Now must dash - am rather tired from all the retracting and apologising.
K
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
The Blog with the Handyman
There is a certain benefit to having a friend who is a handyman. Things get fixed, generally anyway, without the need to shell out every single dollar that boy child doesn't take, to assorted tradesmen.
The downside to having a friend who is a handyman is that quite often things get done that you don't want. Take my front door for instance. It was an ok door - it was solid wood therefore it was a tad dark in the front entry hall. Nothing though that 50 jillionmegawattthingies of electricity didn't fix.
The downside to having a friend who is a handyman who works on a building site is that he brings old things home. Like a front door. Like a front door that MUST replace mine. A front door that will need repainting unless I want it to stand out like the proverbial dog's testicles.
Hence I sit here amid flying plaster, nail guns, hammer noise and shake my head in disbelief. The new old front door does not fit my door opening. That handy little nugget of information was not checked. Now at this point in time any woman - hell any sane PERSON, would admit defeat and declare it a no-go project. Not so my handyman who works on a building site friend. The door opening is now being "rejigged" to allow the door. "Rejigged" is trademan's speak for demolished. In the true spirit of Australian pioneering ways I have been told "she'll be right".
What I am faced with at this point in time is a great big bloody gaping hole where a front door used to be. A new old front door that I don't particularly like. A house that is being remodeled to accommodate said new old front door that I don't like. All this so I could avoid spending $100 bucks on a new NEW door.
There is also the small problem of the locking mechanisms not lining up. Apparently we are not worrying about that at the moment. Just that small detail of my personal security. I might need to find a handyman who is a locksmith friend?
In any event, she might be right, at some point in the future ..............
K
The downside to having a friend who is a handyman is that quite often things get done that you don't want. Take my front door for instance. It was an ok door - it was solid wood therefore it was a tad dark in the front entry hall. Nothing though that 50 jillionmegawattthingies of electricity didn't fix.
The downside to having a friend who is a handyman who works on a building site is that he brings old things home. Like a front door. Like a front door that MUST replace mine. A front door that will need repainting unless I want it to stand out like the proverbial dog's testicles.
Hence I sit here amid flying plaster, nail guns, hammer noise and shake my head in disbelief. The new old front door does not fit my door opening. That handy little nugget of information was not checked. Now at this point in time any woman - hell any sane PERSON, would admit defeat and declare it a no-go project. Not so my handyman who works on a building site friend. The door opening is now being "rejigged" to allow the door. "Rejigged" is trademan's speak for demolished. In the true spirit of Australian pioneering ways I have been told "she'll be right".
What I am faced with at this point in time is a great big bloody gaping hole where a front door used to be. A new old front door that I don't particularly like. A house that is being remodeled to accommodate said new old front door that I don't like. All this so I could avoid spending $100 bucks on a new NEW door.
There is also the small problem of the locking mechanisms not lining up. Apparently we are not worrying about that at the moment. Just that small detail of my personal security. I might need to find a handyman who is a locksmith friend?
In any event, she might be right, at some point in the future ..............
K
Thursday, June 26, 2008
The Blog with the Radioactive Feline
Why are animals stupid? Why do they leave themselves wide open for hurt and humiliation?
Ms. Lynxy Mynxy came into our lives approximately 18 months ago - a cheeky little black and white streamlined kitten that pounced on Boy Child's leg in the animal shelter soon grew up to be big ball of long haired feminine fluff - nose in the air - only talk to you when she wanted something - avoided Boy Child at all costs - Feline. She was my baby pure and simple.
Yet lately something very very strange has been happening. She is apparently transferring her allegiance from her "try much too hard" owner to the "I dont give a f#*k about you" house mate.
A snap of us in happier times:-
Ms. Lynxy Mynxy came into our lives approximately 18 months ago - a cheeky little black and white streamlined kitten that pounced on Boy Child's leg in the animal shelter soon grew up to be big ball of long haired feminine fluff - nose in the air - only talk to you when she wanted something - avoided Boy Child at all costs - Feline. She was my baby pure and simple.
Yet lately something very very strange has been happening. She is apparently transferring her allegiance from her "try much too hard" owner to the "I dont give a f#*k about you" house mate.
A snap of us in happier times:-
Ms. Lynxy has some "ragdoll" species in her which causes her to "flop" like a ragdoll when picked up - this was how I carried her around the house with her purring like a steam roller.
Since Boy Child has come into the possession of a tiny little laser light - which omitts a red "dot" on the ground, and since he has taken to making her chase said red dot around the whole house - she now thinks the sun shines out of a certain orifice of his.
Now when I need to check where said feline is - this is where I will normally find her:-
Yes, that's right, in the stinking pit that is boy child's bedroom. Laying on his bed - admiring him. Flashing her radioactive eyes at him.
I am CRUSHED. The one who was to love me unconditionally has switched her affections to the controller of a red dot on the ground. Do I try too hard????? This is the question.............
K.
