Passions

Those lovely ladies known as the Lounge Lizards apparently want to know what I’m passionate about. Well, duh, as if it isn’t obvious.

CAKIES!

From a young age I was always known for two traits. My unrelenting drive and passion. For cake. Or chocolate. This has propelled me to the dizzying heights (who wouldn’t be dizzy, with all that sugar in your system) I’ve reached today,  as a professional Fatty Boombah Bogan.

This was emphasised to me by an anecdote related to me by my mother of the time when I was around the tender age of three, or perhaps four, who knows. You expect me to remember back that far? I can’t remember five minutes ago!

Anyway, evidently Mum had taken me out shopping and paused to have a coffee. However, I had other ideas.  I kept repeatedly asking for “Something nice,” emphasising the word ‘nice’ with a posh little plum in my mouth.  This refrain went on for several minutes, while Mum attempted to enjoy her coffee.

She tried to ignore my demands. Undaunted, I continued my efforts.

“Mummy, can I please have something nice?”

Finally, after another five minutes or so of my constant nagging heartfelt pleas, Mum eventually threw me a sachet of sugar.

“Here,” she said, exasperated “have this!”

My little three year old eyes fell on it. With a tone dripping in condescension and derision I  scathingly declared:

“BIG DEAL!”

I was cute once. And I wanted something 'nice', not
a sugar sachet! HMPH.

How dare anyone thwart me from having my desired and much sought after slice of cake! CAKE, I say, not a silly old sugar sachet!

In between my frequent cakie consumption, I could be found curled up with a book, my other passion. Sometimes I traded the book for our dachshund dog, Samantha. I tried to smuggle Samantha into bed with me once. When Sammy went to doggy heaven, along came Penny and Skippa.  I was devoted to those dogs. The fact that I never had to actually clean up their crap probably added to their appeal. Penny and Skippa went on to have pups. In an essay written for school about my life, I remarked that I’d never seen anything cuter than those puppies ‘not even a human baby’.  Clearly I needed to get out more. Or all that sugar was affecting my brain. Or both. Regardless, I was besotted with books, dogs and cakies.  Not to mention chocolate.

Me with my mullet perm and Skippa, circa 1985. Classy.

My passion for baked goods and all things chocolatey, continued on in my teens when I proceeded to take the old ‘Mars a day’ slogan quite literally. I devoured a Mars Bar every single day after school, while remaining annoyingly slim. Annoying to others, I’m sure. Annoying to me now, knowing that this phenomenon will remain firmly back in 1985, along with mullet perms and bubble skirts.  The latter two can stay there. However, I want my fourteen year old metabolism back, thank you very much. Hmph.

Perhaps continuing with the syrupy sweet theme, I also developed a deep and abiding love for Carpenters music at around age 11 which has continued onto this day. This is yet another lifelong passion.  Ironically, Karen Carpenter died from an eating disorder shortly after I fell passionately in love with her voice and music. This meant I was now passionate about cakies – and the World’s most famous anorexic, something only I could achieve. So ner. After all, while others worried about trying to save the whales or the ozone layer, SOMEBODY had to focus on the important issues. What could be more important than cake and Carpenters? Don't answer that...

Then, one day, years later, there came an epoch in my life.  A ‘bend in the road’ as ‘Anne’ would say.  I was unable to become pregnant and it appeared that a little bit of weight loss might help the situation. Surprisingly, I was able to develop a new passion, a very unexpected one. Exercise.

It worked, and one by one, babies came along. With each subsequent baby my passion for exercise waxed and waned. Meanwhile, my devotion to cakies and chocolate continued unabated.  After all, I could have given them up, too, but I’m no quitter, as they say. Whoever ‘they’ are.

My singular determination and unremitting pursuit of all things sugary is what has shaped me into the person I am today. An overweight bogan with high cholesterol who knows the words to every Carpenters song. Not many people can boast about that.  Shut up.

Not to be beaten, I am now determined to reclaim my long lost passion for exercise. After all these years it appears that my love affair with cakies and chocolate must now tragically come to an end. It’s not me, it’s them. While I have passionately loved them, it appears that they do not love me. Cue hysterical sobbing.

