Showing posts with label cake. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cake. Show all posts

Monday, 14 August 2017

Ideal Meal


Here I am again. Back to talk about one of my favourite topics: FOOD!

So what is my ideal meal, you ask? 

These days, my ideal meal would have to be almost anything I don't have to cook. It's frightfully rude how I am expected to do so every single night. HMPH.

But since I like to eat every day, I do get on with it and manage to produce something vaguely edible. They're not necessarily 'ideal' or 'favourite' meals, but they're good enough. 

My actual favourites would have to be anything cooked by my mum. Especially her roasts and desserts, including her infamous apple pie.

Other than that, I do enjoy a good lobster mornay. However, I never cook it, because I'm quite terrible at making things like mornay sauce. Consequently I haven't had this delicacy in YEARS.

I find such meals are best enjoyed with a good bottle of wine. Also; dessert afterwards. There's always room for dessert! 

There I am, above. enjoying some lobster mornay with a glass of wine. It was such a long time ago I do not remember where this photo was taken. I suspect in was way back in the grand and glorious pre-children days. It seems like a parallel universe now. We actually went on nice relaxing holidays and ate at lovely restaurants that didn't serve chicken nuggets. Those were the days. Sigh.

Of course, I couldn't get through this post without mentioning my beloved cakies. They may not be considered a meal exactly, but as I mentioned above, there's always room for dessert.

On the other hand, if I want to have cake for breakfast, why not? Yep, I am literally one of those disgusting people who could seriously eat cake for breakfast. No surprise that I struggle with my weight and cholesterol levels. Oops. 

I mean, I don't eat cake for breakfast. Well, most of the time I don't...  But I could.  Well, what is the difference between having cake or pancakes or waffles? They're all so so bad and so so GOOD. If you know what I mean. 

So there you are. Just a short and sweet serving from me, because my brain seems to not be working and I can't get the words right. 

Conclusion:  My ideal meal would involve a roast or lobster mornay and cakies. When you say that all together in one sentence, it confirms what I already suspected: I am gross and disgusting. 

Over and out. 

What about you?

Are you gross and disgusting?

Uh I mean, what is your ideal meal? 

Monday, 24 July 2017

I Can't Live Without...

Hey. It's me. Yep, I'm still here. 

I haven't felt like checking in here recently. To be honest, I'm struggling yet again with the wobbles and I don't want to bore everyone with it. Nothing dramatic has happened. It just sneaks up on me now again, because it's pesky like that. Anyway, as I's frightfully tedious...yawwwwn.... 

Oh yeah, and it's also been confirmed via a blood test that I am indeed menopausal. So I guess it's understandable that my moods might be a bit all over the place. Sigh. 

I am doing all the things I need to do to get some equilibrium back. Seeing a shrink, exercise, medication. Blah blah blah... But it all takes time.  And I will get there eventually. So I might pop in and out of this space if and when I feel like it. I'm just trying to not give myself too many things to think about at the moment. 

So in order to keep it simple, here's a quick and to the point list of the things I cannot live without: 

1. Oxygen.
2. Water.
3. Food.
5. Chocolate.
6. Tea.
7. Books.
8. Music.
9. Peace and quiet/solitude.
10. Oh yeah, my family are pretty great, too. 
11. Exercise. 
12. Writing. 

Yep, I'm doing my usual Captain Obvious with numbers 1, 2 and 3. Or perhaps it's the 'literal interpretation' thing that us ASD folk are supposed to be known for...

Also, technically numbers 4 and 5 fall into the same category as number 3, but whatever.  I COULD live without 4 and 5, but I don't want to! I basically have the maturity of a three year old. I want my cake/chocolate and I want it NOW.  

And as far as number 11 and 12 go, I am definitely inclined to be lazy and avoid those things.  But when I DO do them, I really do feel better. So they are staying on my list.  And that is final. 

Okay, I'm done here for now. 

What about you? 

What can't you live without? 

Monday, 15 May 2017

Do You Eat Your Feelings?

Hello there, strangers! Yes, it's little 'ole me, back to entertain you after a bit of a break that went on longer than the school holidays. But you get that. Things to do. Places to go. People to see. That sort of thing. Except there wasn't. Unless my family, grocery shopping and scrolling mindlessly through Facebook count. See? I told you. All such important things. Yes, indeed. Such a fascinating and action-packed life I lead.

