Showing posts with label Nothing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nothing. Show all posts

Monday, 1 October 2018

Something Anything #LifeThisWeek

Greetings earthlings. It is I, the one and only Ness of Nessville, back to thrill you with the monumental happenings of my grand existence.

For instance, today's highlight involved cleaning out the fridge. This is a phenomenon known as 'living the dream'.

In other news, I also made some beds, folded laundry, patted my dog and cooked fried rice. (Auto correct wanted me to say I cooked friends, but I can assure you I've never done that).

Anyway, as you can imagine, I certainly needed a lie down after all this, to recover from all the excitement. Especially considering that for much of the past week I have resembled what can only be described as a human slug.

A snotty, sniffling, sneezing, snivelling, sooky human slug. This is what happens when your offspring decide to generously share their germs. Rude.

I endured unimaginable suffering for DAYS. Gallons of water were consumed. Copious piles of tissues were disposed of as plaintive piano music moped piteously in the background. Well, it should have been anyway. Sniff.

I mean, I was most certainly DYING from this hideous Man Cold. If I got it from my boys that makes it a Man Cold and therefore dire and tragic. In desperation I turned to my faithful husband, the marvellous Mickey Blue Eyes.

"Can you please get me some Sudafed or Cold Eze tablets?" I implored. Dutifully he set off, traipsing to the chemist on foot. He's one of these people who walk a lot, not a sloth creature like yours truly. Ahem.

He left me languishing in my sluggish state. Some time later I heard a loud clap of thunder. Oh dear, I thought, hoping he wasn't caught in a downpour. Or worse still, struck by lighting. The sky lit up at that precise minute and I shuddered fearfully.

I am prone to catastrophising. Oops. Minutes later I heard the gate clatter and a breathless Mickey Blue Eyes arrived, wet but triumphant. I had my drugs. I fell upon them as if they were cake, my preferred drug.

I am now slightly less slug like. And let me just add that this is what true love looks like, people. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Things have been a tiny bit gloomy to be honest. In a sad turn of events, a friend of Mickey Blue Eyes passed away unexpectedly, two weeks ago, leaving him despondent and adding to a general malaise.

Meanwhile, school holidays arrived in all their glory. This means that three ravenous boys demand food incessantly from the minute they awake until they again succumb to slumber. On the plus side, Mr 17 is keen to cook pancakes quite frequently. Winning.

In the midst of my man cold, I made myself some restorative soup, and I think we can all agree this is fascinating information.

Unfortunately, I missed a planned excursion to the city with my TAFE class. ( TAFE stands for Technical And Further Education for any non Australians playing along). Can't remember if I have mentioned the course, but yes I am doing this for two days a week until December. Then if all goes to plan I will proceed to study for a Library Diploma thingy via TAFE digital.

Meanwhile, I've applied for several jobs, getting a politely worded rejection email from one and crickets chirping from the rest. Is that a thing now? You don't hear anything unless you progress to interview? Oh well. It's all a learning process. I'll get there.

What does this week hold? Some boring appointments and shopping. Then next week I am catching up with some girlfriends for lunch. Looking forward to it! With the added bonus that I should be completely germ free by then. Yippee!

And that is all I have to report. We are perpetual plodders. So until next time I'll be over here plodding along. 

As Mickey Blue Eyes would say, take it easy and I'll catch up with you later. Adios.

What's happening in your world? 

Monday, 1 January 2018

Goodbye To 2017

Happy new year, dear reader! I'm sure it will happy some of the time anyway. Except when it's not. Because that's kind of how life is. If your life is always happy then please leave a comment telling me what drugs you're on and where I can get them.

Meanwhile, before I get on with this year I wanted to tell you a bit about the year just gone. 

In 2017 I: 

January: Curly hair.

  • Slept for hours. And had the weirdest dreams EVER. 
  • Folded MOUNTAINS of washing because I have SUCH a glamorous life.
  • Made the weekly pilgrimage to Aldi because I have to get my excitement somehow.
  • Started the year with curly hair and finished with spiky hair. 
  • Ate lots of bad food.
  • Ate lots of good food. 
  • Got a new shrink because apparently I am still demented.
  • Felt anxious in K Mart.
  • Felt calm in Coles.
  • Drank a billion cups of tea.
  • Borrowed tonnes of books from the library then forgot to take them back on time.
  • Drank cappucinos while sitting on orange chairs under fluorescent lights. 
  • Daydreamed.
  • Wrote pointless lists.
  • Wrote purposeful lists. 
  • Chose my 'one word': MOVE.
  • Decided to take this word as more of a light suggestion in favour of other entrancing words, such as REFINED CARBOHYDRATES and SLOTH. 
  • Pondered important questions.
  • Pondered trivial questions.
  • Prayed I didn't have cancer again. And I don't even believe in God. Weird.
  • Had my tits crushed. I didn't have cancer. YAY! 
  • Had a tooth ripped out. Which is always fun. Said no one ever.
  • Drank lots of Bailey's Coffee Liqueur in Wagga Wagga.
  • Drank champagne in the south of France.
  • Made stuff up. Like that last point. Incidentally I have no idea why the south of the France is supposed to be better than anywhere else in France. I'm never likely to find out either. Sigh.
  • Wrote in a two dollar journal from KMart with glitter pens from Aldi.  Yes, I know. There was no need for me boast about such things. We've already established how lavish my life is. 
  • Passed a lady at the shops wearing a vivid multi-coloured sparkly kaftan with her hair dyed just as many colours and thought she's probably quite fun to have as a friend. Or a complete nut. One or the other. 

