I Have Never...

It's often quite disconcerting to realise that I've reached the mature age of 45 without doing a great deal things you might have expected a 45 year old woman to do. 

The list is long and comprehensive. I have never:

Had a career.

Been on a plane by myself (without my parents or Mick). 

Gotten a tattoo.

Taken illegal drugs.

Or even smoked a cigarette.

Stood naked in the rain.

Skinny-dipped.

Been thoroughly grown up and competent.

Had an affair (Mickey Blue Eyes will be not at all surprised shocked and relieved here). 

Broken someone's heart. 

Been a total bitch. 

Seen snow.

Been surfing.

Learnt to swim (shut up). 

Liked sport. This makes me somewhat of a freakish Australian. 
Bungee jumped.
Parachuted.
Ridden a motor-cycle.
Played an instrument.
Been able to raise my voice much above a whisper.
I've never been to me, just like Charlene, (and I've never exactly understood what that song meant). 
Liked rides or amusement parks. 
Worn a bikini. 

The thing is, though, for the most part I have never really wanted to do these things. I've never had a sort of bucket list of adrenaline packed adventures that I've wanted to tick off in my life-time. 

I've pondered over why I'm such a drifter/daydreamer with a lack of ambition or wanderlust and the only possible explanation I can come up with is that if you're like me: shy, quiet, introverted, Aspie and anxious then you spend a lot of time just wishing to be 'normal' in inverted commas (because who decides what normal is) and mediocre. This probably doesn't make one little bit of sense to anyone but me, but when the simplest of things like talking or making eye-contact are a huge challenge, you pretty much take yourself out of the running for things like high-powered careers or sole travelling. 

Anyway, as far as I'm concerned people who like amusement park rides or bungee-jumping are the crazy ones. Good luck with that. I'm a two feet firmly on the ground kind of girl. 

I've never understood the attraction to smoking. I find the smell alone to be repulsive and skin-crawling. Again - this must be an ASD sensory thing. Therefore, I've never had any curiosity to try it, not even once. I can't really tolerate alcohol well. Any more than two drinks maximum and my head will be spinning. And I really detest that out of control, queasy, hungover feeling, so I've never been tempted to try any drugs. Not that I've ever been offered any. It's weirdly ironic to think I've grown up in good old Mt. Druitt and am utterly clueless about drugs. Food is my drug. 

As Dolly Parton said: I'll take a sandwich and a shake over a jug and a joint any day. You'll have to imagine the Dolly twang. 


When it comes to swimming and any other water related activities, I guess I have a water phobia. I dislike putting my head under water. Anyway, my 77 year old father still doesn't know how to swim, so I'm prepared to carry on that tradition. And I'll never need that bikini. I'm naturally fair-skinned, so it doesn't make sense to wear one, anyway. Instead I need 20 litres of 50 plus sunscreen and head to toe clothing and I'll still get burnt.  HMPH. 

As far as I know I've never broken anyone's heart. In reality, there could be dozens of men (and women who wish I'd turn) weeping and devastated that I'm not available. Yeah, RIGHT. Snorts. 

And yes, I'm too much of a goody goody Pollyanna type to be a bitch. It would be handy to be able to think of cutting remarks in reply to certain people. Sometimes I manage it, but only at 4am after the event. Sigh. 

Image credit: https://www.facebook.com/purpleclvr/?fref=ts
I AM sick of bullshit! Why can't I be a bitch??!!

Speaking of 'I have never...' I have never quite known how to bring my rambling posts to a seamless conclusion, so why start now? 

The end. 

Yes, that was abrupt. 

Awkward. 

How would you finish the phrase 'I have never...'?

Linking up for I Must Confess, Open Slather and 
Mummy Mondays. 

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I Like To Watch

Since I've been on this little 'ol 'journey,' I've been spending an inordinate amount of time watching a bit of mindless television. This is just an attempt to take my mind of everything else. 

I've also balanced it with other things: reading, writing, listening to music, fill-ins, colouring-in (yes, I can't believe I've embraced the adult colouring-in phenomenon either). So far I haven't learnt how to crochet, but you never know. (Shut up, Posski and Randa). 

But anyway, back to the television-watching. I began watching the old re-runs of Friends on Gem, as well as Gilmore Girls. And I'm a little baffled. Although for some reason I keep watching. Go figure. 