Anyway, I lied. I'm not so little. Oops. This is likely due to the fact that, in addition to all of the above, I have also been busily eating all of my  feelings. Every single one of them. They all taste suspiciously like cakies. Sadness = cakies.  Happiness = cakies. Boredom = cakies. Joy = cakies. Stressed? Eat a cakie. Relaxing? Best way to do so is with enough sugary carbs to induce a diabetic coma... You get the picture. 

Which segues neatly to this week's Life This Week prompt:

My favourite junk food. 

I bet you can't guess. Drum roll, please...


Haha! Tricked you! 

Chocolate AND cake. What a surprise. With an honourable mention of hot chips. Because who doesn 't love hot chips with chicken salt and/or gravy? Shut up, all you low carb/no carb fanatics. No one wants to hear about it. Just go and eat your salad and be sad. Or smug and energetic and glowing. I'm not jealous AT ALL.

Image credit:

Yep, basically I am addicted to sugar and all carbs. 

Needless to say, my trysts with the dietition are going splendidly well. Using 'splendidly well' in the sense of  are a complete and utter charade.

At my last visit I had managed to lose a whopping one kilo, but heavens knows how many more I have since put on. Sigh.

Don't you just hate people who whinge about being fat while they shovel anything that isn't nailed down into their gobs? Just quietly, people who whinge about being fat while being nothing of the kind are worse. This was also me some years ago. DOH.

It occurs to me that I never had significant issues with food when I when I was younger. Especially when I was still living with my parents. However, these days I am the person who is primarily responsible for everything food related. I have to do the grocery shopping, cook the meals and feed a family. 

This means that it often feels like all I ever think about is food. I don't find this very helpful. It appears that I have no impulse control when it comes to my eating habits. Additionally, I am now the mother of teenage boys. They constantly eat. They also never put on weight. I seem to have some sort of delusion that I'm also a gangly teenage boy, instead of an overweight middle aged woman. 

Yeah, I know. I need a gigantic kick up the you know what. It's quite obvious from what I have told you that I am the one who buys or bakes the cakies (except when my mum does...),  and I don't want to confront my addiction. I'd rather act like a petulant three year old, sulking in the corner because she can't have cake for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. And snacks...

Plus, most of the stuff that I like to do, such as reading or writing, is quite sedentary. Why couldn't I have been one of these sporty types? 

Oh, well. Enough of my whinging. I'll plod back to the dietitian and see what happens. She also suggested counselling and I was a bit meh about it. I've been backwards and forwards to shrinks and counselors for years and then basically had to figure out I'm autistic myself! But maybe it's not such a bad idea.

It's either that or wiring my jaw shut. Too extreme? 

Of course I could decide to hell with it, who cares what size I am. I certainly could not care less about anyone else's weight or size, so why torture myself? The thing is, though, I've had breast cancer, am on medication for high cholesterol and have a family history of type 2 diabetes. Therefore, keeping my weight within a reasonable range is actually rather important. DAMMIT. 

So I guess my food/weight issues are not going anywhere... Well, except for my waist, thighs etc... Eventually I may have the maturity and emotional intelligence to realise that I can just FEEL my feelings and leave the cakies the hell out of it. Hopefully before I'm around 75 years old and morbidly obese.  More sighs.

But I suspect cakies will always remain my favourite junk food.

What's yours? 

Are you an emotional eater? 

Linking up for Life This Week. 

Monday, 17 October 2016

Which Anniversaries Are Special?

Hi there! Here we are on another MAGNIFICENT Monday! Everyone's favourite day of the week. When it's a public holiday. Today isn't.

But you probably already know that if you're at work. And may I say, you have made a most excellent choice. Procrastinating from work by reading my musings. Well played. I certainly won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me. 

I'm all about making your Monday all better in any way I can. So I'm here to provide you with a few minutes of escape from your to-do-list. (Although I can't imagine why reading here wouldn't be at the absolute TOP of your to-do list. You need to sort your priorities).

Anyway, let's get on with it! 

Once again I am joining in for Life This Week. 

We are talking anniversaries.

This is timely, because in a few short weeks Mickey Blue Eyes and I will be celebrating our 21st wedding anniversary! 

It sounds quite impressive, doesn't it? That is, until I mention that on the exact same day it's my parents 50th wedding anniversary! How awesome is that? That definitely deserves bold, italics and an underline. Done! 

In order for Mick and I to clock up such an impressive record of marital stress bliss I have to live to my 70s and he has to live to his 80s. Bonus points if we actually remember each other if we get there. Stay tuned!