November: Spiky hair. 

And I could go on and on, but it's obvious what an eventful year 2017 was for me. So it is with a wistful heart that I say farewell to you, 2017. No, we will never meet again, except in my memories. Well, let's face it,  not even there particularly, because I have a brain like a sieve. So it's a firm goodbye. You were neither good, nor bad. Just meh. Boring. Beige. But I didn't mind a bit of beige. I've had quite enough of pink, thank you very much. 

Let's see what 2018 brings. Be nice, 2018! 

What about you?

What did you do in 2017?

Monday, 24 October 2016

Two Months Until Christmas

Hello there gorgeous blog reader! I am delighted that you are back here again. 

It's Monday, which always comes after Sunday and before Tuesday. I figured I may as well take my Captain Obvious to the next level. Why not? Rhetorical question...

So anyway, here I am. Back to entertain to you in my typical fashion! Which means that I have absolutely NOTHING to tell you. Not a thing. But that won't stop me! I will proceed to babble on about bugger all for several paragraphs. Right. On with it.

So where were we? 

Oh yes, not only is it Monday, it's also October 24th! And you know what that means, don't you? It's just two months until Christmas! 

This time last year I was walking around oblivious to the fact that I had cancer. Yikes. Thinking about this macabre fact reminds me of seeing Lawrence Mooney doing stand up on the telly.

He did a spot of black comedy about cancer. The observation went something like this: that you can stub your toe and be doubled over in agony. Meanwhile when you have cancer growing in your body - NOTHING. Not a twinge. Scary, scary shit. And so true, in my experience. 

I'm not sure what it is about this time of year, but we seem to like being all dramatic, getting cancer and stuff, conveniently right before Christmas. Aren't we show offs?

Yes, apparently Mickey Blue Eyes got his diagnonsense in October of 2004. So it's always been such a jolly old merry time for us. Yeah, NOT. Which brings me to what I want for Christmas: NOTHING. Meaning, I want this period of time to be extremely boring and uneventful. 

Anyway, I expect I should probably start shopping. Every single year I say I am going to be organised and every single year it sneaks up on me. Needless to say, I am not organised AT ALL. Which is slightly embarrassing, after boasting in this post about being organised. Awkward. 

Look, I have my own version of being organised. I have such a boring life that it spices things up to live dangerously and leave Christmas shopping until the last minute! It's all part of a plan. A not very well thought through plan, but a plan nonetheless. 

For example, last year I was a Christmas shopping NINJA. When I got my diagnonsense on December 4th, I hadn't done any Christmas shopping. So I went out the following Monday the 7th and did all my shopping in one day. Then I had surgery on Thursday December 10th. Winning! 

My GP was quite impressed. That I got on with it and did what I had to do. Looking back, I am too.

This may come as a shock, but I'm not exactly the jolliest person at the best of times. So yeah, 2015 wasn't a brilliant Christmas for me. Typically, at this time of year I would be all cynical and bah humbug. But not this year. I don't have to have surgery before Christmas, and chemo in the new year! YAY! 

The most exciting thing I want to happen during this period is listening to Carpenters Christmas music. You know, just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. 

Yep, we're so organised around here. We currently have no idea what we're doing for Christmas. Usually we have Christmas lunch at my brother and sister-in-law's place. Where ever I am, I will proceed to eat myself into a diabetic coma. SUCH FUN! 

As a matter of fact, it suddenly occurs to me that I have started shopping. I have ordered one thing online. See? I told you I was organised! The current status in our family is this: only one boy(Mr almost 8), sorta kinda believes in Santa. He's not totally convinced, but he's clinging to it. Just in case. 

Last year I didn't send any Christmas cards, for obvious reasons. Does anyone actually do that anymore? Nope, methinks. Instead they start boring as batshit blogs. Related: this space began because of the silly old Christmas letters I used to send. It's my gift to the world! No, there aren't any refunds or exchanges! RUDE. 

Meanwhile, I am seriously considering putting up the Christmas tree early, though, just to get into the spirit.  Shit, I really must be ill. This is more serious than cancer, people. I've become one of those people on the left...

Save me! 

Linking up for Life This Week.

Also linking up for Open Slather and Mummy Mondays.

Which one are you? Jolly or bah humbug? 

Are you ready for Christmas? 

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, 5 May 2014

Quiet On The Nessville Front

Things have gone all quiet in the land of Nessville lately. However, at least this is consistent with the way I am in person. Exceedingly quiet. I must confess, I have just felt like I had nothing of any interest to say, so I didn't bother trying to say anything. Which is the same reason I'm quiet in person. I'm sure you thought it was because I am deep, mysterious and intellectual. Lost in my own little World, pondering on the Meaning Of Life. Nope. I just can't think of a damn thing to say. Or write, as the case may be.  Eventually I come back to the same stunning conclusion that I have in the past: having nothing to say hasn't stopped me before - so here I am! Sorry, you can't get rid of me. So ner!

