought of any bumps and bulges. Or a tragic combo of hot pants and doc martins. Observe.

 

The only snap I could find of
this alluring attire appears to
have something stuck on it
which I couldn't get off, but you
get the idea.

 

Actually this is not strictly true, as  I used to worry unduly about being supposedly 'fat'. Pah! I didn't know the meaning of the word.  I have since discovered it though.

Anyway, it's always interesting, when I go to the local shopping mall here in Boganville.  The are many badly dressed, unattractive people there.  I fear I am one of them.  Then I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window and my fears are realised.

I notice that my backside is astonishingly large.  This always comes as a tremendous shock, as when I dress, I tend to only look at myself front on to avoid reality.  Side on, I also look distinctly pregnant.

Then, inevitably, some old dear, at least 85 in the shade, will hobble past on a walking frame, wearing an identical shirt to mine.  Millers.  Size 16. On Sale.  This once horrified me. The fact that I no longer care is evidence that:

a) I  am getting old

b) I am getting fat (oh okay, I already am fat), and

c) I am too broke to have any choice in the matter, anyway.

 

Other Bogan Chic Tit Bits. Or is it Tid bits? Or is it not even an expression at all? Who knows. Let's just call them Bogan Fashion Tips then, shall we? Fine. They are:

• I mostly wear black, as I am a fatty boombah.  Sadly no amount of black can disguise my double chin.  Okay, chins.
• I don't  do pink, frilly or sequins. Ugh.
• I don't do white. I am fat, fair skinned and a Mother. Enough said.
• Jeans are over rated. Skinny jeans are probably single handedly responsible for many an eating disorder. Not to mention how inconvenient they are if you are ever in the habit of say, for example, sitting down. Which I am. Frequently. Which is probably half of the reason that I cannot wear skinny jeans. The other half of the reason is that, when I am sitting, I am usually eating cake. Meh, details.
• I simply detest bras. Luckily I was always small breasted, so therefore I was able to get away with not wearing them for many years. Those days are over. Now that I have droopy National Geographic boobs, I need the best push-up bra I can get my hands on. That, or a boob job. Hard to figure out which is the more expensive and painful of the two.
• Trackies and polar fleece jumpers and jackets are the most unchic, unflattering, daggy clothes ever known to the human race. They are also the most toasty warm when I'm freezing my butt off, as well as being affective contraception. So, who cares. I am a bogan after all.

 

Now, onto some more of my Fashion Fails. Check these out. And while we're at it, whoever stole my twenty something body, can you please return it. Pronto. Obviously the fact that it has disappeared to be replaced by something resembling a Teletubby has nothing to do with the afore mentioned cake eating. No way. It must be some sinister type invasion of the body snatchers super natural thing. Only possible explanation.

Me, as Morticia. That's my Dad hovering
protectively next to me, possibly reluctant to let
me leave the house dressed like that.

And now for something completely different.

My 'Laura Ashley just
threw up all over me' look. Lovely.

 

Continuing the floral theme, I appeared in public wearing this.

The early 90's look of
high waisted jeans and
a body suit. Floral of
course. So sweet. A
poodle perm completed the look.

A gorgeous floral blouse, primly buttoned
right up to my throat. My Mum's spoon
collection in the background. Nobody collects
spoons anymore. Or wears hideous floral blouses.
Sad, really.

This next one is especially for Mumabulous. She is not the only one who could rock an emerald green taffeta frock.

Dressed like a Bridesmaid, but not actually
a Bridesmaid. I was just ducking out to the
shops for some milk.

When I met Micky Blue Eyes, the bogan chic tradition continued unabated. This one speaks for itself.

Micky Blue Eyes and I wearing
clothes that appear to have been
made from hotel bedspreads or
curtains. His shirt, my pants.

Following this lovely 'Best Western Bogan Chic' style, I went onto my next

stunning look. Wearing clothes that resembled table cloths. Not to mention ridiculous bloody hats. But I'm a ranga, I have no choice! Especially when visiting places like Darwin, which is where that shot is taken.

 

 

Breathtaking Darwin scenery. Not so breath-
taking shirt and hat.

 

 

 

 I had to survive the heat somehow. Similarly, when it was cold I had this absurd notion that I should keep warm and wear silly jumpers.

Stupid jumper, leggings and
boots and a stupid expression
on my face. The wombat attached to
my leg was also a unique fashion accessory

It's hard work being
this stylish.

Or an attractive combo of a turtle neck and - wait for it, a pinafore. I couldn't find a full length shot. But you get the idea.

Of course. with that track record of fashion flair, once I became a Mum I was really onto this whole 'Yummy Mummy' thing. As you can see, below.

At my bogan best. Comatose in trackies, clutching
my similarly comatose infant.

 Imagine my delight to discover that Miller's currently has a sale on, so I can continue the bogan tradition of bedraggled frumpiness. I like the sound of that. Bedraggled frumpiness. A shame that the sight of it isn't so becoming.

