Thursday, 27 November 2014

Free Style

A funny thing happened. I started writing this post two weeks ago and my lap top decided to freeze and shit itself so I gave up. Then last night I checked in here and realised that my half finished draft had been published. Weird. Oh well, just as well nobody reads my crap anyway.

So here I am again. No point in explaining my absence since those two optimistic people who may still be reading at this point are used to me popping up whenever I feel like it. Suffice to say it involves a husband on crutches and a house in utter disarray. I decided it would be an extremely helpful time to have a major clear out. Somehow it ended up progressing to clearing out the carpet in two bedrooms. Now we need new carpet. I'm a very logical person. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Shut up

As for Mickey Blue Eyes and his crutches, turns out he's even more logical than me. He was still playing soccer at 51. One dislocated knee later, he may finally quit. So that's me. Running him backwards and forwards to physio therapy and playing nurse. Somebody offered to loan me a sexy nurse costume. I'm sure I would look smokin' hawt in a matron uniform but I was thinking more Nurse Ratched than Nurse Racy. Muahahaha!

Meanwhile, I also decided to join Weight Witches because I've always wanted to be a witch like Samantha on Bewitched. I imagined myself just twitching my nose and instantly being lighter and healthier. Then I could just fly off on my broomstick and ditch the whole house wife gig, Because frankly, that part of Bewitched never really made sense. Why would a witch with magical powers want to forsake those powers to be a normal house wife? You can see that nothing has changed since my absence. I'm still asking the important questions.

Anyway, it turns out that there is no magic spell and you actually have to eat healthy food! How frightfully rude. However, cakies are allowed in small amounts. Phew. I'm only two weeks in and going well, but now that I've made a public announcement on this here blog just watch me fail! Let's just agree that you'll smile politely and not mention it if you see me and it looks like I've fallen off the wagon. Okay? We're good then. Deal.

It seems that while all of the above was happening Christmas has snuck up on me in it's merry little way. Thank goodness I don't have to worry about Christmas shopping! That's Santa's job, right? It's totally his fault if nothing turns up under the tree! Sorted.

I have managed to put up a dodgy little Christmas tree. But presently the house resembles something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried  Alive in preparation for having the carpet laid on the weekend. Then we'll be able to get back to normal and just resemble a regular episode of Hoarders. What a relief.

On Friday Mickey Blue Eyes has to see a surgeon and find out whether or not his knee will require surgery. Fun times. So there will be no holidays for us and unfortunately we'll have to cancel that lavish trek around Europe I had planned. I did! When we win the lottery. And we never take a ticket, so it's really looking promising. Oh well, I can dream, can't I? Sigh.

The boys are counting down the days until school finishes and Santa arrives. Mr 10 and 6 were the proud recipients of a Principal's Award. Oh  yes, last month Mr 5 became Mr 6! We celebrated in style with a party at Maccas. Clearly I made the right decision in losing the bogan theme around here. We're not bogans AT ALL!  Shut up.

Another funny thing keeps happening. Every time I sit down to write a blog post, this lap top freezes and shits itself, so I'm just going to quit while I'm ahead and end it here.  Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year everyone!  Or something....

Linking up for The Lounge.

Monday, 20 October 2014

A Continuing Theme

Those of you who have read my previous post may remember my description of my blogging style as being rather ad hoc. Therefore, it will probably come as no surprise to you when I reveal that my parenting style is, *coughs*..somewhat similar. Using the phrase 'somewhat similar' in the sense of EXACTLY THE SAME. Ahem...

But aren't we all just making this shit up as we go? Or is that just me?

Before I had children of my own, I had such lofty, ridiculous ideas of what a perfect mother was like.  For the record, Mr 5 informed me on Saturday evening that I AM one. A perfect Mum. I guess that settles it. Oh, and it involves giving them hot dogs for dinner and putting Scooby Doo on the telly, just in case you were doing it wrong. You're welcome.

My pre-children lofty ideals involved nothing of the kind. Sigh.

There is probably a reason why I was so deluded. Until I had children of my own at age 30, I really had little to no experience of being around babies or children. Except for being around a younger cousin or two, and perhaps nursing them now and again, absolutely nothing. I never babysat or really spent any time being a full-time carer of a child or children.

I was so judgemental of other parents. If I heard a child having a tanty in a shopping centre I would be the first person to roll my eyes in scorn. My children would never behave like that! If I saw somebody feeding an infant commercially prepared baby foods, I'd shudder. How hard could it be to puree  home made mush?

I have always been a shy, quiet and introverted person. I also have an official diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. This happened at age 40, three years ago. Somehow I did vaguely realise that my extreme need for solitude and quiet time would be a challenge for me once I had kidlets. However, I still wanted them. I figured I'd probably have two children at the most and that they would most likely be quiet little bookworms like me. Wrong.

My boys are quite articulate and love a good chat, particularly Mr 10. They're not shy and say whatever they think without reserve. They also make me laugh constantly, which is a plus. On the flip side,  there are heated arguments and rivalry. This means constant noise and attempts to smooth things over and restore peace.

I also didn't realise that having children meant remembering stuff. A LOT of stuff. Like their names. I mean, there's a reason I call all three of them 'honeybunch'. Shut up. It beats constantly tripping over their respective names until I hit the right one.

Don't get me wrong, I love my boys passionately. I'm the kind of mother who can hug her children and say 'I love you' a million times a day, but on a practical level I'm sadly lacking. I couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery, as the saying goes. I'm also extremely ad hoc regarding routines. Even when I have managed to sustain a good habit, such as exercising everyday, I don't have a routine. I just do it whenever, at different times of the day.