PS. I have since discovered cause of her affections to Boy Child - namely one electric blanket left to swelter for 6 days straight - making laying on bed akin to sunbaking in Bahamas. I have since fixed said problem and she is now freezing her butt off like the rest of us. Mmmmmm revenge is SWEET!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Blog with the Filth
Hello ..... My name is Kath and I am slack. I am a procrastinator. I am lazy.
Now I KNOW these things about myself - highly enlightened kind of person I am - what I do NOT like is when people discover these things for themselves.
Case in question: New Boss. Now OK boss is not exactly NEW new - but 18 months new and that's still new in this case. I have up until this point managed to baffle him with bullshit for 18 months about what I actually DO during the day, and lets face it - I could score awards for my paper piles and loud "sighs" of being completely overwhelmed by work.
Today however I sorta got busted for not having done some things that I should have been doing. Now it was not through ignorance that I did not do them - I KNOW they needed doing - it's just that I hadn't got AROUND to it yet. Which started me thinking about genetics. Trust me - it's not that big a leap. Lets look at an example shall we????
Moi: Mmmmmm I have SO many things to do before I go home.....damn how am I going to manage?
Boss: Kath I have to go to a meeting - you will probably be gone by the time I get back - see you in the morning.
Moi: Mmmmm OK bye then. (YAY can now chat and blog and google funny cat pictures which make me laugh)
Me: Boy child can you PLEASE clean your room and take the garbage out.
Boy Child: "grunt" (or some similar gutteral sound)
Me: Ok going to work now remember to do chores I asked you.
Boy Child: "grunt" (YAY can chat and blog and google boobs and things that make me.............(you get idea)
Boss: Kath can I see depreciation schedules and balance sheet will all adjustments for end of year?
Me: Here they are (weight on one leg - hands on hips - hair over shoulder) I havent actually done those last adjustments as yet - its just been so hellishly busy lately.
Me: BOY CHILD!!!!! This room is a F#(@ing DISGRACE - WHY have you not done what you were asked?
Boy Child: Mum (shoulders down - head on angle - eyes wide open - small smile on lips) I have had SO much homework to do and I just haven't had a chance as yet.
Me: Ok darling, just make sure you get to it when you have finished homework.
Boy Child: "grunt" (is now googling boobs)
Is it just me or does anybody else see some kind of pattern emerging?
Surely I have more to pass onto boy child than how to effectively get away without doing stuff? Or is he purely and simply his mother's son???????????????
In meantime I shall be lucky to have job whilst being surrounded by filth at home (actual filth and cyber boob filth).
K
Now I KNOW these things about myself - highly enlightened kind of person I am - what I do NOT like is when people discover these things for themselves.
Case in question: New Boss. Now OK boss is not exactly NEW new - but 18 months new and that's still new in this case. I have up until this point managed to baffle him with bullshit for 18 months about what I actually DO during the day, and lets face it - I could score awards for my paper piles and loud "sighs" of being completely overwhelmed by work.
Today however I sorta got busted for not having done some things that I should have been doing. Now it was not through ignorance that I did not do them - I KNOW they needed doing - it's just that I hadn't got AROUND to it yet. Which started me thinking about genetics. Trust me - it's not that big a leap. Lets look at an example shall we????
Moi: Mmmmmm I have SO many things to do before I go home.....damn how am I going to manage?
Boss: Kath I have to go to a meeting - you will probably be gone by the time I get back - see you in the morning.
Moi: Mmmmm OK bye then. (YAY can now chat and blog and google funny cat pictures which make me laugh)
Me: Boy child can you PLEASE clean your room and take the garbage out.
Boy Child: "grunt" (or some similar gutteral sound)
Me: Ok going to work now remember to do chores I asked you.
Boy Child: "grunt" (YAY can chat and blog and google boobs and things that make me.............(you get idea)
Boss: Kath can I see depreciation schedules and balance sheet will all adjustments for end of year?
Me: Here they are (weight on one leg - hands on hips - hair over shoulder) I havent actually done those last adjustments as yet - its just been so hellishly busy lately.
Me: BOY CHILD!!!!! This room is a F#(@ing DISGRACE - WHY have you not done what you were asked?
Boy Child: Mum (shoulders down - head on angle - eyes wide open - small smile on lips) I have had SO much homework to do and I just haven't had a chance as yet.
Me: Ok darling, just make sure you get to it when you have finished homework.
Boy Child: "grunt" (is now googling boobs)
Is it just me or does anybody else see some kind of pattern emerging?
Surely I have more to pass onto boy child than how to effectively get away without doing stuff? Or is he purely and simply his mother's son???????????????
In meantime I shall be lucky to have job whilst being surrounded by filth at home (actual filth and cyber boob filth).
K
Saturday, June 21, 2008
The Blog with the Old Photo
I came across a really old photo last night. After shedding copious amounts of tears I decided that I would post it and share the two people who made me who I am today and will continue to influence me for the rest of my days.