Linking up for The Lounge which is being hosted this week by Slapdash Mama Sarah.

 

Also linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

 

 

 

What are your most memorable 'fashion fails'?

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I Thought This Bogan Would Be Better At Stuff By Now

I am 42. And I thought I'd be better at this thing called Life by now. Which reminds me of that meme I've seen floating around Facebook, which says something like: I miss being the age when I thought I'd have my shit together by the time I was the age I am now. Yeah, THAT.

There are so many things I thought I'd be better at by now. Such as:

Talking/Communicating

Growing up I always believed that I would magically 'come out of my shell' one day, just like everybody kept telling me I SHOULD. I MUST. I felt certain  there was a bubbly, outgoing chatterbox inside me just busting to get out. Eventually it would happen and I'd suddenly find myself sprouting verbal diarrhoea with the best of them. I was going to be extremely witty, droll and just plain LOUD. The anti-thesis of this mute, shy, introverted girl. I would shine. Stand out in a crowd for once, instead of being instantly forgettable. More than twenty years later, it hasn't happened. I am still the quietest person in the room, wherever I am. People still say things like "You're the quietest person I've ever known." Worse still, they will sometimes even talk about me as if I'm not even there. It's true. I still rarely speak. People forget that I'm there. I fade into the furniture. That bubbly, witty person is figment of my imagination.


Organisation/Remembering Stuff

As a child I was a total off with the pixies space cadet with my head permanently 'up the Faraway Tree'. Nothing has changed as an adult. This is not extremely helpful when you are meant to the person in charge of running a house including three small people. My attention span is worse than the average two year old. Knowing that this is something to do with having Aspergers means I now understand why. However, the problem does not go away. For example, one of the  boys may ask me for some two minute noodles. Dutifully, I go the monumental effort of pouring sachets and boiling water on them, then walk away to wait for the allotted two minutes. Half an hour later, a ravenous child whines:"Where's my noodles?" Oops.

Driving

While I do have a license, I didn't get it until I was 36. At 42 I am still on my P Plates. I am one of those pathetic people who actually drives around for 15 minutes or so, looking for another, easier parking space so I don't have to parallel park. In fact, I haven't done it once since I passed my driving test. I also avoid driving to unfamiliar places, at night and in heavy traffic. In other words, I might as well have never bothered getting a licence. But least I now have photographic ID for those times when we go to an extremely classy RSL club. We are dedicated bogans, after all.

Parenting

When Mr 11 (soon to be Mr 12) was born in 2001, I became I relatively good parent. Surprisingly, since I was a 30 year old person who had zero experience being around babies and children. In fact I had possibly only ever held a baby once or twice for a total of ten minutes. Still, I managed to puree home made food, read bed time stories every night and generally do an okay job. Naturally, in my naivete, I believed this meant that I could only be a better parent to any subsequent children. After all, I now had experience. HA! It turns out that it actually gets harder with more children. Who knew? Second time around I had to factor in that now I not only had a squalling infant, but a demanding toddler as well. My standards dropped. I didn't manage to puree baby food quite so often. I fed Mr9 so much mashed banana and yoghurt as a baby that I think I have permanently turned him off those foods. By the time Mr 4 arrived we slowly but surely progressed to the wonderfully varied diet we now enjoy as a family these days. It consists of two minute noodles, sausages, fish fingers and lumpy mashed potato. Yum.

Medical Stuff

Basically I'm a big scaredy cat about anything of a medical nature. I thought I'd be well and truly over this phobia by now. Wrong. A routine blood test still has me shaking. Even entering a hospital for any reason at all, makes me feel wobbly. I could never have been a nurse. The thing is, as you get older there is a more pressing need to have all sorts of medical stuff attended to. Considering that I'm lucky enough to be in relative good health I should be able to just get over myself and get on with it.

Technology/Blogging

After a year of this blogging  business, I thought I'd most likely become better at it. Sorry folks. Hasn't happened. I continue to clock in a spectacularly underwhelming performance just like a typical lazy 'she'll be right' bogan. I don't have a niche. Or understand anything about RSS or SEO. I thought they were possibly LOL text type talk. Are they? Meh, whatever. I briefly attempted to raise the bar the other day when I noticed a Blogs and PR concern on Twitter on the lookout for Lifestyle Bloggers. I tweeted back that I do, indeed, blog about my bogan lifestyle. No response. Can't think why.

My photography skills are non-existent. I've still never taken a selfie. Instagram is complete mystery to me and likely to remain so. There is no point in even bothering when I am such an abysmal technophobe.  Who wants to see my woeful attempts at photography. On that note, I'm not even going to bother adding images to this post. There is no point.

So basically what I'm saying is, I thought I'd be better at EVERYTHING by now.


I'm very excited to be linking up for the first time ever with The Lounge which is being hosted this week by Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided.  If there is one thing I'm certainly good at, it's lounging around. And I'm getting better at it all the time.

What did you think you would be better at by now?

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