Monday, 24 March 2014

Hospital Tales

Time for another round of tedious titillating tales from the bogan extraordinaire! This week we are telling our hospital tales.

I must admit I am extremely fortunate in that I have never been in hospital for any serious life threatening reason. Unless you count the time 15 years ago when I was admitted into hospital for suspected appendicitis which actually turned out to be the wrong diagnosis. In fact, what I had was ovarian hyer-stimulation or some such thing (I forget what the technical term is) - a nasty and potentially dangerous side effect from the fertility drugs I was taking at the time.

There is nothing quite like being wheeled into surgery looking and feeling like utter crap only to have your High School nemesis suddenly appear as one of the theatre staff beaming at you in the same utterly patronising way you remember from years gone by.

"You've lost all your hair!" she exclaimed as if I was bald instead of just having short hair. Luckily they knocked me out with the anaesthetic shortly after that and ended the pain of that reunion as well as the ovarian pain.

Other than that incident I've only been in hospital for day procedures to have wisdom teeth extracted and to investigate my fertility issues during my 20's. Can you believe I ever had fertility issues? Yeah, I can't either! I've also had a tubal ligation a few years ago so I don't have to think about contraception anymore. In spite of this, I STILL worry that I may fall pregnant. Everything about pregnancy has been completely bizarre for me so I worry that I would be that one in a billion bizzarro person who couldn't fall pregnant for love nor money while I was still young and in my 20's even with fertility drugs but might fall pregnant now in my 40's despite having had a tubal ligation. I'm not paranoid AT ALL.

My only other trips to hospital were when I had my babies. The worst of them was when I had a still-birth experience in 2007. I've never really written about it because it's hard to find the words to describe something like that.  The birth had to be induced and I was awake for it and felt all the pain of a normal birth. When I changed my mind after declining the pethidene shot for several hours, the midwife, who was obviously due to finish her shift, got all huffy and slammed the door when she went out to get it. I know nurses and midwives are over worked and underpaid but I imagine that if it was a contest as to who was having the worst day that day I would have won. A bit of empathy, please. The only consolation was seeing the baby and being able to say goodbye to him.

Another memorable hospital experience was when Micky Blue Eyes was diagnosed with Cancer. He had to have a blood transfusion immediately as he was severely anaemic and losing blood. He was joking around and saying that maybe he should become a vampire and drink it because it would be quicker! Meanwhile, I had to leave my squeamishness at the door and get over myself very quickly. Then the surgeon came in to describe what he was going to do and it all sounded rather gruesome  It seemed that he was going to slice the bejesus out of him. Long story but we ended up changing surgeons and he had a specialist colo-rectal surgeon and I'm SO GLAD we did. Nine years later he's still here to tell the tale.
Me and Mr 5 when he was brand new.

Fortunately, after the still birth in 2007 I was pregnant again the following year. I had decided to change obstetricians because I was slightly uncomfortable with my former female obstetrician's rather blunt and straight forward beside manner. She was no Nina Proudman. Although that's possibly a good thing when you think about it. Isn't Nina just a little too neurotic to be a obstetrician? And doesn't she have rather too many complicated daydreams about her love life when she's supposed to be delivering babies? But this post isn't supposed to be about Offspring. Oops. Back to my point...

When the day rolled around and it was decided that I had to have an emergency c-section due to my alarmingly high blood pressure my obstetrician was away and the back up one was also away that day - so who did I end up with? You guessed it. Ms Blunt who expertly cut me open and delivered my baby (now Mr 5), tiny but breathing. That was all I was concerned with. Then, with her usual bluntness she cornered me, which wasn't very difficult considering I was completely numb from the waist down from the epidural thingy. I certainly wasn't going anywhere.

"How many more babies are you going to have? she barked.

"None," I replied "this is it."

"GOOD!" was her emphatic response "You were just lucky this time."

Thanks for the information, love.

I have to admit I did feel lucky. And I still do every day when I look at my boys.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess. 

                                                    What are your hospital tales?

Monday, 17 March 2014

Winging It

 Another Monday has rolled inconveniently around. They have a tendency to do that, the rude things. I must confess that my brain feels like cotton wool this morning even post coffee, so this post will most likely sound like meandering gibberish. Which is quite similar to most of my posts really. Consistency is important. 