My parents, who I call Mum and Dad, and everyone else (except my brother) calls Alison and Michael (because that's their names - a bit of the old Captain Obvious is always handy...), were married on November 11th, 1966. They were exceptionally good looking. See below.

This explains why I'm so strikingly attractive. You can abandon your futile attempts to resemble and emulate me. It's not going to happen unless you were born into this gene pool. Sorry to break it to you. If it's any consolation, it's not easy being so gorgeous, but some one has to do it. It's a burden I must bear. So sad. 

My parents, Alison and Michael Lafferty, on their wedding day,
 November 11th, 1966

But back to anniversaries...

When Mick and I were planning our wedding, we didn't have any particular date in mind. We just decided to have a spring wedding because we like to be cutting edge and ground breaking.

It turned out that November was the only time we could get holidays to go away for our honeymoon. Believe it or not, I did actually go to work back then in the 'olden days'. Well, that's what our boys call the 1990's.

Coincidentally, the weekend that was free (to book the church) was the same day as my parents anniversary. November 11th! 
I asked them if they minded if we were married on the same day and they didn't.

It some ways it seemed right. They'd gotten married in the registry office and didn't  have a big wedding. Not that our wedding was over the top or anything lavish, but it was still more than what my parents had. So yes, November 11th is a very special anniversary in our family.

Having said that, it must be admitted that we don't always do anything specific on the day. But we do remember! Especially considering that it's also remembrance day! We'll probably have a meal and a glass of wine or two. Then we'll do something super exciting. Like sit on the couch and stare at our laptops as per usual. Sounds like a plan! 

And every single year we get a phone call from our elderly former neighbours to wish us a happy anniversary! It's so sweet of them to remember. 

Naturally, birthdays are also important dates around here. Because CAKE. Duh!

They are all conveniently spaced throughout the year: mine is January 15th, Mr 12's is on March 15th, Mr 15's is on July 10th, Mickey Blue Eyes' is August 11th and Mr (soon to be) 8's is on November 2nd. It's always good to have consistent cake opportunities placed throughout the year. And also the week. I mean, you should always have cake handy for special occasions. You know, like any day that ends with a Y. That sort of thing. 

This year also marks the beginning of a whole new kind of anniversary. I'm not sure I'd call it a 'special' one, but it's certainly one I'll remember...

December 4th will be the one year anniversary of my breast cancer diagnonsense. Needless to say, last year wasn't a very merry Christmas. I'm determined to enjoy it this year! 

Twelve years later, I can't remember the exact date that Mickey Blue Eyes was diagnosed with his bowel cancer.  So I have my fingers, toes, legs, arms, eyeballs crossed that the same thing will happen for me. Hopefully, the date will lose is significance as the years go by. 

Meanwhile, November 11th and all our birthdays will ALWAYS be special. 

So bring on the cake! 

Not on November 11th, right now! Monday ends with a Y! See? 

Linking up for Life This Week.

Also linking up for Open Slather and Mummy Mondays

Which anniversaries are special for you?

Monday, 8 August 2016

Best Birthday Ever

It's time to tell you about my best birthday EVER.

The thing is, they're all pretty good because they all involve CAKE.

You knew I was going to say that, didn't you?

Image credit:

My birthdays as a child were usually fairly low key affairs, as far as I can remember. First of all, my birthday is January 15th, so it was always right in the middle of school holidays. This meant a lot kids would have been away on holidays. Fortunately, I wasn't fussed about parties, anyway. I always disliked being the centre of attention. I just wanted to be the person in the corner silently stuffing my face with cakies and chocolate crackles.

I remember my 21st, my 30th and my 40th.

Me and my Mum at my 21st. 

For my 21st I had one of those classy backyard parties.  However, I froze in front of all my family and friends. Okay, friend. I think I had at least one. All eyes were upon me. Nobody had told me about this part of the proceedings. Apparently I was supposed to make a speech. I felt really embarrassed and stupid for the rest of the evening. But then there was cake, so it was all good. Cake fixes everything. Sort of. Until it doesn't... Details. 

Fast forward nine years. At my 30th birthday, I was totally oblivious to the fact that I was up the duff. In the pudding club. Bun in the oven. Knocked up. 

30 and fabulous! And knocked up. 

There I am. Up the duff and unaware. Tragically I appear to be in much better shape even in my expectant state, than I am now. Weird.  Now I'm pregnant with a cake baby. Shut up.

