Joan Baez chooses diamonds.

Mum and I went to see Joan Baez in concert last Monday night. I had bought tickets for Mum’s birthday, which was very nice of me in theory, but fairly amusing in reality when you think about the money that mum has given me over the years and even very recently when I needed it.  Stupid money I loathe and despise it. But I need it. DAMN IT. I suppose it is the thought that counts.

Anyway I met Mum after work and we had dinner at a Turkish restaurant in South Bank. In keeping with the moderately geriatric theme of the evening, we had dinner at 5.30pm. The Russian waiter was a little incredulous when we told him, oh no, we have plenty of time, the show doesn’t start til 8pm! My mother doesn’t like being late for things, and fair enough I say.

We ordered a huge carb and protein heavy platter for two that consisted of practically a whole loaf of bread and dips, twenty thousand lamp chops and kofta. We then proceeded to discover we were not equal to this gargantuan meal. I was feeling uncomfortable and overfull which is not a good thing when you have a late night at a rock concert* ahead of you. My eyes are notoriously too big for my tummy, and my tummy is pretty big so that is saying something.

As you can imagine, we ambled over to the performing arts centre with plenty of time. In fact we had to wait around for quite a while in the foyer, watching the other audience members arrive. It probably comes as no surprise that I lowered the demographic considerably, the average age making Mum look like a veritable spring chicken. There was a proliferation of Comfortable Shoes, with a trend towards the Walking Sandal or Smart Sneaker, and there were even numerous fans arriving in their wheelchairs. Mum remarked that it wouldn’t be long before we saw someone turn up in a hospital gurney attached to a drip.

I hasten to add that it didn’t bother me in the slightest - I mean, the last time I had been to see a show at QPAC was when I attended amatinee of the opera Carmen with my aunt and members of her University of the Third Age posse. Because I came straight from work I realised I had even worn the same outfit as I did on that occasion. I am so glamorous. But seriously, I am anything if ageist and frankly my tastes often run to the more mature anyway. Just check out my husband! I KID I KID!

Being early to find our seats meant we had to stand up while others in our row shuffled by, including one older lady who, as she squeezed past, exclaimed, “Why, you’re very YOUNG!”. As she moved towards her place, she spied another young-ish man and shouted “And YOU are very young TOO!!”

We looked apologetically at each other.

I mean what could we do? I’m not that young really. I can like Joan Baez. So sue me.

Pretty funny to see that Woodstock brigade getting about as senior citizens these days. Hahahaaa.

Anyway Joan was really fantastic. She looks amazing. She is really beautiful and gets about with a close cropped grey hairdo that I hope to emulate one day. I found the concert very soothing at a time in my life that I am finding very stressful.

Also she is a reminder we need to get our activist on a bit more. She is a true believer.

 

 

 

 

My sister-in-law was at the concert too, but I didn’t get to see her, because Joan, the trooper that she is, powered on for a whole 2 hours or so without a break.

 She sang all the old favourites like “The night they drove old Dixie down”, and that sort of bittersweet song she wrote about Bob Dylan, “Diamonds and Rust”.

Instead of singing this angst ridden final line;

And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid

She offered up her own lighthearted, updated version, and sang;

And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I choose diamonds

And quite right too. So would I.

 *geriatric folk music concert

Bloggers IRL.

How are YOU all going? Hmm? You'll have to speak up, I'm on the internet.

Some housekeeping points;

- blogging is taking up too much time so I've cut it back
- Some lovely people have nominated me for a few Leibster awards. I DON'T THINK I AM GOING TO GET TO PASS THEM ON OR ANSWER THEM PROPERLY I AM SO SORRY! But thank you all VERY much.
- Today is The Lounge linkup - at Kimbo's blog - http://www.fff.net.au/. 

 Let us proceed now we have that out of the way.

Do you ever wonder if bloggers are real people? Or if they really are like their blog personas, or if they are actually 60 year old men using a computer in their mother's basement?

I used to. I don't any more because I've met a few IRL. That's internet speak for "In Real Life".  One of the most wonderful things that's happened since I started the blog, apart from allowing me to EXPRESS MYSELF CREATIVELY LIKE THE ARTISTE THAT I AM, is that I have made new friends. So exciting. I always feel a bit weird explaining I have friends I made on the INTERWEB like. But look, it's the way of the future, dudes. Who am I to stand in the way of PROGRESS!

Frankly it's a bit of an ask making friends when you get into your 30s so hooray for technology.

I'm just going to randomly rave on about some of the blogging peeps I have met for a bit.  Maybe you will like them too.

Veggie Mama
Veggie Mama blogs about motherhood, and food - vego food and recipes. Stacey is the most lovely, kind, truly helpful person. As well as being STRIKINGLY BEAUTIFUL, she is also smart and funny, and has been super generous with her bloggie help. She is a veritable treasure trove of blogging info.


Sit Down Mummy
Well I don't know if she counts because I knew her IRL before blogging but Kate is hilarious, kind, sporty, hilarious, multi talented, and did I mention hilarious. I luff her. She was at our wedding! Oh the memories...


Mother Down Under
Caitlin is adorable, utterly unpretentious, funny and kind. We met for the first time a little while ago, when we met up at our fellow blogger Housewife in Heels' new dress shop in BrisVegas. She has also recently started up her own Hypnobirthing business so anyone in Brissy about to pop out a sprog should look her up.

