And Here We Are...

And here we are, the morning after the evening before. I have slept for maybe an hour at the most, in which I woke up myself up screaming from a nightmare I can’t even remember now. Today was meant to be my day off, I planned to sleep in, enjoy a leisurely brunch, pamper myself for the planned staff Christmas Party this evening. I was meant to be polishing my jingle bells and getting into festive party mode.

Instead I still sit here wide awake with troubles in my head and too many thoughts for it to even contemplate shutting down and resting.

For the very small handful of friends who know the meaning behind the post below, thank you for mopping me up and offering solutions to puzzles that I can’t seem to put together myself at the moment.

Where to from here I’m still not sure, but its good to know whichever way I go there will be people coming with me to hold my hand.

"And I'll be riding high, in a fandangled sky...
Its gonna be easy, it's gonna be easy from now on"

Somehere Over The Rainbow

When I joked earlier today that a serious post was heading towards you, I didn’t actually know how true my words would ring. I said it half heartedly, thinking perhaps it was time to throw a thoughtful entry your way, stop being the funny one for a while. Yet how true it is, as I sit here crying and forcing myself to stop and breathe, and calm the fear that is in my heart.

As a blog that is read by both those who do know me, and those that are yet to meet me, I’m struggling to find the words today to say what I want, with the least offence to anyone who might stumble across this in future years. Who knows if the people involved may discover this some time in the distance, and while I’m angry at them and the situation we have come too, I have no wish to hurt anyone along the way.

Last year on New Years Eve I had told both myself and anyone listening that 2007 was going to be my year. My time to shine.

Now 2008 is marching towards me and I’m more than ready for it, so ready…because I wish to bid farewell to 2007, the year that could have been but wasn’t.

It wasn’t my year after all, and I don’t think I could pinpoint a month for you throughout it that hasn’t seen me on a roller coaster journey of emotion. I’m disappointed in myself for thinking like this, to waste my time wishing the days away, when there would be others out there who have only weeks remaining and would treasure each moment as it went by. I see my selfishness, and I am disgusted by it.

Yet the anger in me wants 2007 to go away, the anger in me wants 2008 now, a fresh year, a fresh start, a fresh outlook. Like the ticking second hand of the clock is somehow going to magically rejuvenate my life as it marks the way to a new era.

Already I am telling myself 2008 will now be my year just to keep me hanging on to get through the current one. I do not know if I have disappointed others recently, but I know that they have disappointed me. That things weren’t as expected, and that the lines of communication did not flow.

Funny really, how communication can be a hard one for me, yet words flow so easily across the page.

Its not a partner causing me these issues either, maybe if it were I could handle it better, have been on the same road before and knew where and how to comfort away the confusion and hurt. Felt comfortable enough to retaliate, to demand answers to questions or to discuss matters that needed saying.

But its not a male, and I haven’t stood on this path before to know just what to do. I sit here instead, crying, breathing, being. Wondering which road to go down next, or whether to just turn back the way I came and go home.

Home.

They say it’s where the heart is, but what happens when you have moved around so much you aren’t quite sure where you left your heart last? Or you are worried you will travel back there, only to find it’s not what you remembered?

If I were Dorothy here is where I put on my red shoes and click my heels, wishing to be magically whisked home, to safety.

I don’t feel safe tonight, nor do I feel comfortable. I feel upset, hurt, angry, scared, confused and lost, all in my own house. I know we are all searching for something in this life. The Tin Man, The Scarecrow, The Lion, all on the lookout for parts of them that are missing. A heart, a brain, courage. A home.

I’m searching for home tonight. Trying to make clear in my muddled mind if I should click my red heels or continue down the yellow brick road I find myself on.

2007 hasn’t given me the journey I wanted so far, I have found both witches and wizards, but no rainbow, and certainly no rainbows end. Every time I spot it on the horizon, I blink and it disappears from my vision, leaving behind just enough of a memory to make me keep on looking for it over every hill, wanting to glimpse its beauty once more.

Everyone is out there searching for something, I just need to work out if I am looking for a home, or if I am looking for a way out of a journey that seems too hard to contemplate in my weary state.

Like love, friendship too is a fickle thing.

Tonight I leave you so I can search for those red shoes and dream of coming home. We aren’t in Kansas anymore Toto, and we need to rest up for the journey ahead.

Sheila the Wonder Gnome............And winners announcement!!!

Leaving me both shocked and stunned M.B.R.A.I.N http://www.blogger.com/profile/06024822415725982157 has come up with the correct Pick the Pub Answer!!! Huge round of applause please..........

I'm intriqued and impressed by his pub knowledge, as the 'Mando Pub' (also my old home town) is located in Mandurama NSW, and has a grand population of about 96 residents (so isn't exactly a well known place - it should be famous given time though, seeing as I used to reside there) In fact I used to joke about the Bright Lights of Madurama - all three of them - we had a pub, a general store and a servo. If you ever get to do a weekend drive though, be sure to head over the range to check it out, stopping for beers and photo opportunities as you go.

Today I also have to quickly add a photo of my new special friend - Sheila, the naked gnome. Every garden needs one of these, and if you want to track down one of her sisters I hear they live in the $2 bargain store in Oxford Street (though Sheila - being the quality she is - was worth close to $6)

So without further ado / adu / agadoo dooo dooo

I'll return tommorow, and to everyones despair...........yes folks, I feel a serious post brewing.

Pick The Pub....

I failed to mention in the below post (but maybe the eagle eyed of you have noticed) I HAVE LEARNT TO LINK. This excites me no end (it doesn't take much does it, for this the men in my life have been grateful) as I can stop telling people to 'scroll down' when I refer to a past post, which is just a polite way of saying go find it amongst the ramble yourself really.

So round of applause for me......... *bows down*. I have now conquered both pictures and linking. You should be excited too, as this opens up a whole world of opportunities for us.

To celebrate this, Im adding this small 'Pick the Pub quiz' (shut up all of you who know the answer, especially if you actually took this picture of me.. this is definently cheating)

Please email your answers and I'll announce the grand prize and winner. (which won't be up to the standard of prize I won at the 'Birthday BBQ that wasn't' yesterday (scroll down, I'm over linking already) because I won a fabulous (pic coming soon) naked garden gnome called Sheila, who sports the perkiest set of boobies I have seen in a long time. (in fact, Im rather jealous of Sheilas rack, I thought mine weren't bad at all till I clapped my eyes on hers)

Anyway, here we go...........Pick the Pub! As you can see its called the Royal and it's located somewhere in rural NSW. (Yep, that should narrow it down seeing as its Aussie Tradition to have a Royal in pretty much every rural town you go through. Its also tradition I stop at pretty much every pub in every town as I go through it, this makes for very long road trips)

Just Call Me Slacker

Due to what can only be described as me being a slackarse because of a variety of reasons (we will mainly blame a virus last week and of course...work, which continues to rudely interrupt my social schedule) I just haven't had a chance to entertain you all with snippets of my rivetting (cough / splutter / embaressed snigger) life.

To bring you briefly up to speed, there was me having the shits last thursday for a couple of days (literally folks... the toilet and I became best friends during this time, and Glen 20 shares probably raised dramatically), then a flurry of activity over the weekend involving work (again, sadly interrupting my social shedule) a lunch date, a talent quest, an election watch, a BBQ and a drink / supper date (come to think of it I didn't actually get to the supper part Sunday night, having a quick drink was the only energy I could sum up).