I suck big sweaty balls when it comes to time management and multi-tasking. I'm constantly off with the pixies, so I suddenly snap out of my little world and realise it's dinner time when my stomach starts growling. Somehow, I'm quite astonished that the Dinner Fairies haven't arrived. I realise with a start that I'm the one whose supposed to be wearing the fairy wings and tiara. This is my job. 

When I do try to plan in advance and write lists, I'm STILL quite capable of forgetting essential stuff on the list. Alternatively,  I'll end up forgetting to take the list. This means that I'll try to rely on my dodgy memory and become confused about which ingredients I needed for which recipe. Plus, I agonise over making decisions about the simplest thing, so I don't really like grocery shopping. I tend to just randomly chuck things in to avoid this pointless indecisiveness and then end up buying way to much crap.

By the time I've lugged all the crap home I'm too overwhelmed to cook, anyway. I find cooking for a family everyday a chore and somewhat stressful, instead of the relaxing ritual it seems to be for some people. So I stick to the most basic, boring meals of meat and veg, or salad, spaghetti bolognase or roasts. Sometimes (okay, a lot of the time) I cheat and buy a cooked chook to have with salad or just order take-away. Then, I feel guilty that I'm bringing my boys up on crap.

I'm constantly going on at my boys about picking up after themselves, but the truth is, I'm just as disorganised and messy. At least I've got hypocrisy down to a fine art. Winning!

Unfortunately, Mr 13 seems to have inherited my tendency to forgetfulness. He forgets and leaves things at school, such as his sport uniform. Then I forget to ask him when I pick him up. I end up feeling sorry for him because I suspect a lot of 13 year olds are similar, except they have a mother who's got all that shit covered. On the positive side he also has a good heart and a sense of humour and I'd like to think he got some of that from me too, so it's not all bad.

When it comes to teaching my boys organisational skills, I may as well attempt to teach them how to speak fluent Japanese. NO FUCKING IDEA IN HELL.

I rarely talk about my Assburgers Asperger's here as I fear it will sound like me whinging and whining as weepy violin music swells in the background. I realise it's not a death sentence and I'm not in a wheel chair. This is the one of the best things about it and yet at the same time somewhat frustrating. Just because people can't see anything debilitating on the surface, that doesn't mean that I don't have genuine struggles.

The shrink (I say shrink because it's easier to spell) who diagnosed me assured me that some women on the spectrum that she sees are sometimes quite austere and don't like to show affection, not even to their children. She added that from a psychologist's (did I spell it right?) point of view this (showing love and affection) is much more important than routines and a spotless home. I cling to those words everyday. She may have just been trying to make me feel better but it's all I've got, so don't rain on my parade, okay?

So yes, my boys may always live in CHAOS*, but there will also be cuddles!  LOTS of cuddles. And cakies! Let's not forget about those. As if I could. Shut up.

* CHAOS stands for Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. I read this on somebody else's blog, but am unable to remember whose. So if I stole it from you, sorry! But I did mention my memory issues. Erm...what was I saying?

Are you a forgetful person?

Do you ever feel like a hypocrite?

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link

And a VERY belated link up with The Lounge.

 No, I didn't forget, I just have dodgy internet connection. Outta here.....

Monday, 13 October 2014

Hello Again

Hello there! Me again. Thought you'd gotten rid of me, didn't you? Sorry!

As George Costanza would say: I'M BACK, BABY, I'M BACK!  SO NER! The 'so ner' bit was from me, not George.

I just haven't bothered posting here for a while for the following reasons:

School holidays
Dodgy internet connection
Nothing remotely interesting to post about
I was too busy totalling our old car (ahem)
We had to get a new car (see above)
Did I mention laziness?

So now that I've confessed that I'm tragically lazy, (just to tell you something you didn't already know), I have a couple more shocking revelations.

As I mentioned above, I managed to write off our old car. On the last week of term before the school holidays, I set off one afternoon to pick up Mr 13. As I was driving along the narrow street at the back of the school which leads to the car park, I spotted him walking towards me. In my stupidity, I kept my eyes off the road for just a second or two too long and BAM! I hit a parked car. Genius.

According to Mr 13 it happened because he is just so devastatingly handsome that I couldn't take my eyes off him. True.

It's hard to explain, but because of the way or angle I hit the other car, the entire front left tyre and suspension were completely stuffed. Fun times.

On the positive side, we had been intending to get a new car for ages so this sped up the process considerably.

Meanwhile, here is the most shocking revelation of all:

I haven't really missed blogging much. I know. How shameful. I often read about how passionate others are about writing and realise that I'm not. Once I get started I do like it and usually feel better, just like with exercise. However, I'm not passionately driven to do it everyday.

Therefore, I have two choices:

1. Quit blogging
2. Continue with my ad hoc blogging approach
3. Realise that nobody really cares one way or the other anyway, so just get a life and get on with it.

Oh okay, that was three choices. I'm not good with numbers.

I have heard of something called 'slow blogging', so I'm sure I could make 'ad hoc blogging' a thing. It's totally revolutionary! I could even come up with a printable! It would say something like:


Blog whenever you like, however you like!

On second thought, it sounds like too much effort to come up with that printable, so just write it on a sticky note, okay? Done.

In keeping with the ad hoc approach, I'm just jumping from one topic to the next, in a totally random fashion. Which brings me to the topic of this week's I Must Confess: Fashion. Specifically our most embarrassing pieces. Now I'm laughing at myself for calling my clothes 'pieces'. Snort. Pieces of crap, perhaps.

