Getting all empassioned with The Lounge.

Hi all!
Today I am hosting The Lounge linkup and we are talking about our PASSIONS. What gets us all ENTHUSED. Or what gets us HOT UNDER THE COLLAR. If you know what I mean.

Feel free to link up a post telling us what you feel passionately about. Your husband? Your kids? Writing erotic fiction? Chaining yourself to Ancient Trees in an act of Selfless Environmental Warriorism? We're all unique snowflakes with our own wants and needs and loves and lusts and...ahem.

Or link up something unrelated, I'm cool with that too. Easygoing is my middle name. No really, it is!

Anyway, I guess I should write something.

What am I passionate about?

Look, to quote Lisa Simpson, I'm a member of the MTV generation. I feel neither highs nor lows.

I kid, I kid! As if!

I am a veritable hotbed of passions. I am bloody passionate about having a good strong cup of tea every morning (not too much milk), and am positively evangelical about jeggings, as we all know.  I rage against the patriarchy like there's no tomorrow and challenge the dominant paradigm like a motherfucker whenever I get the opportunity. As you do.

But what I really want to talk about, just briefly, is my passion for the issue of asylum seekers, aka refugees.

I'm not going to rant on about it. I am careful what I say on the blog, politically speaking, so I am not going to single out any political party's particular policy.  I am just going to dot point a few things here that articulate how I feel about the subject. I am not an expert. I am just a human being.

-  Nobody chooses to be an asylum seeker. To paraphrase Dr Karl Kruszelnicki, refugees aren't coming here because we have better TV, they are coming because people are shooting at them
-  Seeking asylum is a human right under the UN Refugees Convention
- Mandatory detention for long periods of time is wrong and an inhumane way to deal with people waiting for refugee applications
- The idea that there is an "orderly" process that people should follow, but don't,  seems quite laughable to me. I mean if you were in a massive refugee camp in Jordan, with your young family, cheek by jowl with thousands of people, little security, violence and rape going on, and you had some money, wouldn't you do ANYTHING to get them out of there? I am amazed people can't put themselves in other people's shoes and imagine what it might be like! They are just people like you and I! They had professions, jobs, houses, cars.... I mean, who says it would never happen in Australia? We'd all be boat people then.

Zaatari Refugee Camp in Jordan. Cosy, right? [Source]

- There are actually other possible ways of approaching the issue of processing asylum seekers that are quite different to the dominant paradigm of "stop the boats" or "refuse all boat arrivals" and detention for prolonged periods of time.  There are other voices out there with other ideas. We just need to listen to them.

If anyone is interested in learning more about some of the OTHER possible ways to deal with asylum seekers in Australia, you can start here;

- Julian Burnside - "You've been misled on boat people"
- Julian Burnside - "Four steps to more humane refugee processing"
- Information on the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre FB page/website
- Waleed Aly "There's a paradox at the heart of the PNG plan" 
- Malcolm Fraser "Open our hearts, and our doors, to refugees"

I just wish the major parties wouldn't feel like they had to outdo each other in harsh, broad brush, draconian and inhuman policies. I wish there could be a bipartisan approach. There is a trend towards taking a bipartisan and humanitarian approach towards indigenous issues in Australia, and I wish the same would happen for our refugee policies too.

The end.

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!

My greatest achievements. An emo post, in pictures.

In keeping with my low energy levels, I give you my post for The Lounge, the theme of which is - Greatest Achievements.

Today it's being hosted by Tegan at Musings for the Misguided. Check out everyone else's posts - I am sure they are more exciting than this!

Here's my greatest achievements, both of them, in all their glory....

Yeah so I am keeping up my photographic head guillotining, mostly. Just call me Robespierre. Two words, people. "Digital Footprint".

Until next time, you can rest easy in the knowledge that in this household, we endorse onesies dressed up with arran cardigans, flannelette jarmies and pink fluffy dressing gowns. In case you were wondering.

Ciao xx

Better the Weber you know.

Today I'm writing about my BBQ. In keeping with today's Lounge theme. Which is BBQ. I know, I'm such a creative person.

Ole RoboMum is hosting today - check her post out and all the other peeps too!

So we have a BBQ. It's a Weber kettle arrangement. Not gas. Wood or heat beads.

We got it a few years ago. M was dead keen on getting this type. I wanted a gas BBQ. You know, so we could USE it and stuff. As it is, we have this bloody thing that you have to fire up at least eleventy hours before you want to eat, or there's nothing doing. The first time we used it we had friends over and we didn't get our laughing gears round our snags and chops until about 10pm.

I mean the whole bloody POINT of a barbie queue is to just, like, chuck a couple of steaks on and, you know, two minutes later you've got yourself a low carb dinner for minimum fuss!

Fucking disappointing frankly. It caused no end of tension between my beloved and I. Stupid thing.

It's somewhat better now we've realised that the strength of the Webber is as a sort of oven. You can cook a mean roast chook in it that's for certain. Still, we can cook a mean chook in our proper oven too so I'm still not totally convinced of its charms.

One of the endearing things about this particular Weber is that when we bought it, it came with a "gift with purchase". 

Observe...

This recipe book is one of the more hilarious things I've had the pleasure of owning. It is an Ode to the Weber. The authors are Hardcore Weber Devotees. THEY ARE WEBER EVANGELISTS!