Yes, I know I'm extremely late to the party with these shows. Like, at least 20 years. Details, people. Details. 

What I was going to say is that these shows open up so many questions about the implausibility of it all. 

Let's start with Friends. They're always hanging around the Central Perk cafe, drinking coffee and trading witty banter. And every single time they're at the shop, they are conveniently able to sit on the big couch at the centre of the shop. Surely, if this was a busy coffee place in New York, that seat would be taken sometimes? 

Image credit:http://www.unilotto.co.uk/ This seat is permanently reserved for Rachel. Ross, et al. Seems realistic, right?

Plus, they're six friends all living together and they still end up staying besties. I mean, seriously, I love all of my friends, but if six of us lived together for an extended period of time I'm sure there would be an attempted murder. And I'd probably be the victim. This could be because I'm the total opposite of Monica. I might be*a slob.

Another thing that strikes me is that Courtney Cox is equally as skinny as Karen Carpenter was in the mid 70s when she was anorexic. Yes, I know I shouldn't be judging women on their size or appearance; fat, thin, or otherwise. Generally I don't, but it's just one of those things that strikes me at times because I'm such a big Karen fan. A lot of actresses are really that thin and I can't work it out. Shrugs. 

Then there is the little issue that all of the Friends characters sleep with each other, which would seem to complicate things further. Rachel apparently sleeps with both Ross and Joey. I can't imagine that working out well in real life. Plus, what is the deal with the whole 'Ross and Rachel' thing?? Do they ever actually end up together? 

I know. I know. I'm just over-thinking a sit-com intended for light entertainment and laughs. But you know me. Always pondering the deep issues.

Which brings me to the Gilmore Girls. Do people really monologue at each other the way Lorelei and Rory do? I mean, I'm Aspie and even I don't monologue away in such in a fashion. And again, they always have the perfect witty banter. Plus Lauren Graham looks immaculate and gorgeous and she's supposed to be a single mother and now I'm just babbling and ranting and I suppose I'm jealous. HMPH. 

Image credit: http://www.pastemagazine.com/ SO COOL. HMPH!

And they're always so mixed up and confused about relationships in these shows, but I suppose that's what keeps the conflict going. Thank God I never got into Ally McBeal. My head would be hurting right now. Too late, it already is. Doesn’t take much!

Another American sit-com that I've caught a few re-runs of is Frasier.  Could they have cast two more unappealing men? Ahem. Plus the whole 'Niles and Daphne unrequited love thing' is even more annoying than Ross and Rachel. Okay, it's probably just me. I should avoid American sit-coms. 

Speaking of American sit-coms starring unappealing men, I'm also partial to a bit of Seinfeld. But let's face it Jerry, George and Kramer are hardly heartthrobs. Good thing it was funny. 

I'll also admit that I was an Offspring fan. Even so, I'm not sure about the decision to bring it back. There's only so many hot boyfriends and styled outfits Nina can have. 

Probably my most guilty TV pleasure is a bit the old Dr. Phil. How's that working for you? It’s working okay, thanks Dr Phil.

Thanks to you I’ve learnt at least three important things:

1. You can’t change what you don’t acknowledge.
2. You wouldn’t worry about what others thought of you if you knew how seldom they did. 
3. And that there are so many people out there who are so much more FUCKED UP than me.

So it hasn’t been a total waste of time watching your sometimes sensationalistic and often voyeuristic programme. Thanks dude.   

Over the years I've also been obsessed with Bewitched (oh my stars!), I Dream Of Jeannie and The Golden Girls. To the point where I'll occasionally watch the re-runs when they pop up. 

I’m also a Sex & The City fan. I hated the movies, but I still watch re-runs of the show. I'm struggling to think of any current shows that I watch. I never got into Game Of Thrones or any of the shows that people rave about. I suppose that's because I'm weird and also because we don't have Foxtel. 

My Mum gave me the entire series of Downtown Abbey, because I started to watch it and somehow dropped off and missed it. So again, I can catch up with a show when it's done and dusted. I'm funny like that. I prefer things when they're old news or celebrities when they're conveniently dead. Makes so much more sense, right? Okay, not really. I'm just always late to the party. But since the party doesn't start until I get there it's all good, right? I'm SUCH a party animal. Snorts. 

And watch daggy TV shows and listen to daggy music...

