During this week I have been mulling over a scientific theory which I feel I must share with everyone. There is not just one type of Tourette's Syndrome in the world - there are at least two types. One is the type where the person has a particular disorder where they swear uncontrollably etc. The other is the lesser known (i.e. I thought of it) but possibly much more commonly experienced tourette's, that I like to call "experiential tourrette's" . You have someone or something in your life that causes you a great deal of exasperation, stress, bad feelings, grumpiness and causes you to do things like regularly entertain homicidal thoughts whenever you are dealing with them or thinking about dealing with them. Over a period of time, the stress causes by this person or thing grows to a point where everytime you either hear their name (or even think about them) you starting swearing uncontrollably. Here is an example : you are dealing with your local telephone company over a billing error. They assure you repeatedly that your custom is important to them, whilst stuffing you around royally, not fixing the problem and ultimately pissing you right off. The next time year hear the name of this telephone company, the words (look away now children) "fucking arseholes, shit, fuckers, bastard, mother fucker, suck face, small dick, shit, bum" spill uncontrollably from your lips, increasing the rising feeling of anger and frustration that causes you to down 3 vodka martinis without even thinking. This is a very unfortunate thing, especially if you are attending high tea with your mother in law and she is talking about the new phone she has put in.
My suggestion: instead of pouring money into research to help sufferer's "control" their behaviour, the money would be better spent on hit squads who could take out the offending person or organisation. I think I would like to refer to this as a kind of vaccination against dickheads and will now go and work on my proposal for a grant to take this beyond the concept stage.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Back and there again
I have been lying low whilst my back has been getting better, but now that I am no longer high on prescription medication and can walk upright, I thought it was time to celebrate with a blog post. I even went for a 5km walk the other day and was very proud that I was able to pass someone on the uphill bit just before home. The fact that it was a 76 year old nanna pushing a stroller that contained what looked like a kid that could use some exercise I choose to gloss over, as I will take any small victory right now.
Have just spent a pleasant weekend with a cold, which meant lots of tissues, honey and lemon drinks (thanks, Tim) and feeling like I had been hit repeatedly with a cricket bat. My children were their usual considerate selves (to be honest, Grace was great, the boys were poops) and respected my headache that actually needed its own seat on the lounge by asking me the same question every 2 minutes in high, loud, "mummy is about to kill you" voices. I also had time to marvel at a three year olds ability to actually translate english into another language. An example of this is "Will, could you please keep the noise down" apparently translates as "Will, could you please scream as if your hair is on fire, run in a circle three times and then hit your brother with a Transformer toy" in three year old speak. I feel that this is a phenomenon sadly ignored by linguists. I am equally astounded at the amount of mucous a nose can produce, but a girlfriend of mine told me that mucous production has more to do with your gut than your sinuses, which led me to visualise my intestines coming out of my nose. Perhaps I have come off the prescription drugs too early.
I also had time this weekend to do a little shopping with the clan. I stick by my claim that shopping with any child under the age of 8 is an endurance event that a decathlete would think twice about. The contestants on "Gladiator" reckon they've done it tough but let me tell you, they only had to run 1 gauntlet. When you add up the number of aisles dedicated to toys in your local department store, you have "The gauntlet" on steroids. Plus, they do not hand out protective headgear or mouthguards at the start. All I have to say is that to all the parents out there that know what I'm talking about, I salute you and to those who don't, consider yourself lucky. Why I am drivelling on about shopping is this - what I found on the back of our receipt once we left the shop. Now, I'm sure that many of use have become familiar with those fantastic offers that are printed on the back - two for one coffee at some slop house that thinks nescafe is the yummiest thing around, 20% off a holiday that is a thinly disguised "grab a a granny" tour etc. But today, something new and I just had to share it with you.