 It would be far too difficult for me to single out certain things that are more embarrassing than others. All of my 'fashion' (and I use that term rather loosely, just as I wear most of my clothes, coincidentally), is embarrassing. This is due to the fact that 90% of it sports a Millers tag. Classy. That is a shameful enough confession without providing photographic evidence as well.  Oh all right, if you insist....

Micky Blue Eyes and I looking windblown and ever so stylish
in the Blue Mountains about a month ago

The other 10% of my clothes sport an equally classy label such as Best & Less. I like to mix it up a bit. I've even splurged and bought some shoes a week or two ago from Payless Shoes. Are you detecting a theme here?

If that theme seems to scream: Lifestyles of the Broke And Aimless, then you've totally got where I'm coming from. On the plus side, at least you can leave my blog feeling smug and superior. Unlike other blogs or on Facey where everyone seems to be just better than you. In every way: clothes, lifestyle, holidays, diets, running.

So I'm providing a community service really. No matter how pathetic your life seems, there is always somebody more pathetic! ME! You're welcome.

Over and out for now. Stay tuned for the next ad hoc post. It might be tomorrow, next week, next month or next  year, you just never know! Ad hoc blogging! It's a thing! Spread the word. Or not. Whatever. Only if you feel like it. That's the idea. Ad hoc.

Later dudes!  

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link

What are you having for dinner?

(You see what I did there? Totally ad hoc question, in keeping with the ad hoc theme!)  Shut up....

Monday, 22 September 2014

Life Hacks: Ness Style

At the rather *ahem* mature age of 43 I have certainly learnt a few things. Chiefly, how to make all those mundane and never-ending daily tasks slightly less painful. 

So it's only fair that I should share with you my profound wisdom. 

So here goes: 


1. Google it. Or, the more blunt version: JFGI! Which stands for: Just fucking Google it! 

I recently discovered the best way to clean a microwave by this unique and innovative method. Incidentally, this involves placing a jug with some water and vinegar into the microwave and putting it on for five minutes. The resulting steam will then efficiently loosen all the debris and you will be able to wipe it clean easily. Yep, I'm a GENIUS. 

2. Purchase all pairs of socks in identical colours. This way there will be less chance of them escaping via your washing machine to that parallel universe where all the odd socks and lost pens live. But there will still be an annoying odd one. There is ALWAYS an odd one. There is nothing you can do about this. Just make a sock puppet with it for your kids. Alternatively, you could always go completely feral hippie and just avoid wearing all socks and shoes altogether. Winning! 

3. Make a daily to-do list. On this list make sure you always include breakfast, lunch AND dinner. That way, there is a good chance that you'll tick at least three things off for the day. Add morning and afternoon tea as well for bonus points. Unless you are one of those bizarre people who consistently forget to eat, in which case I've got nothing for you. If you have to be reminded to eat there is no hope for you. 

4. Multi-task. For example, I have been known to cling wrap my hair (while waiting for a dodgy DIY home dye to work), soak my feet (for a dodgy DIY pedi) and simultaneously drink coffee while surfing the net and watching TV. Again, I reiterate: GENIUS!

5. Never iron sheets, table cloths, tea towels, undies, or, in fact, any clothes at all. After all, ain't nobody got time for THAT, as the now infamous saying goes. Plus, if you're classy like me you can just be the Queen Of Polyester (or any other cheap and nasty synthetic fabric). No ironing required! 

And, finally, my most important life hack: ignore all advice! 

Particularly mine....ahem. Unless it works for you. We can only do our best and whatever works for us. There is no right or wrong.

The only thing I INSIST that you do is to have a cup of tea and cakie! Pronto! Works for me! 


Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link. 

What are your life hacks? 

Monday, 15 September 2014

In Praise Of My Parents And Parents-In-Law

Today I'm confessing to what I REALLY think about my parents and parents-in-law. This could be interesting. But it's actually pretty straight forward for me.

The truth is, I think they are all AMAZING. And they didn't even pay me to say that! Seriously.

Micky Blue Eyes and I consider ourselves to be extremely lucky and blessed to have both of our parents still alive in their 70's and still actually married to each other for decades. Impressive.

I mean, they've stayed married for that long without attempting to kill each other. How did they manage to do that? Ahem...

My parents, Alison and Michael, were married in 1966. My brother arrived in 1968 and I made my way into the World a few years later in 1971. 

My parents on their wedding day, November 11, 1966.  It's obvious
where I got my striking good looks from.

Growing up with my parents was a wonderful experience. My parents provided just the right amount of firmness with an abundance of unconditional love.

This is still the case today, for myself, Mick and my boys. The boys have doting Grandparents. Not 'dotting' as Micky Blue Eyes sometimes mispronounces it. He has this weird habit of doing that. Mispronouncing words. But that's a whole other post....

Me with my Mum and Dad (and a certain little man)
 on my 40th birthday, January 15th, 2011.

To be perfectly honest I'm still something of a Mummy's girl, even at the ripe old age of 43. Shut up.

But to all you naysayers who think cutting off the apron strings is long overdue, I say this:

First of all, my Mum never even wore an apron! (Okay, it may not have been meant quite so literally....)

Secondly, Mum is like my best friend as well as my Mum, and I wouldn't have it any other way.


Thirdly, she makes THE BEST apple pie and cakies in the whole entire Universe! And I'm the Cakie Queen! Winning!