During this time I also had to cope with mourning over the loss of Johnny, and somehow squeeze in writing a letter to Channel Nine (who are in my bad books anyway following the great axing of Fanny Farm/McLeods Daughters - but we'll moan about that later) about their use of an exclamation mark in their 'Kevin Rudd Wins Election!' banner they had across the top of the screen throughout their coverage (you can read about it here also http://inanunquietmind.blogspot.com/2007/11/elect-shredder.html) I can't begin to tell you how much it annoyed me that exclamation mark. Actually I could, but I won't bore you like I possibly did the household I was in Saturday night. (no, I must say something, I just didn't think an exclamation mark was required, it was too "take that Johnny" for my liking). Anyway, so Johnny (who made me teary during his speech, but as a friend pointed out to me yesterday when I told her this, I also cry during Sex and The City - thus prooving I'm can tear up at things I really shoudn't) so Johnny is out and Kev is in. Big Kev exciting for his fans, but I'm still coming to grips with it all I'm afraid.

I also need to give a shout out to "the brilliant minded co-worker" I mentioned here http://lifesnotalwaysbeautiful.blogspot.com/2007/11/as-only-i-can-or-todays-looser-status.html as she is currently at home sick (which is making work quite unbearable as I have no one to snigger at our other co-workers with)

I also need to shout out (aren't I the noisy one today.....all this yelling) a belated happy birthday to my friend whose BBQ I attended on Sunday not knowing it was indeed a birthday BBQ. Knowing Pearla though (not her real name, must protect identities) I just assumed we were BBQ-ing to celebrate the fact it was Sunday. (she generally doesn't need an excuse to have people over to drink, often the fact its Sunday is more than enough for her)

Anyway, luckily no one seemed shocked I had forgotten (i'm well known for only knowing my own birth date, and maybe Jesus Christ's... everyones else eludes me) I was slightly embaressed upon logging on to facebook on returning home though, to discover I had actually RSVP'd to something called a 'birthday BBQ' a while ago and had forgotten all about it. (I didn't just manage to forget her birthday, I also clean forgot about the BBQ I had RSVP'd to as well till I spoke to her Sunday morning about 'unrelated matters'. More on that later)

And now I have to run............... I shall return later on today (nothing like building the suspense) to catch up on the 'random bits of dumbass info' about me for you all.

Where oh where has my little mind gone? Oh Where oh where can it be....

I’d like to report a robbery please. Actually, I think there has been some sort of mass theft happen as I have quite a few items that can’t be accounted for right now. Namely my sense of humour, my heart and my mind. The reason I think they have been stolen is that no matter how much I like to think so, my heart and my mind generally don’t see eye to eye, and one truly doubts they have run off together like a pair of lovestruck teenagers on Home and Away.

They rarely agree on anything, so I just can’t imagine them coming to the conclusion that a road trip with just them two might be a good idea. And if so, where the hell has ‘humour’ gone? Have they once again left him behind or did he take off when he heard the plans being made?

Turn sideways and that one just slips away from you, I have to keep a very tight rein on him. He reminds me of a toddler the way he bounces around one minute, but then take away his lollies and all hell breaks loose. ‘Humour’s older siblings, ‘mind’ and ‘heart’ do often try escape him. Sometimes I think they just want ‘humour’ to take a rest and shut up for once.

Now back to where the hell have they gone and who took off with who. Whilst ‘mind’ is bossy, and probably would have been the one to suggest it, if they are in fact on their way to Byron Bay in a combi van right now, ‘heart’ probably would be busily telling ‘mind’ he doesn’t’ know what he is talking about the entire trip, and is trying to head them back towards the south coast instead.

I’ve known them both for 33 years now, and only once I’ve managed to get them to agree to the one thing. And during the brief moments ‘heart’ and ‘mind’ stop squabbling, ‘humour’ generally pipes up and starts ribbing them and we all fall apart again. ‘Humour’ you see, is a bit of a larrikin and generally manages to ruin ‘heart’ and ‘minds’ best moments with inappropriate laughter. Like I said, he is a joy to have around, but such a child.

So where all three of them are right now I’m not entirely sure. I’m unclear if someone snuck in while I wasn’t paying attention and whipped them away from me, or if they have indeed banded together and taken off into the wild blue yonder.

Either way, if anyone sees a trio of ‘humour’, ‘mind’, and ‘heart’ flurrying around somewhere please bundle them up and head them towards this direction. While we are at it, I also seem to have lost the plot, so if you see a nice looking plot on the loose can you please grab it as it goes by. I’m happy to accept a new one, with any luck it will have a bit more direction and keep the other three in check.

To ‘heart’, ‘mind’ and ‘humour’ though, if you are reading this, please come back to me. I promise I will treat you better from now on……..

The Poodle Wears Prada

Have you ever had one of those nights, where you have fallen asleep utterly exhausted on the lounge, woken up stiff necked and bleary eyed (and generally with the TV still on E! Channel, which is not surprisingly the only news channel I watch) to then go ahead and wake yourself up all over again in a flurry of last minute chores and some hard core go to bed routine that you just can’t break? (well, if your idea of hard core is bringing in the washing, feeding the poodle and brushing your teeth – its nothing but erotica in my house folks) Anyway, I have done just that and now sit here wide awake after apparently fooling my body into thinking it was 7am (the morning routine is very similar you see, but we add doing our hair and practicing our smile into it).

Now before you get all clever on me (I’m the brainy one here, remembering I’m in the bottom 9% to ever sit the Coles Supermarkets exam) don’t get to thinking I’m sitting here awake at whatever time the post entry time above may actually tell you, and go believing me to be wingeing and moaning about being awake at approx 9.10pm. Due to my stand against the telephone companies (Scroll down, still haven’t learned to link posts – despite my winning style on the grocery store aptitude test) I don’t even have net access at home. To my employers utter dismay (and possible surprise when they read this) I regularly have to borrow both their time and broadband access to keep everyone riveted on my day to day life (thanks also goes to whoever in the world is rated above the 9% by chain stores, as they were obviously smart enough to invent the USB stick for me as well as doing a sterling job as a shelf packer – forgive me if I sound cynical, I guess I haven’t quite yet recovered from the Coles rejection email debacle)

So here I sit buzzing with life (sadly not literally), poodle as always (apart from a rather depressing post further down the page) by my side. For everyone’s viewing pleasure I thought I would throw in a photograph of her tonight………….excuse her big hair, she is a bit of a fan of the 80’s apparently.

I should probably add I don’t actually own this poodle, somewhere along the line she just adopted me somehow, and I became the proud surrogate mother to a dog that sports an array of clothing that would rival Carrie Bradshaw. (though she doesn’t have any stilettos, so that’s probably not a very good comparison) What I most like about this canine (apart from her toothy grin and beguiling eyes) is that in summer she gets quite the stylish hair do (courtesy of the Puppy Parlour Fluff and Fold) and teams her look with what I like to think of as her very own ugg boots (like a true slave to fashion – much like her big hair – she chooses to wear her legs covered when the rest of her is bare) She is the epitome of cutting edge style. It got me to thinking (something I clearly do far too much of) that as far as I know there isn’t actually a Vogue for Dogs, and maybe I could begin one for other fashion savvy puppies out there?