The school holidays managed to fly by. We had discussed the possibility of going away somewhere, but in our usual brisk and efficient fashion we never bothered following through and booking something. Micky Blue Eyes schlepped out the Sydney Royal Easter show one day with Mr 12 and 5, while Mr 10 and I stayed home. As tempting as those Dagwood Dogs are, I can take or leave it. With emphasis on the 'leave' part.

The following week I managed to drag the boys out for a picnic with the promise of some Kentucky Fried Crap. Bribery works every time. Erm...I mean..rewards. Ahem..

We spent a lovely couple of hours in the sunshine discussing the boys fervent desire to have a dog. It was decided that our (so far fictional) dog might be named Scruffles or Jeff. However, if we do indeed decide to add a dog to the family, I'm pitching for a female one, just so I can finally have another female in the family even if it is only a dog. I've heard the theory that it's important to have a dog once your children become teenagers so that at least someone is happy to see you. Related: in approximately two months and five days I shall become the proud mother of a teenager when Mr 12 becomes Mr 13. Hold me.

Mr 5 is not always happy to see me as it is. I shudder to think of him being a teenager. Particularly since I shall be approximately 105 by then. In fact, he frequently informs me that I have to leave the room if I want him to get dressed, an arduous procedure which can take an eternity. He already has very firm ideas of what he will and won't wear. When I innocently open my mouth to say the most innocuous of statements, he'll cover his ears and howl "STOP TALKING! You're giving me a headache!!"

God forbid I should try to give him anything resembling a compliment. An exchange from just last night went something like this:

"You're my beautiful boy," I crooned, as I hugged him close.

"NO!" he insisted "that's for when you get merried! I'm NOT beautiful. That's girls when they get merried!"

That's not a typo by the way. That was exactly how he pronounced 'married'.

I smiled and said "Well, you're handsome then."

This incensed him further. "No, I'm not!" he exclaimed "That's for getting merried!"

I was now receiving the Death Stare which then turned into a beaming grin as he announced:

"Just call me awesome and the Best in the World!"

My mistake. I must get my compliments right.

Last week he was the proud recipient of an award at school for Excellent Behaviour and Attitude, as was Mr 10. Presumably his teacher's talking doesn't give him a headache. Hmph. Meanwhile, we will have to see if the great saga of Conan the Librarian continues tomorrow. This is referring to the shool's library teacher whom he is TERRIFIED of. Interestingly, Mr 10 was also terrified of her a few years ago when he started attending the school. Bloody librarians. Why do they have to be such terrifying creatures? I should know since I used to pretend to be one some years decades ago and clearly I'm frightfully scary. BOO!

Tuesday is Mr 5's library day. Typically he starts announcing that he might be sick in the morning on Monday nights. We shall see. I'm trying to decide whether I need to talk to someone at the school if his terror of Tuesdays continues unabated.

In other exciting news, I managed to venture out of the house, blinking confusedly in the sunshine, to meet a real person who is my real life friend, Kim ( I have at least one, surprisingly), for brunch last Tuesday. Following this,we did a bit of shopping and oohing and ahing at over priced clothes I can't afford and that wouldn't fit me worth a damn anyway. I did manage to score two five dollar skirts which were originally priced at $89.95 each, according to the tags. BARGAIN. Then again, I never really wear skirts, especially when it's cold, so maybe I just wasted ten bucks. Oh dear. Wearing skirts generally requires having to shave your legs and wear uncomfortable shoes so that it looks right. However, they are fairly long skirts, so I may be able to manage it. You see how exciting and meaningful my life is?

The next joyful development to occur was when Micky Blue Eyes decided to schlep all the way to Brisvegas aka Brisbane, with Mr 12 and 10 to see the Western Sydney Wanderers lose the Grand Final. Which is a damn shame. They are heading home today. I am hoping that their moods are bearable, otherwise I will be the next one packing my bags and leaving until they get over it. Boys and their balls. Seriously, it's only a game, dudes.

That is all from the Wonderful World Of Nessville for now. Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment. Or not. Totally up to you. Your loss really, if you don't. Where else would you find such entertainment and edge of your seat antics? What was that? Watching paint dry? How rude. Go and watch your paint dry, then. See if I care. Hmph.

Later dudes.

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

                                                           Have you got anything to say?

Friday, 29 November 2013

More Boring As Batshit Bogan Bullshit - Because I CAN

Hello from Boganville! Yes, I am still alive, thanks for asking.

I'm trying to write something here even if it's crap. It's hilarious how I put the word 'if' in that sentence. Funny me. I'm SUCH a comedienne. Or something.

Anyway, what can I say about all the things I've achieved whilst missing in action?

I'm a svelte size 10, addicted to exercise and healthy eating and planning an amazing trip to Europe on our private jet while we wait for our mansion to be built, Micky Blue Eyes having finally followed through on his promise of becoming a millionaire by the age of 40, ten years later??!!