On a more serious note, from what I can gather, a fair amount of folk out there do have a somewhat fraught relationship with their mother and/or parents. I'm very aware of how fortunate I am.

My parents-in-law are extremely private sort of people, so they may not like me talking about them in this space. Therefore I won't say too much. Only that they've always accepted me into the family in all my weird and quiet wonderful ways, and how very much I appreciate it.

 At our wedding a hundred 19 years ago, Micky Blue Eyes became a tad tongue-tied during his speech. This resulted in him thanking his parents for 'bringing him up under a roof that didn't leak'.  It was funny at the time, but you had to be there.

Well, not only did they bring him up 'under a roof that didn't leak', they also brought him up to be an exceptional human being. I am very thankful for this, because I benefit from having such a wonderful husband and father for my children.

Nauseating, but true. I apologise, I should have provided sick bags for this post.

I've just realised that I don't have many recent photos of my parents or parents-in-law. It seems as though we're all camera hogging exhibitionists. Or something.

I'm not even sure why I get so stressed when the silly season rolls around.  My parents and parents-in-law are such good sports that they don't force us to race around like mad things to their respective homes and stuff ourselves with multiple Christmas feasts on one day. We've always been lucky enough to alternate each year between spending Christmas day with one side and boxing day with the other.

And it's actually not an ordeal to spend time our families, at Christmas, and throughout the year. How lucky are we to be able say that?

All together now.....Nawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

It's a short and sweet post today. Sickly, sickly sweet. I sincerely hope you're all feeling warm and fuzzy right now and not terribly ill. Oops. Over and out.

Linking up for I Must Confess.

How do you REALLY feel about your parents and/or in-laws?

Or, if that's a loaded question, just tell me a joke instead....

Thursday, 11 September 2014

Introverts Are Still Awesome!

You may remember my lovely little self-indulgent stroll down an introverted lane. Well, I now want to take another wander down this path and present my much anticipated Part Two! I know you've probably been waiting for it with bated breath. What's that? You have no idea what I'm on about? HMPH. You can read it here.

Anyway, as I was saying, I am really quite the massive introvert. Even alcohol doesn't 'bring me out of my shell'. Instead, I just feel sleepy and mellow after one or two drinks. After a third I'll either feel light-headed and sick or slip into a coma. I'm SUCH a party animal!

Fortunately, I never attend many parties. Unless they are children's parties. Nobody appears to have 'at home' parties anymore. Or, if they are, we're not being invited. This means that I may have to sit in a McDonald's/Play Centre/Bowling Alley with a few other unfamiliar parents and make polite chit-chat. Not surprisingly, I suck at it. 

I'll either go with my favourite option: mutism. Or, alternatively, I'll completely put my foot in it and blurt out way too much information. 

Like the time one Mum was chatting away about a friend who had tragically lost a baby half way through her pregnancy, yet still had to give birth.

"I couldn't imagine having to go through that!" she said, almost in tears "It would be terrible!"

"Yes, it is," I replied, without thinking "the same thing happened to me." 

The poor woman looked thunderstruck. Of course there was no way she could ever have known that. I wouldn't say it was exactly helpful of me to bring it up. She apologised, clearly wishing the ground would swallow her. Good one, Ness.

Ditto the time when I used to attend Playgroup with Mr 5 before he started school. One of the Mums there expressed her worry about her Dad who was having a colonoscopy that day. I proceeded to inform her how Micky Blue Eyes has one every year after having had bowel cancer in 2004. Her worried expression turned to one of terror. Well played yet again, Ness.  Way to go with the social gaffes!

As Mr 10 would say in a faux American drawl:


No wonder I mostly stick to what I'm best at. Shutting right up.

Yes sir, selective mutism and I are besties. 

ALL VALE NESSKI: Bringing you awkward silences since 1971!

Another phenomenon that came into play during the Play Group era was my introverted tendency to suffer from a 'social hangover'. I briefly touched upon this before.

Playgroup only consisted of a measly two hours a week of social interaction.  That's nothing, right? So why did I go home every week and feel like sobbing from exhaustion? The next week would roll around and I'd feel barely recovered.

Meanwhile, the other Mums revealed how they schlepped their kidlets to various groups on multiple days of the week. I was STUNNED to learn this. Seriously. STUNNED. 

I couldn't have been more shocked if they'd revealed that they liked to snort cocaine off a hooker's arse while their kids watched. 

Okay, I may be exaggerating just a teeny bit. But it is quite amazing to me how you weirdo extroverted folk like this socialising caper so much. 

I guess I could force myself out of my comfort zone once in while. Speaking of which, I'll be attending Mr 5's school assembly this afternoon. There will be crowds, noise, parents, children and off-key singing. Last time I attended Mr 10's assembly I accidentally sat in the wrong spot in the school hall. This resulted in me being mistaken for a casual teacher twice.

It only occurred to me later that I should have totally went with it Jack Black/School Of Rock style and pretended I was. I'm sure I could have had those kids belting out Carpenters songs before school ended! Shut up, they are rock! CLASSIC rock, I tell you! Oh all right, classic soft rock. Adult contemporary? Okay, so they're bloody easy listening! So what? HMPH. 

I'm rambling again, aren't I? Oh well, this is the only place where I do it, therefore I'm allowed. So ner!

It is quite interesting being a shy, introverted Aspie and being a mother of three amazing but noisy boys! On the one hand, I often crave peace and solitude. On the other hand, my family are my coat of armour against the World.