Now, I am not mocking any performance problems that a chap may be having. Just the opposite. However, I am not too sure about this whole "nasal delivery technology" business. When you think about doing the wild thing, I am pretty sure that the first thing that leaps to mind is not "nasal delivery". And if it does, please keep it to yourself, I really don't want to know. Still, as my husband pointed out, this advertisement adds a whole knew meaning to "fucked in the head". To be honest, I have never thought of my nose as an erogenous zone, but perhaps this is just illustrating a lack of adventure on my part, rather than a deviant behaviour in others. I feel that this warrants more research, so perhaps tomorrow I will pay a visit to one of those stores out in the industrial area and see if they have a copy of a magazine dedicated to "nasal delivery". Maybe I have always misunderstood what the title "Hooters" has always stood for and all this does is illustrates my naivety. I mean, if it is on the back of a shopping docket, it has to be mainstream, right? Stay tuned, fellow nasal delivery innocents, I'm sure it doesn't end here.
Have just spent a pleasant weekend with a cold, which meant lots of tissues, honey and lemon drinks (thanks, Tim) and feeling like I had been hit repeatedly with a cricket bat. My children were their usual considerate selves (to be honest, Grace was great, the boys were poops) and respected my headache that actually needed its own seat on the lounge by asking me the same question every 2 minutes in high, loud, "mummy is about to kill you" voices. I also had time to marvel at a three year olds ability to actually translate english into another language. An example of this is "Will, could you please keep the noise down" apparently translates as "Will, could you please scream as if your hair is on fire, run in a circle three times and then hit your brother with a Transformer toy" in three year old speak. I feel that this is a phenomenon sadly ignored by linguists. I am equally astounded at the amount of mucous a nose can produce, but a girlfriend of mine told me that mucous production has more to do with your gut than your sinuses, which led me to visualise my intestines coming out of my nose. Perhaps I have come off the prescription drugs too early.
I also had time this weekend to do a little shopping with the clan. I stick by my claim that shopping with any child under the age of 8 is an endurance event that a decathlete would think twice about. The contestants on "Gladiator" reckon they've done it tough but let me tell you, they only had to run 1 gauntlet. When you add up the number of aisles dedicated to toys in your local department store, you have "The gauntlet" on steroids. Plus, they do not hand out protective headgear or mouthguards at the start. All I have to say is that to all the parents out there that know what I'm talking about, I salute you and to those who don't, consider yourself lucky. Why I am drivelling on about shopping is this - what I found on the back of our receipt once we left the shop. Now, I'm sure that many of use have become familiar with those fantastic offers that are printed on the back - two for one coffee at some slop house that thinks nescafe is the yummiest thing around, 20% off a holiday that is a thinly disguised "grab a a granny" tour etc. But today, something new and I just had to share it with you.
Now, I am not mocking any performance problems that a chap may be having. Just the opposite. However, I am not too sure about this whole "nasal delivery technology" business. When you think about doing the wild thing, I am pretty sure that the first thing that leaps to mind is not "nasal delivery". And if it does, please keep it to yourself, I really don't want to know. Still, as my husband pointed out, this advertisement adds a whole knew meaning to "fucked in the head". To be honest, I have never thought of my nose as an erogenous zone, but perhaps this is just illustrating a lack of adventure on my part, rather than a deviant behaviour in others. I feel that this warrants more research, so perhaps tomorrow I will pay a visit to one of those stores out in the industrial area and see if they have a copy of a magazine dedicated to "nasal delivery". Maybe I have always misunderstood what the title "Hooters" has always stood for and all this does is illustrates my naivety. I mean, if it is on the back of a shopping docket, it has to be mainstream, right? Stay tuned, fellow nasal delivery innocents, I'm sure it doesn't end here.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Red wine and the power of reflection
This week has been a bit well, shitty, really. My back is still taking its own sweet time to recover, I got a few lots of disappointing news and when I checked the scales on Friday, it would seem that the brie and pasta I have been consoling myself with over the last 5 weeks have decided to stake a settlement claim on my hips and gut - very rude. I of course dealt with this as any mature woman would by downing over 2 bottles of red wine last night with some good friends and watching the Wallabies and Springboks show each other all manner of man love on a rugby field. That's how it was looking by the time I got to the bottom of my second bottle of shiraz, anyway. Luckily, my inner hangover warning system kicked in at 4am this morning, so I was able to get up, drink lots of water and take 2 preventive panadol. Not feeling too bad right now - just a bit tired, but that can happen when your 3 year old comes bouncing into your bedroom at 6 ish, launches himself from the end of the bed onto your chest and yells in your face how much he loves you and that HE"S AWAKE!!!!!!