So that's me. Always watching the deep and meaningful, hard-hitting programmes. I rarely watch the news. Don't judge me. Okay, judge away...

The truth is, I'm anxious person, so I  take the approach to my anxiety that anyone would for any chronic condition. For instance, if you had epilepsy you wouldn't expose yourself to anything that provokes an episode. Therefore, I won't expose myself to anything I find too anxiety-provoking, if I can help it. Of course I'm also an airhead so there is that. But I'm a nice airhead, aren't I? 

Okay, so I'm off to watch a few re-runs. 

* There was no need to use the words 'might be' in that sentence. 

Linking up for I Must Confess, Open Slather and 
Mummy Mondays.

What are your guilty TV pleasures? 

Can anyone recommend some current TV shows for this airhead?

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Box Of Chocolates

Why hello there. I'm back, because I need a hobby that doesn't involve eating. At least while I'm typing I can't shove food in my gob. Besides, I have so much to tell you. 

Apparently life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get. Well frankly, I would have preferred to have gotten a paltry old box of Cadbury roses (see above). Instead, I got cancer. The cancery kind. It was there lurking in the lump in my boob. It was only small, or so I'm told and I got that fucker. Or, at least, the surgeon did. But she had to cut me in order to do so, and I do not particularly like being cut. I'm funny like that.

I don't like doctors, hospitals, surgery, blood or any of those things. I cannot watch medical programmes. I am well and truly out of my comfort zone.

It is really quite bizarre but at the same time boring. A familiar story. It happens all the time. So why not to me? It's felt like that ever since Mickey Blue Eyes had his cancer 'journey'.

It all began one balmy November day when I made my way to the doctor's to suffer the ignominy known to all women as a pap smear. My GP always does a breast exam during the same appointment, and she discovered the lump. I had no freaking idea it was even there. Scary shit. 

"I don't think it's Cancer," she said, then immediately booked me in for a mammogram the next day. My tits were dutifully crushed and the results were not alarming at this point. Nothing looked suspicious. But off for a biopsy I went. Those fuckers HURT. 

A few days later the dreaded news came. It was cancer. I've now become one of those people who says things like 'I'm on a 'journey', and I never wanted to say such skin-crawling things let alone go on one. But here I am. 

I was cut on the 10th of December and they got it all, as well as a few more spots lurking in the margins. The good news is, nothing had spread to the lymph nodes. The bad news is, it's something called triple negative. You just know that anything negative isn't good, let alone when you triple it. Sigh.

This means there is a slight chance of it being a genetic thing. In which case I would have to do the whole Angelina Jolie thing and have a bilateral mastectomy and removal of ovaries. I always knew Angie and I had so much more in common besides our striking resemblance and humanitarian efforts. She oozes sex appeal with those pouty lips of hers, while I'm also quite surly pouty at times. She adopted all of those children. I adopted a dog from a pet shelter. So... same thing, really. 

Anyway, back to this cancer shit. 

To cut a long, gruesome story short, I saw the Familial Cancer Service Professor type lady and she thinks that the chance of me having a mutant gene is unlikely. (But I still stick firmly to my theory that Ang and I are twins separated at birth. Shut up).

I had a blood test and will know for sure in 8 weeks. In the meantime, I started chemotherapy. Fun times. Using 'fun' in the sense of horrifying and craptastic. But you get that. I will lose my hair.

And I will now become a person who wears hats. At least I do look stunning in hats, that's one consolation. It may or may not be the good kind of stunning, but details. 

Chemotherapy involves going to hospital for a few hours, and having some nasty chemicals pumped into you via a drip while you munch on an icy pole or ice chips. This is to cool the mouth and therefore prevent mouth ulcers. I'm having four 'cycles' of this treatment every two weeks. Short and sweet. Or short and shit, in this case.

For the first two days after I had my first drip/cycle I didn't feel any different. Then, on the third day I got out of bed and immediately felt extremely strange. Nauseous, dizzy and bizarre. It's like the mother of all hangovers, multiplied by a bazillion without the fun of the booze. Not fair. 

It was particularly unfair because that was on my birthday. HMPH.
I did manage to have a cakie and a good lie down. There was no way I was staying vertical. 

Anyway, they give you a shit-tonne of anti-nausea meds and I took the extra ones and eventually felt much better. Meanwhile, when I had a rough night I could just visualise myself floating on a luxury yacht on the Mediterranean instead of feeling the effects of chemo. Totally works. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. 