The car, I believe to be an FJ Holden, was Dad's pride and joy - as well as the woman who stood beside him for almost 5 decades. I think Mum grabbing his leg (bit bloody forward Mum I mean for God's sakes it was the 50'S and you two were not even married!) says it all really! Mmmmm Mum was always stylin' - wonder if she kept those pants???
This photo reminded me that I had completely forgotten what would have been their 48th wedding anniversay on June 4th. Now I have guilt as well as grief!!
We still miss him daily - hell I talk to him most days - I feel his presence with me. Whether that is just wishful thinking or whether there is something in it I'm still not quite sure.
But as life does - it goes on - and it tends to pull you along with it. This pic was taken Christmas just gone. It was the first Christmas for me at least that didnt feel like there was a huge gaping hole in our lives.
K
The car, I believe to be an FJ Holden, was Dad's pride and joy - as well as the woman who stood beside him for almost 5 decades. I think Mum grabbing his leg (bit bloody forward Mum I mean for God's sakes it was the 50'S and you two were not even married!) says it all really! Mmmmm Mum was always stylin' - wonder if she kept those pants???
This photo reminded me that I had completely forgotten what would have been their 48th wedding anniversay on June 4th. Now I have guilt as well as grief!!
We still miss him daily - hell I talk to him most days - I feel his presence with me. Whether that is just wishful thinking or whether there is something in it I'm still not quite sure.
But as life does - it goes on - and it tends to pull you along with it. This pic was taken Christmas just gone. It was the first Christmas for me at least that didnt feel like there was a huge gaping hole in our lives.
K
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Blog with the Name Change
Today I will take another step in the process of extricating myself further from my previous life as a wife. Although for some strange reason this one is much much scarier.
Almost two years ago striking out on my own, purchasing a home for myself and boy child by myself was not nearly as frightening as what today holds.
Today, I will begin steps to change my name. Now normally a woman would, I assume, revert back to her maiden name. No issues there - no big deal. Of course that would be far too EASY for me wouldn't it? You see I would without a doubt have THE most awful maiden name. I spent the first 20 years of my life in hope that the knight in shining armour that swept me of my feet (yes folks and I'm still looking for him - the bastard - he better bloody hurry) was the owner of a surname just as majestic and handsome as the knight himself. Alas it was not meant to be. While my married name was nowhere near as awful as my maiden name, it was still not really ME.
Which leaves me in rather a spot of bother - don't want to keep the married name - but couldn't ever ever ever think about returning to my old name. So the thought occurred to me (insert lightglobe popping overhead) - why not choose a DIFFERENT name?????
Which of course then started me thinking "what's in a name" - it is our very first label that we are given - courtesy of our parents and one which we either fit comfortably from day one or spend the rest of our lives trying to deal with. With the popularity of names like Harley for boys I am wondering how many 20 year old Harleys will be walking around in about 15 years time - with nerdy glasses, their noses stuck in their computer games - whilst always knowing they will never live up to their name?
If I change my name will it fit ME? Or will I, once again, be chaffing at the label which this time I have applied to myself?
After having a long conversation with my father about the fact that while I love him dearly his name sucks (but the way Dad passed 4 years ago so it was a very onesided conversation but I felt the need to let him know I was not in any way shape or form trying to insult him). My mum also was fully supportive of my decision.
So today folks I will venture into the big city - with the 40 page application form and 120 sheets of supporting documentation to prove who I AM so I can become somebody ELSE and will change my surname to my mother's maiden name. I think that's a nice touch - it means something to me at least instead of just a random name.
Henceforth from today I shall be known as Kathleen Thornton. Nothing spectacular but I think it has a nice ring to it.
Enjoy your days people and remember - "She'll be right!!"
K
Almost two years ago striking out on my own, purchasing a home for myself and boy child by myself was not nearly as frightening as what today holds.
Today, I will begin steps to change my name. Now normally a woman would, I assume, revert back to her maiden name. No issues there - no big deal. Of course that would be far too EASY for me wouldn't it? You see I would without a doubt have THE most awful maiden name. I spent the first 20 years of my life in hope that the knight in shining armour that swept me of my feet (yes folks and I'm still looking for him - the bastard - he better bloody hurry) was the owner of a surname just as majestic and handsome as the knight himself. Alas it was not meant to be. While my married name was nowhere near as awful as my maiden name, it was still not really ME.
Which leaves me in rather a spot of bother - don't want to keep the married name - but couldn't ever ever ever think about returning to my old name. So the thought occurred to me (insert lightglobe popping overhead) - why not choose a DIFFERENT name?????
Which of course then started me thinking "what's in a name" - it is our very first label that we are given - courtesy of our parents and one which we either fit comfortably from day one or spend the rest of our lives trying to deal with. With the popularity of names like Harley for boys I am wondering how many 20 year old Harleys will be walking around in about 15 years time - with nerdy glasses, their noses stuck in their computer games - whilst always knowing they will never live up to their name?