Nope. Can't say that. I CAN bore you with the same old boring as batshit bogan bullshit, though. You're welcome.

In fact, I've been missing in action because I've been extremely busy doing lots of interesting, important things. What, you ask? Okay, you didn't but I'm telling you anyway. So ner.

Here is a comprehensive list:

Sleeping some more
Eating some more
Reading some more
Shopping - but only because I needed more food so I could resume;
Shopping again - but only because I needed more books so I could keep on:
Sleeping -because all that reading and eating is EXHAUSTING.

I may have showered at some point, too. After all, I would have needed to frequently with all that exertion. Exhausting. Phew.

In between all of this monumental effort I did manage to schedule in a pap smear which was fun. SAID NO ONE EVER.

I also managed to schedule in a Girls Day Out with some friends and a spot of shopping, having finally accepted that Christmas is not going to be cancelled. I ventured to the shops with some trepidation expecting the familiar wailing of Mariah Carey but instead there was more of the old Jingle Bell Rock action happening which is quite jolly and cheering at first. However, I suspect that in another 26 days or so I shall be Jingle Bell Rocked OUT. Says the woman who can listen to the same Carpenters songs over and over and over for 30 years. Shut up.

On that note, (listening to same songs over and over) I not only DO NOT care what a fox says but I do know what I would like to say to the creators of THAT particular ear worm as my boys are rather enamoured with it. If you do not know what I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky.

While shopping, after having lunch with the girls, I ventured into Target, being classy like that, where I spotted a fetching shirt and vest type arrangement which I thought would do for Mr 12 to wear to his Year 6 Farewell. I popped the vest over the top of the shirt to see what it would look like. When it looked good I took it to the cashier and handed it over absent-mindedly. The cashier proceeded to scan the shirt but not the vest just as absent-mindedly. I had unwittingly ended up with a bargain. Or became a closet kleptomaniac. One or the other. Ahem.

It also transpired that Micky Blue Eyes and I had completely forgotten that it was my mother-in-laws birthday that same day until my father-in-law reminded us. Therefore, I came home from lunch and went straight back out again for dinner with the the out-laws. The next morning yet more shopping was planned with my parents. This meant I had to go out AGAIN in order to drink coffee and spend money. I mean, honestly it's exhausting and extremely rude to have to suffer indignities. HMPH!

Also, Mr 12 had his final High School Orientation on that same Monday and I had forgotten to complete the necessary paperwork for his bus pass application and so forth. Oddly enough this kind of scatter brained forgetfulness does not seem to endear me to Micky Blue Eyes. Sigh.

In a futile attempt to become more organised I had printed out some calendars, filled them out with all of our upcoming things to remember and pinned them on a cork board near the computer desk. Somehow they managed to go missing. When Mick found them again I realised I had totally forgotten to take Mr 5 for a free hearing test at his Kindy the previous Friday. Oops.

I had actually managed to score a hatrick of forgetfulness. Mother-in-laws birthday, High School paperwork and a hearing test. This could mean I'm already on the slippery slope to Alzheimer's or that I have ADD. Or all of the above. Interestingly, I have taken online tests for ADD and scored through the roof for having it but what I am meant to do with this information I don't know. After all, it hasn't changed a thing worked out so well receiving my Ass Burgers diagnonsense. Sigh.

On a brighter note, at least I never forget to eat like some wacky people! So that's something, right? Ahem. And I never forget to feed my children. Mostly. They don't even have to dig for worms anymore! It's been raining so there'll be plenty of snails for them. Done. Dinner sorted.

And I don't even go to paid work! Can you imagine if I did? I'd probably forget my own children's names! Oh wait...

There's a reason I call them 'honey' or 'sweetheart' all the time and Mr's 12, 9 and 5 here. Oh dear.

On that note, I'm sure there was more I was going to tell you - but I've forgotten what it was...

Until next time, take it easy and I'll catch up with you later!


What have you forgotten about lately? 

Sunday, 3 November 2013

Life And Other L Words

You may have noticed that I have been missing from this space lately. If you haven’t then I would prefer it if you would please just pretend that you have for the sake of my fragile ego. I might cry otherwise and it wouldn’t be pretty. It would definitely be an ugly cry. Hideous, even. Not that you would be able to see it but I’m hoping that just the thought of having that image in your head would be disturbing enough.
The reason for my absence is very simple and can be summed up in one word *:


That shit gets busy sometimes.

Not to mention the other L word.


SHHHHHHH!! I said don’t mention that word!  Oh right, it was me who mentioned it. Silly me.  As if I would ever be so frightfully lazy that I simply couldn’t be bothered boring you with this blog. That never happens. No way. Well, not very often anyway. Ahem.