Over the weekend Mr 9 became Mr 10. He had a bowling party which he enjoyed. I must confess that that I find the wall of noise in those places quite challenging. I've only just got my hearing back. However, I'd find organising a party at home even more challenging. Couldn't organise a piss up in brewery. Or a meat raffle in a butcher's. Or an orgy at a nymphomaniac convention.  You get the picture. 

With this in mind, I decided to finally get with the 21st century and purchase a new phone so that I could start using the calendars and reminders and things to help me become more organised. Shut up. It could happen. I could possibly even take a selfie for the first time EVER. I know - I haven't even LIVED. Apparently people can't possibly live these days unless they take selfies every 17 seconds and photograph their food before they eat it, so that's how I've come to the conclusion that I haven't lived. 

However, I must confess that I STILL haven't worked out how to use the contraption. I did point the  thing at my face thinking I'd take a selfie and recoiled in utter horror. Do I REALLY look like that? I think there is a reason I've never taken one. Nobody needs to see that. 

In other scintillating news I had my first tit crushing experience last week which was quite painful bracing. I have to admit to being a big scardey cat and feeling quite anxious about it. But it was over with in a jiffy. As they say, Mammogramming your boobs is more important than Instagramming them. Not that there is any danger of me doing that. I can't even Instagram my face let alone my National Geographics. But yes - PETRIFIED before hand. You'd think nothing would scare you anymore after experiencing childbirth, right? WRONG.

Especially since experiencing childbirth usually means you now have children. Which is scary. Because you worry about them all the time. I must confess that after watching this report about a paedophile ring and all the media coverage about the Daniel Morcombe case recently that I've felt sickened and horrified. It makes me question all humanity and the wisdom of blogging at all. Sigh. 

Now I need to mention cake again quickly just to lighten the mood. CAKE. There, that's better. Yes, I did have a lovely cake filled weekend because of Mr 10's birthday and Micky Blue Eyes loading up with a few cakes from an old favourite cake shop we hadn't been to in years. He isn't helping my addiction. He is furthering it. I knew I married him for a reason. 

Anyway, it appears that there is a mountain of washing awaiting me to be put away so I had better end this gibberish here and get on with it. 

Later dudes. 

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess. 

                                      What is on your mind on this fine Monday morning?

Thursday, 13 March 2014


Today I am talking about music I love. Therefore I know you will be expecting me to bang on about The Carpenters again. Wrong.

This time I'll be talking about someone COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

Karen Carpenter.

See? I do like to mix it up a bit. It is not widely known that Karen Carpenter did, in fact, record one solo album without her brother Richard. I'd like to focus on the solo album.

The story behind the solo is somewhat convoluted and often controversial among the Carpenters fandom. Although it was recorded in 1979 and scheduled for release in early 1980 it was ultimately shelved at the time. Karen Carpenter passed away in 1983 and the album was eventually posthumously released in 1996, 13 years after her death and 16 years after it was recorded.

Richard Carpenter has always steadfastly claimed that it was Karen's decision to shelve the album in 1980. All I will say is, I don't really believe this based on everything I have read. I think the decision was forced on her. The album should have been released at the time. Since it wasn't, I am grateful that Richard finally let the fans have the last part of Karen's legacy.

The album was produced by Phil Ramone with the bulk of the recording done in New York with Billy Joel's band at the time. . This is a great article written by Rob Hoerburger for The New York Times from 1996 regarding the album.

I just wanted to share one or two of my favourite songs from the album. I LOVE this one:

This is quite groovy too.

Don't you just love that 70's sound? No? Oh well - we can't all be groovy and have good taste.

Incidentally, this song was written by Rod Temperton who had also written the songs Rock With You and Off The Wall which he originally offered to Karen. She passed on them and the songs then went on to be hits for Michael Jackson. Useless trivia that my brain remembers instead of where I put my glasses or keys five minutes ago. Sigh.

There are also several out takes from the album floating around the internet. I like this one.

Oh, who am I kidding? I like them ALL. So I had better leave it there.

I should probably try to find some music I like that was recorded in this century by somebody who is actually breathing. Might be handy.  Any suggestions?

