Movies. Hogswatch. Charlie's angels.

Hello to all my readers. I hope you are traveling well in this festive season of festivities. Chrimbo for some, other festivals for, well, others.

We are traveling in an ambling fashion, what with us all being on hols and all. I am enjoying the relaxed pace although the smalls are still too small to allow their parents any GENUINE relaxation. Still we take what we get.

In order to steal some ALONE TIME we shoved the kids into daycare on Monday EVEN THOUGH WE ARE ON HOLIDAYS and went to the movies. Well, look, I had a Gold Class pass that was given to me by my boss IN MARCH that I really felt should be used. Unfortunately, either ticket prices have gone up in that time or my boss just felt like he couldn't quite spring for the FULL price of two tickets because when the card was handed over there was still $10 to pay. THANKS A LOT BOSS R I DON'T THINK! Outrageous.

Anyway I always like a Gold Class experience and it wasn't even ruined by the following facts;

• I ordered churros to be delivered half way into the movie and they were dry and weird
• One of the only other groups in the cinema were an EXTREMELY ELDERLY and frail couple who talked very loudly and confusedly to each other before finally, and noisily, leaving the movie early. Poor ducks.
• I didn't really like the movie. It was American Hustle. I just couldn't really get into it. M liked it though. Margaret and David raved about it like crazy people. I was all like "meh".

My friend Mother Down Under also kindly invited me to see The Secret Life of Walter Mitty last night, she had scored some blogging related free tickets! Lucky me. I liked this one much more. Yes. Things I like about this movie include;

• Ben Stiller
• The scenery in Iceland and Greenland
• The ending
• The bit with the helicopter and the boat and that

 Anyway I recommend it.

In Chistmassy news, I have finished all my associated shopping and am enjoying my longstanding Christmas traditions of listening to this album;


and reading this book;

If you aren't familiar with either of these festive classics then I say, get thee to Amazon.com STAT! Or iTunes or a ye olde record shop/book shop.

Finally, I've said before that I am dead set lucky to have met some fabulous new friends through blogging. Some of those said friends are Cult Fashion Blogger and all round Excellent and Amusing person Faux Fuchsia, glamorous and talented Mummy Swap artiste Housewife in Heels, and crafty minx Mother Down Under. FF has quite taken us under her wing. She is the Charlie to our Angels. And when Charlie asks her angels to action something, we action the hell out of it.

FF is utilising her high end blog statistics and loyal readership to raise some cash for a little family she knows who have a sweet boy called Hugh. Hugh suffers from a condition called Alpers Syndrome. It is degenerative and life limiting. For more information, or to donate, you can read FF's blog or visit Hughie's website.

I am also going to attempt to put a link to his website on the blog sidebar but being the luddite that I am I might struggle. We'll see how that goes.

I am very lucky to have two beautiful and healthy children. There was a painful moment earlier in the year when we thought P was not going to be so healthy. It was the most frightening and exhausting time in my life. I can't imagine how hard it would be for Hugh's family.

Anyway, until next time, my loyal readers, adieu. Adieu. To you and you and you.

Destroying the joint - what not to do.

Baby B was somewhat better Saturday so I went ahead with a plan I'd made earlier in the week to take P out for a Mummy/Daughter day of fun.  I don't get much one on one time with the little mouse these days and I think she needs it.  My big idea was to leave M at home with Baby B, and to take her to swimming class and then straight off to see a movie.  I'd noticed they were doing classic Disney childrens movies on Saturday mornings at Robina so thought that sounded good.  This weekend it was Pocahontas, so I thought it would be perfect. G rated movies are a bit thin on the ground these days...

So after swimming we headed off.  When I had mentioned to a friend the day before that we were seeing Pocahontas, they remarked that they thought it was part of a sort of princess film special event, but I hadn't really given it much thought.

When we got there, a million tiny girls all wearing tizzy fairy princess costumes were milling round in the lobby.  I could see P, in her ordinary clothes, eyeing them off.  She said "Mummy why are they all wearing their princess dresses?". I made up some bland response but I don't think she was fooled.

Anyway I was a little bit blargh about that, but we bought our tickets and got given our Disney Princess Passports (ugh).  I was still more or less ok at that point, and the ticket person said afterwards there would be craft and face painting, so P and I thought that sounded pretty ok  and we bought our Malteasers and headed into the theatre.

When we found our seats, we were soon joined by throngs of little girls attending a couple of birthday parties, closely followed by two young women dressed up as fairies.  They went up the front and announced a few lucky door prizes. I was still all good with things at that stage generally speaking.