Behold them in all their glory.

Brash young barbecue salesman meets home economics guru - and BAM - the magic happens!

I have a real fondness for this 1970s food aesthetic. Liberal use of glace cherries - TICK! Did you know you could bake cakes in a Webber? IS THERE NOTHING THOSE THINGS CAN'T DO?

You can even make a Bombe Alaska in a Weber. Or should I say - BOMBE KOSCIUSKO! BAM! SEE WHAT THEY DID THERE?!

Hardcore 1970s dinner party aesthetic. I LOVE IT SICK!

 The Webber did have its moment to shine when P was a baby, when we used it to dispose of a particularly heinous baby book that we owned.

Don't listen to those bossy free speech libertarian types, burning books can be fucking SATISFYING, particularly for crazed and sleep deprived parents.

Said baby book in said Weber. Parents beware. This book is farking crazy. I knew this photo would come in useful one day.

A picture of me at the time. To explain what might be construed as a SLIGHTLY hysterical decision. You know, to burn a book. POSSIBLY slightly cray cray.
Hey lady, nice eyebags! They so big you look like you goin' on VACATION!

The Weber will always have a place in my heart for this reason, despite its inadequacies.

The End.

Favourite photos. The Lounge.

Hello everyone. It's Thursday so it is Lounge time. Thank goodness for enforced topics because sometimes I can't think of anything to blog about.

I KNOW!

Hard to believe right? 

Today Tegan is hosting over at her blog Musings of the Misguided and we are talking about our favourite photos.

If you are a regular reader of the blog you will know that photography is not my strong suit. I mean, I appreciate a good photo as much as the next person, but taking them? Taking them is something else.

My family have never been very VISUALLY TALENTED. I mean my Mum is practically blind and Dad is - oh well, his talents lie elsewhere (as Faux Fuchsia would say).  Most of the photos of my childhood are off centre or obscured by a blurry thumb or two. I'm pretty sure the parentals wouldn't mind me saying that.

M's family are excellent photographers and have a vast library of family photos.  I am jealous.

Anyway I chose some of my favourite family pics to show you.  The first 3 are from my ARTISTIC AND OFF CENTRE QUIRKY WALL OF PHOTO FAME that I have arranged in the hallway with my MAD INTERIOR DESIGN SKILLLLLZZZZ.

 Therefore in order to share them with you I had to take photos of the photos.

HENCE THE RATHER POOR QUALITY! 

But that's just how I roll.

I am also breaking my rule about not including people's faces (except mine these days) because they are all pretty old pics so I think it's ok.

This is a family photo of my Mum, Dad, my brother and I. I love it, because in a sort of pathetic yearning for what might have been that only other adult children of divorced parents could understand, I like to look at it and imagine they had never separated. Sad but true. PS My brother is unfairly characterised as grumpy in this photo but he was just squinting into the sun. He was a dead set cheery baby. 

This is a photo of my paternal grandmother (she is the one on the right) and her sisters. Her young unmarried uncle had this photo taken of the girls so he could have something to keep while he was away at war in WW1. The family story is that he was killed on the last day of the war, and the photo came home with his things. I am sure lots of families have similar stories. So sad.

This is a photo of my maternal grandmother judging the Miss Something Something Competition in the Whitsundays. I can't remember what. I think the sash on the girl at the end says "Coral Queen 1965"? My grandfather was the police inspector up that way at the time and she had to do things like this. Well, she probably didn't HAVE to but who would knock this gig back???!! Fun! 

Also I am including one last pic, because I am having an early mid life crisis. Here's a photo of me when I was the three things that I am not any more and never will be again.

1. Young (er)

2. Childless

3. Thin (ner)

Anyway there's a few of my favourite pics. Obviously I have an endless stream of adorable photos of my kids and some nice ones of my husband but we don't have all day now do we? 

Smell you later!

Mwah.

Wenatex bloggers event. AND A GIVEAWAY!

Good day loyal readership.
Thursday is, as always, the weekly Lounge Linkup. This week it is being hosted by the wonderful Kim Frost's blog Falling Face First. And the topic, you may be pleasantly surprised to note, is FAILS and STUFF UPS and so forth. I wouldn't know anything about that now would I?

Hmmmmmmmm.....

Well, it just so happens that I recently got invited to my first ever proper bloggers product event thingie the other week. Blog Power Events organised a morning tea, hosted by a company called Wenatex.

Never heard of them? I hadn't either! I was intrigued, nay, DELIGHTED to be invited. I mean WHO WOULDN'T?! I was dead set excited. I HAD FINALLY MADE IT ON THE BLOGGING SCENE, PEEPS!

I was quite nervous, but determined to make an EXCELLENT impression. I workshopped my outfit, booked in my Dad to babysit the dumplings, and Google mapped the hell out of the directions to the venue.

Or did I? Well to be perfectly honest what I did was what I ALWAYS DO. Despite my notoriously poor sense of direction, I quickly Googled the directions, took a bit of a look at them and said to myself "OH YES THAT LOOKS SO EASY I DON'T EVEN NEED TO REALLY WRITE THEM DOWN OR ANYTHING I CAN TOTALLY SEE HOW TO GET THERE! TOTALLY!" and headed off on my merry way.