Housewife In Heels
As well as having a totes hilarious blog HiH is in person super glam, funny and warm. You should go and visit her dress shop, it's in Paddington and is called "The Pop Up Shop", you might snaffle a bargain. I tried on some frocks a while back but it was in the uber hairy leg days so it was all a bit unpleasant. She was very polite about it though. You can't take me anywhere really.

Faux Fuchsia
FF is a CULT BLOGGER - she blogs about style, fashion, motherhood, cushions, the royal family - you name it. And through a fortuitous connection she is also friends with Mother Down Under, who introduced us one evening over a glass of red wine. Talk about freaking star struck. I've only read her blog like FOREVER! She is just as you might expect IRL. SUPER GLAM, very very funny and warm. I was awkward and dorky. But, oh well. We swapped mobile numbers so WE ARE TOTALLY FRIENDS NOW, RIGHT? AM I RIGHT??

The Very Inappropriate Blog
Ah, Rachel. Rachel my fellow lounge lizard. I read her blog and instantly knew - we were KINDRED SPIRITS. If you haven't read it then start here. I did. I've recently had the pleasure of sharing a rather boozey and mental weekend with Rachel and our other Lounge associate Kim. TRUE FRIENDS FOR LIFE FOR REALZ NOW!

HOW GOOD IS THIS PHOTO? Pretty good.

Falling Face First
Kimbo, Kimbooli, Kimbo Slice. Kim is my mum's favourite commenter on this blog, along with Sulky Kitten. Look, mum loves you all but I am allowing her favoritism just this once. Kim is a blonde bombshell, and writes with a witty flair about the trials of motherhood second only - well, second only to MEEEEE DAHHHHLINKS! I kid, I kid. Not about her being witty. We've shared a lot, have Rachel and Kim and I. WHAT GOES ON TOUR STAYS ON TOUR RIGHT PEEPS?

Before we started getting VERY INAPPROPRIATE and in danger of FALLING FACE FIRST - see what I did there?

A Cooker and a Looker
Amanda's blog is  AWESOME AND EXCELLENT. She takes good snaps and writes witty recipes and is downright high-larious. She once made me some biscuits and had them couriered to my house from the Sunshine Coast! I KNOW RIGHT! She also made the journey down to meet us on the weekend and helped nurse me through one of the worst hangovers of my life. Also, her oldest daughter, colloquially known as The Big Sister, and P, were immediate fast friends so everyone's a winner.

Hello you angels of hangover sustenance.

Have a Laugh on Me
Thanks, Em, don't mind if I do! Em and I met at my first bloggers meetup thingo (Amanda was there too) and we HIT IT OFF BABY! And also discovered we live practically two seconds away from each other. We've met up since for a park playdate that was cut short, due to an unfortunate incident that meant I was - oh God I can hardly say the words - FORCED TO FOLLOW THROUGH ON A THREAT! That is, I told P if she didn't stop being heinous we would have to LEAVE. SO, you know, we left. But here's hoping a ladies only WINE NIGHT might mean we can finish a conversation one day. 

The Tunnel Presents  
The Tunnel dudes write HILARIOUS and WITTY political satire, and have started a tradition of enacting humorous political scenes with LEGO. Also, it is vaguely possible that I might be a little bit related to one of them. A bit. Maybe. READ THIS BLOG - DO IT!


These are just a few of the awesome bloggers out there who have now become part of my life FOR REALZ. Motherhood is weird and finding kindred spirits out there has really meant the world.

Life is confusing and hard. We can help each other by reaching across the interwebs and making CONNECTIONS and shit. Maybe one day I will connect with you. And stuff.

Check ya!

Stuff and junk and writing and not writing and hooks and pineapples and that.

I get hardly any time to update this here blog thing at the moment. Starting the blog has definitely reignited my love of writing, that is for sure. Well, when I say love, what I actually mean is weird obsessive NEED. I can hardly think of anything else.

Everything I hear, see, do, makes me think of something to write.  The frustration of constant words circulating in my brain and nowhere to vomit them out is just indescribable. In that I cannot actually describe it. It is just that indescribable. See I just can't describe it's indescribableness.

For example, Mum came for a visit today, and she was telling me about some weird family gathering she went to yesterday with her blind cousin who lives somewhere called "Bald Knob" or "Hairy Bum" or something ,and her other cousin who had a brain tumour and no short term memory, and they ate bone broth and drank tap water and reminisced about days of yore.  While we were having this conversation...

Mum: So we were talking about old Uncle Bill C____, and you know, how he had a hook for an arm, and...
Me: Wait, what? He had a HOOK for an arm?
Mum: Yeah, yeah he had a hook for an arm, you know, and he was married to Auntie A___, who was a bat...
Me: WTF? He married a bat?
Mum: Her NAME was Bat, stop interrupting. Anyway so he had a hook for an arm and he owned a pineapple farm in Yeppoon, and...
Me: He ran a PINEAPPLE FARM??!
Mum: *rolling eyes* YES of course he ran a pineapple farm, you know that, anyway and Cousin V____,  he couldn't remember ever meeting me! And so I told him how he used to put elephant beetles down my shirt when we visited the pineapple farm...
Me: Elephant beetles!?
Mum: YES! You know this story! Anyway, so I told him about the elephant beetles, and how he lived with us for a while when he was studying, and...
Me: Oh, and then he remembered who you were?
Mum: Yes! Well, only for about five minutes until he asked me again and I told him about the elephant beetles again, you know, because of the brain tumour thing, and...
Me: Hang on, he has a BRAIN TUMOUR?!!