If I change my name will it fit ME? Or will I, once again, be chaffing at the label which this time I have applied to myself?
After having a long conversation with my father about the fact that while I love him dearly his name sucks (but the way Dad passed 4 years ago so it was a very onesided conversation but I felt the need to let him know I was not in any way shape or form trying to insult him). My mum also was fully supportive of my decision.
So today folks I will venture into the big city - with the 40 page application form and 120 sheets of supporting documentation to prove who I AM so I can become somebody ELSE and will change my surname to my mother's maiden name. I think that's a nice touch - it means something to me at least instead of just a random name.
Henceforth from today I shall be known as Kathleen Thornton. Nothing spectacular but I think it has a nice ring to it.
Enjoy your days people and remember - "She'll be right!!"
K
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The Blog with the Binge Drinking
According to new research recently released here, the "powers-that-be" have determined that any person who drinks more than 4 drinks in one evening (or afternoon or morning) is in fact, binge drinking.
Now obviously the "powers-that-be" are not working mothers. Or stay at home mothers. Or "I'm not sure what I do with my day because I have lost my mind" mothers. Because every mother knows that 4 drinks is what you inhale in the first five minutes after happy hour commences. After those 4 drinks, which enable your brain to begin to function properly and the function of speech and clarity of thought return, well then you get down to some serious drinking.
Happy hour always began at my house at 5pm. It was a nice round number. A civilised drinking hour when one would pour a glass of wine - roll the wine around the glass and savour the bouquet - then chuck the wine down your throat as quickly as is humanly possible. Lately though I have noticed a phenomenon called "happy hour creep".
Happy hour creep occurs when mind and body decide it is 5pm but upon closer inspection of any time piece you discover that not only is it not 5pm - it's not even CLOSE! (inspection of every time piece in house at this point is a very very good option as one out of the 20 or so may in fact be incorrect)
In the past I have bowed to the judgement of the said time keepers and waited patiently for happy hour to roll around. However in more recent times I have been known to utter four letter words at the time keepers and proceed to ignore them. My problem is that by functioning according to my internal body clock my day may look something like this:
Now obviously the "powers-that-be" are not working mothers. Or stay at home mothers. Or "I'm not sure what I do with my day because I have lost my mind" mothers. Because every mother knows that 4 drinks is what you inhale in the first five minutes after happy hour commences. After those 4 drinks, which enable your brain to begin to function properly and the function of speech and clarity of thought return, well then you get down to some serious drinking.
Happy hour always began at my house at 5pm. It was a nice round number. A civilised drinking hour when one would pour a glass of wine - roll the wine around the glass and savour the bouquet - then chuck the wine down your throat as quickly as is humanly possible. Lately though I have noticed a phenomenon called "happy hour creep".
Happy hour creep occurs when mind and body decide it is 5pm but upon closer inspection of any time piece you discover that not only is it not 5pm - it's not even CLOSE! (inspection of every time piece in house at this point is a very very good option as one out of the 20 or so may in fact be incorrect)
In the past I have bowed to the judgement of the said time keepers and waited patiently for happy hour to roll around. However in more recent times I have been known to utter four letter words at the time keepers and proceed to ignore them. My problem is that by functioning according to my internal body clock my day may look something like this:
- 7am Fall out of Bed
- 9am Arrive at work having spent 60 minutes yelling at boy child to get out of bed and get dressed, 20 minutes yelling at Ms. Lynxy Mynxy to get out from under the bed and get her lazy butt outside and experience nature, 30 minutes in vehicle yelling at other drivers to get out of my way.
- 3pm Leave work after having spent 6 hours um..........working (that's my story and I'm sticking to it).
- 3.30pm Arrive home - open wine bottle.
- 6pm Snuggled in bed in wine induced haze - snoring ever so femininely.
Now to be honest I dont see anything wrong with the day above - except perhaps for the work bit. But as you can see - it means I have no time to do things like clean the house, or cook dinner or............ok so apart from the work bit its a perfect day.
I liken "happy hour creep" to the issues that surround our earth's orbit to not fit EXACTLY into 365 days. Every 4 years we must shove an extra day in somewhere to make it all work nicely.
So I propose this: "Leap Happy Hour"!
Every Friday afternoon at 4pm we get a EXTRA hour of drinking. A really HAPPY Happy Hour!!!!. This would definitely (please do not ask for the scientific proof - the scientists are all too busy determining what constitutes binge drinking) go a long way to addressing the issues of Happy Hour Creep and make me feel a WHOLE lot better in the process.
Must dash - Leap Happy Hour is just around the corner!
Cheers!!!
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The Blog with the Expectations
I once heard this phrase:-
And I thought at the time WOW such long words! - yet something made that little nugget of information stick. I now know why.
At the age of 39 you would think after so many disappointments I would stop having expectations of people or events or whatever. But I continue. And I am continually let down. I refuse to live my life expecting nothing so that I won't be disappointed. It seems so pointless. Yet right now I envy the people who do this. For them everything is a bonus.