On day 9 of the cycle I had a blood test. This is to check on my white blood cells, which can go a bit wonky and require some sort of injection to boost them.(I'm really up with all the medical terms, as you can see). Obviously the point of chemo is as an 'insurance policy' just in case there's any errant cancer cells. But it also effects your normal ones, hence the hair loss and nausea. Anyway, my bloods were all good and I didn't need the injection at that point. So that's chemo. My next cycle is this coming Wednesday. After which, I will be  half way finished. That's the best way to look at at it.  And I will definitely lose my hair at this point.

Luckily I have a collection of hats thanks to some clever ladies. Thanks Mum, Auntie Helen and my imaginary friend Posski. 

Folks, this is why I don't have an Instagram
account. My selfies (and all photos) are rubbish. 

I've been using this silly old chemo caper as an excuse to over-indulge during the Christmas period. Consequently I've gained a few kilos. For those of you who remember that I was attending Weight Witches and had received my broomstick. Well, I'm a very bad witch at the moment. Oops. 

Evidently, you're supposed to become a serene-and-calm-kale-and -quinoa-eating beacon of beaming positivity to conquer cancer. I guess I'm doomed. I don't wanted to be doomed. Not in any way. Not to a grisly early death or a joyless life of eating mung beans and organic lentils. I'm torn. On the one hand I want to be healthy (OF  COURSE!) and on the other hand life is too short to not enjoy that cakie and glass of wine. Do you know what I mean? Everything in moderation, as 'they' say! (Including moderation).

It's not like I intend to take up smoking and just give the fuck up. But seriously, can't we just agree that this cancer caper just fucking sucks, and I won't be feeling on freaking top of the god damn world every second no matter how much I love the Carpenters. (Some things never change).  The truth is, anybody who thinks you're going to be positive one hundred percent of the time after a cancer diagnosis is quite simply delusional and without a shred of empathy. There, I said it. 

Having said all that, it's certainly been a huge exercise in finally getting the hang of this mindfulness and gratefulness malarkey.

I force myself with extreme herculean effort to exist only in the current moment and not project too much into the future. I've even been quite successful in my endeavours and had several outings with minimal anxiety. Previously I would have become quite beside myself just THINKING about an outing, but it's just a total waste of energy now.

Furthermore, I've even started a whole 'happiness jar' thing.  This is some sort of Oprah-esque rah rah philosophy where you scribble down the highlight of your day and throw it in a jar. It doesn't haven't to be any big grandiose thing, it can be a particularly impressive cup of tea or coffee you had. The idea is that you go back to it in the future and remind yourself that there were happy moments amongst the crap. And that the small, mundane things in life are often the happiest. I know. I don't even know who I am anymore.

At this rate, if I keep up this stuff I might even become a vegan. 

NO wait...

BAHAHAHAAHAHA! Long way off that.

Anyway, today's confession was supposed to be about revealing my greatest strengths. Well, I think it's pretty obvious, isn't it?

Apart from my admirable ability to look stunning in hats, I now believe my greatest strength is my resilience. I never give up. Occasionally I do wallow for a time. But I always snap out of it and keep going.  I never totally give up my hope that things will improve. 

In addition to my balls of steel and iron-like resilience I have many other unique strengths. Such as:

• I can eat my entire body weight in cake.
• I'm a freaking ninja when it comes to avoiding small talk.
• I'm a comedic genius. I mean, admit it, I even made cancer funny. That's a gift, people. 
• I have a photographic memory. The fact that this skill only applies to remembering the words to every single Carpenters song is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT.
• I can juggle and tap dance simultaneously.
• I can make things up. Like that last point.
• I can stay silent for long periods of time. Say, about 45 years? Coincidentally, this is my age.
• I am the only person I know who, when they are actually trying very hard to clean up, can end up making more mess in the process. I do this by dropping things, knocking things over and generally having no fucking clue what I'm doing. Winning!
• I can communicate by telepathy. Not really, I just forget what I was going to say. Sigh. 
• I can compile amazing bullshit point lists. I mean, BULLET point lists. Ahem. 

So as you can see, I have so many strengths. Now I'm off to kick cancer's butt and try on hats. 

What is your greatest strength?

Linking up for I Must Confess and Open Slather. 

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Marriage: 20th Anniversary Edition!