Linking up with Robomum for The Lounge.

                                                         What music do you  love?
                                                    Which artists do you recommend I listen to
                                                      to catch up with this century?

Monday, 10 March 2014

Box Office Bogan

It's quite obvious that my life should be made into a movie. In fact, I can't believe that nobody has ever approached me with a movie deal already. I mean, the story of my life has everything: triumph, tragedy, comedy, pathos, bogans AND cakies. Clearly all the ingredients for box office smash.

The only remaining question is: who should play the coveted part of yours truly? Just because Angelina Jolie is my doppelganger that doesn't mean she should automatically get the part. That wouldn't be fair. I'd have to give other actresses a fair chance too.

What do you mean you don't see the resemblance? You need to get your glasses adjusted! Or I do. As well as my medication. Oh alright, I suppose Nicole Kidman may be much more suited to the role being Australian and a tall, elegant, beautiful red head. Having two out of five of those things in common would certainly count as a resemblance, I'm sure. No? God, you people are hard to please.

Then again, you could have a point. After all, Cate Blanchett is the newest Oscar winner. Therefore she may well be keen to take on yet another stellar part which will be guaranteed to get another Oscar nod. She still has to catch up to Meryl, after all. This could be her most challenging role to date. A character who rarely talks. There will be no pages of witty dialogue to learn, instead she will have to use subtle nuances and blank expressions to convey the complexity of this bogan. Plus, there is the fact that she will have to shrink in height while quadrupling her width. I smell another Oscar right there, Cate.

Oh! I know! People were always telling me that I looked like Gillian Anderson when that Scummy and Mouldy show was all the rage. Well - at least one person did. They were being scathingly sarcastic but DETAILS. I'm sure that with some coaching from the brilliant Meryl she could pull of an Australian accent. Instead of "The dingo took my baby!" which became Meryl's oft repeated classic line from Evil Angels, the classic line from the movie of my life would be:

"The kids took my cakie!"

Riveting viewing right there.

However, after pondering on this important question for a while, I've realised that the perfect casting as me would be the wonderful Toni Colette. Not only is she Australian but she's also originally a Boganville girl herself. Apparently she grew up around these parts. I probably walked past her at the shops as a teenager in the 1980's, sporting a tragic perm, so I can practically claim to know her. The fact that she is jet-setting around the World starring in movies and my most exciting outing is STILL to those same shops every week, means nothing. My life is still worthy of a movie, dammit!

 From such humble beginnings Toni reinvented herself and went on to become famous and successful. And rich. And a great actress. And I think I hate her. What does she have that I don't? Talent? Yeah, you got me there.

Anyway, she's my ultimate choice to play me. I'm imagining her as a sort of middle aged Muriel (meaning me) which she could pull off with weight gain or a fat suit. It would almost be like a kind of sequel of sorts to Muriel's Wedding except it could be called Ness's Marriage or The Secret Dream World Of A Cakeaholic. The soundtrack would be peppered with Carpenters songs bringing back a wave of Carpenters nostalgia the way Muriel did for Abba.

"I want my life to be as good as a Carpenters song!" my character, played by Toni, would declare as Top Of The World trills cheerily in the background.

Then, in typical Hollywood fashion, there would be the obligatory, albeit completely fictional, happy ending when we finally leave Boganville forever having obtained that McMansion in Boganville Heights.

Micky Blue Eyes, the boys and I bundle into the car and drive off beaming at each other euphorically  as we shout:


This time Please Mr Postman beats jauntily along as the credits roll. This song has absolutely nothing to do with the plot or ending. There just aren't that many upbeat Carpenters songs to be honest.

Alternatively, I could use my adult diagnosis with Asperger's Syndrome as the central theme. The film would then turn into a heartfelt and gripping drama about the complexities of living with High Functioning Autism equivalent to Rain Man or that movie about Temple Grandin starring Claire Danes. This would show how I have triumphed in life despite the diagnosis becoming a brilliant bogan blogger and enviable Yummy Mummy and MILF. I do have children and I find cakies and chocolate quite yummy so I eat them a lot. That is what being a Yummy Mummy is I think. And the boys tell me quite frequently that I'm a 'Mum I Love Forever'. That's the meaning of MILF, right?