Are my standards or expectations too high? Or just the very fact that I have them in this day and age is setting myself up for being let down? When do we stop expecting things from people?
This then begs the question - who have I let down? Who is this life has expected things from me and not received them? I ponder on friendships that have come and gone through my life and wonder if the reason those friendships did not survive was because expectations were not met on either side. Are the friendships I have now that have endured through high school, child rearing, marriage failures, money worries - are those friendships solid because in fact we expecting nothing in return? Just a phone call now and then - an occasional visit - but all the while knowing those people are there for us if we need them. Is that what makes them work? Is a relationship that is conducted on a daily basis more likely to be effected by expectations? Or is it more that a romantic relationship gets to the point where we indeed expect a lot of the other person? More than we have a right to? When those expectations cannot be understood by one person it sets up a domino effect that may very well result in a complete crashing of the very fibres which create the relationship. Yet is it acceptable to verbalise our expectations? Isn't that then just asking for things?
This seems to be the issue I am wrestling with as I begin my journey to rediscover who I really am. I just wonder whether I will like the answers I find?
"Expectations are pre-meditated resentments"
At the age of 39 you would think after so many disappointments I would stop having expectations of people or events or whatever. But I continue. And I am continually let down. I refuse to live my life expecting nothing so that I won't be disappointed. It seems so pointless. Yet right now I envy the people who do this. For them everything is a bonus.
Are my standards or expectations too high? Or just the very fact that I have them in this day and age is setting myself up for being let down? When do we stop expecting things from people?
This then begs the question - who have I let down? Who is this life has expected things from me and not received them? I ponder on friendships that have come and gone through my life and wonder if the reason those friendships did not survive was because expectations were not met on either side. Are the friendships I have now that have endured through high school, child rearing, marriage failures, money worries - are those friendships solid because in fact we expecting nothing in return? Just a phone call now and then - an occasional visit - but all the while knowing those people are there for us if we need them. Is that what makes them work? Is a relationship that is conducted on a daily basis more likely to be effected by expectations? Or is it more that a romantic relationship gets to the point where we indeed expect a lot of the other person? More than we have a right to? When those expectations cannot be understood by one person it sets up a domino effect that may very well result in a complete crashing of the very fibres which create the relationship. Yet is it acceptable to verbalise our expectations? Isn't that then just asking for things?
This seems to be the issue I am wrestling with as I begin my journey to rediscover who I really am. I just wonder whether I will like the answers I find?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The Blog with the TV Dinner
I have been single and in my own home (with boy child of course) for nearly 2 years now. Yet for some reason I still try to keep to family traditions even though it is completely ridiculous when there are only two of us. Boy Child for some reason will not entertain the idea of Ms. Lynxy Mynxy being his sister. Even to humour his empty wombed mother.
So most nights will see boy child and I at the dining room table eating good wholesome food trading "what did you do today" stories like an old married couple. I figure I spent 36 hours spitting this child outta my body - the least he can do is eat at the table like civilised folk.
Tonight however something changed. After having a rough day at work and not feeling the best - when I called him to dinner he moaned "mum can I pleeeeeease eat at my desk I'm right in the middle of something". Its amazing how teenagers are always in the MIDDLE of something - they are never STARTING something - god forbid they should ever FINISH something - no its always in the MIDDLE. Where the hell do they learn this terminology anyway?
Damn cat is miowing at me - she wants food "just a minute Ms Lynxy I'm just in the middle of something"
Right now where was I????
Oh dinner right.......so I thought WTF and decided that letting boy child eat dinner at his desk in front of the computer for ONE night would not turn him into an axe wielding homocidal maniac - shouting from the tops of the buildings that it was "mum's fault cos she let me eat in front of the computer". So I plonked his dinner in front of him and left him to his devices.
That left me, with my plate of food, staring at the dining room table yet for some reason being drawn magnetically to the couch and the television. Again I thought WTF and plonked myself down. It was 6pm - time for all normal people to watch the nightly news. I thought WTF I wanna watch that new dvd I got - so I put it on. I picked up my knife and fork and thought WTF and I proceeded to eat dinner with my hands (was chicken drumsticks and fries so is ok - please don't report me to any kind of non-table manners association). I stared for a long time at the vegetables on my plate and thought WTF - and I did not eat them!!! (god sorry mum) I went to get a glass of orange juice and thought WTF - I drank straight from the bottle!!! I proceeded to collect used plates and begin washing up but I thought WTF - and left the dirty dishes in the sink until tomorrow.
By this time boy child was starting to wonder which nation of aliens had abducted his anally retentive neat freak of a mother and was a little bit concerned. To be honest all the WTF'ing had left me a tiny weeny bit tired as well. But I learned a VALUABLE lesson from this episode.
It's bloody TIRING to be lazy and being older than 25 I now have a really bad case of indigestion from eating huddled over on stupid couch watching stupid movie and drinking sour orange juice.