The most astonishing thing has happened!! I was just minding my own business and then suddenly I blinked and guess what??!!

20 years just whizzed past in a nano-second! Unbelievable! 

Apparently Mickey Blue Eyes and I will have been married for a monumental 20 years on this coming Wednesday, the 11th of November, 2015! I could make the usual jokes about how you don't get that long for murder, but that would seem to imply that marriage is some sort of punishment to be endured. Pffffffft. As if. 

I must confess I couldn't even tell you why we've lasted this long. OK, maybe I have an inkling. 

A few months ago we were having a conversation about marriage and divorce, which had us arriving at this conclusion: the only reason ours has survived for 20 years is because neither of us could be bothered with the hassle and rigmarole of going through with divorce proceedings.

We do have arguments and annoy each other, just like every other couple. At the time you are completely outraged and wish to storm out of the house in high dudgeon and haughtily declare that you're never returning. Then, in the next beat you realise it's almost dinner time and something good might be on the telly after that, and really it's rather a lot of effort to pack and exactly where are you going to go anyway? Um. Yeah. Better rethink that. 

Long live romance! 

Anyway, seeing as though I'm now an expert on this subject here is some random advice and thoughts about marriage: 

• Wedding days are just that - a day. Yes, it's a special day, but I firmly believe you can still make it special without spending eleven billionty dollars on a cream puff frock and horse-drawn carriages and doves and all that nonsense. 

It's amazing. We look EXACTLY the same!
Except for the older and fatter thing. Details.

• There's no rush. Live together first. 

• When you are married there is really a frightful amount of a) talking, and b) togetherness. Who would have thought that a schmaltzy Carpenters song got it right? You know, that lyric about 'talking it over, just the two of us - togetherrrrr, togetherrrr?! Okay, you probably don't know, you're not groovy like me.  Check it out below. Anyway, if you're like me and not that great at talking and require alone time the way you require, you know, oxygen, then this will be a challenge. Not a totally impossible one, but a rather significant one. 

• There will be good and bad days. On a bad day I wish I could pack a bag and leave in a huff (see above). On a good day my family are like my coat of armour against the World. *passes over sick bags* 

• Those relationships that seem to be too good to be true probably are. 

• Don't post any of your arguments and drama on Facebook.  

• Remember the old line from the movie Love Story? 'Love means never having to say you're sorry'. Horse shit. If you know you've been a dick, an apology wouldn't go amiss. 

• If your husband isn't one to make grandiose romantic gestures, like sending flowers or writing gushing Facebook posts about you being the love of his life, but instead does the laundry, washes dishes, is a fantastic Dad to your kids, puts up with you being forgetful, disorganised, silent and uncommunicative (see above) and having a raging, totally perplexing Carpenters obsession, then there's a pretty good chance he does love you after all. 

• Likewise, if you're not one to make grandiose romantic gestures, or even say much at all, but instead support your husband's decision to work from home, despite your intense need for quiet time being disrupted, and put up with him being stubborn (yet somehow bizarrely oblivious of this fact), disorganised, and having a raging obsession with shares, soccer and birds (the feathered variety), then there's a pretty good chance that you do love him after all. *hands over more sick bags* 

• One day you will innocently blink your eyes and 20 years will have passed just like that! 

• Don't sweat the small stuff. We have a saying around here: Let it go over your head. No point in getting worked up about him leaving the toilet seat up. Especially if you have even worse habits. Or is that  just me? Ahem. 

• Make it clear early in the peace that you do not share your partner's enthusiasm for soccer, Star Trek or any other riveting obsession. Otherwise you will spend many hours being bored shitless and shivering at football fields on the weekend. Likewise, he isn't going to be enamoured of your fascination with shoe shopping or scrapbooking. Leave each other to it.

• When you are young and wishing to meet a potential partner you are certain that having common interests is essential. It's actually not. See above. Especially if you have, shall we say, some rather offbeat interests. I mean, let's face it, if I'd waited to meet a bloke who shared my Karen Carpenter fascination, I'd be permanently single. 

• Valentine's Day is a load of commercialised bullocks. There's no point in some one making a big fuss on a certain day and sending over-priced flowers then treating you like crap for the rest of the year. It sounds like a cliche, but it truly is the little everyday things that count. 