An oldie but a goodie 

In all my many awkward moments I can remind myself that I don't have to worry about what others think of me. I have Micky Blue Eyes and the boys who love and accept me. We are a family of introverts. The only difference is, my boys are certainly NOT shy! 

I'm still plodding through Susan Cain's Quiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Can't Stop Talking and finding it fascinating.  See, introverts ARE fascinating! I knew it! I'm totally riveting. So the fact that you're probably nodding off around now is not my fault. No way. 

Anyway, Susan Cain has a Manifesto for Introverts.

 I'd like to make up my own manifesto, but I'll have to think about it further in order to come up with something poetic and wise.

In the mean time, you can always count on good old Grumpy Cat:

Linking up for The Lounge and Laugh Link.

Do you have a manifesto?

What does family mean to you? 

Tuesday, 9 September 2014


I've been tagged in the Ms Mystery Case Worth Casing Awards
 by the Queen of Awesome herself, Tegan over at Musings Of The Misguided. 

Mystery Case
This means I'm worth 'casing'. This is the same as stalking expect without the creepy bit. And why wouldn't you stalk this blog?!

That was a rhetorical question. No need to answer. Thank you. 

Anyway, a big thanks to Tegan! 

Apparently I must answer five questions and then tag five other bloggers. The first part is easy. Here goes:

1. How long have you been blogging and why did you start?

Um, I think I started around March of 2012. I started because I used to write these silly witty Christmas/End of Year letters to friends. My friends were too polite to tell me to give up LOVED them. So I figured why stop at just boring my friends when there is an entire blogosphere out there?! You're welcome!

2. If your wardrobe could talk what would it say about you and tell us about your favourite or most worn item?

Well, it would most likely say something along the lines of 'Back away from the Cakies for FFS!!' Followed closely by: "There are a myriad of colours besides black!" But mostly it would just say: "You need to tidy me once in a while!"

My favourite and most worn item would be my trusty dressing gown, followed by my trackies. Ahem.  I also have a long sort of drapey coat type arrangement. I bought it from Autograph a few years ago and I've worn it TO DEATH. It's still got a few years of wear left in it. Shut up. 

3. What's your idea of the perfect date night?

What's that? Oh, you mean where you get to go out with your partner without kids to a restaurant that doesn't serve chicken nuggets? Yes, that would be lovely. Followed by watching an entire movie without interruption. 

4. What's on your Worth Casing list?

This is where I would love to be able to drop names like Prada and Diane Von Furstenburg with the ease of a svelte, cashed-up yummy mummy. The truth is this: I went into Millers the other day (I know. THE SHAME...) with my five dollar reward voucher to buy one of their long (black- what else?) cardies and there were none left!! How frightfully RUDE!  Plus, I really need some new shoes. Flat, sensible ones. Again, I reiterate: shut UP. 

5. If you had a theme song what would it be and why?

I'm not exactly sure but it would have to be something sad and weepy. probably involving violins. Especially after admitting to all of the above. Send In The Clowns? 

Now this is where it all starts to get tricky and too much for my tiny little brain. I'm supposed to tag five other bloggers. This is problematic because it appears that every blogger in the known universe has already been tagged. Besides which, you know I love you all, so how could I possibly narrow it down to only five?? 

I know, I know. I'm cheating and not playing the game right. But I've always been crap at these chain letter type things. So I'll probably have some awful tragedy happen to me now. Like ending up virtually destitute and friendless, shopping at Millers in sensible shoes and listening to weepy music.....

Oh wait....


What's your theme song? 

Monday, 8 September 2014

Top Five

I've decided to regurgitate this oldie but goodie post simply because I can't be bothered writing a new one it was so brilliant it deserves a second viewing. You're welcome.

Today I'm confessing to my top five favourite celeb hunks. These are the dudes I'd love to have a 'free pass' for from Micky Blue Eyes if the opportunity ever, erm... arose.

Highly likely, since I'm always jet-setting off to the Oscars and hanging around the Glitterati. Glitteratai? Whatever. As long as it's not actual glitter. That stuff is EVIL.

It's hard to narrow it down to five. But I'll try. I'm thinking: Hugh Jackman, Colin Firth, Bradley Cooper, Ryan Reynolds and that Irish dude from Bridesmaids. Okay, he's not even that good looking but it's the accent. Shut up. 

The truth is, even if the all the above gentleman were agreeable to this arrangement, (and let's face it, why wouldn't they be? I certainly do ooze sex appeal and all that), Micky Blue Eyes certainly would NOT give me a free pass for ANYBODY.  How rude. You'd think I married him or something and made some sort of promise to be faithful, forsaking all others. Oh.


The man is frightfully jealous. Well, you can't blame him. I did mention my undeniable sex appeal. This, coupled with my extremely flirtatious nature, would be a cause for concern. Snorts.

Seriously though, there would be no free passes for me. And I would never give him one either. Sorry dude, you'll have turn Jen Hawkins down. The poor lass will just have to settle for the Adonis she married. Poor old Jen.

If we ever wanted to indulge in our secret passions and crushes we'd have to resort to a good old-fashioned affair. There is only one problem with this option. Actually a few problems.

My Top Five Reasons I Could Never Have An Affair

5. I would have to become an expert liar. While I am quite adept at making up crap writing witty words for this blog, I am less able to glibly lie, especially directly to some body's face. Plus, my memory is so shocking I'd have trouble recalling my own web of lies. This would clearly make me the worst adulterer EVER.

4. I would be really bad at sexting. I'd need lessons from Warnie. Hmmm, then again, Warnie wasn't that great at it either, was he? I'd have no idea how to send my lover photos of my national geographics boobs. Worse still, I have no idea how to delete texts. I've only recently come into the 21st century and obtained an android phone. Shut up. 