Anyway, I may as well bring you up to date with everything that has been keeping me as busy as a blue arsed bogan fly. On that point, do flies really have blue arses? I digress but you know me, always asking the important questions.  Back to being busy -I was going to let you know what has been keeping me so busy. In keeping with the lazy theme I will do so in the good old convenient ‘I can’t be arsed with anything else’ bullet point form.  You’re welcome. Here goes:

  • Children: I have 3 of them. They are rather time consuming, requiring constant feeding, bathing and cuddling on a daily basis. Who knew? It was so much easier having a pet rock. (It was a 70’s thing. I’m showing my age. Sigh.) Except for the cuddling bit. Children are cuddlier, I must admit.
  • Husbands: Actually just one husband.  He is here ALL THE TIME. All day. Every day. Constantly. He regularly attempts to engage me in conversations about things I have no idea about. Like finches or shares. He even made me feed his finches worms. This may be grounds for divorce. Did I mention that he is here ALL THE TIME?? Don’t get me wrong, I love the man. I’d just love it if he left the house occasionally too. Of course I’m conveniently ignoring the fact that he did go to Darwin for 10 days recently (which is why I had to feed the finches) and to Wollongong  just the other day. Minor details.
  • Mr 4 became Mr 5 yesterday.
  • Mr 5 had Kindergarten Orientation this week with two more sessions to go.
  • Mr 12 had High School Orientation with more sessions to go.
  • I bought a new Dyson. This has resulted in me momentarily becoming all domesticated and actually using it regularly.  I’m sure the novelty will wear off very soon.
  • I am trying desperately to regain Exercise Addiction. Between this point and the former, I fear the end is near.
  • I also bought some new saucepans. This was all good until I realised I had to rearrange the kitchen cupboards in order to fit them anywhere. And possibly even cook with them occasionally. Ahem.
  • Counselling- my regular counsellor buggered off or something so I had to start over with another one. Hmph. Then, after I had one appointment and booked another, they had booked me in with yet another counsellor. It’s like a game of Musical Counsellors. Awesome.
  • I finally rang up again about a so-called Adult Asperger’s Support group only to be informed by a woman sounding like a bogan Shazza (not that there’s anything wrong with bogans, of course) that the group was for carers of people with Asperger’s not people with Asperger’s. Natch. Why would we need support? We’re a bunch of self-absorbed, stimming, monologuing arseholes with no empathy. Silly me.
  • Wallowing ,like the big sooky la la I am. See previous two points.
  • Yet another L word – Lego. Dealing with Lego in some way or another takes up an extraordinary amount of my time. Buying it, assembling it, and cleaning it up from every corner of the house so I don’t suck it up with my Dyson.
  • Children: Yes I know I already mentioned them. But they really do take up SO MUCH TIME that I thought they were worth another mention. I’m not complaining about this. In fact, I’ve been deliberately spending more time offline in order to spend more time with my boys. This has resulted in the following games, mostly involving Mr 5 and sometimes Mr 9:
  • Pretending to be a dog. Mr 5, not me. I’ve gone so far as to actually give him water in a bowl. If I give him a collar and leash that would be taking it too far, right?
  • Pretending to be a bird hatching out of an egg and building a nest. Mr 5 again. Ditto, if I put him in a cage that’s going too far, right?
  • Hide and Seek- an old favourite. However, I can now no longer squeeze into the same hidey holes as I did when Mr 12 was little which is rather disconcerting. Apparently not quite disconcerting enough to make me pass on the cake for Mr 5’s birthday yesterday. Classy.
  • Blue screen of death – this happened with one lap top which means we have only one and Micky Blue Eyes uses this for work. So I miss out until we get another one. Sigh.

Therefore, I will most likely continue to be missing in action until Christmas. Oh NOOOOOOOOOO, I said the C word!!  I tried to cancel it but nobody listened!! HMPH.  Okay, that’s it until the next exciting episode of Days Of Our Bogan Lives. I will be busy with all of the above when I am not sulking  in the corner about my failure to cancel Christmas. Sniff. 

Later, dudes.

What has been on your bullet list lately?

*The fact that I could sum it all up in one word did not stop me from banging on with another nine hundred or so. You’re welcome.

Monday, 14 October 2013

A Post About Nothing

I Must Confess I have nothing to say. Absolutely nothing. Just so we're clear, I repeat: NOTHING.

Well, nothing interesting, anyway.

But that's never stopped me before.  So, in keeping with the Seinfeldian theme of this blog, I bring to you a rather riveting post about nothing. You're welcome.

I'm sure you're all bursting to know what is going on in the dim, dark recesses of my mind. It is well known that I am extremely deep, enigmatic and introspective. Always brooding, ruminating and contemplating the very important issues in life such as:

Why did Karen Carpenter have to pass at 32?

Why can't I have my cake? And eat it too?

What can I have for dinner? Especially when that pesky old Dinner Fairy refuses to show her luminous face. Hmph.

Why is Gilbert Blythe a fictional character? And why couldn't he love ME not Anne?! I have red hair!

In addition to such pressing issues, I am also constantly wondering why exactly is it SUCH a herculean task to keep a house consisting of approximately 7 rooms anything even remotely resembling clean or tidy? Therein may lay the answer....

If I am really being my usual happy, sunny, perky, cheerful, positive self - and we all know that's always the way I roll - there may be a few other things I would pause to pointlessly ponder over, such as:

Why am I so shy?

Why am I so introverted?

Why do I have Ass Burgers?

Why do I have dizziness/middle ear or some fictional thing I made up according to some specialists?

Why do I keep asking pointless questions?