• If you were married in the 70s, 80s or even the 90s like me, your frock may now be hideous and dated. Not mine. Mine is exquisite and timeless. Because I've always had exquisite taste and didn't wear a cream puff frock. And clearly Kate Middleton totally copied me with her gown. So ner!

And that about wraps up my wisdom and insight* about marriage.

Happy 20th anniversary, Mickey Blue Eyes! 

*I have no wisdom or insight about anything ever. I just pretend I do. Works for me. 

Linking up with Kirsty and Alicia. 

What are your thoughts about marriage? 

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My Thoughts On The Melbourne Cup.

Here's something I prepared earlier for this week's Life This Week link up. Enjoy!   

Howdy folks!  Well, here we are on yet another Monday. And not just any Monday. Yep, you guessed it. It's that time of year again. The time when the entire nation pauses (and apparently goes stark, raving bonkers) over a horse race. I simply don't understand this. 

For those who are unaware of what I'm talking about, Melbourne Cup Day is Australia's most well-known and popular horse-racing event. Completely rational human beings, (who otherwise couldn't care less about such things) suddenly find themselves wearing odd hats and participating in office sweeps. Such is the absurdity of it all, that it has become known as 'the race that stops the nation'.  At around approximately 3 pm on the first Tuesday of every November, the nation holds it's collective breath while this takes place 

Image credit:http://www.racingandsports.com.au/melbournecup/2015-melbourne-cup-page-funstuff

My thoughts about this phenomenon were aptly summed up by Mr 14 the other evening.

"I couldn't give two shits about the Melbourne Cup!" he stated. 

WORD.

Yes, he swore. Which may seem frightfully rude for the more prudish among you (considering his tender age) , but in reality I couldn't agree more with the sentiment. Besides, where do you think he learned such colourful language? His father, of course. Not me. Nope. No way.

Anyway, as I was saying, I totally agree. Plus, in recent years I seem to recall hearing reports of more than one horse dying immediately after the race.  I don't recall specific details, but it all seems a tad nuts if you ask me. 

If that isn't outrageous enough, the event marks a public holiday in the state of Victoria, but it's off to work for all other states. How rude. The fact that I don't have a job is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT.

In some ways it's a shame that I don't celebrate this dubious occasion. I mean, I would look quite fetching in a stupid hat. And it's a good excuse for a drink or two and a feed. Oh who am I kidding? I don't really need any excuses for those things. Details.

My only fleeting interest in horses began and ended with a brief period of reading 'Jill' books when I was a child. They were written by some one named Ruby Ferguson. 

And oh I say! They were a jolly good read. They revolved around a young horse-obsessed girl named Jill. (Thanks very much, Captain Obvious). She lived in the quaint English country town of Chatton with Mummy (as she still called her mother, despite being well into her teens). Jill went on to acquire her own horses and compete in Gymkhanas. Jill said things like 'do buck up' and 'smashing' and 'Mummy didn't have a carrot to spare!'. 

These books had titles like:

Two Ponies For Jill

Jill Enjoys Her Ponies

Jill's Riding Club

They were perfectly sweet and innocent. I don't know what YOU were thinking. This has absolutely nothing to do with the Melbourne Cup, really. It's just that my mind wanders from one pointless topic or anecdote to the next... 

And what on Earth was I talking about? 

Oh yes. Jill books. I did love those books. That's why it's frightfully horrid to think of Black Boy and Rapide (Jill's horses) being whipped into shape for our entertainment. Apparently in later editions the name 'Black Boy' was changed to the more politically correct 'Best Boy'.

But getting back to the Melbourne Cup. The other thing I don't get is the gambling mentality. I don't even take out lottery tickets. Occasionally I joined in those office sweep things many years (decades) ago when I was working outside the home. But it was honestly just to be polite. My parents would also have a bit of a bet. It was the only day of the year they did. They were otherwise uninterested in horse-racing. It was just a bit of 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' fun for them. They would ask me to pick out a horse and I'd pick the name I liked the best.

Which brings me to another point. Why do the horses always have such odd names? 

I just Googled the list of horses for 2015 purely for this post and one of them is called Beaten Up. Gulp. Not literally, I hope. 

Yet another horse has this interesting title: Gust Of Wind. I assume that's a reference to the horse's speed not it's flatulence, but I couldn't be sure.

So there you have it. In summary: I won't be celebrating the Melbourne Cup tomorrow. Instead, you can find me celebrating the fact that I don't give a shit about it. 