At my 40th birthday the star of the proceedings was indeed the CAKE. LOOK at it. This decadent and delicious creation was made by my Mum who is a freaking culinary GENIUS. 

My mum always says that the only birthday you should worry about is the one you don't have. Well, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be worrying about it because you'd be slightly dead.

I must confess this year my birthday was just a teensy bit shitty. I began chemotherapy just two days before. Somehow I niavely thought I would just go about my life as usual. I made plans to head out for lunch with my family. Yeah, right. I ended up in bed feeling rather horrid. So next January I have to make up for that. I mean, I still had cake. I wasn't DEAD. That's the only thing that will stop me. Ahem. 

I tell you what though, I will be so freaking happy to make it to 50 and beyond that I will definitely want to have a celebration.

That's why I'd like to believe that my best birthday EVER is still ahead of me. ALL of them. Bring them on. 

In the meantime, it's somebody's birthday somewhere, so bring on the cake! 

Linking up for #imustconfess

What wasyour best birthday EVER?

Monday, 6 June 2016

The One Where I Wonder About Winter

I Must Confess I am definitely NOT a winter person. I'm not a summer person either. I'm an in between kind of person. I don't tolerate the cold or the heat. 

I guess I'm Goldilocks when it comes to weather: I want it to be juuust right. The autumn weather was perfect. Gorgeous and sunny through the day, crisp and cool at night without being freezing. 

People always claim that it's 'easy' to warm up in winter, but impossible to cool down in summer. I have never personally found this to be true. My feet and/or hands are permanent blocks of ice during winter. So I'm one of those helpful people who constantly whinges about the weather for at least half the year. You're welcome.

While we're speaking about all things winter, here's another confession: I've never seen snow. 

That's right, I'm 45 and I've never seen snow. It just doesn't snow in Sydney. And I've never been anywhere where it does. I suspect I would not tolerate that sort of weather at all. The idea of being beside a fire with snow falling outside does seem romantic and fanciful, but the reality might be a tad different. There is probably a lot of shoveling involved. I am not good with shovels. Plus you have to put chains on your car tyres or something. It would be TERRIFYING for me to drive in snow.

You'd probably have to invest in thermal underwear. As it is I already wear several layers. I don't need more. When I was young I used to wear a singlet, a spencer (remember those?) and a skivvy with a jumper over the top. I have no idea why I'm telling you that. It was just a random memory. 

I guess there are good things and bad things about all the seasons. Besides, there's not much point complaining about something you can't control anyway. Doesn't seem to stop me, however.

Here's a handy little list I compiled for no other reason but to amuse myself and bore entertain you: 


  • I seem to have become a hat and scarf person. Well, I have dyke short hair at the moment (not that there's anything wrong with that, as the saying goes), so my noggin gets a bit cold. Beanies are my friend.  I look fabulous in them! Or something. Meh, they're warm, anyway. Shut up. 

  • It's much easier to exercise when it's not stinking hot and humid and you're already dripping with sweat before you begin. In fact, a bit of movement is necessary to warm up. That can't be a bad thing. Especially considering my next point...

  • Comfort eating/food. I always want hot food in Winter. Which can be a good thing if you're an excellent cook. If you're a bit dodgy like me, you end up making a pot of soup that tastes like arse. Consequently you end up eating everything else except the nourishing soup you intended to have. Side note: I know what you're thinking. How do I know what arse tastes like? It's what I imagine arse could taste like. It tasted very, very bad is what I'm getting at. 

  • But never mind the terrible arse-tasting soup, because winter is a peak time for birthdays in my family. First Mr 14 becomes Mr 15 next month. CAKE! Then my mum turns 75! MORE CAKE! Then Mickey Blue Eyes turns 53! EVEN MORE CAKE!!! ALL. THE. CAKE!!!! To prevent the afore-mentioned cake from being arse-tasting, it will all be store bought. I think this is a wise move. 

  • You HAVE TO drink some wine or scotch in order to warm up. Medicinal purposes only, people. I am forced to do this. I suffer through it like the trouper I am. Shut up. 


  • Getting out of bed.
  • Cold feet and hands.
  • Getting colds, especially the dreaded 'Man Flu'.
  • The after effects of all the comfort eating.
  • I drink so much tea that I need to pee all the time.
  • The only places I can get warm are in bed (and sometimes not even there), in the shower and sometimes in the car in the middle of the day. This makes it frightfully difficult to get anything done.
  • It's harder to get all the washing dry. 
  • When you run out of  your medicinal wine or scotch and it's too cold and wet to be bothered going out to get some more. 