Ok must dash - there is a sink full of dishes with my name on it!!!!
Ciao!
So most nights will see boy child and I at the dining room table eating good wholesome food trading "what did you do today" stories like an old married couple. I figure I spent 36 hours spitting this child outta my body - the least he can do is eat at the table like civilised folk.
Tonight however something changed. After having a rough day at work and not feeling the best - when I called him to dinner he moaned "mum can I pleeeeeease eat at my desk I'm right in the middle of something". Its amazing how teenagers are always in the MIDDLE of something - they are never STARTING something - god forbid they should ever FINISH something - no its always in the MIDDLE. Where the hell do they learn this terminology anyway?
Damn cat is miowing at me - she wants food "just a minute Ms Lynxy I'm just in the middle of something"
Right now where was I????
Oh dinner right.......so I thought WTF and decided that letting boy child eat dinner at his desk in front of the computer for ONE night would not turn him into an axe wielding homocidal maniac - shouting from the tops of the buildings that it was "mum's fault cos she let me eat in front of the computer". So I plonked his dinner in front of him and left him to his devices.
That left me, with my plate of food, staring at the dining room table yet for some reason being drawn magnetically to the couch and the television. Again I thought WTF and plonked myself down. It was 6pm - time for all normal people to watch the nightly news. I thought WTF I wanna watch that new dvd I got - so I put it on. I picked up my knife and fork and thought WTF and I proceeded to eat dinner with my hands (was chicken drumsticks and fries so is ok - please don't report me to any kind of non-table manners association). I stared for a long time at the vegetables on my plate and thought WTF - and I did not eat them!!! (god sorry mum) I went to get a glass of orange juice and thought WTF - I drank straight from the bottle!!! I proceeded to collect used plates and begin washing up but I thought WTF - and left the dirty dishes in the sink until tomorrow.
By this time boy child was starting to wonder which nation of aliens had abducted his anally retentive neat freak of a mother and was a little bit concerned. To be honest all the WTF'ing had left me a tiny weeny bit tired as well. But I learned a VALUABLE lesson from this episode.
It's bloody TIRING to be lazy and being older than 25 I now have a really bad case of indigestion from eating huddled over on stupid couch watching stupid movie and drinking sour orange juice.
Ok must dash - there is a sink full of dishes with my name on it!!!!
Ciao!
Monday, June 9, 2008
The Blog with the Meme
Ok so apparently I was "tagged". Funnily enough I felt no pain, no sensation whatsoever really. Rather quite bloody disappointing I have to say.
So here it is people without further ado:-
1. Favorite Person Mmmmm toss up between Boy Child and Ms Lynxy Mynxy (please let us not get into the "a feline is not a person" argument - this is MY meme so shut up) depending on who has caused me the least amount of grief at any time.
2. Favorite Food - Italian Food without one moments hesitation. I believe I was an Italian in a past life. In fact looking at my baby pictures I possibly could have been an Italian in this life but picked up by the wrong set of parents.
3. Quirks about you - My list making I guess. I cannot do anything without some kind of list.
4. How would the person who loves you most describe you in ten words or less? -Ok I'm not exactly sure who does love me the most - one person once said that I am the reason he gets up in the morning. Oh and Ms Lynxy just said "miow".
5. Any regrets in life? - Of course who doesn't? But the trick is to not dwell on them - learn from them and move on. We make the best decisions we can at the time.
6. Favorite charity/cause - I am ashamed to say I dont really have a favorite. I am a bad person. But if I had to chose one it would be cancer research. Lets find a cure for that sucker right NOW!
7. Favorite Blog - Um I have only been on this site for about a week. Bill's is great - he posts so much. But I love reading the escapades and shennanigans of Becky.
8. Something you can't get enough of - Lately it seems to be sleep.
9. Worst job you ever had - Check out chick at a supermarket.
10. What job would you pay NOT to have - Anything that involves dealing with an irate public. I cry if I get yelled at.
11. If you could be a fly on the wall anywhere, where would it be - Oh god just ONE place???? At this moment my boss's office when he talks to our exec committee - I'm up for a salary review and the petrol prices are KILLING me.
12. ***Breaking News: ***** I have none - I am boring.
I seem to have lost 13???? Sorry bout that.
14. Got any confessions? - I still cannot give up these rotten stinking fucking cigarettes.
15. If you had $1000 to spend on YOURSELF, what would you spend it on - Clothes, clothes, shoes, clothes, clothes, a facial and a massage, some new clothes, um some shoes, frilly frivolous underwear and um some clothes probably.
16. Favorite thing about your house - The open fire place.
17. Least favorite thing - The unfinished kitchen floor. Actually the unfinished EVERYTHING. I keep being TOLD that somebody is going to come and help me with it but it never seems to HAPPEN.
18. One thing you are bad at - you want only one thing? Ok um probably following through and finishing anything I start. Oh just like the kitchen floor above.
