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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Food, Glorious Food

I’ve always loved food and have a terrible sweet tooth. Which is quite obvious, considering how often I mention cake on this blog.  Fortunately, my sugar cravings were kept at a respectable level while I was growing up due to my Mum’s brilliant home cooking. Whenever we had cakies or sweets they were always homemade. In fact, one of my brother’s pet peeves was the fact that we never had bought biscuits!  These days I’m sure he’d prefer the homemade ones, but for some reason back then he just wanted Tim Tams or whatever was popular in the 70’s. Iced Vo Vo's? Scotch Fingers? Something like that, anyway. 

There was a period of time as a teenager when I used to take the whole a Mars a day helps you work, rest and play advertising slogan quite seriously. I managed to eat one nearly every day while still remaining slim. Oh, to have the metabolism of a teenager again!

Unbelievably now (considering I'll eat just about anything that isn't nailed down), I used to be quite fussy about what I would and wouldn’t eat, preferring my Mum’s cooking to any type of take away or packaged food.  If we visited any friends or relatives where we were served frozen apple pie my reaction was one of sheer revulsion. They may as well as have served me dog shit on toast such was my horror. Spoiled little princess that I was. However, you have to understand that I was used to my Mum’s homemade apple pie. And, as my nephew has stated: this is not just apple pie; it’s an experience. Yep, my Mum could have aced MasterChef if it had been around back then. Actually she still could if she wanted to, but she’s nearly 73 and probably sick of all the cooking by now. 

There was always a hot, tasty meal on the table at around 6pm every night when I was growing up. Even though it was often the standard fare of chops and three veg, roast chicken or spaghetti bolognaise, somehow my Mum managed to put that extra bit of love in it to make it taste better than anyone else’s cooking. It was a very rare occasion if we had take away.

Occasionally we would get dressed up and go out for dinner to a local Chinese restaurant.  For a long time I wouldn’t try any Chinese food.  I’d have my chicken and chips, sometimes followed by a banana split for dessert. Eventually my parents managed to coax me into eating the fried rice, then short soup and chicken omelette. And that was exotic for me. I didn’t really taste many new and different foods.

In addition to this, I really haven’t travelled a lot, so I’ve never had opportunities to try different foods. I did go to Holland with my parents when I was ten years old in 1981, but I don’t remember trying many different foods. I stuck with the sweet stuff and lived on custard while there.  I seem to vaguely recall that it was the custom there to smother hot chips with peanut sauce. At the time this struck me as the most revolting thing EVER. Thinking about it now, though, it occurs to me that it was probably a satay type sauce and that I’d really like it now. I was just a weird child. 

I think one of the reasons I’m struggling with my weight as a middle aged woman (apart from my cake and chocolate addiction) is that I’m finding that I just like a lot more different foods now which I would have once found completely disgusting. Certain imaginary (online) friends who shall remain nameless are repulsed by my penchant for Indian food referring to all curry as ‘spicy puke’. Once upon a time I certainly would have shared this view. However, my taste buds have developed and my arse has grown accordingly. My sugar addiction has continued in conjunction with these developing taste buds. Oh who am I kidding, I’m just a big glutton.  Shut up. 

The only extremely strange and bizarre food (to me) that I can remember trying is pig’s ear. I can’t say I found it very appetising. This happened when I was working at the State Library of NSW years decades ago and a lovely Taiwanese lady whom I worked with, invited me to her home for a meal. One of the things she cooked was pig’s ear. Maybe there is another term for the dish but I don’t recall, except that it was made with the pig’s ear.  I only remember the texture being rubbery and chewy and I’m not sure if I managed to swallow it. All of the other dishes the lady had prepared were fine but I definitely couldn’t get into the pig’s ear. Just thinking of it now makes me shudder. But hey, at least I tried it, right? When I Googled the term 'cooked pig's ear' a veritable feast of recipes appeared. I guess it is a popular culinary delight to many people but I think I'll pass. 