I might revisit my childhood by rereading those Jill books again, though. 

Shut up. They were smashing! 

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva.

Do you celebrate the Melbourne Cup? 

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Here I Am

Hello, dear people. It's been a while since I checked in  here. What's that? You didn't notice? How rude. HMPH.

Anyway, the reason for my absence was the passing of my mother-in-law (may she rest in peace) and being without a laptop. It has finally been fixed, so here I am.

Then, for some zany reason I cannot fathom, last Wednesday I became a dutiful housewife. I dusted. I vacuumed. I cleaned and tidied. I tidied and cleaned. I changed sheets and made beds. I SLAVED over dinner. It certainly was a tremendous effort to order the Chinese take away. I can only hope my family appreciates the extreme sacrifices I make for them.

Needless to say, this led to me being extremely lavish in my efforts to take rather long naps. In addition to all of this I also kept up my regular exercise routine. No seriously, I actually DO have a regular exercise routine. Please stop that sardonic laughter! Actually, I just felt like saying the word sardonic for the sake of it. Sardonic. Very satisfying. It's not like you get to say such words in everyday life, is it? Derisive works here, too. Take your pick. 

But what was I saying? Oh yes. Exercise. I exercise frequently. SUCH a shame that there never appears to be any visible evidence of this. Ditto the housework. Rude. So basically what I am saying is, I am wonder woman. I wonder what I'll do next? I'll probably type this sentence. See?

Then it hit me. This week it's Halloween. I can just leave all the dust and cobwebs and claim they're part of the theme of this week. It's actually like I've been prepared and ready for Halloween for all these years, before Halloween was even a thing in Australia. See? Who said I'm not organised?

But here's my Halloween dilemma. For the past two years we had a few trick or treaters knock on the door. However, I wasn't prepared, so I ended up giving them lame treats, like packets of sultanas or tiny teddies.  I'm wondering if I should stock up on lollies, but at the same time I don't want the temptation of having them around because I'll eat them. I'm classy like that.

My boys haven't expressed any desire to go trick or treating, and secretly I'm glad. It just doesn't appeal to me to go randomly knocking on doors asking for sweets, despite being a chocoholic. Halloween was never really a tradition in Australia when I was growing up in the 1970s and 80s. Maybe that's why I don't get into it. I never feel like I'm missing out on something because it just didn't exist in my childhood.It's like how some people from other parts of the world probably feel like Christmas isn't Christmas without snow. In Australia we never have a white Christmas, and you don't miss something you've never had. You don't even think about it.

Meanwhile, even my 74 year old mother is getting into the Halloween spirit. She was invited to a party and is planning to dress up. There was a time when I went to Rotaract  Halloween parties and dressed up as Morticia. Sadly, these days my only dress up option would be  a witch or ghost.  And all I'd need is the pointy hat, cloak and broomstick. No make-up. Sigh.

Come to think of it, I already became a fully-fledged witch at Weight Witches!  For some reason, there was no broomstick handed out. Furthermore, the nose twitching thing remains mysteriously elusive. Weird. Very weird indeed. Perhaps my magical powers will suddenly come out to play when it's Halloween? Think about it. It certainly would be handy to turn some one into a toad when they annoy you. Just kidding. I'm a nice witch. 

My Morticia days are over *sobs*

Anyway, it's really hard to believe that it's the end of October. Consequently this means that November is a mere week away. Wasn't it just January a couple of months ago?

This means that Mr 6 becomes Mr 7 next Monday and a week later it's mine and Mickey Blue Eyes' 20th wedding anniversary. Wasn't it just 1995 a few years ago? Shut up.

On that note, I still haven't started Christmas shopping. Apparently I like living on the edge. But I'm not alone. According to a comprehensive study I conducted, most people prefer to leave Christmas shopping until December where it belongs. Using 'comprehensive study' in the sense of a random Facebook status update I posted a few weeks ago.

It's all good, though. We are very close to obtaining our passports, which means we can now fire up the private jet and take off at a moments notice if we choose. Or, you know, just go to Dubbo again just because we're quirky. Quirky, dammit! NOT tight-asses. Ahem.