19. If you could change one thing about your current circumstances what would it be - I could not choose just one - my life at the moment is such a fucking mess I would need 20 things to change.
20. Who would you like to meet someday - The holder of the answer to the meaning of life.
21. What makes you feel sexy - When somebody cooks for me and pampers me.
22. Who is your real life hero - My Dad.
23. What is the hardest part of your job - Staying awake mostly.
24. When are you most relaxed - After wine consumption.
25. What stresses you out - EVERYTHING! But I am working on changing that.
26. What can you NOT live without - Boy Child.
27. Do you agree or disagree with the recent article that reported that blogs are authored by narcissists - Huh?
28. Why do you blog - Because like a million other people I believe I have a novel in my head bursting to get out?? Because everybody's thoughts and words deserve to be put on paper (or a computer screen as the case may be). Because I was told I should.
29. Who are you tagging - OK see being a blog virgin I dont actually have anybody to "tag" - I will work on that for next time.
30. What were you doing 10 years ago Killing time.
Ok so that took up 30 minutes of my life I will never get back. Now if you will excuse me I have to go write nasty scathing email to Becky for tagging me in the first place.
OK for some fucking reason number 3 is in black text. I have spent 20 minutes trying to find out why and fix it but I can't so i humbly apologise if it causes any kind of seizure and or reading disorder.
Ciao!
So here it is people without further ado:-
1. Favorite Person Mmmmm toss up between Boy Child and Ms Lynxy Mynxy (please let us not get into the "a feline is not a person" argument - this is MY meme so shut up) depending on who has caused me the least amount of grief at any time.
2. Favorite Food - Italian Food without one moments hesitation. I believe I was an Italian in a past life. In fact looking at my baby pictures I possibly could have been an Italian in this life but picked up by the wrong set of parents.
3. Quirks about you - My list making I guess. I cannot do anything without some kind of list.
4. How would the person who loves you most describe you in ten words or less? -Ok I'm not exactly sure who does love me the most - one person once said that I am the reason he gets up in the morning. Oh and Ms Lynxy just said "miow".
5. Any regrets in life? - Of course who doesn't? But the trick is to not dwell on them - learn from them and move on. We make the best decisions we can at the time.
6. Favorite charity/cause - I am ashamed to say I dont really have a favorite. I am a bad person. But if I had to chose one it would be cancer research. Lets find a cure for that sucker right NOW!
7. Favorite Blog - Um I have only been on this site for about a week. Bill's is great - he posts so much. But I love reading the escapades and shennanigans of Becky.
8. Something you can't get enough of - Lately it seems to be sleep.
9. Worst job you ever had - Check out chick at a supermarket.
10. What job would you pay NOT to have - Anything that involves dealing with an irate public. I cry if I get yelled at.
11. If you could be a fly on the wall anywhere, where would it be - Oh god just ONE place???? At this moment my boss's office when he talks to our exec committee - I'm up for a salary review and the petrol prices are KILLING me.
12. ***Breaking News: ***** I have none - I am boring.
I seem to have lost 13???? Sorry bout that.
14. Got any confessions? - I still cannot give up these rotten stinking fucking cigarettes.
15. If you had $1000 to spend on YOURSELF, what would you spend it on - Clothes, clothes, shoes, clothes, clothes, a facial and a massage, some new clothes, um some shoes, frilly frivolous underwear and um some clothes probably.
16. Favorite thing about your house - The open fire place.
17. Least favorite thing - The unfinished kitchen floor. Actually the unfinished EVERYTHING. I keep being TOLD that somebody is going to come and help me with it but it never seems to HAPPEN.
18. One thing you are bad at - you want only one thing? Ok um probably following through and finishing anything I start. Oh just like the kitchen floor above.
19. If you could change one thing about your current circumstances what would it be - I could not choose just one - my life at the moment is such a fucking mess I would need 20 things to change.
20. Who would you like to meet someday - The holder of the answer to the meaning of life.
21. What makes you feel sexy - When somebody cooks for me and pampers me.
22. Who is your real life hero - My Dad.
23. What is the hardest part of your job - Staying awake mostly.
24. When are you most relaxed - After wine consumption.
25. What stresses you out - EVERYTHING! But I am working on changing that.
26. What can you NOT live without - Boy Child.
27. Do you agree or disagree with the recent article that reported that blogs are authored by narcissists - Huh?
28. Why do you blog - Because like a million other people I believe I have a novel in my head bursting to get out?? Because everybody's thoughts and words deserve to be put on paper (or a computer screen as the case may be). Because I was told I should.
29. Who are you tagging - OK see being a blog virgin I dont actually have anybody to "tag" - I will work on that for next time.
30. What were you doing 10 years ago Killing time.
Ok so that took up 30 minutes of my life I will never get back. Now if you will excuse me I have to go write nasty scathing email to Becky for tagging me in the first place.
OK for some fucking reason number 3 is in black text. I have spent 20 minutes trying to find out why and fix it but I can't so i humbly apologise if it causes any kind of seizure and or reading disorder.