I may have to get used to some different types of food, though. In a moment of madness I have signed up for the Get Healthy service and will be starting my telephone coaching very soon; beginning my ‘get healthy’ journey. Oh fuck, I’ve just become one of those people who says they’re on a ‘journey’. If I start mentioning kale and quinoa then you know I've been abducted by aliens and it’s not me writing this blog anymore.  On second thought, I’m pretty sure I’ll leave them with the pig’s ear. 

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I MustConfess.

And linking this up yet again for The Lounge.

 

What's the weirdest food you've ever tried?

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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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Quiet On The Nessville Front

Things have gone all quiet in the land of Nessville lately. However, at least this is consistent with the way I am in person. Exceedingly quiet. I must confess, I have just felt like I had nothing of any interest to say, so I didn't bother trying to say anything. Which is the same reason I'm quiet in person. I'm sure you thought it was because I am deep, mysterious and intellectual. Lost in my own little World, pondering on the Meaning Of Life. Nope. I just can't think of a damn thing to say. Or write, as the case may be.  Eventually I come back to the same stunning conclusion that I have in the past: having nothing to say hasn't stopped me before - so here I am! Sorry, you can't get rid of me. So ner!

The school holidays managed to fly by. We had discussed the possibility of going away somewhere, but in our usual brisk and efficient fashion we never bothered following through and booking something. Micky Blue Eyes schlepped out the Sydney Royal Easter show one day with Mr 12 and 5, while Mr 10 and I stayed home. As tempting as those Dagwood Dogs are, I can take or leave it. With emphasis on the 'leave' part.

The following week I managed to drag the boys out for a picnic with the promise of some Kentucky Fried Crap. Bribery works every time. Erm...I mean..rewards. Ahem..

We spent a lovely couple of hours in the sunshine discussing the boys fervent desire to have a dog. It was decided that our (so far fictional) dog might be named Scruffles or Jeff. However, if we do indeed decide to add a dog to the family, I'm pitching for a female one, just so I can finally have another female in the family even if it is only a dog. I've heard the theory that it's important to have a dog once your children become teenagers so that at least someone is happy to see you. Related: in approximately two months and five days I shall become the proud mother of a teenager when Mr 12 becomes Mr 13. Hold me.

Mr 5 is not always happy to see me as it is. I shudder to think of him being a teenager. Particularly since I shall be approximately 105 by then. In fact, he frequently informs me that I have to leave the room if I want him to get dressed, an arduous procedure which can take an eternity. He already has very firm ideas of what he will and won't wear. When I innocently open my mouth to say the most innocuous of statements, he'll cover his ears and howl "STOP TALKING! You're giving me a headache!!"

God forbid I should try to give him anything resembling a compliment. An exchange from just last night went something like this:

"You're my beautiful boy," I crooned, as I hugged him close.

"NO!" he insisted "that's for when you get merried! I'm NOT beautiful. That's girls when they get merried!"

That's not a typo by the way. That was exactly how he pronounced 'married'.

I smiled and said "Well, you're handsome then."

This incensed him further. "No, I'm not!" he exclaimed "That's for getting merried!"

I was now receiving the Death Stare which then turned into a beaming grin as he announced:

"Just call me awesome and the Best in the World!"

My mistake. I must get my compliments right.

Last week he was the proud recipient of an award at school for Excellent Behaviour and Attitude, as was Mr 10. Presumably his teacher's talking doesn't give him a headache. Hmph. Meanwhile, we will have to see if the great saga of Conan the Librarian continues tomorrow. This is referring to the shool's library teacher whom he is TERRIFIED of. Interestingly, Mr 10 was also terrified of her a few years ago when he started attending the school. Bloody librarians. Why do they have to be such terrifying creatures? I should know since I used to pretend to be one some years decades ago and clearly I'm frightfully scary. BOO!

Tuesday is Mr 5's library day. Typically he starts announcing that he might be sick in the morning on Monday nights. We shall see. I'm trying to decide whether I need to talk to someone at the school if his terror of Tuesdays continues unabated.