Speaking of fashion (we probably weren’t but it’s my blog and I’ll say what I want) I’d also like to speak out about this Emo kid look. I would like especially to speak out about skinny jeans on boys and men. What I’d like to say as I speak out I’m not actually sure, just that I DON”T LIKE IT ONE BIT. (nor have I seen it featured in Vogue, not once – for dogs, cats or otherwise) (Come to think of it – I also didn’t like the oversized jean look either – when are designers going to find a happy medium for the world of denim?)

I feel a bit better now I’ve had my say on all that. While we are here I think I would like to quickly speak out about oversized buttons and the return of the mullet too. You won’t find my (surrogate) poodle wearing any of it while I’m alive. (actually I take back the mullet part, her hair does tend to veer more towards the Billy Ray Cyrus look than we would both care to admit)

Moving on from fashion (we weren’t really moving anywhere but can I remind you again I’m the author of this rant) I would also like to speak out about the smell of moth balls, a majority of the men I’ve dated, and people who walk slowly in front of me.

I refuse to speak out against wine, as I’m partaking of one now (this makes approximately 98% of this entire blog written whilst under the influence of some kind – if not by alcohol than by my own melancholy – or at worst, both)

Before I leave you (I think I’ve spoken out enough for one night) I thought I would give you one last picture of the grey prancing powder puff who doesn’t answer to Jessica (at twelve years of age, she is a little slow in learning her name) who is looking not quite as full of Christmas cheer as I believe I was when I decided a poodle would indeed look fabulous in a pair of antlers.

And now……I’m off to try to get some sleep. See you say, Friday.

A Warm Fuzzy Moment For You

Just wanted to share with you a little thought today, it’s a treasured one that I sometimes take out of the memory box in my mind and I never fail to recall it with a smile.

Some years ago I was living and working in the centre of Sydney. I took a bus daily to work, and would spend most mornings sitting in silence cursing the public transport system. This particular morning was worse than usual. It was a Monday for a start, and it was raining heavily. It was a cold dismal day, the seats were wet, and workers were unhappily filing onto the bus after a weekend off, grimly ignoring each other, sitting with glazed expressions on faces.

I'm afraid I was one of them.

I don’t think one person wanted to be on that bus, on that day, facing the dreary weather and the start of another dreary week.

As the bus began to get crowded, rude messages were muttered under breaths and rude looks given as wet bags brushed past people. You could feel it in the air, that trapped feeling of being somewhere you didn't want to be. We all in turn stared blankly out the windows as the rain came down.

Then we stopped for a new passenger. I craned my neck up to see who the hold up was and why the big delay in getting us moving again. A downes syndrome girl had gotten onto our bus, and her mum was nervously trying to explain to the bus driver where she was too get off at and that someone would be waiting for her at the other end of her ride.

The girls face was so different to ours. She was so excited you could see, to be on this bus ride by herself. Her face was optimistic and hopeful, joyful.... so different to the expressions we all wore. There were no seats left by then, so she stood alone near the front luggage area, smiling around. Most ignored her, but I watched fascinated.

Waving her arm around indicating the streets outside, and with a big smile she announced to the bus in general that everything was pretty now, it was wet, see how it shines?

Likes fans uniting with a Mexican wave, smiles and warmth seemed to flow around our bus. We looked again, but this time with her eyes. Where we had seen greyness, she was seeing glitter. She kept pointint it out to us. The shiny trees, the shiny cars and shiny road. Pretty soon our bus was full of shiny happy people too, as we got caught up in watching her delight at something so simple. You could almost feel the mood lift as we all became a little less cynical about things for just a little while.

I think sometimes life just sends you little moments like that to surprise you. A little warm fuzzy for you to tuck away and take out again when needed.

The memory of her and the happiness she brought is as vivid in my mind as the day it happened. That simple enjoyment and the reaction it caused in the bus, lifting and lightning our mood. I don’t know who or where she is, but I hope she is out there, continuing to be the sunshine of someones life, and still seeing the glitter through the grey.

It's All About the Looks.............. (or) The Morning After)

Now words aren’t going to come easy to me tonight I’m afraid, thanks to the hangover from hell where I once again have only myself to blame.

I spent yesterday looking forward to drinking something sparkly in the sun at a friend’s house warming BBQ later that day. I therefore took myself off to the local bottlo in search of something suitable to refresh me (ignoring any advice from the staff as I went - of which I did regret later on) Bearing in mind it had to come in under budget (budget being as cheap as possible without actually resorting to passion pop) I was delighted to find a shelf of Omni wines and champagnes, all sporting labels with the magic $9.99. Yes folks we had found a winner. Perusing the shelf closer held even more suprises, as each range wore an array of pretty labels... Omni Blu, Omni Green, Omni Pink, the list went on.

Then I saw it, like love at first sight my heart skipped a beat....Omni Red. With its bright red vivid label, it would complete my summer BBQ outfit perfectly.

Now I’ll admit I am a bit of an accessories girl, and today’s look included a red and white spotted headband, red and white spotted thick wooden bangle, red ballet flats and a ducky little red handbag. 'Thank you Omni' I was thinking as I took it down from the shelf, for completing my outfit today. It was the perfect finishing touch.

So off I go with my matching bottle of wine (had no idea what it held, just that it was under ten dollars and looked a treat as I carried it in with its red label proudly on display) Its all about the look folks, and whilst I hadn’t gone so far as to purchase a bottle of grog based only on the colour of its label before, what harm could come to me?

Waking up the next morning...apparently a lot.

To take you back a step, on opening the bottle amongst great excitement and that satisfying swoosh and pop, it turns out it’s a sparkling shiraz. A red wine with fizz is fundamentally wrong on so many levels I’m not even sure where to begin. It was like the lovechild between a bottle of champagne and a bottle of merlot. Not only should those two have ever met, but they certainly shouldn’t have hooked up for a sly one and produced this offspring.

I bravely drank it in the sun, in a large plastic tumbler, with ice (if nothing else I'm classy - It had a head on it like a beer too I might add) Strangely (or perhaps not) no one else wished to partake in any, so it was up to me to finish the bottle. After about the third tumbler I was almost thinking maybe this strange new drink wasn’t that bad, but then after the third tumbler I was also thinking that maybe the kids present at the BBQ weren’t too bad either, and trust me, I don’t usually like kids.

So I drank my red bubbles, and mingled amongst the crowd. (Actually as I was the one and only solo person there....I didn’t so much as mingle with guests as such, it was more like walk up to each group and hang around them, and demand to be heard whether they wanted me there or not. I was intent on not looking a lonely (though well accessorized) girl with just myself and my bottle of strange liquid.

Not being very maternal I wasn’t sure what to do and say with all the kids around either, so I just kept right on drinking and poked the odd baby or child as it came past me. The fat babies are really good for poking I discovered.

Having completed my bottle with the red label, I then decided it was a grand idea to move onto rum. In fact, by then, everything really was quite grand in general. I can’t remember at what stage I ended up on the jumping castle, but that too was rather grand. There was apparently a small incident of an unhappy wife because it was her husband that had pushed me onto the jumping castle then threw himself on to it as well at the same time. (I was oblivious to the arguing wife here, as I was too busy rolling around the said castle and attempting to get myself off it – this task proved to much for my wine affected body, and I ended up needing assistance)

Anyway, sorted that out, more rum. More music, more rum. Told stories, more rum.