So many options. Right. Time to place a call to Toni's agent seeing as though she is not responding to my emails. Can't imagine why.....

Linking up with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for I Must Confess.

                                                 Who would play you in the movie of your life?

Thursday, 6 March 2014

Not So Guilty Pleasures

Good morning Groovers and Shakers (or afternoon as the case may be). Welcome to another fabulous Thursday, which is only one day away from Friday! This thought is comforting until the moment you realise you're a parent and Fridays mean nothing anymore. In fact, I have to be up on Saturday morning to take two out of three boys to trial soccer matches at 9am. YAY.

Today the illustrious Lounge Lizards want to know what my guilty pleasures are. I'm not sure I'm sufficiently guilty enough about any of my vices. I haven't been persuaded to abandon any of them that is for certain. Sadly it would seem that most of my 'not guilty enough' pleasures revolve around food.  Of the cakie kind. What a shock. You were expecting me to admit to having a Friday night bong every week. weren't you?

I'm afraid I agree with the wonderful Dolly Parton who famously said in her biography My Life And Other Unfinished Business: "Food is my weakness. I'll take a sandwich and a shake over a jug and a joint any time." You'll have to imagine Dolly's unmistakable twang.  Okay, so I read biographies by Dolly and other stars. Guilty. I may also own at least one Dolly CD titled Both Sides Of Dolly Parton. I'm not sure whether she was trying to be funny with that title.

Anyway, I think we've already established that I have the worst taste in music EVER, but since I'm shameless in my Carpenters addiction I'm not sure if it qualifies as a 'guilty' pleasure. I don't have one iota of ironic distance in my passionate love of their music. In fact, apparently this adoration makes me old school Emo. I knew I was sensitive and emotional.

When it comes to TV, I don't really watch much of it. I'd rather poke my eyeballs out than watch My Kitchen Rules or The Biggest Loser, but I have been known to take in a bit of Big Brother. This is purely for research purposes. Meaning, I have to keep up my bogan cred somehow for the sake of this blog. That's my excuse anyway. I mean, the whole Carpenters loving, goody two shoes Pollyanna image is totally ruining my bogan status. I need to shake things up a bit and watch some puerile Reality TV. It's either that or taking up a pack a day and slab of VB a week habit. Or giving my boys rats tails. Tantamount to child abuse some would say.

I'm also partial to bit of Dr Phil at lunch time. How's that working for you? It's working out okay, thanks Dr Phil. Until that stoopid The Doctors show comes on after it, then I have to switch it off because SQUEAMISH. Plus I don't want to be worrying about all the possible illnesses I may have. At least hypochondria is the one illness I'll never have. BOOM TISH.

The only other guilty pleasure I can think of is actually blogging itself. Then there is all the reading and commenting on other blogs which can all be time consuming. Meanwhile, there are a million other things I could be doing. At the very least I did my exercise first and broke a sweat before I paid any attention to this blog again this morning. All the other stuff can wait. Of course, I'm also addicted to Facebook. There's a very good reason for that.

I do feel somewhat guilty about the pitiful example I am setting for my boys by being online constantly. On the positive side I don't have an Iphone or Smart Phone so at least I'm not always online when I'm out as well.

But surely my most embarrassing guilty pleasure is when I come across an old Enid Blyton book and start reading them again as an adult. Frightfully shameful. Especially when I read a passage from Six Cousins Again the sequel to Six Cousins At Mistletoe Farm where the character says:

"Surely our ducks quack more loudly than any others?" groaned Mrs Longfield, early in the morning. "And need we keep that cock, he wakes me regularly at dawn?"

Upon reading this I chuckle as if I'm an immature eight year old reading it for the first time again. But you have to admit those Enid Blyton books were rather smashing. For children. Ahem.

Now, you'll have to excuse me. Dr Phil is starting. Shut up.

Linking up with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for The Lounge.

                                                        What are your guilty pleasures?

Monday, 3 March 2014

The Stuff I Would Outsource

Today I am contemplating the things or areas of my life that I would wish to outsource if I could. I'm thinking that they are going to be pretty freaking obvious. I mean, who wouldn't outsource all house work and mind numbing chores if they could? If you answered that YOU wouldn't, it's likely that you are deeply insane and require therapy immediately.  Or that you are simply a too good to be true anal retentive perfectionist. If so, unfortunately we can't be friends because I could  never invite you into my dishevelled house for a cakie and a cuppa. Which would be devastating for you. I'm pretty awesome, after all. Even if my house isn't.