In other exciting news, I managed to venture out of the house, blinking confusedly in the sunshine, to meet a real person who is my real life friend, Kim ( I have at least one, surprisingly), for brunch last Tuesday. Following this,we did a bit of shopping and oohing and ahing at over priced clothes I can't afford and that wouldn't fit me worth a damn anyway. I did manage to score two five dollar skirts which were originally priced at $89.95 each, according to the tags. BARGAIN. Then again, I never really wear skirts, especially when it's cold, so maybe I just wasted ten bucks. Oh dear. Wearing skirts generally requires having to shave your legs and wear uncomfortable shoes so that it looks right. However, they are fairly long skirts, so I may be able to manage it. You see how exciting and meaningful my life is?

The next joyful development to occur was when Micky Blue Eyes decided to schlep all the way to Brisvegas aka Brisbane, with Mr 12 and 10 to see the Western Sydney Wanderers lose the Grand Final. Which is a damn shame. They are heading home today. I am hoping that their moods are bearable, otherwise I will be the next one packing my bags and leaving until they get over it. Boys and their balls. Seriously, it's only a game, dudes.

That is all from the Wonderful World Of Nessville for now. Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment. Or not. Totally up to you. Your loss really, if you don't. Where else would you find such entertainment and edge of your seat antics? What was that? Watching paint dry? How rude. Go and watch your paint dry, then. See if I care. Hmph.

Later dudes.

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

                                                   
                                                           Have you got anything to say?

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Chocolatenessville

Why, hello there! I’m back - minus the bogan element.  Naturally this means that I am now classy, elegant and sophisticated.  It’s quite disarming. I’ve instantly been transformed with the ejection of a word. I’m now as refined, poised and dignified as Kate in a yellow frock. Or a Diane Von Furstenburg print frock. Or a white lacy frock. I don’t know what else she wore. I lost interest at that point. If I ever had any. I think I just like saying the word frock. FROCK. Yes, indeed. I really do. Nobody says frock anymore and I think we need to bring it back. That is all.

Anyhow, where was I? Oh yes, the refinement of this blog. No more pointless posts about nothing.   From now on this is an entirely different space.  You will be kept on the edge of your seat with my cutting edge satire, biting wit and envious flair for comedy.

Additionally, there will be eloquent and informed discourse on important topics.  This will include insightful and thought provoking posts on current issues and intellectual debates on all manner of relevant and pressing questions.

Right then. Let’s get to it. First things first.

The most pressing and important question on my mind in the past few weeks: the new blog title.  Of course it’s important! Why, you ask? Because if I didn’t think of a new title then I wouldn’t be here to write all the other intense and brilliant posts that will be forthcoming!

Therefore, I pondered over this dilemma for over a week, taking it very seriously indeed and suffering from a severe bout of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) while all the other cool bloggers blogged merrily away. Eventually I came to the conclusion that if I wanted to take the bogan out of the blog, then I should do exactly that.  So I did. Thusly, Ness Of Boganville became Nessville. Considering that I can be frequently found ‘off in my own little World’ this seemed quite fitting.

Look- I can’t help it if my own little World is better than the real one. It’s a happy little place where there is always cake and Carpenters music. In my real World there are also three boys demanding that I switch off the Carpenters music and share the cake. Which I do. Sometimes. Especially my new favourite recipe.

 

Just kidding. My boys are frightfully noisy and demanding but luckily they are also gorgeous and amazing and I love them to bits. Enough to share cake with them. Seriously. I really do. Sometimes. If I haven’t eaten it all before they get home from school. Or, if they accidentally find it where I’ve hidden it. Ahem….

But back to all of those pressing issues. Although cake really is the most pressing issue in life. I can’t think of many things that are more important. Just me?

So, as I was saying, here I am in my own little World which I’m sharing with you because you’re all special and privileged. You’re welcome.