End of lists. 

We have had some frightfully wet and dismal weather here over the weekend, but in the end I didn't mind because rainy days mean I can curl up with a book. I might be becoming a winter person after all... 

Who knew? 

Linking up for I Must Confess

Are you a winter person? 

Monday, 10 August 2015

Making Mondays Marvellous

Hello Monday, you marvellous creature! It's the start of another week and there is so much to look forward to!

But Mondays suck, I hear you exclaim. That is one way of looking at it. However, I am here to argue that the much maligned Monday has much to offer.

  • Every body knows that Monday is usually the day that you start diets. Which means that by around lunch time (or morning tea time) you can look forward to eating your body weight in ALL THE FOOD and abruptly ending the Monday diet madness. Or is that just me? 

  • It's often a public holiday. 

  • It makes you appreciate Fridays even more. 

  • It's the only day of the week that starts with an M, making it unique. 

  • There are lots of famous songs inspired by Mondays: I Don't Like Mondays, Manic Monday, Rainy Days And Mondays (always get me down...) The fact that they are all negative songs is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. 

  • Lots of restaurants offer kids eat free deals on Mondays. Since you've already screwed your diet at lunch time, you might as well  forget about cooking and go for it. 

  • You can plan all the things you have to do this week and start ticking them off. Alternatively, you can just tick of the days until the weekend.

  • You may have a favourite television show which airs on a Monday. I'm not even sure which shows are on on Mondays. What am I like? 

  • If Home And Away or Neighbours ended on a cliffhanger on Friday you have all the pent up anticipation of the next episode to look forward to. Surprisingly I don't watch either show. Come to think of it, I don't really watch any shows. Weird.

  • The BEST reason of all that Monday ROCKS: It's usually the day I share a new post here on Nessville!!!!!

Admit it, it's the only reason you wake up, right? 

Anyway, lets get down to my exciting list of things that are happening in the land of Nessville this week:


Most likely I will get out of bed.  If you are reading this then I have managed it. I will certainly look at Facebook. I will post this blog. It's my gift to the world. Just to make your Monday so much better. You're welcome. 


Mickey Blue Eye's birthday is on Tuesday! This of course means one thing: CAKE!!

I also have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. I had a routine blood test done last Wednesday. This is just for a check-up for my cholesterol and sugar levels as well as my thyroid. So I'm going back to see how it went. I'm quietly optimistic that it's all good. I haven't received any phone calls. Last time I had a blood test, my GP rang me immediately the next day to tell my that my sugar levels were a concern and I had to have a Glucose Tolerance Test. So far, no phone calls this time around. That has to be a good thing, doesn't it? This Weight Witches thing may be paying off after all. Oh my stars! 


I will probably stare into space vacantly after exercising vigorously. At which point I will come to the conclusion that since I just exercised and it still must be some one's birthday somewhere, I can justify having yet more leftover birthday cake. Winning! 


I will probably have a cup of tea. Actually several cups of tea. I always do. 


I have my monthly weigh-in at Weight Witches. SUCH a glamorous life I lead. At this point I've scheduled in some sulking when all my cake-eating catches up with me. Following this brief period of sulking, I've then scheduled a firm kick up the bum to myself to make myself get back on track. As soon as I figure out how to become a contortionist....

I suppose I could get Mickey Blue Eyes to kick me up the bum. Otherwise, I'll kick HIM up the bum. I mean, it was HIS birthday cake! It's totally his fault that I ate cake! Come to think of it, my Mum and Mr 14 also had birthdays in this past month. More cake! Therefore, it's totally my family's fault for FORCING me to eat ALL THE CAKE. SO rude. 


Two out of three boys have soccer. I'm sure it will be as thrilling as last Saturday when Mr 6 informed me "We lost 7 - nil, but I scored TWO GOALS!!" 

Not exactly sure how that works. I think he inherited his logic from me. So proud. 


On Sunday I will be sleeping in. There are no other exciting plans. What could be more exciting than sleeping in? 

This will conclude an action-packed week. Just in time for another marvellous Monday! Can't wait... Can you? 

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

Monday, 27 July 2015

Rules to live by

This week's I Must Confess topic has certainly made me think. Which probably  explains that burning smell. I do tend to over think, but usually about cake. I had never thought about what rules I live by.  I used to believe stuff like that was wanky and pretentious. 