OK so maybe when I headed off I might have already been about 1/2 hour late, but I said to myself "I can totally make up the time, it's not peak hour, there will be no traffic, PIECE OF CAKE!"

There was traffic. Oh lord was there traffic. Some sort of crazy accident or road works or whatever. Who knows, whatever it was had disappeared and left behind a traffic jam of epic proportions. OK maybe not epic but STILL BIG! I tried to be as ZEN as a MOFO about it but I could see the dice weren't exactly rolling my way.

I finally got into Brisbane and over the Gateway Bridge, and somehow was in the general vicinity of the venue, with enough time up my sleeve that could lead me there ON TIME! I know, I was pretty surprised too.

It was then I reached a crossroads. My inadequate scratchings on the back of an envelope merely stated the road I had to turn into, it didn't say which way to turn. The options were left OR right. I took a punt and turned left.

It was not the right decision. As I drove further and further along, I started to realize I was almost in the city. This was not good. By now the odds were firmly stacked against me ever arriving on time. I screeched over into a sidestreet and re-Googled the directions. "Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry!" I told myself. "IT'S GONNA BE OK."

I think I then proceeded to take approximately 17 million wrong turns before finally arriving at the venue. I then did about twenty drive bys before I could find a corner of the street to park in.

So all in all, I arrived, sweaty, red faced and flustered, about 45 MINUTES LATE.

I know. How embarrassing. I guess it was kind of ON BRAND though, you know, SLAPDASH MAMA SHE SO CRAZY kind of thing.

Anyway, lucky for me, when I arrived there was an AMAZING bed, doona, pillow, fancy pants high tea spread and Pimms to soothe my savage breast.

Because it turns out Wenatex manufacture and sell sleep related gear - mattresses, pillows, doonas, you name it.

Here I am recovering from my difficult journey...

 Now that is a woman who is in need of a comfy bed. I am here to say that this was undoubtedly the comfiest bed I have ever had the pleasure of reclining on. I mean, maybe I'm no judge, what with my old school foam mattress on a single bed that I had until I was 18, but still. Comfy! Comfy as!

Wenatex is a European company and by God do those Europeans love a good lie down, am I right? I mean, siestas and naps left, right and centre! And apart from being as comfy as all get out, all the products are also free from chemicals harmful to humans, which is a very good thing indeed.

And apparently, according to our presenter, "intimacy" is also "AMAZING" on these mattresses. If you get my drift.

PHWOAAARRRR!

Some of their products are stuffed with their own special blend of secret herbs and spices, all designed to help you sleep. No, not THOSE secret herbs and spices!

Also the pillows have SILVER in them, so WATCH OUT WEREWOLVES, OK!? Or am I thinking of vampires?

Anyway pretty sure that if you had one of these herb stuffed mattress things or a silver pillow you would be safe from vampires AND werewolves*.

We got a pillow each as a present and I can tell you now I have NOT been attacked by a werewolf OR a vampire since.

You can read more about Wenatex on their website here

You too could have this protection! Wenatex have given me this pillow to give away to one lucky reader!

1  Wenatex Silvermed Plus classic pillow - http://www.wenatex.com.au/our_products.asp   RRP $320

I know! That is one high quality pillow right there!

To enter, you must complete the following challenges.

Tell me in the comments why you DESERVE a good night's sleep! I will be choosing the answer that amuses me the most so try and make it FUNNY!

If you wanted to go and like the blog's Facebook page that would be pretty cool too. WINK WINK!

The winner will be announced in a fortnight, on Thursday 22nd July.

 EDITED TO ADD: OH GOD SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHY I WROTE THIS. Thursday isn't the 22nd! I will change the date to MONDAY 22nd JULY.

*May not actually provide protection against supernatural life forms.

 DISCLAIMER: I was gifted a cool pillow. I am very lucky. I didn't receive any other payment for this giveaway. OK?

Bacon. Work trip. Periods. The Spill. Also, bacon.

Good day to you Loungers. Welcome. I hope you are all well.  Feel free to rest your politics-weary bones on our comfy couches, and pour yourself a snifter of scotch. You know Julia would.

Today we are freestyling it! Sort of. Link up any post you like! AS LONG AS IT HAS THE MAGICAL KEYWORD OF MAGIC IN IT.

Today's keyword is: BACON.

I will also accept FACON. For the vege-matarians out there.


I have been busily busying it up working mother style recently so it's all been quiet on the blog front. I had a trip out to Dalby for work which was alternately interesting, freezing, boring, exhausting, aggravating, titillating, confusing, and weird.


Anyway I got to wear a hard hat, steel capped boots and a high vis vest so ALL WAS NOT IN VAIN.


Here's some scenery.

Here I am in my glad rags taking selfies in my motel room before dinner.

Here are my steel capped boots.

Here is my vest and helmet. And slightly crazed expression.

I had been quite looking forward to the trip because, well, you know, KIDS and STRESS and NIGHT AWAY. And yeah, I'm not going to lie to you, that was pretty good. I missed the little blighters though, what with P's recent health dramas I felt a bit nervy about it all. Also I am still breastfeeding Baby B. Who, frankly, is fast becoming Toddler B. So I was worried about my boobs.  Also (and look I don't mean to be CRUDE or INDISCREET or whatever but look we're all girls here. Actually no we aren't. I do apologise.) but I also had, um, rather a HEAVY MENSTRUAL FLOW GOING ON.

