Ten Things I Don't Get Or Like About Sport and Exercise

I could probably sum up this whole post in one word: EVERYTHING.  However, I'm the Queen of crapping on about nothing, so without further ado here are ten random, hodge podge things I don't get or like about sport.

1.Balls.

They are scary. I hate them and fear them. This aversion dates to back to childhood when I was perpetually in fear of a ball hitting me in the face during sport or in the play ground. There is probably a word for this particular phobia. Ballsophobia?  Who knows. Anyway, I have it. Therefore, it's ironic that I've ended up surrounded by males with their balls. I meant soccer balls. For goodness sake, don't be so juvenile. Just because I was juvenile enough to go with such a bad pun...ahem...

2.Sports Commentary

The kind where they (the commentators) make the most stunning announcements that seem like Captain Obvious by pointing out that the runners are at the starting line or a player has passed the ball during a footy match. I would never have noticed. Plus, there is the endless chatter and droning on before a match. It's boring enough, dudes. Just get on with it!

3. Garrulous/Annoying/Obsessive Spectators or Supporters

You know the kind. They are loud and proud supporters of their team, going to such extremes as dyeing their hair the same colours as their team. They will spend the entire match bellowing out helpful instructions, as if the players are wandering around the field bewildered; not knowing what to do until that moron in the grandstand yells at them to tackle for the umpteenth time. These supporters can also sometimes be one-eyed and don't accept losing very graciously. Alternatively, they may sob in utter despair if this happens. I'm never sure whether to feel sympathetic or just downright alarmed at the sight of a grown adult weeping like a baby over a sporting event. It's just a game, isn't it? Suffice to say, I don't get it.

4.The Same As The Above But Parents Of Children

My boys play soccer because it's better for them to be running around in the sunshine on a Saturday morning rather than sitting in front of a PlayStation. Apparently, some parents have other ideas about their children playing sport. They take it all a bit too seriously. They yell. A lot. Their faces become contorted as they break out in a cold sweat and then yell some more.

Sometimes they look like the are about to burst a blood vessel or take a fit as they implore young Jack/Stella/Lachlan to "RUN!"

"KICK IT!"

"WAKE UP!"

"WATCH WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"

They repeat this tirade incessantly for the duration of the match. I always end up feeling sorry for young Jack/Stella/Lachlan.

They are children for Christ's sake, not playing in the World Cup. Okay, I suppose budding sporting stars have to start somewhere, but I doubt that embarrassing the crap of your kid is the ideal way to fire them up. I wish these parents would just have a sausage sandwich and CHILL.

5. The Actual Rules

My knowledge of soccer pretty much goes like this: There is a ball, there are two teams and they try to kick the ball into a net to score a goal. The end. There is probably a bit more to it, right? Don't ask me what that is, though.

6. The Amount Of Money Sporting Stars Are Paid

I can't deny that sport is lucrative. It seems that at the top end, athletes are paid extremely well. Take Golf for example. Seriously - take it. Most. Boring. Sport. Ever. But Golf heroes like Tiger Woods are zillionaires. Why? On second thought, the money could be the only incentive to take up something so mind-numbing as hitting a ball into a little hole. There could be more to Golf than that but I wouldn't know. I've already tuned it out after 2 excruciating seconds.

7. Ridiculous Sporting Gear/Attire.

Luckily, leg warmers and thong leotards have been out of style for a decade or two now. At least I hope they are ( I can't be entirely sure since I never set foot in a Gym) because they are crimes against fashion. And what about the tendency to wear gym gear as regular clothes? I may be guilty of this, but only around the house. I change when I have to go to school pick-up. Unlike some parents, who turn up in head to toe Lycra. I guess they want everyone to know they've been working out. Fair enough. I hadn't thought of that tactic. Maybe I should wear my yoga pants to school pick-up. That way there is remote chance that it looks like I've been working out instead of surfing the net for half the day. I mean, I'd never do THAT. Nope. No way. Shut up.

Then there is the humble old track suit. Isn't this kind of redundant in the land of Oz? I mean in terms of actually doing any physical activity while wearing it? Nobody wears them for that, right? They're just for lounging around the house in. Or is that just me? Ahem...

8. Irritatingly Upbeat Instructors

These are usually seen on exercise DVD's. I have quite the collection of these because I'm that one in a billion bizarre person who likes working out at home, alone. It's hard to find one with an instructor who isn't as grating as nails on a chalk board.

"Don't you stop! If you rest you rust!" they holler while pumping away with determination.

"You're doing great!" they then announce while beaming in between spirited "Woo's!" and "Yeah baby's!"