Clearly, all house work would be at the top of my list of potential out sourcing. Is it one word, or two? Who knows. Whatever. If I never had to scrub a toilet again it would be way too soon for me. Ugh. Especially as I live in a house with four males and we only have one toilet. Because that is how non-cashed up bogans do it.  We don't live in double storey split level Mc Mansions with six bedrooms and four bathrooms.  Fark, imagine having to clean that many bathrooms? Frankly I don't want the Mc Mansion unless it comes with a cleaner as well.

Of course there is also the lovely little problem of Lego. I would love to have a Lego Fairy as well as a House Work and Dinner Fairy. We seem to possess truck loads of the stuff and while I do insist that Mr 5 and 9 pick it up themselves, somehow it has a mind and a will of it's own and still seems to migrate to every possible corner and crevice of the house.

When I'm getting dressed and notice something odd inside my shoe. Lego.

When I ease my weary, aching body into bed of an evening only to find something uncomfortable in my nether regions. Lego.

When I'm frantically searching through my handbag or car for a coin for the trolley at Aldi. What do I find instead? Lego.

When I want to just be able to plug the vacuum cleaner in and give the house a once over. What do I find? A million bloody random tiny pieces of Lego that are inevitably going to be sucked into my brand new 500 hundred dollar Dyson and begin rattling away. Sigh.

Another area of life I wish I could outsource or at the very least, avoid,  is Awkward Conversations With Acquaintances You Don't Know Very Well. You know the kind. The person you might walk past almost everyday during school drop off and pick up. You don't really know them but you still feel obliged to say a polite hello. Then you might mention the weather and how much your children have all grown, at which point you've completely run out of things to say to each other. So you mumble something about how you better get going and flee. Rinse. Repeat. Everyday. Or every other day. Same thing. I am truly awful and hideous but how many times can you have the same banal conversation? Of course, I suppose the only way to get to know people is to actually talk to them but...jeez, don't get all logical on me. Okay, I'm just an anti-social biatch! Deal with it. Hmph.

I would also love to be able to clone myself so that I could outsource all of those horrid, mortifying doctors appointments such as Pap Smears. The only conversation that is more awkward than the ones you have with acquaintances you don't know very well are the ones you have with your GP or Gyno while they have a cold speculum inserted in your doo dah. Look, I was going to go with va jay jay but changed my mind at the last minute. Doo dah it is. Not the technical term but you know what I mean. Shut up.

Which reminds me, I am going to get my tits squashed (ie. Mammogrammed) for the first time next Monday and I expect it shall be not only awkward but frightfully painful. Why don't men have to have their bollocks squashed to buggery? So unfair. I am pausing to pout and sulk a for a little while as weepy violin music swells in the background. Right, sulking ceased. Violin music fades.

On with the show. Other things I wish I could outsource:

Packing: I am a chronic over packer. If there was such a thing as Over Packers Anonymous I would certainly be a member. Plus, I tend to become overly stressed over the whole procedure. Despite extensive list making I always seem to worry that I'll forget something vital.

Cooking: I am constantly waiting for the old Dinner Fairy that never shows up. Sometimes I don't mind cooking but when you have to cook everyday for a family of fussy eaters it becomes a tad tedious. The resulting washing up is even more tedious especially when you don't have a dishwasher. Yep, we're certifiable.

Parent/Teacher Interviews: I sometimes wish I could clone myself for these or outsource them too. For some absurd reason they make me squirm. I somehow feel like I'm back at school doing some sort of exam or test and I'm never sure what questions I'm supposed to ask. Also, I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't understand the boys homework should the subject come up. Mr 12's parent/teacher interviews are coming up and I've suddenly realised that now that he is in High School I'll have to see several different teachers instead of just one. Save me.

Well, there you have it. That's the stuff I would outsource.  I should probably think about outsourcing this  blog too but I won't because it's got my name on it. So ner.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

                                                  What areas of your life would you outsource?