3. I would actually have to shave my legs once in while. This would certainly make Micky Blue Eyes suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. Not to mention other areas that would require deforestation. I meant my 'moutache' and pits! Nobody wants to know about any other bits. 


Which brings me to my next point...

2. Nobody has propositioned me! Not once! EVER!

You'd think that in the space of almost twenty years somebody would have tried to get their leg over. But no. Unless you count that creepy old dude with trousers up to his arm pits who rubbed himself against me in a crowded elevator at the shops once. Nothing. 

Clearly it's my devastating sex appeal that is intimidating. I'm just too much woman for all these men. Way too much.

Okay, I suppose I do need to lose weight. Sniff. 

And the number one reason I could never have an affair....

Drum roll please! (You'll have to imagine it...)


Seriously, who has the time or inclination for all that sneaking around and sexting? It all seems like a bit too much effort to me. 

I'm sure there are certain websites with names like sleazebagsanddesperadosdotcom where I could hook up with some
creepy old dude with trousers up to his arm pits hot dude if I was that way inclined, but for some reason that I simply can't fathom, this just doesn't appeal to me. 

So there you have it. All the reasons I wouldn't have an affair.

Oh, those reasons and the fact that I'm truly, madly and deeply in love with Micky Blue Eyes and would never look sideways at another man....

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh my! What were we talking about again? I got distracted doing my neck exercises. Okay, I'm off to do some house work more neck exercises. Bye! 

Linking up for I Must Confess ,Open Slather  and Mummy Mondays.

Who are your 'top five'?

Could you ever have an affair?

Friday, 5 September 2014

Ticking Off Lists Ticks Me Off: Another Post About Nothing

To be perfectly honest with you I know NOTHING. In fact, I know a whole lot of nothing about absolutely NOTHING.  I’m a nothing expert, if you will. Just what the World needs.  Especially with all these ProBlogger posts circulating the blogosphere about ‘useful’ content. 


Instead, I bring to you a completely useless post about, you guessed it: NOTHING! You’re welcome.

I know that I am frightfully hungry right now and uncertain whether to plunge ahead with that trusty meal we tend to call lunch. You see, my parents mentioned that they would be calling in and I fondly imagined that this might coincide with lunch as it has at other times. But they haven’t appeared as yet. Which is extremely rude, as I expected them to provide the lunch. HMPH.

(Mum, I’m joking if you’re reading this!) Oh who am I kidding? Of course she's reading this! Nobody else does. Sniff. 

I know that I’m in a rather wistful, dreamy, reflective mood today. You know, as opposed to all the other days when I’m alert, efficient and organised. Not to mention delusional. Shut up. We weren’t supposed to mention that!

I know that I have at least attempted to become alert, efficient and organised. In the last few months I have started developing a habit of writing down a to-do list and ticking it off. I know! Ground breaking! I’ve always been cutting edge. 

Anyway, despite my forays into list-making, there is no discernible evidence of this unique endeavour. My house still resembles a war-zone with no end of things to-do in sight. This is most disheartening. What I would like to know is: how do people receive pay-offs from house-keeping and organising? I suppose they are just better at it than me. Bloody show-offs.


This ticking off lists is starting to tick me off. I want pay-offs! After all, if I’ve gone to the astonishing effort of doing and completing five million things in a day, I expect fan-fare: crowds cheering, balloons and celebratory champagne.  Plus, a million dollars in cold hard cash, thanks very much. 

If Kim Kardashian can demand buckets of cash just for turning up to an event with her large arse and even larger attitude, I don’t see why I, a modest house wife, shouldn’t be able to demand the same. 

I consistently turn up in my own ramshackle home, with my large arse, and make a lacklustre attempt at maintaining some semblance of disorder. I mean, where is the justice? 

On a side note, isn't ‘ramshackle’ a most delightful word? It’s almost worth having a ramshackle home, just so that I can confidently use the word ‘ramshackle’.  Dilapidated and dishevelled would also work here. 

Who wants to have a home that could only be described as ‘perfect’when you can have one that is ramshackle, dilapidated and dishevelled?  Everybody?  Oh. As you were, then.

I still stand by the above words.  And live with them. In them? Whatever.

You know how I mentioned that I was frightfully hungry a few paragraphs ago. It would appear that I am now ravenous. I may have to go to all the effort of making my own lunch. Shocking. 

Related: when Micky Blue Eyes asks me ‘What are you having for lunch?’ what he really means is ‘Make me lunch’. As I typed that he did make his own toast. But none for me. Grounds for divorce really, if you ask me.

In other astounding news, it’s raining! Why not? Just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

Oh well, I guess I had better go and have lunch and tick it off my list.  Of course it’s on my to-do list! Breakfast, lunch AND dinner! That way, at least I know I’ll definitely tick three things off my list of five million. Winning! 

What's ticking you off? What things do you know? 

Monday, 1 September 2014

Cakie Queen

Well, today's confession is perfect for me. The self-confessed Queen Of Cakies. Actually it's not much of a confession. It's old news. Anybody who has ever read this space knows I'm the Cakie Queen.

I love cake but it doesn't seem to like me. It appears to want to make me fat. How frightfully RUDE. The same phenomenon applies to my other weakness: chocolate. It really is quite unfair that this love affair is unrequited. Sniff. 