Bed time. Right, so of I toddle into the spare room and end up having my friend sort of hoist me onto the top bunk. (As she was pushing me up there from below, I was thankful I had decided to wear decent sized knickers that day)

Cue morning, cue bright sun. Cue me waking up on the top bunk in the kids room with the hangover from hell and a mental note to self to never drink sparkling shiraz again.

It took me hours to get vertical without my head feeling like my brain was still down there on the pillow writhing in agony. I laid there for a long time praying to God for a bacon sandwich to magically appear. My friend must have heard my silent pleas and promptly cooked breakfast. Mine promptly came back up again, along with the red bubbles who just refused to go away and kept threatening to return and say hello.

They so did not go with today’s outfit either.

So I’m signing off for the night, and if nothing else have learnt the importance that it’s not all about the looks after all.

(I’m also off to re-arrange the wine rack so there is no chance that the champagne bottles can run off with red wine bottles ever again)

Billy Goat Gruff

I’m in a quandry (actually I’m in bed but that’s another story altogether) about what exactly to post tonight.

I had a million things going on in my head, all jostling for attention at the forefront of my mind and demanding to be said, when I was rudely interrupted by a hair on my chinny chin chin.

During the middle of what was a no doubt riveting conversation between my good friend and I (her being the free web tarot card interpreter extraordinaire as discussed in earlier posts) I believe we were somewhere in a ground breaking conversation (or possibly yakking about our star sign) when I discovered somehow overnight I had sprouted a hair on my chinny chinny chin.

Feeling a little like billy goat gruff I promptly interrupted the conversation, took myself off to my bathroom mirror (the reflection not exactly being kind after four champagnes on an empty stomach) and spotted the offending hair. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I make out, but it was really almost at the stage of requiring hair product to tame it.

After the great plucking of 07, where I removed said hair off my chinny chin chin and cussed over the arrival of this new hair follicle, I got to thinking (I also got to drinking.... a wee drop being essential after shock and trauma) about the great hair debacle that accompanies ageing. We women bemoan the sudden onslaught of hairs on our chin, whilst our menfolk contend with hairs disappearing from their head, and in turn sprouting out their nose and ears. What is this phenomenon? (had the laptop not had spell-check I would have really stumbled over that last word. As it is, after partaking of these trauma relieving beverages I can’t actually pronounce the word at all)

Now that I have made the starling discovery of a hair on my chin, I’ve come to the conclusion I am officially of the older generation. I don’t recall ever reading an article in Cosmo or Cleo about how best to remove chin hair, so it’s obviously not an affliction affecting anyone still under the age of 30.

I’m now off to cancel my subscription to both these publications and track down information on the nearest bingo evening where I might mingle with those suffering like minded problems. (such as hair where it shouldn’t be and an in-ability to hold our drink)

Before I leave you though I must throw you todays point of worthless rubbish about me:

I once used to do a sterling impersonation of a speed hump. I have also demonstrated these speedhump capabilities on public roads following the influence of copious amounts of rum. Sadly, due to the ageing process (also responsible for chin hair) I don’t believe I am quite as long and thin as I used to be, and don’t make quite as convincing a speedhump as I did in my youth. It was a real talent at the time though and few could pull it off quite like my good self.

The One about My Brother

I promised my brother that I would give him a shout out soon, seeing as our sister, nephews and nieces have all scored a mention. So here it is, the post dedicated to.......My Big Brother Ted.

Now I have referred to my big brother as ‘Brother Ted’ for as long as I can remember. Whilst he doesn’t resemble a teddy bear (his limbs are far too long) like say, maybe Paddington Bear, he is a very friendly fellow. (actually I can’t recall if Paddington was friendly, I just had no other bears come to mind except for that rather startled looking one on Play School, and the Play School version bear I’ve never actually heard utter a word– therefore that bear surely does not resemble my sibling) He is also a much snappier dresser than Humphrey too come to think of it, Humphrey being another of your silent types, again, not bearing any resemblance to big brother in that department.

Brother Ted I often think of as a male version of myself, in that we are both tall, good looking and fabulous. We also obviously talk ourself up a lot to hide any insecurities and if in doubt we make a joke. And for the most part, that gets us by. We really are very similar, apart from the obvious fact he is male and that he would rather put hot pokers through his eyes than listen to my choice of music. We both share an amazing ability to drink, (what’s amazing about it is that we have both been honing our drinking skills for years and still can’t hold it very well), an inability to have more than $10 to our name more than 24 hours following pay day, as well as a love of the written word (or a love of our own drunken ramblings and voice)

The big T is going to be super chuffed to find this post I know, because we also love anything that is all about us. (our theory being that as we don’t currently have partners we must therefore make ourself the most important person in our world. Actually...even with partners we find ways to validate this point, as we both feature a remarkable skill in being able to talk our way out of anything)

I have watched Brother Ted entertain us with stories numerous times and been taken aback by the similarity of the expressions we carry on our faces and our hand movements as we try to relive the tale to our listeners (in other words, we wave our arms around a lot as we shout and we look funny) I feel like he has stolen my look, only to remember he is older than me so maybe it was the other way round. Subconsciously growing up I think I watched and somehow absorbed the same mannerisms as he.

We also both resemble windmills when we dance, and are generally the first ones on the floor intent on showing off our moves. (In other words we are quite shameless, and due to long limbs tend to take up the majority of the floor whilst we swing the said limbs around in wild abandon)

We both sing loudly (it all about projection remember) and rather badly, and we both refuse to shut up even when asked, begged or pleaded to by friends to be silent. We think we sound grand and maybe they are tone deaf, and as it’s all about us.....we just keep right on belting out the tunes.

Brother Ted lives in Sydney and leads what appears to be a fast exciting life however, whereas I live on the outskirts and break out into a sweat at the thought of traffic. He also parks a car with much more finesse than I do. (amusingly, at one stage I drove a thumping 5.4 litre V8 ute though and he drove a smart and spanky Golf Polo. This somehow fits us, but probably sounds wrong to the outside world). Brother Ted is also, like me, fanatically neat. I even once discovered his magazines on the coffee table were filed in date order. This still amazes me and I still tell people about it. (amazes me because I didn’t realize till that point there was someone else in the world even tidier than I was)

Apart from the many amusing traits of Brother Ted (including once managing to break his hand and wrist into approximately 856 pieces during a drunken game of backyard cricket) Brother Ted also plays an important role in bucking me up when I’m feeling down and making me look on the bright side of life (even if it means we have to laugh at his expense sometimes in the process) Brother Ted can pull the sun out for me when its raining to remind me what it looks like, and in short, Brother Ted makes a brilliant Pollyanna.

I hope he has enjoyed this ‘blob’ all about him, and I hope tonight this post finds him dancing somewhere with reckless glee, with his arms going everywhere, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in his other (with an innate ability to not spill a drop I might add) singing his head off loudly and badly with a smile as wide as the harbour bridge. For that vision right there folks…is my Brother Ted.

Just Call Me Fabulous

In another flashbulb moment recently (or again, another wine fuelled brainwave) I decided from now on my nephews and nieces should address my by Aunty Fabulous.