So what with my exploding boobs and the traipsing around in the bush with limited access to the loo I WAS A BIT ANXIOUS.  If I could devise a hashtag for my experience of the trip it would be #shitmendonothavetoworryabout

Still I managed with a smile on my face and a spring in my steel capped boots. Because I am a PROFESSIONAL.

In an unrelated segway, it would be remiss of me not to mention the ole Spill tonight.  For the international punters, the Australian Labor Party chucked over the PM Julia Gillard for Evil Machiavellian Genius Kevin Rudd tonight. What a palava. High emotion, people.

It's hard to express my feelings in words, but in an attempt to do just that I have chosen the format of an acrostic poem. Using the word bacon. SEE WHAT I DID THERE?

Bon voyage Julia, our first female Prime Minister
Although her time with us is done because of men most sinister
Convoys of cleavage, misogyny speeches, all of these things couldn't rattle her
Often she was criticized by shock jocks like Howard Sattler
Now Rudd is back. Don't eff it up Kev, or Bill Shorten will have you killed.

(OK that doesn't rhyme but you all know it's true).

Over to you, bacon lovers. I can smell the crackling from here.

Ranting with The Lounge

Hi everyone. I am so disorganised that I have left my post for The Lounge to the utter last minute. And doing so has meant that, because me laptop is having a spack attack, I am going to have blog from my phone. I know. I am living on the edge. Somebody stop me!

Because blogging from the phone is as time consuming and laborious as turfing your own backyard on a steamy January day, this will be short and sweet. I can hear your sighs of relief from here.

The topic today is Ranting and Raving.

Baby B knows it isn't healthy to keep it all inside. LET IT OUT LET IT OUT LET IT OUT!!!

Hahahaaaa.

I will adopt my dot point blogging proforma for this post, what with the short and sweet goal.

Ok. Deep breath. Out with anger, in with cupcakes. I mean scones. I mean love. Yeah, love. Not those other things. Although I do confuse food with love, we all know that already.

- On my drive into Brisbane for work, there is a long stretch of the motorway that has signs up saying 80km/hour, because there are apparently "no lane markings". This enrages me beyond measure for multifarious reasons. Firstly, because I am as law abiding a citizen as they come, I do 80km/hour. I abide by the limit. I pootle along, even though the normal limit is 110. I do what i am told, people. I do what I am told.

- My issue is that I am the ONLY person who does this. I crawl along at a granny pace while all around me agro P platers, semi trailers, soccer mums and tradies in utes hoon past me at a rate of knots. It makes me so angry I could...why, I could  just about scream! I clench the steering wheel in rage with the veins in my neck popping out in sympathy. WTF people!!!?? Why you no drive at the speed limit??? I know it is tortuously slow but I don't make the rules! I hate you all!

- My rage is compounded because although the speed limit is reduced as a result of an alleged absence of lane markings, this, my friends, is patently untrue. There are freaking lane markings! There are! I can see them! Ok, I will admit that there is a tiny section devoid of lane markings, but 99% of the 80 zone is marked and ready for action. What the hell? Did they leave the signs out by accident? Is it a prank? Am I being punk'd by Ashton Kutcher? You little shit I'm onto you!

My already stressful commute is rendered almost intolerable by this stretch of road.

It is a bloody scandal and an outrage.

There are starving children, an entire Australian election campaign functioning in a policy vacuum and asylum seekers rotting in detention centres, but for ME the BIG ISSUE IS RIGHT HERE.

MY LIFE IS ALREADY SO HARD WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO MAKE IT HARDER? I mean, I'm well educated, middle class, white, with a loving husband, two cute kids and a house in the suburbs. What a hard freaking life!

POOR ME! WHAT ABOUT ME! IT ISN'T FAIR! I'VE something something AND I WANT MY SHARE CAN'T YOU SEEEEE? I WANNA LIVE! YOU JUST something something GIIIIVE!

Is your life made dreadful and intolerable by inexplicable road signage and thoughtless drivers?

Do tell old friends!

The Lounge - Worst Jobs In History

Hello everyone!

I couldn't let a Thursday roll by without joining up with my fellow Lounge Lizards for our weekly linkup.

This week the delightful Kim Frost from Falling Face First  is our host this week, and the topic is Work Woes, Crap Jobs, Career Blips, and so forth.

Kim has written amusingly about her forays into customer service jobs in her youth. I'm taking a leaf out of her book and retracing my steps through my various pocket money jobs back in the day.

In what is undoubtedly a fairly gutting admission for someone like me who basically likes to whinge and complain about everything, I am sorry to say that my youthful part time jobs  were actually mostly quite good.  Didn't stop me feeling bitter and resentful that I had to work over my Christmas holidays while my cousins could loll about and do whatever they pleased. You'd think I had been forced down a coal mine by my parents the way I carried on sometimes.

Anyway I am doing a hardcore last minute post due to bad time management and vomiting kid, so I will briefly run through the highs and lows of my early working life.

The Local Shop for Local People

My first job was as a 15 year old, working Saturday afternoons at our local corner shop. This job was randomly offered to me by the owner, we shall call him Len, for that was indeed his name, and his wife..um...Mrs Len. Maybe Judy? Can't remember. I have my suspicions that he gave me this job because he had secret designs on my grandmother's beautiful old Ford Fairlane car. Once he had weaseled his way into our lives he did indeed purchase said classic vehicle from Nana so my thesis is sound.


