I Won't Last A Day Without...

There are certain things that I would I find terribly difficult to give up. Such as:

My Family

Okay, there are certain days when I do wish I could be all by myself. Except I'd be belting out Carpenters songs instead of Celine Dion. But in reality, I couldn't live without my family. They are my suit of armour against the World. Whenever I'm feeling awkward and alien like (which is often) I can remind myself that:

a) As Dr Phil says: You wouldn't worry about what others thought of you if you knew how seldom they did, and
b) I have Micky Blue eyes and my boys who love and accept me.

The Internet

Some days I am scrolling down my Facebook feed (or typing another pointless blog post- ahem) and wondering why I bother. Still, I can't seem to hit the deactivate button. It's a sickness really. Sigh.

Sugar/Cakies/Chocolate

I tried quit sugar last year. It was the longest five minutes of my life. BOOM TISH. Seriously though, I did only last about five minutes. More recently I started the Get Healthy Programme, except I seemed to think it was the Get Diabetes programme. I have ended up delaying this for a while and am starting again soon. Hopefully I'll last for at least ten minutes this time. Shut up.

Karen Carpenter/Carpenters addiction/obsession

This fascination, which began at the tender age of 11, has only intensified with the arrival of the internet, making it even more impossible to hit that Facebook Deactivate Button, thereby quitting all of the fan groups and pages I belong to. Don't ask. I've lost count. But at least the fact that there are so many groups proves that I'm not alone in my weirdness.

Quiet Time

As much as I love my family, I do need time alone as well.  This is particularly precious due to it's rarity. I have been forced to give this up to a degree. But I'll still grab the smallest opportunity whenever I can. In fact, on our current holiday, when faced with the choice of joining my family for a stroll on the beach or staying in the apartment alone with the lap-top, I chose the latter. I justified this by reasoning that I spent plenty of time doing stuff with them every other day. And the sand. All that sand, everywhere, six months later. *Shudders*.

Cups Of Tea

I only drink one coffee a day. And about a billion or so cups of tea. I think I was weaned with a tea bag. Okay, not quite, but I did start drinking it at a young age and am absolutely addicted. The tea bag must be left in, thank you very much. I know, it's disgusting. Especially since tea bags were EVIL when I was growing up. We always had proper leaf tea in a pot. But I'm lazy, so tea bags it is now.

Books/Reading

 For me, the highlight of our family road trips involves stopping off at any available Op Shops and loading up on bargain books. This is approached with the same fervency and desperation that a heroin addict would reserve for getting their next fix. I. MUST. HAVE. BOOKS. I probably should purchase a Kindle at some point and bring myself into the 21^st Century, however I’m sure I still wouldn’t be able to resist those road trip Op Shop crawls. They're much better than Pub crawls in my opinion.

Exercise

This is one I struggle with. I can easily be lazy and give it up, but my physical and mental health suffers if I let it slide. So I force myself to do sweaty aerobics on most days. I do this for the endorphins, not to become svelte and super fit with a rippling six-pack and buns of steel. I prefer buns with cream, actually. Ahem. Which is why I'll never have the former.

Blogging/Writing

I've only recently come to the conclusion that writing is kind of similar to exercise for me.  I may not be the best, most eloquent writer, just as I am not the most agile, fit athlete, but I usually feel better when I do it. Even if it's just scribbling nonsense purely for my own amusement or boring you all with this blog, I need to do it. As I've mentioned I can be lazy, so sometimes I have to force myself, just like the exercise. When I do, I feel better. The end. So, I guess you're all stuck with me. You're welcome.

And there you have it. The stuff I would find hard to give up. Now I'm off to read books and drink tea.  Oh alright, I'll exercise instead. Hmph.

Linking up (late, as usual)  for Laugh Link and also for I Must Confess.

What would you find hard to give up?

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Seven Signs That You Seriously Suck At Packing

I'm in the middle of packing for our trip to Port Macquarie. I'm not very good at it. There are certain things that would confirm this.  Here they are, the seven signs that you suck at packing:

1. You leave it until the very last minute, taking the term 'flying by the seat of your pants' to a whole new level.  You may try to rationalise this by reasoning that you work you better under pressure and just ignore the constant twitching of your eye and rising panic.
2. A situation may* have happened on a long ago vacation, where your partner nearly suffered a coronary trying to haul an over-stuffed heavy suitcase through the airport. He eye-balled you intensely and bellowed: "Don't ever pack a bag like this AGAIN!! EVER!!" Bemused passers by may have witnessed this interlude as you longed for the floor to open and swallow you.
3. In spite of the above lead-like suitcase, you've forgotten essential items, yet packed non-essential items.
4. Your definition of essential items varies wildly from your partners. After all, you couldn't exist without your dozen or so meticulously co-ordinated outfits, so necessary for what you'll be doing - schlepping to theme parks or local attractions with kids. The rest of the time will be spent doing as little as possible in an attempt to recover from the former horror.
5. You pack approximately 17 books for a 7 day getaway. You're either weirdly convinced that this is the week that you are somehow going to miraculously become a speed reader or just deluded. If you have 3 kids in tow, as I do, the deluded thing is the more likely option. Either option is delusional, really.
6. You pack joggers and active wear. Naturally, a holiday is the perfect time to take up jogging. You conveniently ignore the fact that the only exercise you participated in on past holidays involved walking to the cake shop then lifting the purchased cakies into your gob. Ditto walking  to the booze shop and lifting booze to your gob. If you have 3 kids in tow, the booze is a likely option.
7. You glance around at your accommodation on day 2 or 3 of your stay and are appalled to discover that the glistening, pristine conditions you sighed over when you arrived now resemble a war zone. You appear to have transported the entire contents of your home there, including the 3 kids and all their accompanying paraphernalia. This now necessitates a hurried clean before the actual cleaners arrive; you wouldn't want them to think you live like this. You now may as well be at home.

*Definitely happened. Excruciating.

                                 What other signs are there that you suck at packing?
                                    Are you going away these holidays?

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More Things I Know

I know that I'm sick of freezing my butt off.

 

I also know that when Summer finally rolls around I'll complain that I'm sick of sweating my butt off.

I know that I'm over the World Cup and soccer altogether.

I also know that this is unfortunate for me when I'm surrounded by soccer obsessed males.

I know that I was rather interested to hear that Mr 10 and 5 are both 'quiet achievers' at their parent/teacher interviews.

I know that they are both rarely quiet at home.

I know that I've been called a 'quiet achiever' many times.

However, I still don't know what I was supposed to be quietly achieving.

I know that I need to start packing for our brief road trip next week.
 
I know that I hate packing.

I know that as I type this ABBA's Knowing Me, Knowing You started playing in my head.

I know that this clearly confirms my sophisticated and cutting edge taste in music.

I know that I could spend the next 6 hours washing up, such is the state of my kitchen.

I know that I'd rather do almost anything BUT the afore-mentioned washing up.

I know that this is the only reason that you are being subjected to this rather scintillating post.

I know that it was a relief that the school holidays have started today.

Conversely, I also know that it was damn shame that there was no sleep-in forthcoming as we had to be at soccer early.

I know that as a result of the above I feel like I could sleep for the next decade. Instead I have to pack and prepare to go away to Port Macquarie on Monday.

I know it will be worth it when we get there.

I know that all I will want to do, once there, is read, sleep and eat.
Meanwhile, I know the boys will constantly whinge that they're bored.

I know that we haven't been to Port Macquarie for at least 10 years when Mr 12 was toddling around. Now he is about to become a teenager. Hold me.

I know that it's seriously time to log off the Internet when I'm taking a Which Little Miss Character are you? quiz. Related: apparently I am Little Miss Wise.

See, I knew I was a genius. Those quizzes are eerily accurate and sound, right?

I know that thinking I'm a genius because of a quiz probably proves the opposite. It just proves that I'll do anything to procrastinate. Little Miss Later, more like. As in: I'll get to that later.

Then again, does this prove that I am, indeed, wise? Because, as the saying goes: why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Or something...

I know, I know, I'm just procrastinating. But you have to admit, I'm a genius at it. I know, right?

Okay, time to find one hundred more ways to procrastinate.

Maybe later.  Can you procrastinate at procrastinating? I know I probably can. There was no need to put the word probably in that sentence. Ahem.

Over and out.

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

                            Are there any other ways to procrastinate?

                                   I really am a genius, aren't I?

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What I Suck At

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other things I suck at:

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

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

Linking up with Robomum for The Lounge

                                                     What do you suck at?
                                                     

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The A - Z Of Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

0 is for original. See ‘N’ above.

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

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

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

S is for scotch which is a favourite drink.

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

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

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

Me

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Time Machine And Things I Know

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know that I need a nanna nap.

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

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

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

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

I know that I know everything about nothing.

I know that I have EFD. Big time.

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

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

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

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

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

Therefore I won't do it this time.

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

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

I know that this is a TRAVESTY! OUTRAGEOUS!

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

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

I know I should probably get out more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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