I’m not quite sure yet if this is
a) Due to me being legitimately fabulous…..or
b) Those under ten not actually being capable of distinguishing between sheer fabulousness and sheer insanity (PS I have mentioned prior to this point that fabulousness is a real word and I refuse to hear you argue otherwise).

I shall let you know how I go on my endeavor in due course and report back in on the subject.

I’m pretty sure the younger of the two will be convincingly won over, but my older niece (who no doubt inherited by brains and canny perception) could be harder to coax into. Then again, the younger one also told someone quite seriously his name was “Cowboy” not that long ago, so it shouldn’t be too hard a task at all to get him to henceforth refer to me as the said Aunty Fabulous.

I’m not sure if I have mentioned my nieces and nephews before, but I should mention whilst I’m a proud aunt, I’m also a pretty crap one (any relatives reading will be no doubt nodding knowingly at this point).

It’s in fact only within the last few months I’ve managed to mind them (the kids not the relatives) for an entire weekend (or more to the point, anyone has let me loose with children for more than a few hours at a time). I surprised myself by not only enjoying it, but them surviving the entire 38 or so hours whilst apparently having a good time too. We both got to indulge in our love of pizza and bad movies, so it was really a win win situation. (for the record, I preferred the first Willy Wonka to the second, the kids meanwhile had no idea there was indeed a first and that Willy Wonka had the original naming rights instead of Charlie). My niece also had no idea who Johnny Depp and 21 Jump Street was though, proof that yesterdays heartthrobs are just strange old men to anyone younger than yourself. (I’ll save what I thought of the oompa loomplas this time around for another evening, but I did not like their particular brand of orange)

Now just in case my nephew and nieces sneak a peak at this blog years from now and Auny Fabulous is just some strange old woman who wears bed jackets and lives in a home for special old ladies……….I’m giving them a big shout out and kisses. Mwah Mwah.

PS I forgot in my serious blog below to add to the ‘strange things you should know about me’ point of interest for the day. Today’s is: I actually like blue and green. Together. (Even though according to the poem blue and green should never been seen) I don’t however like red and yellow together, despite my favourite man in all the world, Mr Ronald McDonald, frequently seen sporting them.

By the way, aren’t you the lucky bugger scoring two posts in one day?

The Great Weight Debate

I’m feeling a little fat tonight. Seeing as I am a good five foot nine and barely hit double digits on my clothing label, I see the irony of this and am disappointed in myself to even have the nerve to sit here and feel this way. Because in my heart I know I am nowhere near fat. Yet I can’t help it, it must just be a bad hair day.

It got me to thinking about how as females we are just never quite happy with our outward appearance. The ‘enough’ monster rules our lives…..we believe we are never quite thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough or good enough. I could point you out all of my girl friends one by one, and you would see that there is something attractive and intriguing about all of them. Some may be perceived by outward appearances as conventionally prettier than others, but not one of them, not even a drunken male in a bar, would dare look at any and say they are unattractive. They in turn have lovely hair, or skin, or smiles or eyes. They all have personalities that make you want to get to know them more. They include tall and short and everything from a size 6 to 22. All have something about them that has attracted the attention of others at various points in their lives. They are in short, lovely.

I don’t know one of them though, that hasn’t looked at themselves on a regular basis and been unhappy with what they see. I don’t think I could pinpoint one female that I know of, who doesn’t view their reflection in the mirror and hear the enough monster in their head. If they are thin they wish they are prettier, if they are pretty they wish their legs were longer. We always seem to think we should look better than we do.

I wonder what makes us think this way? Is it males or females, ourselves or society to blame? The more I ponder it, the more I think it’s our own heads that are never quite satisfied. I can look at my friends some days, and be almost shocked anew by how attractive some of them are. I have seen men turn their heads as they pass, yet I know that earlier in that same evening before venturing out, they have agonized over how they look or wished for some small change in their face or body.

I would not be the only one reading this, to have been told by our loves how beautiful and wonderful we are. I wonder how many of us really believe it? How many of us bypass this comment thinking they are saying only what we want to hear?

I have watched my sister struggle with her weight and diets over the years and yet she has no idea how gorgeous she is. She is tall and womanly with luscious locks and a winning smile. She has a husband who I know adores her and sees in her the woman I think she struggles to see in the mirror. Sometimes I wish I could tell her this, yet even if I did I fear like most of our gender she wouldn’t believe it. She used to bravely joke to people that I got the skinny genes …… and maybe I did just luck out in that department…. but her looks and personality far outshine mine. Yet for all those brains and beauty, the enough monster seems to lurk in her head too.

I don’t think I can continue to blame men for this enough business either. The more I observe, the more I recognize that men are far less self conscious of their own bodies, and less noticing of our than we give them credit for. In fact, none of them I know hold any fear in stripping off at the beach or walking naked to the bathroom, no matter what their weight or looks. Whilst we sit covered in a towel and worry about the couple of extra kilos we are wearing on our hips. They don’t seem to notice the extra padding or the blemishes on our skin as much as we as we notice them ourself. We meanwhile, are so busy fretting about these small things we probably stop ourselves from having fun. I’m guilty in the past, of knocking back a game of volleyball on the beach for fear of how I would look bouncing around in a bikini, thinking to myself I didn’t want to stand out at the same time by playing and wearing a cover up. What a waste of a sunny day on the beach, because I chose to hide myself in the water or under a shirt.

So I’m quite sad I’m feeling fat and unattractive tonight, because I know full well its all in my own head.

I hope one day I manage to rid myself of this enough monster I carry around, and I hope anyone reading can rid themselves of theirs too.

Until then, just keep knowing I think you are all fabulous okay? J

All Shook Up

Yeah I know I know. I promised you a witty amusing post and I'm letting the team down here. The All Shook Up blog entry is a coming........I promise (so is Christmas, but it may be here sooner than the post entry the way we are going)

Just joshing folks...........but please allow me today to be more than a little grumpy and tired. Im a week or two into a severe bout of insomnia (feel free to post / comment / email me all remedies) and can't seem to think straight. (can't even think crooked come to think about it..........which I shouldn't be, as Im incapable of it right now. The thinking part I mean)

See? I'm making no sense I am?

I think the three sleeping tablets it took last night for me to even toss fitfully for a few fretful hours, and the three I've been taking every night for the last few evenings, choose only to kick in when I'm trying (or pretending) to work.

Please note before abusing my apparent (prescribed) drug abuse, I have tried everything under the sun (and possibly the moon too) for my insomnia to no avail. (PS Im not actually sure what no avail means but its sounds like it fits) So just some foolproof remedies sent through please (I beg you)

Once again, after the You Shook Me All Night Long post (scroll down .....I can't post links remember. Never said I was good at technologly and I'm continually surprised I've managed to even cobble this blogsite together ) anyway, I forgot the random bit of info that you good folk sleep better knowing (dam shame it doesn' work the other way around)

So for your viewing pleasure, todays random tit bit is as follows(who made up that phrase??? A bit of a tit? What is that? I'm certain a man did not pen this phrase, cause a bit of a tit would never be enough for them) With no further adue/adoo/ agdadoo doo doo (again, don't know how to spell that or am even sure of its meaning but I'm struggling today so let me say what I want) Anyway............here it is!!!