It turns out that there is one thing that I am truly passionate about.  Yes, even above and beyond cakies and Carpenters. Three things, actually.  Three of the most important people in my life.  My gorgeous boys. I love them passionately. For them, I will give up (or cut back, anyway- ahem) on cakies. I will even move my rather large arse and break a sweat everyday, until it becomes slightly less large.  I will do it because I passionately desire to be around for a hell of a long time, to see them grow up and possibly even be a Grandma one day. 

And if I do live to be 80, then I'm eating cake EVERY SINGLE DAY until I die from a diabetic coma. You can't stop me.  

Linking up with Slapdash Mama Sarah for The Lounge.

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

                                                           What are YOU passionate about? 

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Long Lost Letters And Other Lame Stuff

There was a time, approximately a billion years ago, (or you know, at least twenty, which often feels like the same thing) when I used to write SO MANY letters. Not surprisingly, I had dozens of admirers and received truck loads of love letters each week. It was hard to have to break so many hearts with polite and poetic little epistles detailing why we couldn't be together, but I had to do it.

I loved  making up stuff, you see. Like most of the above paragraph. Ahem. No, sadly, there were no admirers. Not one. Hmph. I still don't get it. I mean, I was clearly such a fetching teenager. Observe.

How did all the boys resist
such mulleted loveliness?

 Needless to say, I then blossomed into a smoking hawt twenty something. My hawtness was just totally OFF THE SCALE. No wonder the boys stayed away in droves. It was just too overwhelming. Clearly. Behold the photographic evidence:

Hawt, Hawt HAWT. Erm..NOT.

So, in order to keep myself busy while hordes of males secretly lusted after me, but were too intimidated to approach me, I had to have a hobby. Naturally, I chose an exceptionally cool one. Pen-pals. I've always been cutting edge.

Remember those days? Snail mail. Now the only snail mail I receive is bills and junk mail. Which I find considerably rude. However, if I wish for any alternative correspondence I shall have to think about how I operated in the past. Scribbling away with an actual pen on paper and putting it in an envelope and posting it. Except I won't. Because I've become shockingly lazy. I'll just blog about it instead. Because it's fascinating, obviously, like everything about me.

Last week my parents called in and my Mum had brought with her a bag full to the brim of old letters, cards and an old school report that had belonged to me.  I was able to spend the afternoon having a lovely little trip down memory lane sorting through it all.  After this heart warming foray into the past, I came to following conclusions:

Some things change. Such as, 'friends' who promised to be so FOREVER. Turns out they weren't even a friend's arsehole. Just the arsehole bit. Period. Good riddance.

Some things NEVER change. This was confirmed by a comment on the old school report which said:

Vanessa displays no interest in craft.

At least I am consistent in some things. I have consistently  maintained a stunning lack of interest in craft for the past 30 years. Which is, quite clearly, something to be proud of.

I also had at least three international  pen-pals. Two from Germany and one from Italy. I wrote to these girls for quite a number of years because they were NICE. Unlike that horrible bitch I wrote to once out of the pen-pals section of Smash Hits magazine, who, for some inexplicable reason, must not have been impressed with my heartfelt confession that in addition to Madonna and INXS I also loved The Carpenters and Barbra Streisand. What is wrong with these people who can't handle my hawtness and exquisite taste?

Anyway, I wrote to my German pen-pals, Steffi and Gudrun, and my Italian one Anna Maria for years. One by one, we all eventually got married and slowly stopped writing to each other. In short, I became a slack arsed bitch and lost contact with them. Oops.

In addition to my pen-pals, I also wrote to a couple of the above arseholian 'friends' and several relatives. I loved writing letters.  Eventually I met Micky Blue Eyes and I may have even written him a soppy letter or two. He never replied. But he didn't run away shrieking either, which, when I think about it now, could have been a distinct possibility.