Pros: I got paid for the first time, even if I did funnel most of my $5/hour wage back into the business with my regular purchases of bags of mixed lollies.
Cons: Regularly being harangued by well heeled elderly people for not knowing my sums when they said confusing things like "I've got the 25 cents, will that help you?". No it won't fucking help WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU OLD GITS I'VE ALREADY RUNG IT UP ON THE CASH REGISTER HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REVERSE THAT SHIT? It took me a good year to realize how to give change correctly.

The Clean Team

I left the local shop job when my school friends encouraged me to apply for a job on the Clean Team at the local cinema, where they were already lucky enough to be working. I was so excited at the prospect I could barely contain myself. I aced the interview and got the job, and was entitled to don the noble uniform aka a huge white tshirt emblazoned with "CLEAN TEAM", sneakers and black shorts. So hot right now.

Pros: SO many. Working with all me mates. 50c movies. Seeing the last 10 minutes of all the films showing at the cinema. Actually that was a con. Having money.
Cons: Um..the actual job. IT WAS CLEANING MAN! I am not built for that shit. One time I was called into a cinema during a movie. Some kid had spewed on the floor. I had to clean it up while her whole family sat there and watched me.

Sugar Sugar

I was promoted at one point on account of being so freaking hardworking and motherfucking diligent. I became part of the coveted Candy Bar team, and got to wore a much hotter uniform. A lime green pencil skirt, court shoes and a stripey blouse with a little tie. Cute right? It was the best job ever. I used to complain bitterly about it. UNGRATEFUL WRETCH! We used to make choc top ice creams, bag lollies, make popcorn. It was like working in bloody Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory.

Pros: Friends, money, cute uniform, 50c movies, access to lollies to nibble on.
Cons: Being yelled at by mental customers because it cost $20 for three popcorn kernels. Not my fault dudes, I was but a gormless youth who had only recently worked out how to give change properly. ALso, smelling of popcorn. Actually not a good thing. As well as my general resentment that I had to WORK to earn money. I've basically never shaken this feeling. NOT FAIR. I just want to LIE AROUND AND READ.

Library bitch - beginner level

I kept doing the candy bar job for a bit after I moved to Brisbane for uni, but got tired of going back home every weekend to work, so my auntie helped me get a job as a book shelving person at the uni library. In this glamorous position I got to wear black pants or skirt and a voluminous red polo shirt. Sex-ay. My job was to put ALL OF THE BOOKS away. Over and over again. Bloody science students and their bloody huge textbooks. Always USING THEM. It never ended.

Pros: Location, having money, peaceful nature of workplace. I did some extra work over Christmas once in the Engineering library. Turns out engineers don't use books. So I spent my shifts hiding in a corner of the library reading. Gave me a rather unrealistic impression of librarianship I have to say.
Cons: Heavy books. Working with librarians who are a bit...um..something. I am a librarian now so I can say that. Also being regularly berated by one of the fulltime shelvers who thought I was really boring. He was a middle aged man whose main passion was playing in a folk music band. He interpreted my eye rollingness at all his tales from the 70s as "wowserism". As if. *rolls eyes*.

Cirque du Slapdash

At one point I got an extra job on top of the library work to save money for an overseas trip. It was with the...wait for it...Cirque du Soleil. NOT, I hasten to add, as a performer. More's the pity. No, I was hired by some Class A Bitchface Employment Agency Bitches to work the bar. They hated me from the word go because I had another job as well and was constantly turning down their offers of extra shifts. Also I burnt the popcorn once. And was a bit up myself and also a bit gloomy and depressed.

Pros: Money. Kind of interesting I guess working out at a circus site. I had to sell popcorn in the Grande Chapiteau (aka Tent). This started out as a negative, but I decided to pretend I was part of the act and so walked around the stands yelling "POPCORN GET YOUR POPCORN" in a sort of DRAMATIC and ARTISTIC way and it became quite fun. I developed an excellent champagne bottle opening technique. I even had a callous! Cool.
Cons: Bitchface employment HR agency bitches. Weird hospitality industry co worker types who didn't like me and were always PARTYING ON afterwards when I was slinking home to be sad and depressed. General vibe of being disliked. Poo heads.

So there you have it, that's a brief wrap up of my youthful working life.  From it I think you can surmise that I am a lazy, ungrateful, fairly unlikeable snobbish wretch. I needed a smack on the bottom.

The Lounge. Blogging Break.

I may be having a blogging break, but I'm still capable of delving into the Slapdash Mama archives to find something suitable for today's linkup at The Lounge.

This week it's at Rachel's blog! Go forth and read!

I'm linking up this old post. Remember? His name was "Pierre"

Hoping to be back to normal transmission soon dear readers. 

On being a bad sport - Part 2

Hello loyal readers and contributers to The Lounge! Today we are all over at Robo Mum's blog, sharing our experiences of  Hissy Fits. Tanties! Spitting the dummy! Pitching a fit!

EDITED TO ADD: Also linking up with Grace for Flog Your Blog Friday :-))




Well, once again we have hit on a topic that is close to my heart. *sigh*

I know it is hard to believe, new readers, but I am one of the great dummy spitters of all time. My loyal regulars might remember the series I started recently on my epic unsportsmanlike behaviour. You can read the first post again here! And who wouldn't want to read about it, hey?! In that piece, I dissect one of the more public meltdowns of my primary school years.