..basically, all I could think was "NOT FAIR how come I wasn't at this gathering with the people with the brain tumours and hooks and the pineapples and the bats  I TOTALLY COULD HAVE PUT IT ON THE BLOG!".


Anyway look what I did there, I put it on the blog anyway.

I know the blog seems silly and sweary and blarghyarghy but I get a huge amount of satisfaction from it.

But it is SO hard to find the time to actually put pen finger to paper keyboard.

Anyway I'm not looking for sympathy, just, you know, venting my spleen and shit. Well, maybe not venting my shit. That's just gross.

Let's move on quickly.

When I actually get time to write something there are so many ideas floating around in my head that I am rendered sort of mute.

Sometimes I think I might never update the blog ever again. And then I do. And I feel better for a while.

So here I am. Updating the blog.

I love the night life. I got to boogie.

So I went out on the town on Saturday night. Talk about out of character! We stayed in Brisbane at my cousin’s place. We were all meant to head out to a party at our friends K and P’s house, but the various husbands (including M) all opted for the safe option instead. As in, they stayed home and had a civilised evening of chatting and red wine drinking and went to bed early. This meant the ladies were footloose and fancy free.

 My cousin B, despite being a mother of two, has maintained a far greater commitment to getting out and about during the night time hours than I ever could, and was actually backing up from a series of late nights in Melbourne. Impressive to say the least. As you can imagine, I was not backing up from anything like this at all. Because I generally opt for an evening of Gardening Australia and folding washing. Usually the concept of having to wake up at 5am to two small children is enough to prevent me from getting my booze on, but I threw caution to the wind and decided to PARTY LIKE IT WAS 1999! Eat your heart out Prince/Love Symbol.

 So before the party, B and my honorary cousin KLF dragged me out to the Valley to see a friend’s band. It was at The Zoo. For non Brisbane types, this is a small grungy GIG VENUE. I had a bit of a freak out about what to wear. I mean The Zoo was a regular HANG OUT for me in my YOUTH but TIMES HAVE CHANGED PEOPLE! I opted for a long sucky in black dress with floaty voluminous metalicus esque layers and tan wedges. You know, quite nice, I guess, but STILL a bit on the MATRONLY side.

When we got there the bouncer was checking ID. We all got the GIGGLES and I said to him “Do I really have to show you I AM LIKE ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD!” He smirked and answered “Not QUITE one hundred.” I wasn’t sure whether this was a compliment or a veiled insult but I chose to view it in a positive light, such was my commitment to HAVING A GOOD NIGHT!

We clip clopped upstairs with all the YOUTH and had a confusing exchange with the barman about buying drinks;

Me [shouting over the music]: Can we get a bottle of white wine and three glasses please? 
Barman: Oh I’m sorry we don’t sell it by the bottle. 
Me [shouting]: Oh OK then. Um…just three glasses then. 
B [shouting]: What about a bottle? Can we get a bottle to share? 
Me [shouting]: No they don’t sell it by the bottle. 
KLF [shouting]: How about a bottle to share? 
Barman: We don’t SELL it by the bottle, we’ve had a few PROBLEMS in the PAST! 
B [shouting]: OH! OK what about a bottle of bubbles then, to share? 
Barman [rolling eyes]: UGH we don’t SELL ANYTHING BY THE BOTTLE

 Anyway once we settled down with our glasses I scanned the crowd. There were a lot of very polite HIPSTER types around causing me to feel dead set uncool. I was tempted to shout out “Hey you kids guess what?! I AM WEARING A BEIGE MATERNITY BRA, how hipster is THAT!?” or “Back in my day we didn’t consider it a good concert unless we got BLIND, lost our friends in the crowd in the first 30 seconds and then finish the evening soaked in beer and other people’s sweat !”

But I didn’t, which is probably just as well really, what with my matronly appearance and all.

We headed by cab to the party after the band had finished, and I would say for myself that I cut some interesting moves on the dancefloor whilst shout-singing along to a variety of happening tunes. Cathartic. It left me wondering why people don’t have house parties so much any more? How crazy are we? They are SO FUN OMG! And then I realised it’s because we all have children who would wake up and cry and RUIN EVERYTHING WAAAH! The little killjoys.

We stayed out til the wee small hours. Props, big ups and respect to our spouses because they removed the children from the house in the morning so we could sleep in.

All in all an excellent evening. I give it 9/10. And I never give full marks. Thank you everyone who was involved.

The blurrier the photo, the better the night!

Zen and the Art of Blogging.



Hello all. We had a busy weekend.  I won’t bore you with too many details but for the sake of completeness here’s a sort of speed blogging weekend roundup.  If you can’t be bothered reading the whole thing I have highlighted some key words for you, which I will put together in a Zen-Type synopsis for the Busy Blogger. So just skip to the bottom now.*

FRIDAY

Exhausted by the emotional highs and lows of wrangling P and B into bed, M and I toasted the weekend with Kentucky Fried Chook.  Gross. 

SATURDAY

Attempted to start sorting out the horror that is our back-yoo-ard  in fifty bazillion per cent humidity.  Don Burke would be turning in his grave.  What’s that? He’s still alive? My bad.

Drove to the big smoke to the inlaws house.  Wrangled P and B into bed in a strange house/bed/cot.  Got ready to go out to nice French restaurant for M’s sister’s bday. Went out to said restaurant. Had fun.  Everyone drank lots of wine. I was designated driver . Sad face.  So instead of getting my booze on, I went crazy, Broadway-style on the menu and ordered and ate like a woman possessed. I KNOW, so out of character, what with my general tendency to order celery sticks and sparkling mineral water. Bahaha.