Speaking of random stuff, (we weren't, but you know me and my meandering posts) I actually bought something from Evilbay for the first time ever! I'm onto all the newfangled things just like all the youngsters. There's no telling what can happen from here. Hopefully not Evilbay addiction. Which is a thing, according to certain friends who call it Evilbay for that reason. Scary. But scary is the theme of the week.

So BOO!

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva.

Do you celebrate Halloween? 

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How To Rock A Road Trip

Hello dear people! Welcome to another marvellous Monday! Or perhaps I should say mind-blowing Monday. You see, I have some astonishing information and wisdom to impart.

Did you know that it's exactly one year since the 28th of September 2014???!!! Or am I the only one who spotted that? I am known for my genius like abilities after all.


Furthermore, it's approximately one year since I brought to you some ground breaking life hacks in this post. Well, technically one year and six days, but details!

No doubt this advice has been utterly life-changing for you. Therefore I feel it is only fair to share with you some more of my sage advice and insights.

In no particular order here are some random life hacks/thoughts and advice- Ness style pertaining to road trips. I've just come back from one so I'm an expert! 

Be sure to read until the end for my FREE BONUS TIP!!!! This is an exclusive offer and will expire in approximately eleven billionty days!! Or actually never, but details. Besides, my blog is always free because as outrageous as it seems no one will actually pay me to write drivel on the internet. I know, right? So rude!

Anyway, here is the moment you've been waiting for.

Road Trip Life Hacks - Ness Style

• Packing is stupid. You will always forget stuff and/or over pack. The only thing to do is to take a fuck it attitude and decide that there will probably be shops wherever you are headed, so you can buy whatever you forget. Unless you holiday in some remote area of the world, in which case you're probably crazy anyway so I can't help you. Oh yeah, and make lists in the first place. List do help. Sort of. Unless you have the uncanny ability to lose lists and panic and agonise over what should go on it and... Yeah,whatever. Stick with the shops thing.  

• You will not actually explode and die if you are ever, for instance, in a motel in Wagga Wagga with dodgy Wi-Fi and consequently cannot get internet access. This will be a good thing. It will force you to go outside into the sunshine and socialise with people and read books. Actual books. Remember those? Speaking of books, you simply must go on a book shopping spree! At Vinnies (or similar op shop). They have ones the size of football fields in these country towns and everything is so cheap and nasty you can buy enough to fill a truck. In fact, you may need an actual truck to transport it all home, but like I say - DETAILS! 

• While on holidays you must avoid whatever makes you fat. See above. You will eat all the food. ALL. THE. FOOD. And drink all the scotch/wine/gin/vodka/whatever you fancy. This is why elastic waisted clothes were invented. No amount of walking will eradicate this damage. By all means walk, just don't expect any reward for it other than fresh air and/or sunshine.

• Sleeping in the car during a long road trip isn't very refreshing. You just wake up all dazed and confused and in the twilight zone with a dodgy neck into the bargain. But do it anyway. It's better than being the driver. Ahem.

• Children will never get sick of eating Maccas. Meanwhile you will feel nauseous at the sight or mere thought of those golden arches. Children will delight in these holidays as an opportunity to thrive on a steady junk food diet. I suppose you can't blame them. After all there is not much else to keep them entertained. See above point re dodgy WiFi. There is nothing you can do about this either. Just go with it and enjoy not cooking for a while.

• If you're like me and that glamorous modelling career you dreamt of didn't exactly pan out, there's probably a reason for that. Don't bother packing make-up and hair straighteners and co-ordinated outfits. Just go for comfort and practicality. And warmth. Especially if you're in Wagga Wagga. Jumpers and coats are your friend. Those crazy people walking around in shorts and t-shirts are exactly that. Batshit crazy.

If this miracle never occurs at home, it certainly won't occur
on holidays. Give up.

Congratulations! You're now infinitely wiser with my help. You're welcome. And now, just because I'm so generous here is my promised free bonus tip:

• When you arrive home you will inevitably have shit tonnes of unpacking and washing to do and have to get back into domesticity pronto. So my advise is:  Listen to podcasts or music while you pretend you're doing housework/washing to make it less tedious. I'm positive you would never have thought of this avant garde and mysterious tip without me. Shut up. Done.

Stay tuned until this time next year for more of my wisdom and life hacks. I'm heading into my 45th year and becoming more and more wise each day. Or is that wide? Oh well. Whatever. See you on the road!

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva.

Have you been on any road trips lately?

Do you have any road trip life hacks?  

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