Anyway, we settled ourselves in on the lounge with a few pillows and blankets etc and struggled (well, I struggled, he seemed fine) our way through the delight that is Sunday morning TV programming. We had the choice of a live feed from World Youth Day, some evangelist who seemed to think that you would send in money if he SHOUTED the gospels into the microphone and the new improved version of "The Magic Roundabout". Now, I am a child of the 70s and this new version is just not the same - there is NO WAY you can imagine that Dougal the dog is just a mop end that someone at BBC stuck some eyes on and made the station an overnight success in children's programming. As such, I had time to reflect on what I've been up to over the last few years - have the feeling I had not yet sobered right up and was going through the "contemplative drunk" phase. Still, I have also sat in front of all kinds of kids TV shows stone cold sober and I reckon Tweenies would be made a hell of a lot more bearable if you are 3 sheets to the wind. So, turning things around in my slightly foggy brain, I came to the following conclusions:
Anyway, we settled ourselves in on the lounge with a few pillows and blankets etc and struggled (well, I struggled, he seemed fine) our way through the delight that is Sunday morning TV programming. We had the choice of a live feed from World Youth Day, some evangelist who seemed to think that you would send in money if he SHOUTED the gospels into the microphone and the new improved version of "The Magic Roundabout". Now, I am a child of the 70s and this new version is just not the same - there is NO WAY you can imagine that Dougal the dog is just a mop end that someone at BBC stuck some eyes on and made the station an overnight success in children's programming. As such, I had time to reflect on what I've been up to over the last few years - have the feeling I had not yet sobered right up and was going through the "contemplative drunk" phase. Still, I have also sat in front of all kinds of kids TV shows stone cold sober and I reckon Tweenies would be made a hell of a lot more bearable if you are 3 sheets to the wind. So, turning things around in my slightly foggy brain, I came to the following conclusions:
- I have done really well with my fitness and weight loss in the past, but I am starting to lose my grip on it and the weight is starting to creep back on. I need to get back on the rabbit food if I want to be able to buy a summer dress from a shop, rather than doing a long term hire of a marquee from the local events hire place.
- Hurting myself has sucked big, hairy ones. No polite way to say how jacked off I am about this. The only up side I have had from this is that I've had more time with the family, but constant pain (even really low grade stuff like I have now) tends to take the gloss off this a bit. Remaining happy, optimistic and focused on getting better is exhausting and after a while my "up" attitude starts to shit me off. Big time.
- I am going to have to pull a whole lot of energy from somewhere to get motivated and moving again. Awesome. To quote Samuel L. Jackson "Oh, excuse me while I just pull that out of my arse". I know I CAN do it, it just shits me that I have to. Whinge, wah, wah, wah, wah.
- The person who came up with Barney the dinosaur was hell's own messenger. No one on God's green earth came up with this concept, no human is that cruel. And the people who put it on at 7 in the morning on a Sunday deserve herpes. Hmm, I think the panadol are wearing off. Might just have more shiraz for breakfast.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
It's a hot wind that blows no good
It is the middle of winter here, but there have been a number of discussions on hot breezes at our house lately that have taken our minds off the winter chill. On Friday Grace sat me down and said she had a question it wanted answered and she wasn't sure if I could help. Wondering is this was the prelude to "the talk" that every parent dreads having with their child, I cast my eye over the bookshelf to see if "Where did I come from" was anywhere nearby. With her next words, I realised that this was something far more difficult to answer - she turned her big blue eyes on me and said "Mum, why is it that when you do a fluffy and it feels really, really hot, it always smells bad?" Oh holy jesus, give me the sex question any day. Firstly, a Friday afternoon fart discussion was not high on my agenda and second, I actually had no idea on the answer and did not want to enter the search term "hot fart" on google while my kid was watching (or ever, for that matter).