I wore a black dress I’ve had for over ten years, a sort of weird gold metallic top from KMART over it and a clanky faux gold metal necklace thing from high end accessories purveyor Diva. I need more night time pieces in my wardrobe and I don’t mean more flannelette PJs. I so rarely go out at night these days that I have hardly anything appropriate to wear any more.  I need a few EVENINGY type things.  Well, when I say need, obviously I mean WANT.  

SUNDAY

Packed our crap up and hotfooted it to a party for a cutie patootie 2 year old in the park.  It was fun, but also very hot and humid.  Said 2 year old became exhausted from all the attention and fell asleep on a swing in the playground. Hee hee.

Drove back home. Saw that the green waste bag bin thing I had ordered had turned up. M asked me how much it was going to cost? I couldn’t remember. M asked me what company I’d ordered it from? Couldn’t remember that either. M asked me when they were picking it up? I had no idea.  Attention to detail might have to come off my resume I think.

M sorted out the front yard a bit and cut down the fallen tree in the backyard. It’s now lying in pieces on the footpath waiting to be collected.

Next weekend we will both be getting our Jamie Durie on in a sort of back-yoo-ard blitz of our own.  If we leave the weeds any longer they will finally grow over the house in a sort of Grey Gardens type scenario. Just call me Big Edie.

*ZEN INSPIRED SYNOPSIS FOR BUSY READERS

Kentucky Fried Chook.  Horror back-yoo-ard humidity.  

Drove.  Wrangled.  French Restaurant.  Fun.  Wine.  Driver.  Crazy menu ate possessed. Black dress weird top clanky faux necklace.  Need wardrobe flannelette.  Appropriate.  Need.  Need want.

Packed crap, party park.  Hot humid.  Exhausted asleep.  Drove.  Bin.  Cost?  Couldn’t remember.  Company?  Couldn’t remember.  Picking?  No idea.  Detail.  Tree backyard.

Jamie Durie blitz.  Grey Gardens.  Big Edie.

What did youse get up to?  Do tell!

Linking up with Alicia at One Mother Hen for Open Slather!

Party Planning.

Went for a walk this morning, and you know what it made me think of? Why, it was just like hiking around the Swiss alps! So INVIGORATING and BRISK! I felt so energised and full of vim and vigour after that, just like I was in a Norsca ad! I simply love to get my alpine on at any given opportunity.*

Summer in Queensland. You are a cruel mistress. I think I hate you. Come back winter, I'm sorry I was nasty. I'll never complain about being cold ever again.**

P dressed herself in a corduroy skirt and cardigan this morning. I know, I think I started schvitzing like a shmendrek just looking at her.  Whatever that means.

In other ACTUAL news, I hear that our glorious leader Julia's called a federal election for September. Interesting times.

I love a good election. Lots of people are speculating as to why old Joolz has given us all such a huge lead in time.  Well, it's obvious you dummies! This unusually extended campaigning period will give us all plenty of time to plan associated election parties, a la Don's Party. Frankly the last election (which was a state one anyway) was a fizzer socially and I for one am determined to improve things this year.  It was damned considerate of the PM to think about the most important part of the whole voting caper, the booze up afterwards.  Good work Julia.

The election party to end all election parties was undoubtedly the one we attended for the federal election in 2007. Without declaring my hand, politically speaking,  we were all very excited that year for some reason. Anyway, it was at my friend J's house. She was the hostess with the mostess. 

We all dressed in electorally themed costumes. There was a Pork Barrel, an Aspirational Voter, a Blue Ribbon Liberal, a Trade Unionist, a Blue Collar Worker and Kevin Rudd, Julia Gillard and Peter Garrett even put in appearances!

We played an amusing drinking game with colour coordinated shots. Blue for Libs, Red for Labor, Green for, well, the Greens.

There may have been a mullet wig that did the rounds as well.

It was so much fun.

I don't know if it can be topped but we should try. Although it might be more of a wake than a celebration. Just saying.

Save the date dudes.

EDITED TO ADD: Tune in every Friday for my Slapdash Election 2013 Recap.  Can't be bothered reading the paper? Too depressed by the news?  Disengaged, confused, bored, indifferent, downright APATHETIC?  Fear not my Slapdash Army.  Let me tell you what to think.

TRUST ME!


*Am using that old faithful literary technique IRONY again. As is my wont.

**We all know I'm lying here. Don't tell Old Man Winter though, I need to get into his good books.

Ringing in the New Year. Getting back my BloJo. Also, f****n magnets! How does that work??

Sounds rude doesn't it? But yes, you heard right,  I've gone and coined another term. I'm sure the Oxford Dictionary boffins will be on the phone to me any minute.

So "BloJo" ain't what you think it is. BloJo is the term used to describe the enthusiasm or feeling of motivation needed to write crap on your blog. That is, your Blog Mojo. See what I've done there? I've just shoved two words together to make a new one, in the manner of, say, " Boho" or "Bennifer" or "Brangelina", or even "sangry".

Anyway my BloJo had gone walkabout over the festive season, but I'm trying to get it back. I've been so sangry and loserish for the last month but the New Year is here and with it the psychological boost I need to pull myself together and get ENERGETIC! I'm feeling positively, er, positive! Woo! Come owwwwnnn 2013 hit me with your best shot!