He did, however, manage to bestow upon me the odd post card or jokey card, with a 'Take it easy, Love Mick' scrawled on the bottom of it. No wonder I was swept away with such romantic gestures. Makes you all warm and fuzzy, doesn't it? Or nauseous and queasy? Or something.

I also finally discovered where I get my genius for poetry from, after coming across a corny charming poem my Mum had written for me in an old birthday card. Thanks, Mum! For writing that poem and also passing on your GENIUS. People will understand our greatness one of these days. Maybe. It could happen. Shut up.

Among the cards was this one, pictured below,  for my 21st birthday, from some old colleagues I worked with at the time. It cracked me up. I do love a good lobster meal.

Incidentally, I also came across an old pay slip from those heady old days when I was temping for Library Locums. Apparently I was earning an astronomical $12.98 per hour! This kind of explains why I am now living a life of luxury in Boganville. I was always destined for great things.

Here I am living it up in luxury with a
lovely lobster dinner. And a
bad bowel hair cut...

Fast forward to today and here I am still being AWESOME. I now don't write any letters. I write this brilliant boring as batshit blog instead, for which I earn - absolutely nothing! So ner.

Linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

Did you ever have any pen-pals? Do you ever use snail mail these days?

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Scardey Cat Bogan

Today I had to go and be a pin cushion. I had a Glucose Tolerance Test. No big deal, right? We  all have to have them when we are up the duff. Compared to pushing a baby out it's NOTHING.

So why do I get all wobbly about it? Yes, I must confess, I am big chicken shit, scaredy cat when it comes to all things of a medical nature. I do not like blood or needles AT ALL.  The only way I can go about such a thing is to try to pretend it's not happening and look away. But my nerves are far too obvious and I'll usually get a patronising "Oh somebody doesn't like needles, do they?" type of comment from the pathology staffer who is about to jab me with the said needle. The fact that I am, of course, acting like the equivalent of a five year old and probably deserve their derision is entirely irrelevant. And they never give me a smiley stamp afterwards either. Hmph.

This isn't scary at all...*faints*

Hard to believe I spent months being jabbed with fertility drugs years ago and being poked and prodded in my quest to have a baby. I must have wanted sprogs very badly.

All of this leads me to the obvious conclusion that I need to:

a) grow up
b) grow some balls
c) grow some extra balls in case I lose the first ones, or
d) all of the above.

Might be d, I reckon. It's a tough one.

Spending two hours at a pathology place is somewhat depressing. A room full, of disgruntled, bored people, some of whom are ill and/or in wheel chairs. I realise I'm lucky because whatever the result of the test, I'll be able to do something about it. So I know I should get over being a sook and deal with it. Giving up cakies is not a big deal. Frankly, after having that revolting sugary drink they give you as part of the test, I'm not sure I want anything sweet EVER AGAIN. Or at least until tomorrow.

As well as being a big scaredy cat about all things medical, this week I've also been a gigantic sentimental sook. We had to go to Mr 12's High School interview. As we went over our paper work and what we had to take, I suddenly noticed that I still had baby photos of him on the wall. I do tend to procrastinate from updating things around here. And just procrastinate in general. But let's talk about that later. Boom Tish!

 Anyway, he certainly isn't a baby anymore. Realising this, I just lost it and started bawling. Yes, I'm a tad slow at coming to this stunning conclusion. I have to also confess that just as I have a hard time coping with medical issues, I also have a hard time dealing with change. My 'baby' is going to high school, my other 'baby' is starting kindergarten and I am officially middle aged as I begin the slow descent into old age and all the medical things that pop up with it. Possible Type 2 Diabetes. Yay.

All the things that I thought were years off are starting to become a reality. I used to think about Mr 12 going to high school and Micky Blue Eyes turning 50 and they were still far off into the future. Now they are a reality.  Really happening.

It's all good really. I just like getting myself all worked up and worried over nothing for no reason. Like the whole giving up cake thing. Gawd, my life is just FASCINATING. Why don't I just vomit it all over the Internet? Oh wait....

All of this can only lead me to the obvious conclusion that I need to:

a) get a hobby
b) get out more
c) get a life, or
d) all of the above

I think I'm going with option d. So excuse me while I proceed to go and get a life. Or something.

