On being a bad sport. Part 1.

I have many faults.

As well as being prone to jealousy, whininess, envy, laziness, anger, impatience, dissatisfaction, coveting my neighbours ass and worshiping idols, I am also a really fucking bad sport and have limited ability to regulate my emotions in public.

Over the years there have been a myriad of opportunities for me to demonstrate my epically bad sportsmanship, going right back to my primary school days.

I am just lucky enough to be someone who was gifted with the happy combination of moderate ability in a variety of things, laziness, with vague competitiveness and a sense of entitlement thrown in for good measure.

I am such a catch.  People want to be me, people want to be like me.  Who wouldn't*?

Anyway this combination of enjoyable characteristics has resulted in some fairly epic examples of John McEnroe like behaviour. But like, without the John McEnroe skills to back it up. So, just the bad behaviour. Ugh.

Many of them have become family legend. As you can imagine it brings me NO END OF PLEASURE to hear my parents/much older cousins/aunts and uncles regale family gatherings with tales of my tantruming. NO END OF PLEASURE.

Keep it up guys it isn't getting old YET! YEAH! GIVE ME MORE. I MEAN YOU'VE ONLY BEEN DINING OUT ON THEM FOR ABOUT 20 YEARS BUT WHATEVER**.

Since they all get so much pleasure going on about it I thought I would re-appropriate the stories for the blog. A series of blog posts to be precise. Since they are about me. I may as well try and cash in on them, dudes. It will probably segue nicely into a follow up series of posts on "Taking criticism badly" and "Sulking". Because I do those things too.

Part 1 - Murder on the netball court.

So, back in the day, I used to be quite a whizz on the netball court. When I say whizz, I mean, I could catch and throw a ball and didn't fall over. Much. Couldn't shoot goals or play defence though. That is not at all important in netball though***.

I couldn't find any photos of me at netty so here's some of me circa 1991/2 just being revoltingly precocious anyway. Ugh.

Just acting up a storm for the FANS whilst wearing a ra ra skirt and white moon boots, you gotta problem with dat?

Just banging out a tune on the keyboard for an adoring crowd whilst wearing a white frock and scarlet sash WHAT OF IT?

Just reading Roald Dahl at a family picnic while wearing overalls, a straw hat and a self-satisfied smirk, SO SUE ME!

It came to pass, long ago, that shifting netball club committee politics resulted in my very own parents becoming President, Treasurer, Secretary, Registrar, fundraising coordinators, just basically ALL OF THE POSITIONS. Which included Dad becoming coach of my VERY OWN TEAM. Because of how he is an expert in all the rules and ins and outs of netball and played it for years himself back in the old country****.

You can imagine how AWESOME this was. I loved it sick*****. I especially loved it when Coach Dad would single me out on the court and yell detailed instructions at me during the games, arms gesticulating wildly. Oh how I loved it. And I loved the way it drew UNNECESSARY ATTENTION my way, from the members of the other team. Oh yes I LOVED IT.

One particular Saturday morning we were battling it out on the court with some tough opposition. I was sweaty and grumpy. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dad waving his arms at me and yelling . He was waving and pointing and instructing. And waving and instructing. And probably coaching too.

I tried to ignore it but it was tough. Sporty Coach Dad was nothing if not persistent. He waved at me a bit more to get me to move over or try harder or run faster or something.

At that moment something in my 11 year old mind snapped and reader, I saw red.  I abandoned my post at Wing Attack and came hurtling over to the sideline where Dad was waving at me, the eyes of both teams on me. I screeched to a halt and shouted, enraged;

"Shut UP DAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDD!!! BLAAARGGHHHHHHH! SNARGGGLLLYYY BLLAAAGGGHH".

I screamed hysterically at him while the crowd looked on in shocked silence.

When I had finished my tirade, I did the worst thing my eleven year old mind could think of.

I did the finger. With both hands. I waved them in his face, ranting incoherently, and then ran screaming from the court into the carpark.

Here is an artist's impression of the alleged incident.

My main memory was the look of bemusement on Dad's face as I turned and fled.  I think he was quite enjoying it. Was this the reaction he had been trying for all along? Who can say.

I can't remember what happened next. I was probably shepherded home and a cloud probably hung over my name for a while, netball wise.

Still, if this, and other similar incidents hadn't occurred, then basically my family and friends would never have anything to talk about ever because APPARENTLY THIS IS A DINNER PARTY STORY THAT JUST KEEPS ON GIVING NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU TELL IT!