P wearing her New Year outfit and contemplating the future.

How did youse ring in the New Year? We went and stayed at my SIL and BIL's place. The whole evening was a great success because...

a) The kids only stayed up til 8pm.  They had a sort of miniature discotheque that involved them giving a small performance of Queen's "Another one bites the dust" which P very amusingly calls "Buster Dust". Hee hee. They were then treated to a sparkler each and promptly wrangled, without too much drama, into bed. Amazeballs.

Aaaaaaaaaaah...Freak out!!!

b) The grown ups were then able to eat a nice meal, have a few drinkies including some bubbly, and proceed to usher in the new year huddled round the computer sniggering at You Tube clips such as this one....



Tee hee hee.

And this one.. .
It's a MEEEERRACLE! Fucken magnets?! How does that work??!

(There's also a very amusing SNL takeoff of this clip but it is mega hard to find.)


...followed by indulging in a Steve Coogan Live DVD, until lo and behold midnight was upon us! We all had another glass of fancy plonk and then hit the hay. And the kids slept all night long including Baby B. And then everyone let me sleep in til like 8.30am. I'm a lucky one.

I know how this looks, but we were actually having a lovely time.  And the plastic cups were for the kids I swear.  We used the posh glasses an' all. Innit.

But it didn't stop there people. We drove home and pottered about a bit before packing up AGAIN and driving to Kirra beach which is practically in another state, to meet up with some dear friends J and F and their sprogs, and other dear friends M and T. If you haven't been to Kirra for a while (like I hadn't) then OMG you are in for a surprise, the SAND! There is so MUCH. It was like undertaking a trek over the Sahara desert just to get to the water.  Anyway we did finally reach the sea even without a camel to assist us, and we all (yes, even me!) had a bracing dip in the rather wild ocean. Apparently someone drowned there today! Gah. How brave am I!!!?? Super brave, thank you very much.

Then we ate fish and chips.

Best. New Year. EVER!!

We are, however paying the price tonight for such an eventful few days, having just had the most hardcore bedtime battle times 2. Urghggf.

Cheerio chaps.

Everyone's doing New Year posts and I felt left out, so here's mine.

At this time of year we are called upon to farewell the old year, casting our eyes over the past 12 months with a cheerful wave and a "Those were the days of our lives!" or a "Thanks for the memories 2012 you crazy kid you!", or even a big old "Fuck you 2012 you sorry bastard!" depending on your mood.  And so, as we look forward to 2013 and send 2012 into the annals of history, I am naturally moved to drag out the old whiteboard and pens, the spreadsheets, manila folders, laptop, powerpoint display and laser pointers needed to update that ole Slapdash Family Ten Year Plan aka How to Win Friends and Influence People.

Hahahahhahhhhaaaa!  Oh dearie me! Hahahahaaaaaaa...haaa...haaaha...ha. Ha. Ahem. [Clears throat, wipes tears away, adjusts monacle].

As if!  10 year plan! Bahahaha. Oh there I go, I'm off again. Ahahahahahaaaaa...ha. Hahaha. Sniff. Snort.  Ahem.

Look, it's probably actually not a bad idea, you know. Don't listen to me.  And although I don't think I could ever quite get the wherewithall to do a ten year plan, as each New Year rolls round I do have the compunction to get some Resolutions going on.

This year I'm a bit stuck, I don't really know how I'm approaching it, thematically speaking, or what my real FOCUS should be.

I've kind of got two lists.  One of them is sort of vaguely along these lines -

1.  Be better at stuff
2.  Be more awesome at things
3.  Be less not awesome at junk
4.  Be thinner
5.  Do cool shit
6.  Write a ten year plan
7.  Make tonnes of money
8.  Change everything about myself that isn't awesome
9.  Be more organised
10. Be less disorganised
11.  Win at LIFE!
12.  Make my own bread!
13.  SEW THE WHOLE FAMILY'S CLOTHES!
14. WRITE AN AWARD WINNING NOVEL!
12. Go HARD or go HOME!
13. AWESOME!
14. MICHELLE BRIDGES QUOTATION!


You get the drift.

The other one is more along these lines -

1.  Love me for me
2.  Be ok with myself
3.  Live in the moment
4.  Embrace the now
5.  Moment in the live
6.  Let go and breathe
7. Letting go and breathing I am
8. Enjoy the small things
9. Insert inspirational quote here
10. I've been to paradise but I've never been to meeeee....
11.  Something something thankfulness something gratitude something something blah blah

Frankly both lists seem like a lot of trouble and I have a sneaking, sneaky sneakity sneak old suspicion I'm going to end up DOING THE SAME SHIT I DID LAST YEAR!

Here's cheers to 2013 anyway dear readers.  May all your resolutions, no matter how TOTALLY UNATTAINABLE THEY BE, come trueeeee!  You've all had a headstart already, because let it be known that just by reading my blog, you are statistically more likely to live longer, smell better, look fresher, earn more money and have more friends who correspondingly will be the type to have yachts and beach houses and who will want to invite you to stay there free of charge whenever you like.  No kidding.

I'll leave with some pics of me whooping it up at various par-tays over the years, because you know this shit won't be going down this year.  In bed by 10pm or my name's not Slapdash Mama.

See youse next year.  Have a drink on me.  Mwah.

Merry Christmas to my crew.

Merry Chrimbo everyone.