Now that I'm older I feel that living with a few 'rules' or values is worthwhile, but only if they have personal meaning to you. On the other hand living by rules because they're expected of you by others doesn't seem so wonderful.

At first I seemed to be a bit stuck on this topic. I figured that's because I'm such a cutting edge rebel. Always breaking the rules and all that. Yep, it's totally that.

Anyway, I pondered and ruminated some more. As well as being cutting edge, I'm a deep and intellectual thinker. And I still had nothing. 

Except this random, ad hoc list of 'Rules To Live By' Ness style:

  • My mental health is always more important than what some one may think of me. Seriously. This is my mantra in life at the moment. 

  • Life's too short to quit sugar.  Unless you have to because you might have diabetes. In which case life's too short to NOT quit sugar. Or something...

  • You wouldn't worry about what other people thought of you if you knew how seldom they did. Thank you, Dr Phil.  Hang on, this sort of cancels out my mantra. Oh well, they're my rules. They don't have to make sense. So ner!

  • Accept myself the way I am in all my flawed glory. I'm shy, introverted, Aspie, scatter-brained. A space cadet daydreamer and a bit of drifter rather than a planner or driven. So what? I'm still okay. It takes all kinds of people to make a World. Including space cadets. So space cadets unite! If we remember...

  • Ditch 'shoulds'. A lot of the time I have a long list of 'shoulds' roaming around my mind. I should be outgoing. I should have a career. I should be organised. Blah, blah, blah,blah. Therefore, a worthwhile rule is ditching the word should. I know I should, but it's hard. See??!! 

  • My bra is the first thing to come off at home. 

  • Random drop-ins. No. Just - NO. 

  • A house without books is like a restaurant without food.

  •  I need to move my body every day. Sometimes I rail against this, but that's the way it is. I'm not a naturally sporty person. Far from it. I've had to accept that my body still needs exercise whether I like it or not. 

  • If you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. And people wonder why I'm so quiet...

  • There is that meme that floats around Facey about how every one is fighting their own battle that you know nothing about. Just be kind. Or something like that. Sort of sounds cliched, but I reckon it's true, so I always keep it in mind. Treat others the way you like to be treated and all that Seems like an  okay rule to live by. 

  • Avoid toxic people and drama queens. Some people are just genuinely arseholes and drama queens.  So I don't surround myself with these kind of toxic people. I suppose it helps if you're inclined to keep to yourself for the most part. 

  • Push myself out of my little comfort zone World occasionally. I'm working on this, but I  do find myself wishing that comfort zones weren't quite so..well, comfortable. Sigh. 

  • Hug my boys and tell them I love them approximately ten billionty times a day. 

  • Stop and eat the cake. I mean, uh...stop and smell the flowers. And STOP eating ALL THE CAKE. I dislike this rule. Sniff. WHY can't I eat the cake? Perfect example of rules that are meant to be broken, if you ask me...

  • Drink cups and cups of tea. Pots are even better. Plus, tea goes perfectly with cake. And it has antioxidants or something. That balances out the cake, right? 

  • Keep a journal. It's fascinating and rather amusing for future you to read what past you was thinking and feeling. 

  • Make sure you keep the afore mentioned journal password protected or under lock and key. It may not be quite so amusing for your loved ones to read if they stumble upon it. Ahem. 

  • Always wear clean undies in case you get hit by a bus. Actually, this is a rule I've heard a lot, but I'm not sure it's really that important. I mean, if you saw a bus hurtling towards you, I'm sure your undies wouldn't be clean for too long.  

  • On the other hand wearing clean undies every day (whether or not you get hit by a bus) seems to be a fair enough rule. And, you know, just wearing undies, period. It seems that filthy, stinking rich celebs regularly forget to wear them or can't afford them or something. Weird. 

  • And finally, always laugh at yourself. If you can't laugh at yourself then give me a call and I'll laugh at you, as the saying goes. Plus, if I didn't laugh, I'd cry. And that's alright. A good old cry is helpful at times, but laughing is always great every day. 

There you have it!  My comprehensive list of rules to live by. Now it's time for a cup of tea. It's the rules! 

What are your rules to live by?

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, 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?