1. I love singing Calamity Jane songs. This will come as no surprise to those that (a) know me, and (b) have seen me drunk (please note (c) I've also just realised everyone who DOES know me HAS seen me drunk. This fact amuses me when it probably shouldn't).
Should you ever wish to hear / see my rendition of 'Whip -Crack Away' or 'Once I had a Secret Love', feel free to ask. The following performance may vary in fabulousness (thats a word, don't argue with me) depending how much wine I have consumed, but I assure you I will give it my all. It's all about projection folks.........and trust me, if nothing else I'm bloody loud.

PPS I can also quote a lot of the movie when I'm drunk, (actually even when I'm sober if asked nicely) and if you ever come across me at the pub and I'm slamming my hand down on the bar saying "make mine a sasparilla!" don't be alarmed. Just buy me a drink and nobody gets hurt.

And now.............I'm off to sleep.

See you.......say, Thursday.

You Shook Me All Night Long

I'm quite excited about todays post..........which you have to be patient for till I actually write it. Whilst I wouldn't exactly hold your breath for it, as its a good few hours away due to work / extreme tiredness / lack of wine in the house etc, I assure you it will be hitting the headlines soon.

Even more exciting it's about how on Friday night at the local RSL (not my local, but it was someones local and I just can't say RSL without saying local in front of it... in fact took me all my restraint to not call it the local rissole.........just wasn't sure if any non aussie readers would understand what a local rissole actually was)

Anyway, I somehow managed to attract the attention (sitting quitely with a bottle of red will do that obviously) of a not so sprightly (and not so sober) gent who came to sit next me, attempted to have a small convo and then asked me to dance. I politely (ish) declined and he went on his (very merry) way (actually he moved straight over to another women, thus cementing the believe I have that men never change nor actually grow up)............okay this was all pretty standard local rissole stuff till the next bit happened............

His 'little lady' (her terms not mine, I would only use this terminology if I was in, say, a John Wayne movie) came over to abuse me for trying to steal her man AND ACTUALLY SHOOK ME! (messed my hair and all) She also called me a slut too, which had she not been a sixty odd year old five foot nothing grey haired drunk I may have taken offence to.

So stay tuned for You Shook Me All Night Long (the real post) where I will also tell you about my tarot card reading yesterday. I remember not a lot (wow aren't those things vague!) other than something about (I think) a nine inch rod card and a card called a something of testicles. Either way, I think it sounded a very promising reading and that maybe my luck was about to change in that department.

As Only I Can (or Todays Looser Status No.2)

An amusing thing happened to me today (well even more amusing than being alarmed at the sight of my own self in the mirror wearing nothing but a kooky look and a shower cap a couple of days ago) Today I managed to be both rejected for one lowly job and promoted in another (not lowly job), all within the space of an hour.

If you recall from my earlier post (‘Todays Looser Status’ - scroll down here please, stuffed if I know how to link it like the real bloggers do) you’ll recall that just a few short days ago I was bemoaning my current financial woes and wishing someone would whisk me of to a northern QLD island (actually that last part isn’t true at all, I just wanted to throw that in, in case someone takes pity and wants to shout me a tropical holiday) Anyway, there I was stuck between a rock and a hard place (and let me tell you, its been a while since I’ve been near anything hard – boom boom) with neither phone nor car to my name (well I had both, but both were as useless to me as an ashtray on a bike at the time. For the record, I really hate that saying but anything else is eluding my right now) Being the proactive chick I am (or just really broke and desperate) I decided to shake off my pride and get a second income.

I would become………………a shelf packer. Going by the exciting title of night fill and dawn fill – (which I might add again, I’ve been neither for a while – boom boom) I completed my online application and waited for the call to tell me when to start.

To my great surprise and delight (or perhaps not... I know I write a killer resume and on paper could probably run for Prime Minister) I then heard back that I was to complete my application by simply executing (being the operative word) an online test. Rubbing hands together with glee thinking extra cash was soon to be mine, I followed the links (easy so far) and set to work.

In alarm I realised after about the forth question (on my permanent jobs time by the way, lets pray my employer never reads this blog) I still had the grand total of 876 questions left. Throwing caution to the wind (or fearful of my boss walking in) I quickly answered and moved on to the next section of the exam. The next section involved maths……….

Long story short, maths is not me. I am not maths.

Now I don’t consider myself an idiot, I’m articulate (ish), well spoken (unless I’ve been drinking which happens a little too frequently for everyone’s liking) and hold a responsible job in a well respected company (possibly not well respected for much longer now I work there). Though I don’t currently, I have previously had staff under me (actually maybe I should say I have ‘managed’ staff instead, if they had been under me they might have got that pay rise they were after - boom boom) In other words, I thought I was well qualified enough to do the odd morning shift placing dog food neatly on the shelf in rows. Needless to say, with 876 questions left involving maths and finding some bastard had nicked the calculator off my desk (again) and being incapable of doing any calculations in my own head……….I guessed all the answers.

Guessing ‘0’ for every question proved incorrect obviously. How was I too know they really used these aptitude tests?!?!

Imagine my surprise to open my email this morning to discover I was amongst the bottom 9% to ever sit the exam. Politely outlined in the email was the explanation I was unsuitable for the position I had applied for and that I was not to apply for a further twelve months. I think the exact words were “you suck dumbass, don’t ever contact us again”.

Picking up my wounded pride (and glancing furtively around the office to ensure no one had read the dismal email over my shoulder) I logged out of the personal email account and got back to work. (actually I emailed co-workers on the work email of my sad plight that I had been rejected as a shelf packer – but I did so with a fair amount of bustle and flurry, and looked convincingly busy).

Forty minutes later (or thereabouts, numbers not being my strong point) I was called into a meeting to be told of exciting developments involving pay rises, mobile phones and car allowances, all with my name on them. Allow me to swear here……….this is no shit.

Life just sometimes throws you a curve ball doesn’t it, and you manage to catch the bloody thing.

Long story short again (get it? That’s a joke – nothing I say is ever short) I recovered from the shock – left the boardroom and spent the evening chuckling over the fact Coles had rejected me and my work had promoted me all on the same day.

I’m not really sure what the significance here is, though a co-worker who I believe was under the influence of vodka when she text me this gem – pointed out that selected and rejected are apparently the same in the phone dictionary.

I tell you, we employ some brilliant minds here don’t we?!

And on that note…………I’m off for the evening. I realized I forgot to give you the random things about LW trivia / fantail moment (for those that remember fantails) yesterday, I think I was too caught up in my post about life, love and other disasters. (I may also have partaken of wine and spent the evening going through pictures of past loves if you didn’t guess) So just for you……..two completely useless random things about me

1. I have never eaten the worm in the bottom of a tequila bottle. (I am yet to find a bottle with the worm in there actually, or maybe I’m just too drunk by the end to notice)

2. I once voted for the bundy bear in a state election (yes, I did live to regret it and I ensure every vote now counts to make up for my botched views on politics when I was young)

Worth waiting for wasn’t it? And for the record my car is now back on the road and my phone has been re-connected – try not to ring me all at once.

PS: Big shout out and kisses *mwah mwah* to the mentioned ‘brilliant minded’ co-worker who assists daily in keeping me sane in the mad house that we work in. Raising my glass to you chickie. Cheers!