I have been dutifully trotting off to see my counsellor. She gave me some information regarding an Adult Asperger's Support Group which was not terribly far from Boganville.  Therefore, I did not have an excuse to procrastinate about going to one anymore. But I did anyway. I put off making the call until after the school holidays. Finally, I pressed in the number. A robotic voice informed me: No one is available to take your call! Please leave a message after the tone. So I left one, tripping over my words and feeling foolish as I did so. That was nearly a week ago. Nobody has called back.

Meanwhile, I had an appointment scheduled with  my counsellor which was confirmed with a phone call from the centre. Half an hour later somebody else called back and said my counsellor isn't doing counselling anymore and would I like to make an appointment with somebody else?  This is annoying when you're a shy, introverted Aspie. Having to start over with a  new counsellor. Sighing, I agreed but she said she would have to ring back with an appointment time. That was days ago. Nobody has rang me back.

I suppose that means I have to go to the tremendous effort of ringing them again. If I get the machine again, I should leave a huffy. indignant message. Except I won't. Because I'm too nice. GAH.

Why can't I be a BITCH?  I went for a whole two paragraphs without a pointless question so I had to slide another one in. Shut up.

In other extremely fascinating news, I need to buy a new vacuum cleaner. I am going to get one on Thursday or Friday. This will probably be the most exciting thing I do all week. I was perusing the Bogan Box last night and thinking that it resembled a brothel until I realised that I have no idea what brothels actually look like. They're most likely MUCH cleaner than my house. I mean, just think about it. If you were going to have kinky, illicit sex you'd want to be doing that shit on freshly laundered sheets, right?

In the midst of all this excitement I managed to win Slapdash Mama Sarah's Blogaversary Competition! I've never won anything so this was quite thrilling indeed. She wrote a lovely poem about me or actually about Boganville I think, which was quite charming and you can read it here. Thanks Sarah!

Of course this leads me to another confession. In writing this poem, Slapdash somehow managed to 'out' me and reveal my darkest secret.

You may be shocked to discover that I am not really a bogan despite my Boganville address. GASP.

Oh okay, I outed myself in the comments (and every other week here in my own space, when I bang on about The Carpenters). Minor detail. Anyway, since I've really got nothing else to write about except the same old boring as batshit bogan shtick, I think we can all just overlook that and go with it, right? Besides, whether I'm really a bogan or not is debatable. I live in bogan territory and that alone is enough for some folk. So ner. Added to the fact that I write gibberish with dubious attention to grammar and phrases like so ner. So ner. NER NER NER NER!!

THIS turned up in my Facebook feed the other day.

 To the person who posted it, it worked. I am, quite frankly annoyed that nobody is with me on this cancel Christmas thing. It will be your own fault when you feel like poking your own eyeballs out from hearing Mariah Carey wailing about what she wants for Christmas for the billionth time. You've been warned.

Another thing that has been bothering me of late is the fact that I suddenly  remembered that a few months ago a lovely blogger presented me with one of those Leibster Awards or some such thing. Anyway, because I perpetually have my head lodged firmly up my posterior and I'm SUCH a space cadet I have forgotten who that lovely person was and not responded. So, whoever you were THANKYOU. It's not you, it's me, okay?

And that brings me limping to the end of this pointless post about nothing. Stay tuned for the next post when I'll actually blog about SOMETHING. Or nothing again. You never know. Ahem.

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

'                                      Should  I really ask another pointless question? Oh look, I did!

Thursday, 18 July 2013

The Bogan Is Back!!

Hello everyone! I'M BACK!! How are we all? All my adoring fans. The whole two of you. I'm sure you've just been pining away waiting longingly for my words of wisdom. After all, who wouldn't?  Don't answer that. Ahem.

Anyway, I must confess that I've actually enjoyed having a bit of a bloggy break. I mean it is just so damn exhausting keeping up the standards that are necessary to be a Professional Bogan. Think about it. This means that I have to drag my sorry arse out of bed at 11am every single morning, or you know, just whenever I can be bothered, pull on my trackie dacks and ugg boots and then come up with these wonderfully witty and intensely riveting tales of our boring as batshit exciting and glamorous lives here in Boganville.

For instance, just this morning, I stumbled out of bed and bid farewell, bleary eyed,  to two out of three boys who set off to school, Micky Blue Eyes trailing behind them. Then I made myself porridge and positioned myself in front of the lap top where I proceeded to scroll down my Facebook news feed.

Fascinating stuff, right?

In addition to this, these last two weeks of my hiatus have been so action packed and absorbing that I simply do not know where to begin. Actually it was so exciting during the first week of the holidays that I can't even remember what happened. Yep, THAT exciting.

We did manage to get out for one of our ubiquitous Sunday drives. On a Sunday, strangely enough. Our destination was a nearby reserve or park type arrangement with picturesque gardens including a Japanese styled one. As soon as we disembarked from the car my head began to pound. Helpful.

 The boys sailed around merrily on their scooters while we meandered around behind them. Eventually though, my pounding head was too much to endure and we headed on to a nearby pub where we had lunch and I was able to have a much needed coffee and drugs. While there we decided it was indeed a very suitable and classy establishment in which to celebrate Mick's 50th birthday next month. There are pokies and everything. Noice.