We've had a fat old time here at the Slapdash Family Compound.  We had M's family over for drinkies here to Mums place last night, and I did a hardcore last minute giftwrap and then stayed up til the wee small hours to go to midnight Christmas Eve service with my Daddy.  Lucky because CHRISTMAS NEARLY HAD TO BE CANCELLED! I KNOW!

I know what you are thinking re: last minute gift wrapping but I can explain.  I am not usually THAT slapdash.  My feeling "off colour" all week turned into a full blown catastrophic migraine on Friday night. I had to get a jab in the arm on Saturday afternoon and everything.  I was wondering why I couldn't focus or get anything done and felt so tired and depressed.  As I said on FB, total RESPECT for peeps who get them all the time.  How do you do it?  I could have wept from relief when the GP said there was a needle he could give me that would fix it.  Thank FUCK.  I thought I was dying.  M had to take over and make the apricot jam I had conceptualised as an "easy" alternative to buying gifts for the adults.  Oh what a fool was I...anyway the jam is very nice so that's something.  Dad even had to do an emergency run to our house to look after the kids, even while we were supposed to be driving to his place!  Let me tell you if you don't have your health you have nothing.  Nothing, my friends.

Anyway, I went to the Christmas Eve midnight service a) because I am a good Anglican and b) because Dad has been coerced into some kind of candle wrangling role up at his ole church so he had to be there to offside the lady he's accepting the baton from.   I say accepting in the loosest sense of the word.  Which seemed to consist of him sort of lurking around while she officiously fussed about shaking out robes and whatnot.  If her actions could speak they would have been saying "I am NOT READY to relinquish my VERY IMPORTANT CHURCHY ROLE and frankly YOU'LL HAVE TO PRISE THESE CANDLES FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS you upstart you".  Dad was very noble and withstood the liturgical attitude being directed his way.  As we left I could hear her lecturing him "And when you do the READING tomorrow you must be sure to SPEAK CLEARLY INTO THE MICROPHONE so that they HEAR you at the BACK OF THE CHURCH! CLEARLY, mind!".  Poor Dad, I wanted to shout "Love, I think he'll be right, he used to be a Deputy Principal and spent 90% of his time yelling at halls a thousand kids strong with or without a microphone.  No problems with vocal chords here", but I restrained myself.  Dad has a better grasp of the whole humility thing than I do.

So Dad came over to Mum's this morning to watch the smalls open their pressies.  They got tonnes as usual, with some hits and misses.  P's favourite pressie was a pair of Hello Kitty PJs I bought her at the last minute.  Lucky!  She promptly stripped down and wore the jim jams all day long.  She's wearing them in bed again now.  Cutie patootie.

P lounging in her new, er, lounge wear I spose.

 

We had a VERY HOT day and so of course ate a huge pork roast with all the proverbial trimmings.  No, but seriously it was delicious and then we had cherry sherry trifle and some of good old Heston Blumenthal's pud.  Oh yeah.  Hubba hubba.  I overcame my uncharacteristic migraine induced lack of appetite and did the dinner justice, more or less. 

Me at the feast with a small.

 

Mum at the feast.

Hope you all had a nice day.  I'm off to indulge in some Christmas Day Night festive "nibblings at the leftovers", as is tradition.

My good friend Gordon has popped over and he's going to help me eat....

 

...some of this.

Peace be with you my interweb family.

Weekend. Beach bogan biffo. Darecember.

Am so exhausted. Will make this brief. I always have a million things to write but am always too knackered.
Spent the weekend at the parentals again, this time M came too. It was dad's birthday.

Saturday M, P, baby B and I, and unusually, both of my parents, went to the beach (I know, I know) in the afternoon for fish and chips. Now although I spent a recent post holding forth like a madwoman on a streetcorner about my fear and loathing of the beach, I actually do enjoy consuming heavily salted battery crumby fish with equally heavily salted and fat laden chippies, in the vicinity of said beach. I was looking forward to it.

We set up camp at a likely looking picnic table and M and Grandpa George went down to the beach with P, Mum went to get the salty consumables, and I minded the possie with the baby. I had already noticed a group of dubious types occupying the adjacent tables and BBQs. In fact monopolizing them would perhaps be a better description. I was sort of half annoyed and half intrigued as I played with baby B and watched the middle aged parents downing a few (ahem) cans of ye olde Jim Beam and coke or similar, while a gaggle of high spirited teenage scamps ran squealing around spraying each other with humongous water pistols. Oh the hilarity.

A while later I saw a guy in maybe his 60s stalk past my table and the classy table next to me. I thought to myself, "Self," I thought, "self, I reckon he looks familiar. Hmm...".

Moments later, the darling little sprites with their sweet little water pistols and their just adorable scanty bikini arrangements came shrieking back to their adoring parents, saying " Oh my GAWD oh my GAWD, that was Mr S______. Muum, Daaad, it was Mr S_____, from Schhooooll!! Oh my GAWD!!"
The adoring mother laughed delicately, paused momentarily from her dinner preparations and said "Awww, youse guys, youse better RUN, gawwwwn, get runnin'!!!".
The youthful dears skipped off again singing hymns and playing The Glad Game a la Pollyanna.

"Aha!" I realised. The older gent had been one of my former teachers, and one of my Dad's comrades from their days in the teaching equivalent of trench warfare, my old high school. Think Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds, only with Aussie accents and negligible street cred.