Today, for your delectation, I present to you a history of sibling directed spack attacks.

Part 2 - On Brothers and Sibling Rivalry and Losing Your Shit

My brother C and I have always had a RAMBUNCTIOUS sibling relationship. Ah, halcyon days. We used to chase each other round and round the house until one caught the other.  That unlucky soul would then have their face mashed into the Sega Master System (or in later years, the Nintendo) whilst being simultaneously beaten about the head with the handset.  The Mater would come over all vapoury and have to lie down in her room while we wrestled and screamed on the floor. Don't blame her I guess.

Here we are in happier times. Brother C is ROCKING a Ren and Stimpy shirt and flanno. 

Once, in a fit of girlish pique, I threw a steel paint removal brush at him - high spirited scamp that I was! He was left with a blood pricked imprint on his back. Mater and Pater were not impressed that day, and I was sent to my room to think about wot I dun.

Another amusing anecdote that the parentals and miscellaneous extended family like to bring out at Family Occasions is this one time, when the whole family (cousins and all) were playing cricket on the school oval in the summer holidays. I had locked myself in the car, tantruming about something, and was being summarily ignored by everyone as they Got On With The Game. Ignored, that is, until I unlocked the car, came streaking (not naked don't worry) onto the pitch, shrieking with rage. I ran past the fielders, making a beeline for my unfortunate brother. I proceeded to kick him solidly in the shins, whilst the Much Older Cousins looked on, bemused, and then ran shrieking hysterically back to the car, locking the doors behind me.

OH SUCH FUN!

I should add in my defence here that my reputation as quite the SPITFIRE could probably be seen as a reaction to my mother's family, in which anyone who heats up beyond a sort of "What ho chaps I'm a bit annoyed at you. Better keep utterly silent about it!", or a "I say old thing I thought we were having proper custard not store bought. I might just roll my eyes and tsk about it for a bit!"  is classed as TOTALLY PSYCHOTIC.

But I digress.

Ah, but Brother C and I could press each other's buttons like nobody else.  As a teenager I took particular pleasure in preying upon him whilst he was lying sloth-like and vulnerable on the couch, watching Blackadder on TV. I would sidle up til I was almost standing on top of him, and then break into vigorous go-go dancing, so that the television was obstructed. This inevitably ended in the same result - he would punch me, shouting "Why don't you FUCK OFF AND DIE!".

The HILARITY! Good times, good times.

This sibling enmity lasted well into our adulthood, and it is with GREAT fondness I recall one particular incident, during a rather bleak period in my life in my early 20s where I had temporarily moved back home, jobless, licking my wounds after yet another relationship disaster. Brother C was lying prostrate on the couch, as he does, while I sat gloomily near him, probably weeping quietly to myself and moaning softly.

Brother C, roused by my gentle sobs, looked at me with disgust and said something like "God you just need to GET A JOB and stop being so awful and go out and find some friends you pathetic loser!". Or so it sounded to my sensitive ears.

His words only served to increase my misery. I glared at him, slumped as he was on the couch, lumpen and immobile, and it was then, reader, that my old companion the Red Fog descended.

I leapt from my seat, shrieking like a banshee, and launched at him as he lay inert on the lounge. I ran with arms flailing, screaming in rage. I set upon him with my fists, shrieking "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!" as he tried to cover his face with his hands. I grabbed at the closest arm, and bent down, teeth bared, howling and wailing, and tried to bite a chunk out of him.

Unfortunately, over the years, Brother C has somewhat overtaken me, height and strength wise.

See? He is a LOT bigger than me. I'm wearing heels in this pic. Also am pregnant and therefore, despite appearances, not drunk. SO CLASSY. Invite me to weddings at your peril!  His bemused smirk belies the fact that he is undoubtedly still thinking "WHY DON'T YOU JUST FUCK OFF AND DIE!"

As I leant over with my bared fangs, he quickly placed his other hand on my forehead, and pushed me away. He held me there at arm's length while I shrieked and flailed uselessly in his general direction, until the Mater appeared from her room to see what all this jolly fuss was about, what ho!

An artist's rendition. And by artist, I mean, me. So perhaps it is more accurate to say an "artist's" rendition. Note please the hand on the forehead and the flailing arms. Note it I say!

I think I ran sobbing from the room and threw myself on my bed.  You know, in a LADY-LIKE WAY! And no doubt he didn't move from his position on the couch and continued on with his television viewing.

Anyway, such has been the tenor of our complex sibling relationship over the years. Me, flailing and go-go dancing and shrieking and crying; He, lying on the couch.

Long may it last, bro.

Do you have any siblings? Ever tried to bite them? Are you a mental? ME TOO!

I'm off to punch some walls in. Have a good day peeps.

FASHION FAILS - THE LOUNGE

Hello everybody! Welcome to The Lounge, open again for business this Thursday. Settle in with a drink and SPILL YOUR GUTS for all to hear.

Go on, tell your old Auntie Slapdash all about your fashion faux pas, your stonewashed denim, your harem pants, your flares, your clip on earrings. I WON'T JUDGE YOU and neither will anyone else. PROMISE.