The next day I did some grocery shopping, purchasing around 25 tonnes of food and spending around a billion bucks. Thereabouts*. This was all devoured within days.

On Wednesday Mr 11 became Mr 12, so I went to the tremendous effort of mixing up a packet cake for him. Caramel mud, to be precise. I certainly hope that child appreciates the sacrifices I make for him.  We then proceeded, clutching cake, to my parents house where the plan was to have pizza followed by the previously mentioned cake, with my brother and nephews also in attendance.

The only ploy to this plan was that I had apparently decided to have the Headache From Hell. AGAIN. Handy. This time no amount of coffee or drugs alleviated my pain. My head pounded steadfastly on. As it turned out, my Mum had also made her famous Apple Pie so the day could only be described as Headache Hell with an Apple Pie Heaven twist.

The next day we were scheduled to go the circus. I'm not sure why we would bother actually paying money for this when we can experience it at home. Mick is a clown, I'm the bearded lady and the boys are animals. Done. All we need is a trapeze. Just saying.

However, I was feeling somewhat wobbly and dizzy so I stayed home while Micky Blue Eyes took the boys and my mother-in-law in my place. Reportedly they had fun. Without me. How rude.

Then, after I started to feel a bit better I had another frightfully horrid wobbly, dizzy spell last Sunday, without ever even having a drop of alcohol. Smashing. What is with THAT? The no alcohol and the channelling Enid Blyton thing. Weird.

This has left me feeling rather despondent, dejected, gloomy, forlorn and any other sad adjective you can think of. I resisted the urge to consult a thesaurus there, you will be grateful to know. Suffice to say: Not. Happy. Jan. Hmph.

Then it occurred to me that a few days before these wobbly turns I was craving a good steak with a side of spinach. I NEVER crave spinach. I think my body is telling me to lay off the cakies and actually hit it with some nutrition including a bit of iron. Rude body. 

Therefore I am really in need of a good old Aussie Barbeque (you see how I did that, Loungers?)  with a steak the size of my head and lots of greenery on the side.  Weirdly enough, we just don't have enough barbecues. Disgraceful, if we are to call ourselves proud bogans.  Mick has some sort of paranoia about  gas ones, preferring the old fashioned wood ones. That all seems like too much effort for me to go to for a burnt sausage. Plus it is just too cold at this time of year.

I might have to make an exception though and get my barbeque on this weekend if possible. Why not? Bogans love burning things. We could even be really Klassy Bogans and throw a few pineapple rings on the barbie instead of shrimp. I have honestly never been to a barbecue where there have been 'shrimp' on the barbie, anyway. Plus, we call them prawns. Get it right, Hoges.

Until the next scintillating chapter, it's over and out from me.

*May be a slight exaggeration.

Linking up rather late (better late than never, right?) with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Also linking up with Robomum for The Lounge.

What exciting things have been happening in your world? Do you like a good old bogan BBQ?

Wednesday, 24 April 2013

Lifestyles of The Broke And Aimless

It occurred to me that other day that I should be utterly appalled and horrified by own monumental laziness, but then I just couldn't be BOTHERED. In fact I have been so aimless and idle of late, that I haven't got a single interesting thing to tell you. Which is the same as usual, so let's press on.

At the beginning of April, Mr 9 was scheduled to have day surgery for some dental procedures. I worried endlessly about telling him, thinking he would FREAK. In the end it turned out that I was the one freaking. He was quite pleased with the idea of having a day or two off school and happily bounced around and beamed. The more he bounced and beamed, the more I paced and panicked. I am tragic. Pathetic.

We arrived at the day surgery at the scheduled time of 2.30pm by which point Mr 9 was ready to chew my arm off. He wasn't nervous at all. Just RAVENOUS. He finally strolled nonchalantly into theatre, while my heart pounded a chorus. Micky Blue Eyes and I then went to a nearby cafĂ© to wait and have a coffee.  I then realised, I hardly ever frequent Cafes, which is, of course, in keeping with my classy bogan lifestyle. But, for somebody who considers herself the Queen of Cakies, this is just WRONG. Then we were booted out of the place when they were closing at 5pm, which was quite rude. After all we had spent a grand total of seven bucks sixty on two coffees. Hmph.

As we still had some time to fill in before Mr 9 would be out of theatre, we then decided to go on a lovely trip down memory lane and walk through the hospital where Micky Blue Eyes had had his Cancer operation and then endured six months of chemo therapy. These are the kind of memories that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. In fact, I did feel extremely grateful, as it could of turned out so differently. We both remembered the day when Mick's brother, Rob, visisted him at the hospital and took Mr 11, then a digger obsessed Mr 3, for a walk outside to see all the diggers at work as there were buildings under construction there at the time. Little did we know, that Rob would also be diagnosed with Cancer shortly thereafter, and pass away in 2008. It was a sombre reminder of how lucky we are.