Seconds after the teens scampered off, Mr S returned back our way again, calling out " How are you people doing?" to my tablemates. As he strode purposefully off and crossed the road, I saw the be-singletted father and his equally well turned out son bolt like greased lightning across the road, whereupon the father proceeded to shout abuse at, shove, grab the collar of and generally roughly manhandle poor old Mr S. Naturally I did what any good citizen and concerned onlooker would do and sat on my fat arse watching unmoving from a safe distance, with my jaw hanging open in what I like to call Full Gawker Mode. I couldn't hear what was being yelled but Mr S is no pushover so was able to cool the nutter down,  and the son eventually held his father's flailing arms a back so Mr S could make a getaway. If there's one thing that spending 30 years at a rough state high school does for you it's give you mad skillz when dealing with lunatic parents.
RESPECT. Brother got game.

I've got no real idea what led to this bit of argy bargy and can only speculate that maybe Mr S had felt compelled to give a bit of a scolding to the junior bogans and that consequently the senior bogans got all " Noone fuckin tells my fuckin kids off except fuckin ME fuck em!". Or somesuch.

Needless to say I lost no time in gathering up our belongings and waving my returning family over to a table farther away from those lunatics. What with my own father being a 60 something former teacher I couldn't risk another similar confrontation particularly with Dad's gammy knee. I mean when dad was deputy principal back in the day he once kicked the school assembly hall door in on QCS morning when the cleaner had lost the keys or was drunk or whatever. It quite gave the watching Home Economics ladies the vapours.
He's a firy one. So best keep him out of harm's way is my motto.

I've got shitloads to say but I can't get the computer to work so am blogging from my phone which.frankly is giving me the hardcore shits and is tiresome and also labour intensive.

Before I go, as a way of brightening up my life I'm doing the Fox in Flats Darecember thing. Can't link, too hard. Google it. Here's the first two days.
Day one - hot pink lippy and trout pout.
Day two - denim. Pink jeans discarded on floor.

Too.tired to fix typos and.grammar problems ahahagrjdjdjd. Damm you phone fat fingers blarghhh.

007 - Lady Date. Beach. Batshit crazy.

LANGUAGE WARNING.

I am feeling sweary.

Last night, being reluctantly torn from from my usual Saturday night activities (ie. watching Gardening Australia, folding washing, and going to bed early), I was forced out into the real world AFTER DARK.  Scary shit people.  I cant tell you how weird it feels when you are generally a shut in, only being released for solo nocturnal outings to ALDI or Woolies or some such place.  One of my dearest friends JJ (funky mother to three and arts worker extraordinaire) and I decided to throw caution to the wind and meet at that well-known artistic and cultural hub the Logan Hyperdome to view the latest James Bond film Skyfall.  Look, I'm not really a Bond devotee or anything but frankly anything that started at the right time of night (ie. NOT 9.30pm as that is hardcore past my bedtime) was fine with us, and I have always been partial to a bit of Daniel Craig ogling, so Bond it was.

The Hyperdome is about 20 mins from my place and 20 mins the other way from JJ's so it was perfect, but actually I'd never been to see a movie there before.  It was pumping baby!  The joint was jumping!  As JJ said, who knew!?  And why not, too....who wouldn't frequent a place that not only has a humongous cinema but also boasts a Sizzler's, a Gilhooleys pub and a Coffee Club amongst other things?  I don't BLAME them!   All you inner city snobs are missing out on all the action.  Anyway suffice to say it was the place to be and every man woman and child were there to see James Bond too.  Luckily it was in the most 'normous cinema ever known to humankind so that was fine.

I think the most exciting thing was seeing the trailer for Les Mis.  Oh. Em. Gee.  We were in ecstasy.  JJ reminisced about her youthful choral career and we both shed a little tear.  Hugh Jackman! Sacha Baron Cohen! Russell Crowe!  Heck yes. 

Skyfall was very entertaining of course in a camp sort of way.  Daniel Craig was looking a bit more haggard and weathered so less easy on the eye but I still felt fondly towards him.  Anyway there was sufficient bonking of Bond girls, car chases and blowing up of secret service buildings for even the most devoted of Bond aficionados, so all good there.  We had a blast.  We were totally Mums on the Run.  I pitied the people sitting next to us but not enough to stop our endless guffawing  and general chattering.  We have PRECIOUS FEW opportunities for this shizz people!

You can shake me OR stir me anytime, baby. [Source]

As a result I felt positively renewed today, like a new woman.  I felt kind and benevolent.

M had suggested we go on a family outing to the beach so I agreed, and after breakfast we packed up and set off for Currumbin where he thought there was a nice area for small fry to splash.  We had an ok time even though the bloody sun tent thing broke so I spent the whole morning sitting at a picnic table with B so his little bald head didn't get burnt to a crisp while M and P had a swim .

B and M.

P giving me cheek.

For someone who grew up on the Sunshine Coast and now lives on the Gold Coast I have me some deep seated ISSUES when it comes to the beach.  Issues I tell you.

As a teenager on the coast all the cool kids were surfie types and so I did the obligatory bleaching of hair and wearing of board shorts and bikini tops, as was the style at the time.  But as soon as I moved away to the Big Smoke for uni I died my hair pink, red, black, red, brown, black, blonde and brown -you name it -  developed a moon tan and generally stewed and became neurotic and weird.  And these days I am basically just down right phobic and scared of the beach.  I know.  Neurotic and weird, I hear you agree.  Neurotic and weird.

My phobic crazy beach disorder kind of goes like this.  Are you ready?