So there you have it. Part 1 in a series of MANY MANY instalments where I demonstrate my poor emotional regulation, bad temper and extremely low levels of sportsmanship.

You can thank me later.



*Me. I wouldn't. Actually.
** Ugh.
***It is actually. Kind of the whole point of the game but whatever.
***NOT! That was rugby you fools not netball. Ugh.
*****No I didn't, DUR you guys

The Slapdash Report: Election 2013 edition.

DISCLAIMER: This report is TOTALLY BIPARTISAN and APOLITICAL.

It's got bipartisan-ship and apolitical-ness-ism coming out the whazoo!!

SECOND DISCLAIMER: Some broad called Corinne Grant wrote this article in the Hoopla today, somewhat taking the wind out of my proverbial sails.  But I will carry on nobly, even though bitch stole my story.  I mean who is she anyway? Some nobody*.

Having this blog means that I can now live out my lifelong dream of becoming a famous and highly regarded election commentator and political analyst.  I've waited years to show up that cocky Antony Green character and now's my chance.  I don't know about you, but whenever he's on the telly, I have to fight back an overwhelming desire to shout things at him like "Would it KILL you to make a prediction Antony?! Take a risk!!!" and "Obviously the figures aren't in yet you dork!" and even "Damn your graphics to hell Antony why don't they EVER WORK!?!".

So move over dude, the Slapdash Report is here to tell it like it is.

I'm just going to apply my mad skillz at synopsis writing (as previously displayed here and here) to the cut and thrust of the political world, and make it accessible to the man on the street. Because there's a NICHE for this shizz, peeps, and I am exploiting it like there's no tomorrow. I'm taking my inspiration from everyone's favourite finance presenter Alan Kohler and his amusing graphs and chatty manner - he makes economics fun!  Oh clever me! No-one would ever have thought to write  and/or present an amusing synopsis of the week’s political events for the entertainment of others**. What a breath of fresh air I am.   That Walkley Award gets closer every day. 

So now for the weekly synopsis.

WARNING: This synopsis contains NOTHING MUCH.  Turns out I don't know anything about what the frig is going down policy wise. My bad. You'll just have to Google that shit this week.

• Tony Abbott didn't get the memo that Aboriginal people lived in Australia for a teensy while before Europeans turned up.

• Craig Thomson's faced court for a gazillion different fraud charges that all basically boil down to using the work credit card to pay for prossies and porn.  He denies it. Some peeps want him to resign from parliament.  He says hell no, he won't go.  To be continued...

• Nicola Roxon and Chris Evans, old stalwarts from Joolz' cabinet, have resigned.  High spirited scamp and renowned humourist Chris Pyne reckons it's starting to look like the last days of Hitler's government .  Nic and Chris say it's just that they are fucking tired of never seeing their kids.  Whatever.

• This has meant Joolz had to shuffle the cabinet around like a deck of cards (hey I bet nobody's used that analogy before!). 

• The latest poll showed the ALP are doing way worse than the last poll.  But then someone pointed out hardly anyone voted in the poll 'cos they were all battling fires and floods and famine and pestilence.  Make of that what you will.

• Federal Parliament had it's first sitting week of the year.  I know, how did you all miss that one!  I for one have been glued to the radio listening to Question Time like there's no tomorrow. I know how to enjoy myself.

• Some chancy buggers put a whole lot of bets on that the election would be called for September.  Wish I'd thought of it.  Nothing ever works out for me. Sob.

Some other shizz undoubtedly went down but I'm running out of steam so -  there's my first edition of the Slapdash Report aka the SPEED BLOGGER'S GUIDE TO POLITICS all finished.

Disappointed?  Enraged?  Feel it was lacking in depth and policy analysis? Me too!  I'll try harder next time.

Maybe.

*OK, I'm kidding.   Corinne Grant is obviously a super funny lady with plenty of political nous and a lot of cred.  And I am not.  Carry on.  Read her story though it is good.

**Editor’s note: Please don’t tell Sarah about the Daily Show, the Colbert Report, The Chaser, even that “brilliant” example of political satire “Pineapple Politics” in the Courier Mail, or actual excellent current affairs inspired blog The Tunnel Presents (or any other of the million examples of this genre).  She will totally lose it. And I’m a bit scared of her. Last week she threw her mobile phone at me when I told her there was an American blog already called “Slap Dash Mom”, and then she burst into hysterical tears until I placated her by firing some interns.  Let’s just keep this to ourselves, for my sake, please?

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?