It has also become a clandestine affair. Forbidden fruit and all that. Over a year ago the not very surprising shocking news came that my cholesterol levels were a concern. Additionally, my blood sugar was somewhat borderline. This would have indicated that I should have dutifully started the I Quit Sugar programme, pronto.

Instead, I embarked on the I Don't Really Want To Quit Sugar So  I'll Pretend That Didn't Happen Programme. This involves inserting ones head in ones posterior. Then compromising your health by continuing in much the same vein, but with an extra dollop of guilt. As if the guilt I already had wasn't quite enough, thanks very much. Yes, I'm very mature.

After all, the days of being able to take the 'Mars a day' advertising slogan quite literally(which I did as a teen), were well and truly behind me decades ago.

Feeling foolish, and thinking I needed a massive kick up my afore- mentioned rather large posterior, I signed up for the Get Healthy Programme. You know the one. They advertise it on the telly in between all the ads for Maccas and Magnums. You have a telephone coach call every week to guide you on a path to healthy eating.

Apparently, I seem to have confused it with the Get Unhealthy Programme. I have made some improvements. I'm cooking a lot more healthy meals for the family. But my sugar addiction remains intact. Sigh.

I appear to be one of those folk whose only arsenal against avoiding temptation (especially of the cake shaped variety) is simply never having the temptation in front of me. Ever.

Easy peasy.

All I need to do is avoid all shops and restaurants and social occasions FOREVER. Meanwhile, I can live on the rations that Micky Blue Eyes pokes through the bars of the cage I'll have to stay in. I'll be so feral without my sugar fix I won't be fit for any human contact. Done.

The other day I had a conversation with my Mum that went something like this:

"Have you been back for your blood test again?"

"Um, no..." I replied.

"You better make sure you do it!" she admonished me. It was just like I the time when I was three years old and scribbled all over the living room walls. I was a very naughty girl.

"Okay." I agreed meekly, already feeling faint. I hate the thought of blood, let alone the sight of it.

The same day, I arrived home to find a reminder from my GP complete with a pathology slip. I think the universe is trying to tell me something. Well, my Mum and my GP are, anyway.

This shit is getting real. I really am a middle aged woman.  Who knew? It may actually be well past the time to relinquish my crown and officially step down as the Cakie Queen. Sigh. Double Sigh. Triple Sigh. Hysterical sobbing even.

I know. I'm frightfully immature. I can't accept eating cakies and sugar in moderation. Meanwhile, there are children dealing with the reality of living with Diabetes every day. I know I'm being ridonkulous. I also know ridonkulous is not word. But I DON'T CARE. So ner! 

Anyway, I'm going to go and have my blood test this week and accept the reality of whatever I'm told.

On the plus side, I bought a set of scales the other day. I tested the display model and it told me I've lost about 1.5 kilos!! Okay, that's not much. But I'll take anything, considering the amount of cake I shovel in. Ahem.

And I promise I won't bore you with anymore posts about my weight or failed attempts to give up my beloved cakies. Deal.

Linking up for 
I Must Confess.

What is your favourite sweet treat? 

Have you ever been successful in giving it up?

Is the I Quit Sugar programme really as awful as it sounds? 

Monday, 25 August 2014

Monday Morning Moaning

I must confess that I have NO IDEA what little mini confessions I  can confess to. I'm desperately trying to think of something and coming up as empty and blank as...well, my mind. So this could be interesting.

Or, you know, as boring as batshit. But bear with me. You know you want to. Okay, you don't really want to.  Just think of me, if you will, as that crashing, heaving bore you sometimes end up sitting next to on a plane or at any social occasion. You know the kind. The ones that want to regale you with every intricate detail of their tedious existence. Meanwhile, you sit there apparently spellbound but really suppressing the urge to scream. But you're  too nice and polite so you  smile and nod instead. Or is that just me? 

Alternatively, I guess you could just click away right now. I can't really stop you.  Hmph.  

You're still here?  Oh. I guess that means I do have to come up with  something. Hmmm, let's see....

I've got nothing.

In which case, I might as well just steal every one else's ideas be inspired by others and list the things I'm completely over. Every other bugger blogger seems to have given this a spin and I like to be cutting edge and original.  Shut up. 

The things I am COMPLETELY over, in  no particular order, are:


More specifically, getting up on a Saturday morning and schlepping out to the boys games. This involves a complicated game of tag as there are three of them, two of us and only one car.  Therefore, I confess I am somewhat elated that the season has finally come to an end. HALLELUJAH! 

Moreover, I still remain firmly convinced that my boys should really have taken up cross-dressing instead of soccer as an extra-curricular activity. I'm sure getting on some fishnets and stilettos would be so much easier than those bloody soccer socks, boots and shin pads. Nightmare. 


In particular the shows where they  de-clutter and make-over ordinary suburban homes. 
I'm always bemused by the after shots of such make-overs. The house is transformed from sheer chaos to sleek and stylish, complete with calming scented candles flickering away for added ambiance. 

Seriously?  Candles? With children?  If I lit any candles around here the house would be up in flames quicker than you could say 'insurance claim'.  Then again, I  HAVE paid the insurance. Ahem...

I'd love to challenge them to do our home. I'm sure if that Peter Walsh character took one look at our humble abode, his solution would be pretty clear cut. He would simply take out a hand grenade, detonate it, hand to me and RUN. 


I have completely failed as a parent. Tragically, my boys do not  possess their own exclusive lap-top/PS4/Ipad/Ipod and any other device I probably haven't  heard of. I'm so broke mean. How can I deprive them of such luxuries necessities?  This means they have to do the unthinkable: SHARE.  Fights and indignation ensue. 