Look, unfortunately, this topic is actually really HARD for me.  I can hardly think of ANY examples of fashion faux pas in my history! The thing is, I basically am just incredibly put together and stylish and I always have been. Since childhood, I have taken a keen interest in fashion, and take pride in my appearance as a matter of course. I rarely put a foot wrong, fashion wise, and......hey! Hey, hang on...what the...

...HEY WHAT THE ACTUAL YOU GUYS? Where did THIS PIC come from? I mean, sheeesh. I was just a KID for goodness sake. I am sure tartan was ALL THE RAGE and I don't remember ever wearing it again. It was a ONE OFF!

Far out. OK, where was I? Seriously you guys that was below the belt.

Anyway, as I was saying, I rarely put a foot wrong, and poo-poo those who are slaves to fashion, preferring a more classic look, and.....hey. HEY HEY HEY WHAT THE?

Holy Haggis, batman, WHERE ARE YOU GETTING THIS SHIT YOU GUYS? UGH. Gah. OK well, so obviously I had a THING for tartan for a bit there. And I guess it seemed to last a few years. OK. Fair point. Look, everybody had off days as a teenager, right? I mean, what am I, like 14 in this pic? WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?

So, getting back to the post, as I was saying, being stylish and..........UGHHHHHH! What is THIS!?

Yeah, ok, we've all seen this pic before. Yeah yeah. I'm the one  on the far left. Yeah, yeah, crazy pants. How zany was I? I get the point guys, you are starting to embarrass me. I mean, I wear a pair of crazy pants like ONCE and I get a reputation?? Let's be FAIR HERE PEOPLE! Pardon? What do you mean?

FARRRRRRKKKK! OK, OK, so I wore them more than once.  PEOPLE can't you cut a girl some slack? I WAS ONLY A KID! 

SHINGS guys. Can we get back to the post now? THANK-YOU!

OK, so as I was SAYING, I am really careful to always remain on top of the fashions, and try to dress appropriately for all occasions, and I.....SHIT! SHIT WHERE ARE YOU GETTING THIS STUFF!?

This was a DRESS UP PARTY you lot. OF COURSE it is a fashion fail. OBVIOUSLY! I AM MEANT TO BE MARY POPPINS!

THIS IS A FREAKING DRESS UP PARTY TOO! I am getting pretty sick of this. UGH.

Right, that's it. I mean, I come here, I try to do a nice thing and host a linkup for you all, and you just sit there making fun of my tartan tights and my Traveling Outfit. SO WHAT if I was standing outside the White House? I WAS DOING LOTS OF WALKING THEY ARE SENSIBLE SHOES! And I was being SUN SMART. 

Frankly this is about just as much as a girl can stand. I'm trying to have a SENSIBLE conversation and you are RUINING IT FOR EVERYONE. 

SIGH! Over to you I suppose, IF YOU MUST. Everyone's a critic, I'm telling you!

Why aren't I better at routine?

Well, today's the big day everybody - the first day of our new linkie party, "The Lounge". If you don't know what I am talking about, check out my page here, it will tell you everything you need to know!
Today Tegan from Musings of the Misguided is our host, and the theme is - "Why aren't I better at this yet??" - please feel free to link up your own post and have fun!

I have to add the disclaimer that Brenda of Mumabulous fame has ALREADY WRITTEN A BETTER POST ON A VERY SIMILAR TOPIC for The Lounge this week! But I must press on...

Soooooooo......GUYS! Why the ever loving eff am I SO BAD AT STICKING TO ROUTINE? Particularly on the days I go to work?

It is a GOOD question.

Of course, one could cite the baby, small child, and husband as the obvious speedbumps on the road to ORGANISATION TOWN, but actually (and it pains me to say this) I must also take some of the responsibility. I know. Galling.  The words are STICKING IN MY CRAW YOU GUYS! UGH!

OK. Let's workshop it, people. Let's just deconstruct the shit out of a typical morning and GET TO THE BOTTOM OF IT ALL!

This is what should happen.

Night before: Tidy kitchen COMPLETELY. Put dishwasher on. Make and pack lunch. Choose work outfit and put that out. Tidy house more or less. GO TO BED EARLY DAMMIT.

5am: Wake before kids. S has walk. M has shower. (THIS SHOULD BE SWAPPED ON ALTERNATE DAYS SO WE BOTH GET SOME EXERCISE)
6am: Kids wake. S has shower, M puts breakfast on and unloads dishwasher.
6:30am: Everyone eats breakfast and engages in family discussions about art, literature, current affairs, Peppa Pig, poo and wee.
7am: P assists M by getting her kindy bag ready. M gets B dressed. S tidies up kitchen and puts a load of clothes in the washing machine.
7:30: We all leave the house. M takes kids to kindy then goes to work. I go straight to work.

This looks REALLY SENSIBLE AND DOABLE, right? Am I right? I'm right aren't I? Definitely right about this. The THEORY IS SOUND, reader.

Here is a dramatic reinactment of ACTUAL EVENTS that occur on a typical work day at our house.