I also became the proud owner of a new domain name. It turned out that nessville.com wasn't available so I considered all the other possibilities that GoDaddy suggested to me:

Awesomenessville

Cakenessville

Chocolatenessville

Just to name a few. All of which would have worked. In the end I was able to obtain nessville.me - let's face it, this space is all about me. I'm fascinating, right? I like to pretend that I'm fascinating, anyway. I don't have a problem at all...

While I'm on this subject of my new domain, I simply must say a great big thank you to my imaginary (online)  friend Randarooney (or Miranda, but I call her Randarooney or just Randa), without whom I would never have figured out how to apply the domain to my blogger account. She did the hard work for me and now I'll take all the glory. It's a fair deal, I reckon. I think she might even be real now, so I'll have to do something about actually meeting her face to face one of these days. Scary. For her. Be afraid, Randa. Be very afraid....

Turns out that it was Easter this past weekend. Who knew? Everyone, apparently.  I went to the grocery store to buy some Easter eggs as well as other sundries and there wasn’t much left to choose from. Not surprisingly, Easter is all about the chocolate for me.  I don’t do anything special or attend church. I just hang around and eat my body weight in chocolate. So it’s the same as every other weekend, really. It really is Chocolatenessville around here.

Micky Blue Eyes was quite keen to attend the Sydney Royal Easter Show, but as tempting as those Dagwood dogs look, I wasn't. Neither was Mr 10, so the two of us stayed home yesterday while Mick took Mr 12 and 5.  They returned late last night laden with show bags. Mr 12 had helpfully decided to buy a 'loom band' show bag. I promptly decided that a more apt name for them would be 'loon' bands because I'm certain they will send me LOONY. Or even more loony. Shut up.

Meanwhile, Mr 5's bags involved Ninjas and Cowboys, which means oodles of plastic guns and swords which I usually avoid. Awesome.

During the last week of term I attended Mr 5’s Easter Hat Parade . He insisted on decorating his hat himself which was fair enough because he did a much better job than I would. In my usual bumbling fashion I failed to get a good shot of him wearing it but he was so cute.  I can never inform him of this fact or that he’s handsome or any give him any sort of compliment

A few weeks ago I made the mistake of telling him he was beautiful.

“No, I’m not!” he insisted, scowling.

“You are to me,” I assured him.

“Muuum,” he said slowly, as if mustering all his patience to explain something so obvious “flowers are beautiful! I’m not a flower!”

He is certainly no shrinking violet, that’s for sure. My little Ninja man.

I know it's blurry but it wasn't me who took
it, okay? It would be FAR WORSE if it had been...

In other scintillating news, we were contemplating going out for dinner tonight to our favourite pub. A quick Google search to check if was open revealed that they have completely changed the menu and made it outrageously expensive to boot. How rude.  We may have to consider our take away options.

At this point it may have become obvious that nothing has changed about me or my blog except the title.  Oops.  Nevertheless, I hope you'll keep visiting Nessville. See you around...


Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess and with Alison from Talking Frankly for Laugh Link.

                                                            What's been happening in your World?

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Goodbye Bogan Blog

The time has come to retire my bogan hat. Or mullet. Or rats tail. Or something....

It has become increasingly clear that I am, in fact, a pretend bogan. An impostor of sorts. I don't listen to heavy metal, drink VB or wear flannies. I don't mind a good Ugg boot, however. Maybe there is a little teensy bit of bogan in me, just like all of us. But not enough. It's been fun, but it's time to move on.

Before you start hysterically sobbing, as I'm sure you all are by now, let me assure you that I will be blogging again. Eventually. Maybe. One of these days. As soon as I can think of a new title.

Unfortunately I've discovered that I'm not very good at thinking of titles so I still haven't come up with anything.

I thought of combining Ness with Aspie and calling it Nesspie until a slightly more intelligent person than me pointed out that people will read that as Ness Pie. Which is kind of fitting in a way, as I like pie and cakies. Mmmmmnnn...pieeee.

Then I thought of re-naming the blog Ness Is More! Then the tag line: More Cake and Carpenters than you've ever read about before! But no. Just - no.