Arriving back at the day surgery, we trudged back in through the car park. At this point there were only 3 vehicles still parked there. Ours and the two belonging to the surgeon and the anaesthetist. A shiny, new BMW, and an equally shiny and new Mercedes-Benz - and, a beat up corolla with a Carpenters sticker and a Western Sydney Wanderers sticker on the back. I'm sure you'd never guess which car was ours. Can you spot the bogans car?

We were then ushered back in to see a pale Mr 9 who was unfortunately rather ill from the anaesthetic. The dental procedures went well, however. Consequently, it was another hour or so before we could leave. Eventually we headed home where Mr 9 was able to sleep it off.

The following week involved going to yet another one of the 'mini' Fetes at the boys school. I am still waiting for them to have a 'massive' Fete. Not really. Mini Fete is tedious enough. Lining up for a sausage on stale bread. Yum, yum. But, as Mr 11 had seemed really keen for me to attend, asking me repeatedly "Are you coming, Mum?" I felt I should go. The real reason, he had been so anxious for my presence soon became obvious when he asked if he could go home early. It was the last week of term and less than an hour until bell time, so I agreed.

In no time at all school holidays were here, which means the boys mates have been over here nearly every day. One of them, in particular is proving quite difficult to extricate from the premises. The other day, Micky Blue Eyes had no sooner finished telling him he should probably go home after being here for several hours, as his Mum might be wondering where he was, then five minutes later I turned around and there he was in the kitchen, helping himself to a Nutella sandwich. Nice one.

So, instead of succeeding in getting the boys friends to leave, we decided to leave the premises for a day and go for a drive to Megalong Valley last Thursday. Up the mountain we meandered, finally stopping at a bakery. Cakie things! Then, we headed down the winding roads to Megalong Valley, where we went on a bush walk. We certainly did not stop in at the Tea Rooms there and have scones with jam and cream afterwards. No way. I never do anything like that. Ahem. It was, indeed, a delightful day. Five very contented bogans headed back to Boganville and our wonderful lifestyle of the broke and aimless.

In fact, I have realised there is alarming evidence of my slack-arsed, lackadaisical approach to life all around me. Such as:

  • I have lots of charming baby photos adorning the walls. The 'baby' in question is turning 12 in July.
  • The wardrobe in one of the boys rooms has one door on it that does not close. It has been that way for several years.
  • We decided to look into the possibility of getting a brand new kitchen installed. After getting one quote, we haven't bothered pursuing it any further.
  • We pondered the idea of perhaps going to New Zealand for our next holiday, then realised we would have to get passports, at which point it all seemed like too much effort. No doubt we will end up somewhere like Dubbo, where I will bitterly regret my lethargic ways.
  • Similarly, I see friends photos of their overseas trips on Facebook and am jealous for a grand total of five seconds before realising, I couldn't actually be bothered schlepping overseas.
  • Micky Blue Eyes suggested looking into getting a new phone. I should be excited about it, instead, I haven't bothered.
  • I am finally catching up with some friends this weekend. I haven't seen them since February. I think.
  • I am a 42 year old P Plate driver, after procrastinating for years from going for my license. I had the perfect opportunity to progress off my P plates to a full license, as my license expired a week or so ago. All I had to do was take another Driver Qualification Test. Instead, I didn't bother and renewed my P2 license until October 2015.

In fact it was just the other day that I had to go the RTA to renew my license. Micky Blue Eyes announced:

"I think we should walk there."

 I decided he is demented. Then, I realised I am even more demented, as I allowed him to talk me into it. We set off. It was quite a considerable distance, through various streets I'd never walked down before in my life, in spite of living in Boganville for 14 years. At one point we walked past a house that looked like something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive. Two doors down, another house resembled some sort of spaceship. I'd never noticed it before even though I must have driven past hundreds of times. Interesting. It was actually a very enjoyable walk.  The only problem was that, after we got there, went to the RTA and bought a few groceries, that we realised that walking all the way back wasn't going to be quite so enjoyable. We had to walk back up the hill which we had walked down, carrying a shopping bag in each hand. This proved quite tiring, so we stopped and rested on a bench.

It was there that, Mick, who loves trees, plants and all nature, commented that he suspected there were marijuana plants growing right there. Only in Boganville, right?  Ironically, I wouldn't know a marijuana plant from any other plant, being totally clueless and inexperienced in all things narcotic, despite being a born and bred bogan all my life. We finally made it home, where I scrutinised my new license photo and then wished I hadn't. Naturally.

In other news, I am seeing a counsellor at the Women's Health Centre in yet another attempt to make some sense of my Ass burgers thing and all the issues I have that go with it. It is going well so far, and will be ongoing for a while. In addition to this, the counsellor suggested I could join a group she is running called Fifty Shades of Purple. It is meant to be about self-esteem and mindfulness for women. I certainly hope there is no bondage involved. I also saw the Naturopath there and started taking some of her 'Witches Brew'. It tastes like ...actually I don't know what it tastes like because I've never tasted anything so fucking vile in my life. But hopefully it will work.

That is all for this edition of Lifestyles of the Broke And Aimless. Never fear, I will be back to bore you again very soon.

Should we have taken that suspected marijuana plant home? Will I ever progress off my P plates? Who really cares, anyway? Certainly not me, I'm going for a good lie down.