5am: I hear the baby stirring in his room. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. I can feel M doing the same. The baby starts to squawk louder. I lie as still as possible until I feel M get up and go down the hallway, coming back with baby B. We all lie together in bed while he crawls all over us, until we hear P's footsteps in the hallway. She appears at my side, imperiously demanding that I "Move over!" and complaining that "Mummy your BREATH smells AWFUL!". M and I continue to lie with our eyes shut while they both squirm and crawl over us.  Finally M and I can pretend we are asleep no longer. We embark on a conversation along these lines;

M: Are you going to get up with them or have a shower first?
Me: I should really go for a walk. I need to do more exercise. I've put on so much weight. How do people fit in exercise? I don't think there's time this morning. Probably I should get up and then you should have a shower. Then I'll have a shower.
M: I think you should have a shower first.
Me: No you should have a shower first while I get breakfast and then I'll just have a shower and leave straight after.
M: OK.

6:30am: We finally get up. I take the kids out and start breakfast.  This is made difficult by the fact we forgot to put the dishwasher on the night before, so I have to wash out some things before I start. I can hear M carrying out long and complex ablutions in the ensuite. P and B pull a million toys out onto the floor. It all takes a really long time and sounds like this;

P: Muuuuummmmmyyyy I'm HUNGRY!
Me: I'm just putting the porridge on, darling, you'll have to wait a bit.
P: Muuuummmmyyyy Benji is taking my THINGS! *outraged screams from B as she takes her toys back off him*
[I interrupt my breakfast-making to intervene].
Me: P if you don't want B to take your toys then put them in your room.
P: NO!
Me: *Grr*
[I go back to kitchen and keep making breakfast. P disappears and appears wearing a different outfit].
Me: P! If you are going to get changed don't leave your PJs on the FLOOR! Take them into your ROOM! P! P! Are you listening to me! Hey! P! Oh FOR GOD'S SAKE I'll do it.
[I interrupt breakfast-making again to take P's PJs back to her room. While there I make her bed and chuck some things into toy baskets etc. before remembering I was actually making the porridge].

And so forth.

7:30am: I have finally finished making breakfast and we are sitting down, eating, I am wrestling with B as he desperately tries to shovel the porridge into his mouth with two spoons. It goes EVERYWHERE. Like EVERYWHERE. After we've finished, P runs off. B has smeared porridge all over his face and in his hair. I wipe him down and get him out of the highchair, and start cleaning the mess on the floor.

7:45am: M emerges from our bedroom showered and dressed. He channels a hobbit and has first breakfast and second breakfast too. General stuffing around and chasing of P and packing of kindy bags occurs. M remembers he hasn't made his lunch. I remember I haven't made mine either. M gets a whole lot of stuff out of the fridge and makes sandwiches and snacks and stuff.

8:15am: I am still in my pyjamas. By some miracle M and the kids are dressed and in the car. I wave them off.

8:20am: I race around tidying things, jump in the shower, decide there's no time to shave legs or wash hair. I get dressed, jump in car and begin my hour long commute.

But not before wasting time by taking a few selfies of my work outfit whilst doing dumb poses. SO IMPORTANT DON'T YOU KNOW!

9:30am: I race into the office, flustered, hungry again. People comment on how nice my hair looks. I reply "Oh it's probably because it's full of GREASE! Yeah I haven't washed it for like DAYS!". People look a bit less impressed after that.
5:30pm: I finally get to leave the office, because I got there so late, and race home.

6:45pm: I arrive home. Kids and M have eaten. Babysitter and M are bathing kids. I reluctantly counsel the young flibberdigibbit babysitter because her dreaders boyfriend said he'd marry her in ten years if they were still single but doesn't want to tell his friends they are going out together and she's quit uni to work for him YADA YADA YADA. Ugh. I hurry her out the door. She talks the whole time.

7pm: I put B to bed. M puts P to bed. B goes to sleep. P comes out a million times and finally stays in bed by 7:30 ish.  By this time we are exhausted, so shovel some food in, do a mediocre tidy of kitchen and slump on couch. I think about making my lunch but don't. I think about putting my clothes out for the next day but don't. You get the drift.

AND repeat!

WHY DO I DO IT DUDES?

I fly by the seat of my pants.

The idea of working more than 2 days GIVES ME THE HEEBIE JEEBIES! How would I do it? I want to have a lie down just thinking about it.

I need to BOOT CAMP MYSELF!

Come on! YEAH! GET PUMPED! GET ORGANISED YOU LAZY WOMAN! WRITE LISTS! AND THEN ACTUALLY DO THE THINGS ON THE LISTS! MAKE GOOD HABITS! BE BETTER AT STUFF! ROUTINE IS THE BACKBONE OF FAMILY LIFE! MEAL PLAN! ONLINE GROCERIES! AND SO FORTH!

Or not. Look, I guess it's got me this far. Look at me! I'm a high flyer baby!* Maybe it's working for me? Maybe it's because I AM A CREATIVE GENIUS AND VALUE SPONTANEITY AND FUN TIMES AND CHILLAXING WITH MY HOMIES?

Who knows. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks. And it's hard for a tiger to change its stripes. And you can't lead a horse to water. YOU FEEL ME?**

Now excuse me while I write out a new Family Routine and Meal Plan, put it up on the fridge, ignore it for a week, and carry on in the same freaked out fashion that I always do.

Until next time, adieu. Adieu. To yer and yer and yer...

*I may not actually be a high flyer.
**It's totally ok if you don't. Feel me, I mean. I don't really know what it means anyway.