But why don't you just set them time limits I hear you ask?  You're the boss, after all. 

GENIUS. Why didn't I think of that? Oh wait. I did. 

It goes like this:

They are given a time and happily agree with rapturous thank yous. As soon as their time is up they immediately announce to their patiently waiting brother: "It's your turn, Bro!" 

They blissfully hi-five each other while beaming and the next person takes their turn. All is sweetness and light. 

YEAH. RIGHT. In my dreams. 

In reality there are furious shriekings of:

"That's not fairrrrrrrrr!!"

"Why does HE always get to go first??!!" 

"Muuum, he's  TEASING meeeee!!"  (If one smirks at the other as they reluctantly trade places). 

This can escalate to the point where they effectively try to kill one another while Micky Blue Eyes and I issue time outs and groundings.

Ahhhhh, the serenity. I mean, insanity.....



I have been to two of these recently. Mr 5 was invited to one and then Mr 10. They are one big cacophonous wall of noise. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it. 

In spite of this, I know that when November rolls around and Mr 5 becomes Mr 6, I will dutifully book him one. This is still preferable than inviting people to our hand grenade worthy home. And infinitely preferable to me having to be the hostess to any party. I'll just make sure I have extra strength panadol with codeine on the day for the inevitable headache.

Which brings me to my next item....


Micky Blue Eyes and I must be responsible for keeping the makers  of Nurofen thriving. On any given day, one or the other or both of us have a headache. Fun times.  


Last night's blissful  slumber involved a  dream of passing an horrific car accident. I spotted a  severed  head on the road with huge pools of blood. Needless to say, I woke up feeling sick and shaken. 

I am not taking any illegal drugs, so where are these ridonkulous dreams coming from?  Perhaps I should just start a meth habit and be done with it? Except I have no idea where I would find anything like that in the classy old western suburbs of Sydney. 

That concludes my Monday morning moaning. Big sighs of relief all round. Well, I could keep going, but I'm sure we're all over crashing, heaving bores. Ahem.

Linking up forLaugh Link and I Must Confess. 

What are you completely over? 

Thursday, 21 August 2014

Happy Is The Way I'm Feeling...

It feels like it's been a while since I've checked into my little World here at Nessville. In reality, it's only been just over a week. And what a week it's been. Such a sad week, with the passing of Robin Williams added to all the other usual sad stuff that is the news every day.  So sad, that the Lounge Lizards want us to get all happy just to lighten things up a bit. So I will.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am a simple deep and complex creature who can somehow find happiness with the most inane unusual and interesting things. Such as:

Why wouldn't this make you happy? Totally cracks me up.

  • Carpenters (the musical duo NOT the tradesmen. Although if they were cute tradesmen...*coughs* I mean, erm, I'd still stick to the musical duo as I'm a married woman and all that. Ahem.
  • Karen Carpenter (TOTALLY different thing. Sort of. Kind of.  Okay, not really)
  • Music in general
  • Books
  • Reading (which kind of explains the books thing)
  • Exercising. Yes, exercising! (Tragically, you can't get the same endorphins from sleeping. Hmph!)
  • Strength training. Yes, strength training. (I have buns of steel. Well, I might if it wasn't for the next three things...)
  • Cakies
    A few of my favourite things sent to me by my favourite
    imaginary friends. Thanks Posski and Randa!
  • Chocolate
  • Food in general
  • Pretty notebooks
  • Make-up
  • Jewellery
  • Clothes (comfy track suit pants ARE clothes!!)
  • Blogging
  • Writing
  • Laughing
  • Mangoes (the only good thing about Summer is all the stone fruits)
  • Strawberries
  • Cups of tea
  • The colour green
  • The colour purple ( but not necessarily together WITH green)
  • Pub meals
  • All meals (ahem...)

  • Wine
  • Scotch and coke (these last two can make me EXTREMELY happy *hiccups and giggles*)
  • Lipstick (see number 12)
  • Hair dye
  • Dogs (especially Beagles and Dachshunds)
  • Babies (as long as they're somebody else's at this point)
  • Movies
  • Warm (but not too hot) weather
  • Roses (the flowers and the Cadbury variety)
  • Being warm
  • My bed
  • Snuggling in bed (see above)
  • Hugs with my boys
  • Houses
  • Dreams
  • Pens
  • Phone
  • Computer/Internet
  • Facebook (I may be addicted. There was no need for the word 'may' in that sentence...)
  • Blogger ( So I can bore everyone. You're welcome)
  • Vitamins
  • Autumn leaves
  • Spring
  • Comfy shoes
  • Shoulder massages
  • Any massages
  • Clean sheets
  • Staying in motels
  • My heat pillow (because I'm like a hundred year old woman named Enid with all my aches and pains)
  • Blank paper
  • 'Anne' books
  • Retro things
  • Daydreaming
  • Sleeping
  • Pointless lists
  • Diaries and journals
  • Humour
  • Special occasions
  • Friends (I think I still have one or two)
  • My boys
  • Walks
  • Quiet time
  • Old photos
  • Words
  • Chick flicks
  • Chick lit
  • My cakie make-up bag
  • My cakie pyjamas
  • My cakie notebook (I'm sensing a theme here)
  • Imaginary (online) friends
  • My family
  • Funny blog posts (reading them or writing them)
  • Funny things my boys say
  • Micky Blue Eyes (just in case he's reading this: it means nothing that you didn't make the list until now. I was just saving the best until last)
Thus ends another pointless fascinating list. Now, I'm off to my happy place....