"Yes! Yes! YES!" moans one instructor on a DVD I own. It sounds like she's trying to channel Meg Ryan's infamous fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. I'm reasonably certain that exercising or doing aerobics doesn't cause multiple orgasms because a) if it did, it would be SO much easier to motivate ourselves to do it; and b) if it does, then I must be doing it wrong.

9. Over The Top/Complex Workout/Aerobics Routines

This usually goes hand in hand with the above annoying instructors. They will be gazing out triumphantly on the cover looking ripped, while on the back cover the blurb assures you: This energising, fun workout can be done by anyone at home, with any fitness level, from beginners to advanced. Bullshit.

You unwittingly begin the workout feeling optimistic. All goes well for the first five to ten minutes as you warm up. You're able to follow the moves without any problems. You're actually getting into it! Exercise is FUN! Wrong.

"Okay, we're moving on now," beaming annoying Instructor announces. Suddenly she is telling you do things you thought were only applicable in Cirque Du Soleil. 

"Okay! Lets do 50 jacks, then drop and give me 50 push-ups!" she performs this feat effortlessly while you huff and puff away, ineffectually. She bounces back up "WOO!" she declares "Now stand on your head, do 10 back flips, pirouhette six times, balance on one finger, then the other finger, then mambo, then cha, cha, cha and give me ANOTHER 50  PUSH UPS! YOU CAN DO IT!!" 

Um no, I can't. Okay, I may be exaggerating slightly. But this is what it feels like.  A good old grape vine is as complex a move as I can muster. If you don't what they are then you obviously never did aerobics in the 1980's. Consider yourself lucky.

10. Trophies

My boys and Micky Blue Eyes have an assortment of soccer trophies. Don't get me wrong, I am proud of their sporting  achievements. But why oh why do all trophies have to be so hideously ugly? Naturally, they want to display these monstrosities proudly around the house.  Not only are they are an interior design nightmare in terms of aesthetics, but they are also horrific dust collectors. Then again, dusty and hideous seems to be the look we were aiming for around here so I guess I should quit complaining.

Thus ends my illustrious list. I just wanted to add that while I really dislike all sport, I particularly abhor cricket. Or, as I refer to it, The Three B's; which stand for: Bats, Balls, BOOOORRRRRRING!! 

And with that, I'm out of here before all you cricket tragics take after me with a bat...*ducks for cover.*

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

Also linking with  Emily from Have A Laugh On Me for Laugh Link.

What don't  you 'get' about sport?

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Things I Know On This Friday

• I know I’ll never have time to read all the books I buy even if I live to be 110 years old.
• I also know that this will never stop me from buying them.
• I know I will never get tired of hearing Mr 5 say: “I love you Mum! You’re the best in the World!”
• Ditto Mr 10.
• I know that Mr (almost) 13 is too cool for all that but I know he still loves me and I know I’ll still make him hug me occasionally.  
• I know that I ate my healthy salad wrap for lunch and didn’t crave a cake the size of my head afterwards for once. This hasn’t happened since…never mind….
• I know that theoretically there are six hours in between 9am and 3pm but this will always speed by as if it’s only half an hour. Tops.
• I know that when I mentioned that I’ve had a headache all day and Micky Blue Eyes said he did too; adding: “I’ll bet you I’ll have to lie down later." This was code for: “You’ll have to do school pick up. Don’t think you’re getting out of it.”
• Ditto whenever he asks me: “What are you having for lunch?”  I know this is code for: “Make me lunch.”
• I know that in less than two months I shall become the mother of a teenager. I don’t know if I’m ready for it, however.
• I know that my headache is getting progressively worse and this is frightfully rude.
• I know that it’s Friday and only a few hours away from wine o’clock AND I don’t have any wine!!
• i know that this is a first world problem.
• I know that I’ve turned the damn caps lock off but my keyboard is not co-operating and now it looks like I’m shouting at you!
• i KNOw that i’ll have to continue shouting at you because the damn thing won’t  work!
• i know that it’s ( the capitals/caps lock thing) annoying the crap out of me!
• I know that it’s probably annoying the crap out of you as read this, too, so i apologise!
• i know that I want to take to this keyboard with a sledge hammer!
• I know that if i wasn’t being deliberately shouty a few points back i am now, because i feel like shouting abuse at an inanimate object. BLoody F&$*King stupid B*@$h of a thing!!
• Once again I know this is a first world problem so I just need to suck it up and GET OVER IT OR fix it or GET A new lap-top. 
• I know I should stop shouting at you now.  over and out. 

LINKING UP WITH ANN AT HELP!! i'M STUCK! FOR THINGS i KNOW. 

WHAT DO YOU KNOW ON THIS FINE FRIDAY?

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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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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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