What happened next still makes me feel yucky.  The fairy ladies asked all the little girls to come up the front of the theatre.  I was a bit suss already about it and said to P "Oh we don't need to go up darling", but she looked so disappointed I changed my mind and went up with her.

Then the fairy ladies got the audience to vote on who was the best dressed by clapping their hands.  I am not joking.  They actually went down the line of little girls and held their arm over each of them, one by one, and the audience clapped and hooted if they liked her, or didn't clap and hoot if they didn't like her.

A mother standing next to us exchanged glances with me as they inched closer to our girls.

"I don't like this at all," she whispered.

"Me either. I didn't sign up for this," I answered.

I felt sick as they came closer to P. I looked at her waiting patiently in line, and I knew nobody would clap for her. The little girls with the parties had cheer squads and she wasn't wearing a princess dress.  When they reached her, I tried to cover up the lacklustre applause by clapping and woohooing loudly myself.

Thank goodness they moved quickly onto the next one, and P is just little enough that the whole thing was pretty much lost on her.  Any older and the shame of standing in front of strangers and being judged unworthy would have been unbearable.

The next event was a twirling competition (ugh!), but I managed to hustle her back to our seats before getting sucked into it.

I was so angry.  HOW DARE THEY force this veritable beauty pageant on these tiny girls.  The whole world has gone absolutely fucking apeshit crazy.  I wanted to yell "Fuck you Disney princess bullshit world and your dominant paradigm, fuck you and the horse you rode in on!!!!".

But I didn't of course.

I felt hot tears prickling my eyes.  I was so bloody strung out and exhausted, and felt so terrible about taking P to something where that would happen.  As the movie started, I remembered how tragic the whole Pocahontas story actually was, and as the first rat scuttled on board the ship bound for the New World the tears rolled down my face.

Oh God the TRAGEDY of it all was too much for me and it all got mixed up in my head as I wept silently in the dark - colonialism, smallpox, lost love, the degradation of Mother Earth, the oppression and princessification of all the tiny girls in the world by Disney, John Smith's bad English accent, the guy in front of us and his bad body odour.  The bloody shitting tragedy of everything.  I know. Just a bit over the top I guess.

I felt deadset sorry for the nice man and his two little girls sitting next to us as I clutched P close and sobbed quietly into her hair through the whole film, while she asked things like "But who is John Smith, Mummy?!" and "Who is Pocahontas?" and "Where is Pocahontas' daddy?" and so forth. I can only imagine how maniacal I looked in the reflected light of the big screen.

Frankly the whole thing left me feeling like I'd been through the wringer.

I trailed out after the movie ended and dutifully lined up with her to wait for the face painting. She must have absorbed my gloom because when it came to her turn, she sat silently and morosely staring at the face painter until it was all over.  The saddest face paintee in all of Christendom.

One of the fairies and P sitting as still as a statue.  

I had to ask the fairy not to press on P's black eye.  We must have looked quite a sight, my tear streaked face and her sad rainbow annointed, black eye sporting one.

I made myself feel better today by writing a letter of complaint and emailing it to the cinema.  I bloody hope they listen. I can take expensive popcorn, overflowing bins in the toilets and rowdy children in the theatre, but a surprise beauty contest for toddlers I will not stand for.
The #destroythejoint peeps would be disgusted.

Linking up with Jess for...

30 Odd Foot Of Les Mis. Or should I say LES MIS!

Hello my fellow sweaty broads. And gentlemen of course.

The stinky weather returneth.  Hope you Southerners are ok in the heat. Although I argue that a humid 32 in Queensland is PRETTY hideous.  OK maybe not 48 but still bad and worthy of whinging!

I've been looking through some of me posts from the olden days ie. 3 months ago, and it has come to my attention that my use of CAPITALISATION has become more and more OUT OF CONTROL as the months have worn on.  Therefore I am staging a capitalisation INTERVENTION on myself and have committed to no more than, um, 10 WORDS IN CAPITALS!

SHIT!  I just WASTED SOME! AND SOME MORE!  It's worse than I first thought.  I might have to go cold turkey.  Something to think about for next time. Or do I mean, NEXT TIME!

Gah it's a hard habit to break.