The Girl Of His Dreams

I’ve been thinking tonight about what a fickle thing Love can be. For once I’m not being cynical either. I know love is grand, I know it makes the world go round, I know it has the almighty power to both start and end wars. But at the end of the day, what a fickle thing Love can be.

It hit me tonight quite unexpectedly as I was sifting through the memories I keep safely tucked away in my mind, that I was once the girl of someones dreams. Someone once took weeks to get the courage to nervously ask me out, someone once dreamed of me with the same butterflies in his tummy that I had in mine. He would have smiled at the thought of me, and dropped my name into conversation, just so he could hear my name on his tongue and paired with his. Someone once wrote ‘I Love you’ in the sand for me, etched it in a tree like teenagers, kissed me in the ocean, baked me a cake, bought me flowers, stroked my head when I was sick, cried with me, laughed with me, made Love with me.

As an adult (or the adult I try so hard to be), I realize that sometimes no matter how hard you want something, it doesn’t mean you get to experience the joy of actually getting it. Life’s not always fair, and please don’t take till you are well into your twenties to learn that like I did. Live each moment, enjoy each second………but don’t count on the one person to be there forever, except for yourself. Learnt to love and rely on your self first. Be the person of your own dreams.

I’ve learnt over the years that relationships can come and go, and your thoughts, feelings and the very essence of who you are can change right along with each one. You learn from each other, you stay a little while or you might stay for a long while. You hopefully take the good parts of each other and share them back and forth, making you each better people because of it.

The longer it goes the further you entwine, getting woven into the fabric of each others lives. Amazing then, how one loose thread unravels you all. In what seems like just a heartbeat you go from being the girl of his dreams, to just a girl he used to know.

And that’s what hit me tonight, as I traded polite email from someone who once had me so far on a pedestal that I must have got giddy from the height. Looking back I was bound to fall eventually. This man had once idolised me, and had once thought I was one of the greatest things to ever happen to him, who told me I opened up his way of thinking and made things seems new and exciting. He used to laugh at the way the most mundane things in our lives became funny with my storytelling, he would touch me on the back when we were standing in a line, just to remind me he was there, and to feel that spark again as our skin touched. Yes, I was once the girl of his every dream and fantasy……. and now? Now I’m not. Now I’m a mere number amongst the contact list on his mobile phone.

Maybe it’s just me cause I’m finding that all too hard to fathom out this evening.

It’s not the break up I regret. People change all the time, I changed. Looking back I changed far more than him. I may have been changing for the better, but I was no longer the girl he fell in love with, and that’s where the thread became loose, and our tapestry of life start unraveling till we couldn’t recognize what we had even made, nor even a recognize the pattern for us to start again.

That’s the thing about love you see, its human nature to change and if we don’t allow our partners to do the same, if we insist that they be the exact person we fell in love with ……..then nothing can grow. We stagnate. We stop being amazed, stop being the best things that can ever happen to anyone. Stop being the girls of their dreams..

For once in my life I see the excitement before me, the roads I have yet to travel, the songs still to be sung, beaches I’ve yet to sit on a dawn, lovers I’ve yet to meet. So much ahead of me. I no longer miss him, or ache for him in anyway. I just feel a sadness, a sorrow that love can make fools of even the wisest. That we can declare someone the love of our lives, when we haven’t even lived our full lives. That we can be someones everything for a while, and when that ‘while’ is over …you are a nothing. A number in a phone perhaps , a forwarding address on the email list. A face in the crowd you might wave hello too then guiltily look away.

I can only trust my judgment that I haven’t gotten it wrong so far, and I was right to hold out. Hold out for the good stuff.

I used to think I would know what he would be like and look like when he came along, this mystery man of mine. I couldn’t tell you any of it now. I have loved and laughed with the tall and short, the underweight and overweight, blonde hair and darkhair, suits and truckdrivers, all different but who have caught my eye and my attention in some way. I thought I had a type, but it turns out I don’t have one after all. I guess when he comes along......the right one, he will just be the right type for me.

I have had my heart broken along this rocky path of love already, and I fear I have broken someone elses too as I passed them by.

Love is indeed a fickle thing.

I wish you all the love in the world tonight, just take it and treat it kindly..

Shower Wisdom

Tonight I had a very big fright.

I caught site of myself – naked and post shower – in the mirror, and the reason for my single status instantly became startling obvious. No, its not what you think, all my bouncy bits were still (more or less) where they were meant to be, and I hadn’t grown any (additional) non bouncy bits in the last week since I’d stood on the scales. My frightening appearance was due to the fact that I was wearing not only an unattractive nana- blue pastic shower cap, but it came complete with an ipod clipped to the side, with short jaunty ear pod lead lengths sticking out at near right angles to my head. I had craftily tucked the main section of the leads into either side. Ingenious thinking on my behalf I'd thought, until I looked in the mirror.

Now if you remember the previous post, Im guilty of going to bed making sure I look acceptable should that man of my dreams happen to stumble upon me at 3am looking for his goddess. (to any ex boyfriends reading who do still happen to stumble upon my doorstep at 3am, thanks to my close proximity and walking distance to the pub, I dont actually refer to any of you here). To my surprise, upon looking in the mirror, I discovered that my standards must really be slipping.

For a start, Im pretty sure its not standard procedure to shower with your Ipod on. I never said I wasn’t obsessive though, and since I got my Ipod shuffle I admit it rarely leaves my head. Following the great Ipod theft of 07 (bastards.... I just hope they liked country music is all I can say as they took off with a 30gb filled with some five thousand songs, of which approx 4824 were country) I had been sans ipod for some time this year as a result. To say I was distraught was understatement. I began to wonder how I functioned without playlists, and dreamt longingly of the day when I got replace the said Pod. (useless trivia here, my Ipod even had a name - Rod the Pod the Third for anyone wondering, which I doubt)

Anyway, long story short I had been pod- less (a word I just coined, but bound to be in your nearest dictionary soon, or available on wilkpedia) for some time, and decided on a whim to throw a hundred towards one of the ducky little shuffle fella’s, to keep me going (yet even further) insane whilst I was waiting to replace Rod The Big Daddy Pod.

I brought the shuffle fella without a very high expectations at all, expecting little, and have promptly fallen in love with him. (This thought alone prompts me to think I should possibly start choosing my men with the same lack of expectation to see if I get pleasantly surprised again) Anyway, despite the fact he can't give me songlists, tell me what song he is playing or is which song he is going to come up with next………..I love him. (Again, this prompts to think that true love really does overlook imperfections - short mental note to self when about to ditch soon to be ex boyfriends in the future)

So here I am, a women in love with her baby pod. I have learned his ducky little size means I can clip him onto pjs or cossies, or go running and not even notice him or need a bulky armband to attach him too (which lets face it, only the serious looking people tend to go for this look, and if they see me and my skinny white legs running along with Itune attached to my arm and my $20 Kmart sneakers they may laugh) But baby pod, he just clips onto your collar, or under your shirt. So discreet!!!!!!!!! (again, mental note – choose discreet men in future) Not for he the jumping flashing hoolah of IM A POD, IM A BIG DADDY POD....... he just quietly sits where you tuck him and plays you your tunes.