Linking up for I Must Confess, which is being hosted this week by Emily from  Have A Laugh On Me.

                                   Can you tell me where to go to get a life? Or just where to 
                                        go..............                            

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The Best Thing I've Ever Done

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

I've never:

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

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

I will never have a home that looks like THIS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Creepy Crush

As usual this slack arsed, bogan bitch did not get her shit together and have a post ready to link up for I Must  Confess yesterday. So naturally I'm doing the lazy bogan thing again and coming to the party late. But that's alright because the party doesn't start until I arrive, right? We all know I'm such a party animal.

Let's get straight to the point because I'm sure you've all been waiting anxiously for me to disclose the celebrities that I think are sizzling HAWT.  Well, here's the thing. I must confess that I've always been the one who usually just doesn't get it when other women are drooling over a celebrity.

This dates all the way back to when I was a teenager and all the other girls had major crushes on Simon Le Bon or Jon Bon Jovi. Yep, it was the 80's. Meanwhile, I wasn't remotely interested. I've never really been into 'pretty boys'. I don't want a guy who is prettier than me. Let's face it, that wouldn't be hard. Ahem.

My bewilderment over pretty boys has lived on the present day and I simply DO NOT understand all this fuss over Ryan Gosling. Oh, okay, he is hot. However,  that character he played in The Notebook is fictional ladies. It's just plain silly to have crushes on fictional characters, right? Oh wait..

After having a brief crush on Balmain Tigers player Wayne Pearce at around age 12, a few years later at the tender age of 14, the mini series (remember mini series? You're showing your age, if you do) of Anne Of Green Gables aired and I was smitten with Jonathan Crombie, the Canadian actor who played Gilbert Blythe. Of course, I had already been smitten with the character out of the book for years so it wasn't much of a stretch. Yes I know I just mentioned that it's silly to have crushes on fictional characters. It really is. But that didn't stop me.

Please call me Carrots, Gilbert..erm I mean Jonathan...

In the series, and the book, he called Anne 'Carrots' because he wanted to meet her so much and Anne cracked her slate over his head.  I wouldn't have minded if he'd called me Carrots. I've been called worse things. Such as a 'red headed rat rooter'. Classy.

This wouldn't be the first time I would fall in love with a fictional character. Who could forget Colin Firth as the enigmatic Mr Darcy in Pride & Prejudice?  It's not weird to have crushes on fictional characters, right? Nope. No way. Not weird at all.

At least not as weird as my most enduring and intense celebrity crush. A fascination and devotion that borders on the intensely creepy side.

Karen Carpenter.

Yes, I've had a massive 'girl crush' on a dead celebrity for 30 or so years. Shut up. I mean it, shut right up. And I'm not the only one. So ner. You know who you are, fellow Karen worshippers.

It seems weird, right? But if you take away the anorexia and the hideous 70's fashions and hair styles wasn't she just as cute as button? No? Hmph. Who asked you anyway? Oh, I did. Right. Well, I stand by my fascination. You can't stop me.

 

Besides, who could rock double denim like KC? 

Is it wrong to wish you
could have been that dog?

 

Groovy. Far out, even.

That little girl is such a bitch. Hmph. Should have been me.
The fact that I would have been a baby then and wouldn't
remember it now is completely irrelevant.
 

 

More recently, I happened to watch some of the documentaries by British television presenter and writer, Dawn Porter, and because she is a brunette who had this cute retro style and vibe going on she kind of reminded of Karen, therefore I developed a milder 'girl crush' on her. Ahem. Anyway. this is interesting because it turns out that she is married to Bridesmaids actor Chris O'Dowd, and despite deciding that that movie was a bit ordinary I decided he was a bit of alright. So, I'm just it putting it out there that if this particular couple is ever interested in a threesome, I'm totally up for that.* Because I'm certain that an overweight, middle aged bogan would be their first choice for that scenario. Can't think why not.

What a cute couple. I mean hawt...

And that is quite enough of my creepiness for one day. Or an eternity, really.