1.  I am pale, with a ruddy undertone to my skin, the sun burns the shit out of me if I walk outside to hang the washing out and if I spend the day in the sun then frankly I become pork crackling.  

This is me "sunbaking" on our honeymoon.  See? Moon tan.  Neurotic.  Weirdo.

2. I freaking hate the feeling of sand sticking to the sunscreen on your skin and I hate the feeling of putting clothes back on when you have sand and sunscreen and salt on your skin and it is all prickly and gross and URRURURURGHGHG I am FREAKING OUT JUST TYPING IT.  

3.  I hate public toilets at the beach, they never have toilet seats and the floor is always wet and sandy and God knows what and there's never hooks on the back of the door so your clothes get wet and OH GOD THE HORROR MY SKIN IS CRAWLING RIGHT NOW!  

4.  In a world that values hairless prepubescent female bodies I have been blessed with a thick pelt and that includes armpits, legs and the delicate BIKINI AREA and even my GODDAMN CHIN but that's another issue.  I am down with hairy armpits, I am all good, that's totally European and sexy and whatnot but I cannot come at hairy legs and so forth and frankly the upkeep to maintain a hair-free leg and pubical area is just too much for me and makes me want to have a good lie down right now.

5.  I am NOT THIN.

For so many reasons I endorse the Nigella burkini. [Source]

6.  I find the beach culture in Australia aggressive.  This was bad on the Sunshine Coast but oh fark it is worse on the Gold Coast.  Swaggering bronzed surfie types wearing thongs and no shirt, with their skinny girlfriends.  I feel like an alien near them.  Like they are so CONFIDENT and I can't help but feel like they have some SECRET KNOWLEDGE about being comfortable in your own skin even though you are a douchebag agro bogan and I can feel them all LOOKING AND JUDGING AND POINTING AND OH GOD THE HOOOOORRROOORR AGAIN (breathes into paper bag).

7.  SHARKS!!!!!!!!  My mum, who thinks I am an uptight wowser who should just chill out dude and go with the flow and calm the fuck down and enjoy myself, once tried to tell me there were no sharks in Hervey Bay/Woodgate Beach because it was protected by Fraser Island.  Nice try Mum, but I am pretty sure that is CYCLONES not SHARKS - I am ONTO YOU!!!!!!!

But I HATE MYSELF for being so ridiculous about the beach and always try and make myself go and end up practically on the floor of the car having a panic attack and shouting at my husband.

Our Argentinian neighbour M and her husband and kids spend every waking moment at the beach and they are brown as nuts.  When P was a baby and I was going slowly crazy as a loon, M used to say to me "Jost take herrrr to the beach!  All bebbies loff the beach!" and I wanted to scream, "Are you fucking out of your mind?! The beach with the sand and the sun and the waves and the bogans and the SHARKs and the OH MY GOD I AM LOSING MY SHIT AGAIN!!!!!!"

I decided today that it was all just stupid and even though the tent didn't work (M was screaming "WHY IS EVERYTHING ALWAYS SO HARD!!?? FUCKKKKKK!". I know! Out of character) I remained CALM and sat peacefully watching the little kids do their surf board riding lessons and thought to myself "If that bunch of tubby kids can be ok with the beach then dammit so can I".  

I am thinking maybe I need to take surfing lessons.  What doesn't kill you makes you stronger right?  Hmm.  I'll think about it.

Anyone else dislike the beach? Love it? Are you crazy as a motherfucker like me?

Mentoring like a boss.

Yesterday I got an invitation to go to a fundraising cocktail party.  It's to raise money to support new graduates and students in my erstwhile profession so they can attend a conference.  I'm supposed to be going as a VIP - "Very Important Professional" and I'm going to be paired with a fresh wide-eyed little student or graduate.  I found it a bit confusing, seeing as my own career trajectory has entered into what can only be described as a bit of a tailspin.  They must be deadset scraping the bottom of the barrel.  I pity the enthusiastic little up and comer who gets dumped with me.  Unless I am going to be used as a "What Not To Do" example.

Well, if anyone's looking for mentoring in "How to get made redundant while on maternity leave" or some lessons in "Commuting to work 3 hours every day for 6 years and hating every minute of it", then I suppose I'm your woman.

Mind you, if its tips on how to win friends and influence people you are after, you need look no further than my patented conference networking technique.  The technique involves;
1. Getting paraletic at a conference dinner
2.  Spraining your ankle on the dancefloor, followed by
3.  Lurching into to bed at 4am
4.  Getting up again at 6am to meet the bus that is waiting to take everyone on a whole day wine tour
5.  Sitting up the back of the bus, slumped in a corner with a plastic bag of ice on your ankle
5.  And finally, actually DOING the wine tour without vomiting.

This,  I am definitely an expert in and am only too happy to assist.  I'm sure you will agree that certainly did demonstrate some fairly legendary stamina, so perhaps that is why I'm being asked.  Yes, it makes sense now!  Watch and learn, grasshoppers!

Mentoring it the hell up, island style.

As above.

Sharing my knowledge.

Taking one for the team like a good mentor should

Mentoring like a boss.

Giving back to my profession.

Just doing some mentoring.

Anything for education.

Sacrificing myself on the alter of mentorship.

This is how it's done kids!

Bottoms up!

Mentoring - you're doing it wrong!

Getting my mentor on at my connubials.

Anyone else indulge in a bit of mentoring these days?  Any tips?  What should I do with my own life?  Who am I?  Where am I?  Quick, someone get me an icy cold mentor...I mean drink.