Ultimately I became so desperate that I started randomly dipping into the Thesaurus hoping some jaunty word or turn of phrase would serve as inspiration.

I closed my eyes and flipped the pages hopefully. Then I gazed at the page where my finger had landed. There it was. This word.

Buffoon:

fool
entertainer
bungler
humourist
laughing stock

Buffoonery:

foolery
wit
ridiculousness

Completely sums up me and my blog up but still leaves me clueless as to a new title. I could go with Ness The Buffoon. Just for something completely different than calling myself a bogan.

Still hopeful, I Thesaurus dipped again. Shut up. Some people Bible dip, I Therausus dip. It's a thing, I tell you!

This time look where I landed:

Vb. be inactive; do nothing, rust, stagnate, take it easy, slack, skiv, shirk, loaf, idle, mooch about, twiddle one's thumbs, trifle, dabble, fribble, fiddle-faddle, fritter away the time, piddle, potter, putter.

Good lord. I NEVER do that. Nope. No way.

What on Earth is the Universe suggesting? That I retitle my blog Ness: The Lazy Buffoon?

Outrageous! I mean, Cake Eating Lazy Buffoon maybe. 

Okay, so maybe Thesaurus dipping isn't such a great tactic. I will just have to continue pondering on this extremely important issue like the wise philosopher I am. Deep, spiritual and soulful. I'm sure to come up with something very soon. Until then, parting is such sweet sorrow....

I'll say Goodbye bogan blog
No one ever cared if I should link or write
Time and time again the chance for comment love
Has passed me by
And all I know of Google Plus is 
How to live without it
I just can't seem to understand it...

So I've made my mind up I must blog as a bogan no more
And though it's not the easy way I guess I've always known
I'd say Goodbye Bogan Blog
There are no tomorrows for these posts of mine
Surely time will lose these bitter bogans and I'll find
That there is someone to believe in and to blog for
Something I could blog for

Oh all the years (only two actually) of pointless posts 
Have finally reached an end
Pinterest and Instagram will never be my friend
From this day Bogan blog's forgotten
Sorry to my one adoring FAAAAAAAN! (Sorry Mum!)

At this point you will have to imagine the fuzz guitar solo.

What blogs lie in the future is a mystery to us all
It's been fun as a bogan, I've really had a ball
There may come a time when I'll be back and going strong 
But for now this is (not really) my song (but I'm butchering it anyway)

And it's Goodbye Bogan Blog
I'll say Goodbye Bogan Blog.

Now imagine the dramatic choral and fuzz guitar fade out.

For those of you who have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about. This.

You sad, pathetic people who don't like The Carpenters. What? I'm the pathetic one? Look - we can't all be groovy. You're just jealous!

Right then, I'm off to Dictionary dip in search of a new title. Wish me luck. I really need it. Or perhaps - give me suggestions?? *bats lashes coquettishly*

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess and with Michaela at Five Frogs Blog for Laugh Link. Shut up. I'm hilarious! I laugh at my own ridonkulous jokes, anyway...

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Party Like It's 1999!

Far back in the mists of ancient time, in the great and glorious days of the former galactic empire, life was wild, rich and on the whole, child free...

Okay, I may have stolen that line from Douglas Adams' Hitch Hikers Guide To The Galaxy (except for the child free bit). I only did it to reassure myself that I least I learnt and retained something from 13 years of school. I can't remember anything remotely useful from my years at school. For example, correct grammar. That might have come in handy for the purposes of this blog thereby preventing you from wishing to poke your own eyes out or open a vein as you read this. I do apologise.  My brain has only retained those lines from one book that I read more than 25 years ago. Nothing else. Not a thing I can do it about it. Except maybe return to school again. As I've mentioned before I'm sure I could still rock the whole uniform and pig tails thing. It wouldn't be weird AT ALL if I tried to just blend in with Mr 5's class, right?