Monday, 27 May 2013

An Idyllic Day

Long ago and far away in the fun and fabulous days of our former bogan existence, life was full of exciting bogan adventures. These adventures often included the wonderful, idyllic days we referred to as our 'Family Fun Days'. This was using the word fun in the same sense of the expression 'Fun Run'. Oxymoron, anyone?  When I remember those grand and glorious days my eyes become misty and I am filled with bittersweet nostalgia.

I recall waking on a Sunday morning feeling zombie like and ancient refreshed and energetic.Micky Blue Eyes hands me a lovely, frothy vegetable juice fresh from the juicer. With beaming eyes he  then utters the fateful words:

"Why don't we go out today for a Family Fun Day?"

Evidently making me drink those juices isn't quite enough torture. The boys greet this suggestion with all the enthusiasm they usually reserve for doing their homework and cleaning their rooms.
On my ideal day I wouldn't wake up to this

"NOOOOO!!" Mr 11 is wild eyed and frantic, while Mr 9 can barely manage a low, pitiful moaning of dull despair. There was no escape. Once Micky Blue Eyes made up his mind we were doomed.

Previous outings had involved driving somewhere in the car. Now, however, we had discovered the "Family Fun Day'.This meant we could purchase a train ticket from Boganville into the city for a family and it would only cost around ten bucks, Mick decided this was a bargain that these non cashed up bogans couldn't miss.

Reluctantly, I showered, dressed and we bundled into the car to drive to the train station.

"Have you got the pram and everything?" I asked as Mick reversed the car from the driveway. He assured me we did and we set off. We parked a block or so away from the station and walked there, avoiding eye contact with the usual unsavoury types loitering around the station negotiating drug deals or whatever it is that they do there. Not sure.  Boganville. So classy. Sigh.

Upon boarding the train, I was assigned to 'stroller sit' while Mick ventured down into the carriage to attempt the impossible. Make three boys with raging testosterone, including a hyperactive three year old sit still and be quiet for the duration of the journey. Good luck with that, I thought as I happily assumed position next to the stroller which was laden with all the essentials for a family day out.

Several minutes passed as the train hurtled along the tracks. At the next stop two young dudes boarded the train and I eavesdropped on their interesting conversation about weed, until they got off a few stops later, possibly to score more weed. Not sure.

At this point, Mick and the boys clambered back up from below. Mr 8 needed to blow his nose. I scrambled in my handbag for a tissue, but came out empty-handed.

"Oh, can't I just wipe it on my shirt?" he wailed.

"NO!" we both shouted, simultaneously. Thankfully, he refrained. We had to resort to using a piece of paper. So elegant.

It was at this point that we realised we had forgotten Mr 3's bag with the change of clothes. Just in case. We could only cross our fingers and pray that he didn't present us with what is known in the Bogan Box as a Mt. Tomah Moment. This refers to the time we went to the Mt. Tomah Botanic Gardens for a picnic and Mr 11 who was then Mr 2 decided to poop his entire body weight, and we had forgotten the nappy bag. Charming.

We finally disembarked at Central station, upon discovering that the train lines were closed, so we would have to walk all the way to the Botanic Gardens. Immediately, the hustle and bustle of the city was completely over-whelming for this Aspergirl. I pondered with some wonder, how I had ever managed to work there a decade ago.

Plodding on , we schlepped up George Street. The boys spotted a Maccas in the distance like a mirage. However there seemed to be even more ratbags and feral bogans loitering around George Street than there were back in our beloved Boganville, so we pressed on until we found another Maccas where the boys filled up on nuggets and fries. After this, we strolled through a rather snazzy and upmarket shopping mall, where I proceeded to go into full on Aspie sensory overload from all the bright shinyness.  Fluorescent lights bouncing off shiny floors, garish Christmas decorations added to the overall effect which resulted in me feeling nauseous.

Feeling sick and light-headed we trudged back past Gucci and Prada.I pondered the fact that even if I had the bucks to shop there, I couldn't stand all the lights and brightness. But I guess that's what online shopping if for, should I ever win lotto.  Eventually we reached the Botanic Gardens where we sat and watched the boats sailing by on the harbour, for a blissful half hour. Mr 3 chased birds around. The other two boys whined that they were bored, shattering our short lived bliss. So it was on to Chinatown, where we had some Chinese food.

While there, Mr 8 exclaimed loudly "Why are there so many Chinese people here? It's FREAKING ME OUT!!"

Awkward. Ahem.