Also, I forgot about Flog Your Blog Friday today.  Sorry everyone :-(

Anyway, the point of this post is actually about how I went to see Les Mis the other night.  As loyal readers and peeps who know and lurve me in real life know, I love the shizz out of this musical.  I saw the stage show in Brissy when I was probs about 10 and cried my little eyes out. I saw it again in an amateur performance back on the coast. Old school friend LV I reckon it was the one where your sister was Eponine.  I could be wrong though. We owned the CD and I recently bought it again on ITunes.  See? I love it.

I've been dying to see the movie.  

I went to see it with my beloved cousin B and our beloved friend J (you may remember J from such outings as Going to the Hyperdome to See Skyfall).  B and J are both singing former drama student actory arts types. B was even in the orchestra for her local amateur production of Les Mis back in the day! And J sang in a youth choir and they did all the songs! So they have a history of musical appreciation.

So as you can all imagine, I was pretty horrified when I originally asked B if she was going to see the movie version and she answered, quietly, with shame, "Sarah, I actually don't think I like musicals any more...".

I was quite dumbstruck.  What. The. Hell.  When I recovered I said to her, quite rationally and not OTT at all...

"I. Do. Not. Even. Know. Who. You. ARE. ANY. MORE!! Get out of my HOUSE!"

And then flung myself sobbing onto my bed.

I lost no time in telling J who then told B, and I believe her words were, "WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP YOUNG LADY!".

I mean, really. Luckily she came to her senses and it was, in the end, her deft organisational skills that got us all out of our houses and rendez vous-ing, once again, at the Logan Hyperdome.  

So we watched the movie.

Guys.

I didn't even say this to them at the time properly but I think I have committed the cardinal sin of Expecting Too Much From A Movie And Then Being Disappointed.

I know, I'm a bit sad too.

Look I still loved it because it is Les Mis!  But frankly I think bloody Russell bloody Crowe bloody shitting ruined it for me.

Rusty cannot sing.  Although B and J both really loved loved loved it, we were all agreed on that point.  Like he really can't.  As J said, couldn't they have got a voice double? I think his performance meant I disengaged from the movie. I only cried a little bit. No cleansing floods of tears for me.

Rusty is Javert [Source]

Things I loved about the movie;

- It was Les Mis!

- The music!

- Anne Hathaway

- Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter (good Lord they have a lot of names between them). I love the Master of the House scene anyway and they are totally hilarious.

- The first, opening scene. Gosh.

Things I was disappointed by;

- Rusty as Javert.

- Oh, I just didn't feel as moved by it as I remembered from the olden days.

All I could think of when Russell was singing "Stars" was his band "30 Odd Foot of Grunts". This was not what I should have been focusing on.

Russell in his natural habitat, with his fellow Grunters. [Source].

Despite all this, don't think I wasn't wandering round the house the next day like George Costanza in that Seinfeld episode, humming and muttering "Master of the House, keeper of the zoo, yadda daada dada dada dum dum dum" like there was no tomorrow.

Sorry to bring you all down and stuff.  NEVER MIND!

CRAP I'VE DONE IT AGAIN! Won't you just STOP IT with the CAPITALS YOU MANIAC!

The Life of Pitch Perfect.

Hey slappers.

I know youse are all keen to hear how the first day back to work went, but you'll have to wait til tomorrow before you get the full story.

Suffice to say we all made it through the day without any permanent emotional scarring, thanks for asking.

I can't fill you in just yet, because I have to write other stuff tonight. As you all know, I live an active, artistically and emotionally dynamic existence. So dynamic that I am struggling to keep the blog up to date with all the rampant socialising and entertainment that's been going down in these parts. Is it just me or did that sound a bit ruuuddeee? But I digress...

Let it be known that over the last week I have gone to the cinema not just once, but twice!!!! To see different movies! And one of them was on a DATE with M! Phwwooaaaarrrr...hahaaaahahaha. hahaha. Haha. Ha.

Aaannnyyyhoo, the first movie I caught was with my girl K on Friday night. We went to that notable gourmet establishment Fasta Pasta for dinner and moaned about our minor woes whilst shoveling carbs into our faces. Satisfying. This was followed by what just might be the BEST MOVIE EVER! I am NOT kidding.

Pitch Perfect, people! See what I did there? Alliterated the shit out of that sentence cos that's how I roll.

But seriously. Pitch. Perfect. OMG.

I have not enjoyed a movie like I enjoyed this one since, gosh, I don't know when.
Be warned though, my loyal readers. Do not attempt to enjoy this movie if you do not endorse, or are intolerant to, the following things...