My sons wandered in and once they worked out the subject of conversation, well, it was a riot in at our place. The words "bum" and "fart" were shouted numerous times as they rolled around laughing on the floor. This was accompanied by "sound effects" and me trying to keep a straight face and explain to Grace that I had no idea and try to work out why she wanted to know. Apparently one of the kids on her table let slip an absolute cracker today and when the other kids all were choking, he explained that he had had "a hot fart, the ones that always smell bad". Cool - it would seem that biology was on the agenda for school that day and I have to say, there's nothing like prac to make sure that the message gets through. I wasn't really able to answer grace's question, but I think I might send it in to Dr. Karl on JJJ for his morning segment - surely it rates up there with belly button fluff.
My sons wandered in and once they worked out the subject of conversation, well, it was a riot in at our place. The words "bum" and "fart" were shouted numerous times as they rolled around laughing on the floor. This was accompanied by "sound effects" and me trying to keep a straight face and explain to Grace that I had no idea and try to work out why she wanted to know. Apparently one of the kids on her table let slip an absolute cracker today and when the other kids all were choking, he explained that he had had "a hot fart, the ones that always smell bad". Cool - it would seem that biology was on the agenda for school that day and I have to say, there's nothing like prac to make sure that the message gets through. I wasn't really able to answer grace's question, but I think I might send it in to Dr. Karl on JJJ for his morning segment - surely it rates up there with belly button fluff.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Growing older but not up
Well, I am well and truly jumping around in the puddles marked "prelude to middle age" this week. I have gone to bed before 10pm 3 nights this week, am really hoping that the ads the company whose moisturiser I buy is telling the truth and my "baby girl" turned 10. I am wondering if the next logical step is to stock up on hair dye to cover the greys that will more than likely start breaking out all over my head or if I should invest in some shares in a botox company. I also know I'm getting oldish when I saw the photos my cousin took when she went to the Glastonbury festival over in England and all I could think about was that she was going to have a devil of a time getting the mud out of her clothes. Funny thing is, I don't FEEL middle aged (I mean in a sense of being - I don't run my hands over middle aged people all that often, so what they physically feel like is a mystery to me) - do middle aged people still say "fuck" regularly, listen to AC DC and find perverse joy in watching the younger people in their office squirm when you "accidentally" sing along with your playlist of 80s hits loudly on your ipod?
Funny thing it, I am not too freaked out with the whole getting older thing - as I pointed out to a girlfriend of mine when she was moaning about how old I must be feeling on Grace's birthday(with a friend like that, who needs an enema? And no, that isn't a typo) - getting older is better than the alternative. Also, it doesn't matter how old you get in terms of years, you always have the choice of remaining immature for as long as you want. In my mind, don't fight it - once you are over the age of about 25, immaturity is something that should be seen as a skill to be honed so it is available anytime you need it. After all, it takes real talent to be able to snigger at the leaflet that comes in the box with your multivitamins that has been literally been translated from Chinese into English - did you know that with one particular brand , taking it daily "will allow you to get up yourself first thing in the morning".
Funny thing it, I am not too freaked out with the whole getting older thing - as I pointed out to a girlfriend of mine when she was moaning about how old I must be feeling on Grace's birthday(with a friend like that, who needs an enema? And no, that isn't a typo) - getting older is better than the alternative. Also, it doesn't matter how old you get in terms of years, you always have the choice of remaining immature for as long as you want. In my mind, don't fight it - once you are over the age of about 25, immaturity is something that should be seen as a skill to be honed so it is available anytime you need it. After all, it takes real talent to be able to snigger at the leaflet that comes in the box with your multivitamins that has been literally been translated from Chinese into English - did you know that with one particular brand , taking it daily "will allow you to get up yourself first thing in the morning".