His other feature recently discovered is that he turns himself off when I haven’t played with him for a while. Im soo, sooo refraining here from wishing my men did this too. Oh what the heck, I wish my men did this function too! Baby Pod must merely come to the conclusion you haven’t touched his buttons for quite some time and he might just have a nap instead, no fuss, no checking just to make sure you don’t want to play, cause they think you really might want to if you think about it harder…………... Men, take note. The baby pod has it all over you boys.

So anyway, with all baby pods features, which from here on in will be known as the 'BP', I have extended the uses of BP to include going assisting me drift off to sleep (ear pods in on a selection of cruisy tunes…………BP correctly guessing when I've nodded off and switching himself to standby mode, walking, working, hanging out the washing and tonight for the first time taking the BP to the shower. (lucky boy isn't he)

The Secret though is all in a good showercap, so you can clip your poddy onto it without wrecking the fragile plastic (I say fragile, as my shower caps generally come from Tokyo via Clints Crazy Bargains for $2 a packet of six. What Im saying is……….they rip easily so go steady, treat them like your ansells and no one will get hurt)

But by craftily clipping my BP on, arranging the cords so just a bit sticks out and the rest is safely under your widely attractive shower cap, adjust your showerhead down so you get your body wet but not your head………..and there you go, the invention of the naughties............the Shower Pod Baby.

I was having myself a fine time in there this evening, admired my smooth bits, bouncing my wobbly bits to some boppy beats, singing loudly and off key as per usual, a veritable party in my own bathroom.

I stepped out the shower full of my own wonder at my ingenuity to put cap to pod together. I was beginning to wonder how I could market this thing and what I'd wear on that ABC show were all the great inventors get interviewed. I was ready for the big league.

Then the mirror went and bluddy stuffed it up.

You know, when you close your eyes? You are feeling the moment in your head, dancing (even in the shower) with your body and thinking how mighty fine the world is and how oh so clever you are………..doesn’t it hit you like a thud when you glance into the mirror and see what can only be described as a tall, thin slightly kooky looking person with a stained blue plastic shower cap on and wires sticking out her head, looking not nearly as impressive as my mind envisioned me. (My mascara had run also and that wasn’t helping the effect)

It hit me then............that’s why Im single.

I was looking at that reflection thinking to myself “that girl ought to pull herself together before she scares small children”. Then I remembered it was actually me I was looking at, so went to test the small children theory out on the poodle instead. She once again sat up on her satin cushion and stared at me, her eyes saying adoringly “you’re so wonderfull” and apparently failed to even notice plastic cap on head. Okay scrap the poodle, what would she know, she buried a piece of chicken amongst the mound of satin and embroidered pillows on the bed just a few days ago, instead of in the garden like a normal dog. Clearly she isn’t the sanest mind in the house. (technically, that now leaves me as the sanest mind………..a freak in a showercap who dances whilst bathing)

Anyway, at the end of the day, having seen what I look like in a showercap with an ipod attached I came to realize that’s why I was single.

I had let my standards slip to that of even lower than Bridget Jones. Next I’ll be wearing tummy tucking pants and chasing men in embroidered jumpers. (actually better not, the poodle will try bury her chicken in him too no doubt)

So girls, my advice to you, always wear nice pyjamas to bed, moisturize your body at least twice a day, drink plenty of fluids (wine is classified as a fluid here, It goes straight through me so surely this is part of a cleansing progress) and above all else………….dont let anyone catch you in a shower cap that has devices of any sort attached to it. Its just not a good look. For anyone thinking I could look good in anything……….oh I so just proved you dead wrong.

Oh wait, before I go, todays random bits of useless information. ………….drumroll please…………..(and please start sending in usueless questions so I can answer them here) the startling revelation that I've never eaten a big mac. Never. Had a bite once but I cant stand the sauce, the lettuce is too watery and its altogether too much bread. For me, I’ll stick with the quarter pounder. (was briefly going to admit to a real likeness for the Fillet Of Fish here, but have been told by various friends that only the extremely daggy of the population order these. But you know, Ive just admitted to wearing a showercap and ipod together. Who cares if you all know it now………I LIKE FILLET O FISH BURGERS.

Right, goodnight, sleep tight and see you on say Wednesday maybe.

Todays Looser Status

I was determined to write a happy post today. No truly. A lighthearted, frivolous piece of froth about life, love and other disasters. I started the day in a lighthearted, frivolous mood you see.

Just a few short hours into the day however, I discovered my mobile had been disconnected.

This left me with the startling realization I was both carless (car was out of rego) and had no means of getting around, to having no means of communication either (as my small pitiful stand against phone companies, I don’t actually have a home phone line). Honestly I can’t help but think I may as well be on Gilligans Island at the moment, cause at least Skipper and the crew had company. So I sit here alone again with a laptop, and am even sans poodle this time as she too has deemed me to useless to associate with at the moment. Can’t say I blame her, Id probably leave myself right now also if I had the opportunity (if I had a car that could legally be driven anyway).

Even more shocking is the realization that I’m a 33 year old, fully employed member of society and yet I still can’t pay my bills. This can only equate to looser status right??? Sure, there are a million reasons why I am late paying things this month and how I ended up in such a predicament, but long story short is I’m currently broke. And can’t even ring anyone to winge about it!

Yep sucks to be you stuck here reading this my friend. Just bear in mind had my phone been working or had I had net access at home, I’d have been stopping you watching Australian Idol (or Australian Story, depending on which of my handful of faithful fans are reading) by complaining of my woes to you in real time.

On a brighter note (cause we really have to find one before I cry – and I’m never at my most attractive then ) (wait…….. more bracketed thoughts coming up – is it weird the way I try to still look acceptable even when I’m in bed alone? Does anyone else re-apply lip balm, and make sure their pj’s match and your bed clothes are arranged prettily with cushions piled invitingly….just on the off chance that should someone appear lost or broken down at the door at 3am unannounced, and he just happens to be the man of your dreams…….. you look okay? Or is just a quirky trait of mine?) Anyway, after all that questioning of my own antics I cant even recall what the brighter note was I was getting at sorry.

I'm feeling quit the rebellious now though as a result, so maybe tonight though I’ll throw caution to the wind and – gasp – leave my book on the floor next to me instead of with page neatly marked and put back in its place – angled just right on the bedside box, so it looks like those interior magazines shots that have you privately thinking ‘no one could actually live that neatly and perfectly’. (except odd 33 year olds with a bad habit of having their phone disconnected and a perfectly good car sitting in the carport that they can’t afford to register)

And on that note I might leave you. Let your last thought of me be sitting up in bed, typing furiously on a laptop in my perfectly arranged room, in search of happiness somewhere amongst the keys. (Actually I just spied a drawer that hasn’t been quite closed and dam it, I’m going to leave that dam thing like that till morning if it kills me)

On wait, I did forget one thing, in my infinite wisdom (or possibly a drunken moment) I decided I would leave you daily with a random bit of information about yours truly, to help you understand the strange but intriguing mind I posses.

Todays juicy morsal of news is the revelation that I only ever buy white toilet paper. Unclear why, (something to do with my quest for perfection and anything but white not blending in with the decor of my bathroom I'd hazard a guess at) but that’s todays ‘things about me you probably didn’t know yet’ subtitled ‘but will now sleep better knowing'.

Now if you don’t mind, I’m off to close that drawer………………….