- cliche
- sexual innuendo
- Glee
- fat jokes
- lesbian jokes
- Popular Music from the Hit Parade
- young people
- Glee
- cliches

I myself am hardcore good at casting aside all morals and good taste in the name of a good larrfff. Or in the name of awesomeness in the form of a COLLEGE A CAPELLA GROUP COMPETITION MOVIE.

So. Good.

I swung wildly between feeling pure and unadulterated pleasure at the simple Glee-tastic-ness of the artform, and stomach churning jealousy, as I yearned for the chance to go back in time so I could participate in such a phenomenon myself.

Why was I never in a college A Capella group!!??? WHYYYYYYY!!?? Oh, all those lost, wasted years, I could have been harmonising like a mofo..the pain, the pain of it all...

I take back everything I said about being a teenager again, I DO WANT TO BE A TEENAGER AND SING DAVID GUETTA AND LA ROUX SONGS IN AN A CAPELLA GROUP.  And be all indy and cool in spite of it all.  And get a spunky boyfriend who loves The Breakfast Club and just wants to HELP ME and GET CLOSE TO ME AND BREAK DOWN THAT GODDAMN WALL I'VE BUILT AROUND MYSELF SINCE MY PARENTS' BAD DIVORCE...ahem.  Sorry about that.  I guess we all need a dream...




I did do music at school and I suppose we did a bit of singing, but frankly my memories of our reedy three part harmony version of "Scarborough Fair" sung to the tinny backing tape we had made JUST DON'T CUT IT! Old school friend D, do you remember?  No funky dance moves there I'm afraid...such a waste.

OK, so the second movie I saw was with M, on Saturday night.  The Life of Pi.
I'd read the book and remembered that I loved it but I couldn't remember the story really.  I know why now, I'd probably repressed the memory because far out.  Talk about nightmares.  For the record it contains basically all of my irrational fears in one.

- Being on a ship
- Being in a storm on a ship
- Being in a storm on a ship in the middle of the deep ocean
- Being in a shipwreck in a storm on a ship in the middle of the deep ocean
- Being in a tiny lifeboat in a storm in the middle of the deep ocean
- Falling out of the lifeboat in a storm in the middle of the deep ocean. With sharks.

Urghurghurghhhhhh...my skin is crawling just writing this....

So all of those fears plus some I've never even thought of including -

- Being in a tiny lifeboat in the middle of the ocean WITH A HUGE BENGAL TIGER. And briefly a hyena. And zebra. And orangutan. No prizes as to how long the other animals last.
- Carniverous islands

If I could sum up this movie in a non-authentic haiku it would be -

The boy and the tiger

In a boat

Or were they?

Carry on, my well-read and movie-loving public.

EDITED TO ADD: Linking up again for Flog Your Blog Friday with Grace! You should all go and check out some other great blogs around the traps.xx

Some of my favourite things aka proof I am really a teenage boy stuffed inside the skin of a lumpen 32 year old woman.

I present the following evidence in support of the thesis that I am really just a weedy, spotty teenage boy being crushed to death inside the body of a suburban mother of two.

My top 10 movies are:

1.  Anchorman
2.  Dude, Where's My Car?
3. Anchorman
4. Anchorman
5. The Big Lebowski
6. The Sound of Music
7. Anchorman
8. Anchorman
9. The Piano.
Nah bra, just messin with ya! As if! That emo shit's for CHICKS!
10. Withnail and I

OK, so number 5 shows there's a little girl inside me too, struggling like buggery to escape.

On a serious note, there is an ANCHORMAN SEQUAL COMING OUT!  I know, it's almost too exciting to bear and frankly I am really really scared it's going to be TOTAL SHIT!!!!

My top 10 TV shows are:

1. Seinfeld
2. Futurama
3. The Simpsons
4. The Young Ones
5.  Bottom
6.  Absolutely Fabulous
7.  Alan Partridge
8.  All cooking shows that have ever existed in the history of the world I am not kidding I will watch them all
9. QI
10. Gardening Australia

OK, I'm actually not sure what the hell that TV show list says about me except that I am a freaking nutcase who has the psyche of a spotty youth and the interests of a crochet obsessed Nana who thinks she's a bit clever, likes eating, fashion, laughing at bum jokes, eating and also bum jokes.  Bum.

Also, by way of a closing argument - this.



Workmate R aka MaryMary, this is for you my friend.

What do youse guys like?  Do you like stuff?  Or things?  Or watching crap and stuff? Do you abide? Like the Dude? Me TOO! We should totally be FRIENDS!!!!

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?