We purchased some fresh fruit at the markets before heading back to Boganville, relieved that yet another Family 'Fun' Day had finally finished.  Just like so many previous ones, which included:

  • Visiting Cronulla Beach. It pissed rain.
  • Visiting the Blue Mountains. Froze our bogan bums off.
  • Visiting the Central Coast by train. We spent most of the day on the train, where we also had to change a 'Mt. Tomah' style nappy while in a cramped country train vestibule trying to hang on for dear life. So. Much. Fun.

I must confess those Family Fun Days were not exactly my ideal day out. We did manage to come close to something resembling my ideal day out recently. During the school holidays we decided to drive to Megalong Valley. On the way up the mountain we stopped at a cake shop. CAKIES! Then at a Vinnies. BOOKS! A day that involves books, cakies and minimum stress is my ideal day out. After this we went for a bush walk, then went to the Megalong Valley Tea Rooms where we had scones with jam and cream. More cakies! Sort of. Not really. But still good. It was a relaxing day out for a change. Still, I can't help feeling like my ideal day at the moment wouldn't really be a day out at all, but a day in.

Alone. Just me, my books, cakies and Carpenters.

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

What is your ideal day out? Or would you prefer a day in, like me?

Friday, 17 May 2013

Fifty Shades Of Purple And The C Word

On Tuesday I attended a group called Fifty Shades Of Purple at the Women’s Health Centre here in Boganville. I was most nervous upon leaving the house, and  barely awake as I was expected to be there at the indecent hour of 9.30am. The idea that a busy mother of 3 should be awake and functioning at this time is preposterous. Ahem.  I mean that’s what ABC kids is for, right? So I can sleep in.  Never mind that they have to be at school before 9.20am. Ridiculous .

To make matters worse there appeared to be no reserved car space for me directly out the front with a sign saying RESERVED FOR VANESSA CONNOR. Rude, I tell you. I had to circle the surrounding streets for a full 10 minutes with some arsehole tailgating me, frantically looking for a spot.  There wasn’t one to be found, so I was reduced to parking several streets away in the RSL car park. I reflected that it was odd that we were not members of the local RSL. Our bogan cred is in question.

Breathlessly, I finally arrived at the centre, late of course and was ushered into a room FULL of scary people.  There was at least four of them!! As well as the group leader/coordinator, who is also my counsellor.  Oh and there was a cute little dog, belonging to one of the ladies.  He was some sort of guide dog for PTSD victims which I thought was a smashing idea. And, yes, I should really stop reading Enid Blyton books at my age. 

Anyhoo, we all introduced ourselves  then the session went on to discussing negative self-talk. Apparently I am not the only person who has some crazy bitch talking shit to me constantly in my head. Who knew?

I also realised that I do ALL OF THESE THINGS:

·         Catastrophising

·         Exaggerating the negative and discounting the positive

·         Mind-reading

·         The ‘shoulds’

I have come to strongly dislike the word should and frankly find it most unhelpful in life.  Honestly that negative Nelly in my head with her catastrophic  crap and should, should, should all the bloody time just needs to SHUT RIGHT UP.

After we pondered on all this it was time for some morning tea, which involved coffee and biscuits which was  nearly as good as cake. Not  quite, mind you but the budget probably doesn’t stretch to cakies so I’ve made a mental note: bring cake. Mind you if I actually bake any cake to take with me it will probably be a miracle. (I actually did bake muffins and jam drops, but they have already been eaten. Oops.)

Then, just as I was beginning  to relax into the group, relieved that there would in fact be no bondage involved  in a group named Fifty Shades Of Purple, came the dreaded C word.


I quit Playgroup partly because I was so traumatised by craft. I never wanted to hear the ominous C word again.

We had to make a ‘Kind Card’ for ourselves.  I drew a dodgy flower on the front, then wrote BE KIND TO YOURSELF inside it and coloured in one side with crayons. Clearly I am an artistic genius who has somehow been over looked. The fact that Mr 4 could draw something MUCH better is irrelevant.

The strange thing was that I did find it oddly calming. So perhaps there is something to this craft caper after all. I survived it without feeling like chaining myself up to be whipped would actually be less painful.

Soon after this, the group was finished for the day and I filed out to wait for my next appointment. One of the other ladies was waiting for a taxi and we chatted and discovered we only live a couple of streets away so I offered her a lift for next week. There are six more weeks. I’m looking forward to it.

Yes, even the craft. (Shut up Randa and Poss).

Do you attend any groups? Enjoy craft? Do you also have a crazy bitch in your head telling you shit?