Anyway, I think I have a point that I'm getting to. Actually no, not really. This whole blog is kind of pointless, really. Sigh. Oh well. It could be worse. My whole life could be pointless. Instead it is filled with meaning and purpose.  And cake. A lot of cake.  Way too much cake.

But getting back to the 'child free' bit. In those days before I had my boys I had such an exciting, thriving and interesting social life. Endless travelling (Dubbo counts as travelling. Shut up. Attending red carpet film premieres (totally imaginary but DETAILS) and parties, parties, parties!

Every other weekend it seemed like there was another one! The invitations just kept on coming! I was SO popular! It was awesome! I flitted from one party to another like the fun-loving social butterfly I always am!  Okay, I think I'm done with the exclamation points.

I most certainly was partying like it was 1999. Because it was 1999.  Or 1995 or 1990 something. That was the period of my life when I was a party animal. I couldn't get enough.

It all started with Nutrimetics. Shut up. They ARE parties. Okay, party plans, then. Hmph. Bloody details. I was searching for somebody to do my professional wedding make up. An acquaintance (I can't remember who) recommended a Nutrimetics consultant. Before you know it the round of 'parties' started. You know the kind. Where you sit around with a bunch of friends, family and your next door neighbour eating too much finger food and cakies,  while the consultant attempts to convince you that you couldn't possibly LIVE for a second longer without their amazing products. Inevitably you order some over priced item that you may or may not end up using. We've all been there.

I have to say that this Nutrimetics lady did end up doing a pretty good job of the wedding make up. Thankfully I do have photographic evidence that I looked okay a hundred million  years ago. Sigh. It was also through the Nutrimetics consultant type lady that I learnt about corrective green concealer to reduce redness I was prone to. Information that would have been helpful ten years earlier when I walked around looking like I had just been slapped hard on both cheeks or had a really bad sunburn. It was just my natural 'glow' or Rosacea which I believe is the medical term. I have to admit that when the Nutrimetics lady originally suggested that I had I thought she was making it up just to sell me another product. Turns out it is a real thing and I did have it. On the plus side I've saved a lot of money on rouge. I've never worn it ever in my life.

When it was time to have my bridal shower/kitchen tea thingy I ended up having an Undercover Wear party, which is lingerie and clothes for the uninitiated.  Some years later another round of Undercover Wear parties surfaced and proliferated through my circle of friends. After a while, if a social occasion came up, usually a wedding, since this was also the decade of weddings amongst my friends, frantic phone calls were necessary to ensure that we weren't going to turn up in the same frock or outfit.

In addition to Nutrimetics and  Undercover Wear there was also the obligatory round of Tupperware parties. Tupperware seems to be one of those things that you either love or you don't. I've known people who obsessively collect it, including the retro stuff, and others, like my mother, who are scathingly dismissive of it as over priced and unnecessary. I'm somewhere in between. I do have a bit of Tupperware in my cupboards, but never became obsessed. Although, I've got to admit, those Shape O things are great for the little ones. I still have one floating around here somewhere that I bought when Mr 12 was little, as well as his first sippy cup and plate, which were Winnie The Pooh themed Tupperware.

Somehow, over the years, the round of 'parties' dissipated as our priorities changed and we all had children and/or mortgages and consequently not as much money to burn. Let's face it, you're always going to buy something at these things even if the host insists you don't have to. Last year I was invited to my first Lorraine Lea linen party for the first time by a neighbour. I spent 70 bucks on two pillows thinking that maybe they are one of those things where you get what pay for, having spent ages searching for that elusive perfect pillow. They turned out to be as pathetic as the 10 dollar ones from Big W. Clearly this is not a sponsored post. I don't think I'd be very good at them somehow. Ahem.

I'm pretty sure my 'partying' days are over. No wait. I STILL like to party like it's 1999. When I wasn't at Tupperware/Nutrimetics/Undercover Wear parties I'd do something really wild and CRAZY called staying home and reading books. I've always been cutting edge.

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

                                                       How do you like to 'party'?

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