Friday, June 20, 2008
words of love
Have you ever noticed that, amongst some humans, people will always try to find a way to break what is ultimately bad news in a positive way? I have a few theories why people do this:
1) They have had a truly bad experience where someone spontaneously combusted when they were told that there was a booger hanging out of their nose.
2) They know they are in really serious shit and with luck if the person who they are about to be in serious shit with is in a good frame of mind, no on will die.
3) They are one of those people in life who truly believe that everyone one needs to follow the adage "do you want the good news or the bad news?". Word of advice, NO ONE ever wants the bad news EVER. Those who say they do are masochists, delusional or like to wallow around in pooh.
You may have noticed a few pooh references in there - well, I have an absolute cracker (no pun intended) of a story that I just have to share. Will, our youngest, is going through the fun experience that is toilet training and anyone who has even remotely been involved in this (even those who have had to listen to a co worker exclaim loudly over the phone "You did a wee on the toilet??? That's great!!!!"" and you hope to god they are talking to a child and not another adult) knows it can be tedious and messy. Well, my lovely son has found a way to deliver the bad news wrapped in words of love. Apparently at creche the other day he went up to Jess, who works there, and said "Jess, I love you. I've done a pooh". Note that this rhymes - it is like the Dr Suess way of letting someone know the nappy needs to be changed. In the days since, he has toddled out to us at various times with a new nappy and a smile, lets us know that he loves us and we know it's time to grab the baby wipes and a nose peg. I have heard of trying to make the best of a shit situation, but this is just taking to that next level.
My back is not recovering as quickly as I would like. I am on restricted duties at work until early July and I can't do any exercise except walk or swim for 3 months. It's just as well I have the positive messages from Will to look forward to :)
1) They have had a truly bad experience where someone spontaneously combusted when they were told that there was a booger hanging out of their nose.
2) They know they are in really serious shit and with luck if the person who they are about to be in serious shit with is in a good frame of mind, no on will die.
3) They are one of those people in life who truly believe that everyone one needs to follow the adage "do you want the good news or the bad news?". Word of advice, NO ONE ever wants the bad news EVER. Those who say they do are masochists, delusional or like to wallow around in pooh.
You may have noticed a few pooh references in there - well, I have an absolute cracker (no pun intended) of a story that I just have to share. Will, our youngest, is going through the fun experience that is toilet training and anyone who has even remotely been involved in this (even those who have had to listen to a co worker exclaim loudly over the phone "You did a wee on the toilet??? That's great!!!!"" and you hope to god they are talking to a child and not another adult) knows it can be tedious and messy. Well, my lovely son has found a way to deliver the bad news wrapped in words of love. Apparently at creche the other day he went up to Jess, who works there, and said "Jess, I love you. I've done a pooh". Note that this rhymes - it is like the Dr Suess way of letting someone know the nappy needs to be changed. In the days since, he has toddled out to us at various times with a new nappy and a smile, lets us know that he loves us and we know it's time to grab the baby wipes and a nose peg. I have heard of trying to make the best of a shit situation, but this is just taking to that next level.
My back is not recovering as quickly as I would like. I am on restricted duties at work until early July and I can't do any exercise except walk or swim for 3 months. It's just as well I have the positive messages from Will to look forward to :)
Friday, June 13, 2008
Careful what you wish for
Everyone has heard this saying, right? Well, pay attention to it, as I have found out the hard way that when you utter the words "I'm so tired and run down, I really need a week off", someone may just be listening. On Wednesday I had a little slip and I am now having a nice quiet break at home, doped up on painkillers and some other drug that upsets my stomach but apparently is good for making my back feel better. Poop. Sorry, that was just an exasperated poop, not a comment on what the drugs are doing to me. Note to self : don't blog when high on panadeine forte.
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