 

*Not really, we all know I'm too much of a Pollyanna. But I just wanted to leave you with that disturbing image. You're welcome.

 

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

 

 

 

Which celebrities do think are smokin' hawt? Or, you know, you just have a disturbing fascination

with them for no reason? Or is that just me....

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The Weird And Wonderful Things I Do When (I Think) Nobody Is Looking

There is nobody around. No one can see. I am safe. If anybody actually saw what I am about to do they would seriously think I am crazy. They would probably hastily edge towards the nearest exit, eyes darting back towards me suspiciously,  as if I was some sort of strange, thoroughly alien species they had never seen before.  I would immediately be placed into the same category as those misfits sometimes spotted on public transport or doctors waiting rooms. Whenever you see them, you avert your eyes, embarrassed. After all, they may be a little - shall we say - 'special', so we shouldn't embarrass them, right?

I cannot suppress this urge. To me it is as unstoppable and as natural as breathing. If I don't do it I will feel restless, twitchy, agitated, anxious and unsettled. I have always done this, ever since I can remember. I've never known anyone else who does. From an early age I realised this. I am the only one who does this. Other people don't. I must not do it in public! To compensate for this I did other things, but they were thought of as slightly strange too.

If I had ever let anyone see me, especially the other kids at school, I knew there would be consequences. I would be tormented and bullied. Just like I was when I had a 'fang', a spare, rogue tooth growing above my front top teeth. Mercifully, I had it removed and the kids forgot and left me alone. So I knew I could never let them see this thing I did and still do. Never! It is a secret. That is the only way.

However much I try to hide it and do this alone, somebody will inevitably catch me. My family. I cannot get away from them. Not completely. They walk into a room and catch me, unawares. I stop, mortified.

"Why do you do that, Mum?" Mr 9 will ask, bewildered, maybe even a little scared.

"I don't know." I answer, embarrassed and unable to explain.

But I do know. Now. I didn't a few years ago. My family are used to it, though. Sort of. They still think it's bizarre.

To see somebody, a grown woman, standing there, her entire body gyrating backwards and forwards, blissfully rocking. My arms will also unwind, unbidden and I will jerk them back and forth as well.

Why?

Because Aspie's ROCK!! In my case, quite literally.  This is what is referred to in Aspie speak as 'stimming,' short for self-stimulatory behaviours as described here.

While it's believed that most people on the spectrum engage in these behaviours as a means of dealing with anxiety, I have to say for me personally when I am 'stimming' or rocking, which is my most common one, I am usually in my happy place. Listening to Carpenters music, merrily rocking away. Because let's face it why wouldn't you head bang to the Carpenters?

There seems to some controversy or question raised over whether ASD people should be made to stop or reduce their stimming behaviours. I can only say from my own experience I am SO GLAD and grateful that my parents never made a big deal out of it and just let me be and do it. I really don't think I could stop myself even if I tried. Of course I'm lucky that I've been able to control my most extreme stim of rocking while in public. As I child I did other things. I would jump up and down on the spot or skip. Such a shame I still don't engage in those ones as I could sure as hell do with the exercise!

Occasionally when around other people I might fidget and twitch in an unusual manner causing people to look at me quizzically and enquire "Are you cold?"  Mostly it isn't a problem for me, except for the odd moments recently at home when I've started rocking only to stop abruptly, remembering that the boys friend/s were here and might spot me. Awkward.

The way I look it is, if that is the worst thing I do alone then so be it. Picking your nose and eating it is far worse. No, I don't do that. I really don't. I do pick at my ears sometimes. Shut up.

The only other things I may have done when nobody is looking is to engage in Covert Cakie Operations, otherwise known as sneakily eating cake when nobody is looking so I don't have to share. Ditto Covert Chocolate Operations. But nobody saw me, so it can never be proven. So ner.

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

                                 
                                           What do you do when you think nobody is looking?
 

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The Bogan Is Back!!

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

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

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

Fascinating stuff, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*May be a slight exaggeration.

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

Also linking up with Robomum for The Lounge.

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

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