Ciao!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
The Blog with the boring Sunday
OK so I knew somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind that having a holiday always results in a consequence. Today I found it. Or rather I noticed it. My house has apparently been overtaken by dirt, filth and mess. This surprises me mainly because while I was away nobody was living here - yet the small amount of said dirt, filth and mess I left behind has apparently been fermenting away with the result being a house that may very well soon be condemned. So having not much else to do on this very lazy Sunday I rolled up my sleeves and went to work.
Snapshot of my day:-
Clean kitchen, clean oven, stack dishwasher, turn dishwasher on. Do 3 loads of washing, hang out 3 loads of washing, stop hanging out washing and return washing to washing machine as boy child has obviously left wad of tissues in a pocket and all clothes covered with fine white substance, redo 3 loads of washing, rehang out 3 loads of washing, notice all whitish garments are now grey - spy boy child's new black jeans in washing.
Lesson learned: Do not attempt clothes washing manoeuvre with hangover.
Clean out fridge, sweep and mop floors, iron 2 baskets of clothes, repair boy child's school pants with iron on patch, boy child's school pants now consist completely of iron on patches - does not seem to be any original material remaining. Vacuum cat, worm shagpile rug.
Lesson learned: Cat and shagpile rug look similar with hangover - do not attemp worming manoeuvre.
Make boy child hearty breakfast of coffee and vegemite on toast - let him eat chocolate cake and coke as he wanted in the first place. Eat toast and drink coffee myself.
Lesson learned: Do not attempt teenage feeding manoeuvre - EVER!
Thoughts turn to outside and neglected garden. Don daggy clothes and gumboots and venture outside into nature. FUCK it's fucking COLD in nature. Figure nature has been here much much longer than self and will continue to be here despite self's lazy slutty ways. Adopt re-entry position (ie run inside).
Lesson learned: Do not attempt gardening manoeuvre when inside open fire is roaring and couch is demanding my presence in a horizontal position.
Nap-time.
Lesson learned: When waking from nap-time make sure you are waking naturally and not because boy child's face is two inches away from yours and he is hitting you in the shoulder whilst in a very loud voice saying "mum such and such and such and such are here - remember you invited them for DINNER" - also note: try to nap in good clothes and full makeup - it saves a lot of time. Oh also having something prepared to feed people that you have invited over for meal is not such a bad thing to do either.
It's amazing how one can blame jetlag for EVERYTHING - I am getting away with stuff I never dreamed possible. I wonder how long it can last? What is the statute of limitations on jetlag excuses? I am sure I will find out - cos I aint gonna stop using it till somebody tells me that I am full of shit and to get over myself. Most likely that will come from boy child. In any event.....
She'll be right!
Snapshot of my day:-
Clean kitchen, clean oven, stack dishwasher, turn dishwasher on. Do 3 loads of washing, hang out 3 loads of washing, stop hanging out washing and return washing to washing machine as boy child has obviously left wad of tissues in a pocket and all clothes covered with fine white substance, redo 3 loads of washing, rehang out 3 loads of washing, notice all whitish garments are now grey - spy boy child's new black jeans in washing.
Lesson learned: Do not attempt clothes washing manoeuvre with hangover.
Clean out fridge, sweep and mop floors, iron 2 baskets of clothes, repair boy child's school pants with iron on patch, boy child's school pants now consist completely of iron on patches - does not seem to be any original material remaining. Vacuum cat, worm shagpile rug.
Lesson learned: Cat and shagpile rug look similar with hangover - do not attemp worming manoeuvre.
Make boy child hearty breakfast of coffee and vegemite on toast - let him eat chocolate cake and coke as he wanted in the first place. Eat toast and drink coffee myself.
Lesson learned: Do not attempt teenage feeding manoeuvre - EVER!
Thoughts turn to outside and neglected garden. Don daggy clothes and gumboots and venture outside into nature. FUCK it's fucking COLD in nature. Figure nature has been here much much longer than self and will continue to be here despite self's lazy slutty ways. Adopt re-entry position (ie run inside).
Lesson learned: Do not attempt gardening manoeuvre when inside open fire is roaring and couch is demanding my presence in a horizontal position.
Nap-time.
Lesson learned: When waking from nap-time make sure you are waking naturally and not because boy child's face is two inches away from yours and he is hitting you in the shoulder whilst in a very loud voice saying "mum such and such and such and such are here - remember you invited them for DINNER" - also note: try to nap in good clothes and full makeup - it saves a lot of time. Oh also having something prepared to feed people that you have invited over for meal is not such a bad thing to do either.
It's amazing how one can blame jetlag for EVERYTHING - I am getting away with stuff I never dreamed possible. I wonder how long it can last? What is the statute of limitations on jetlag excuses? I am sure I will find out - cos I aint gonna stop using it till somebody tells me that I am full of shit and to get over myself. Most likely that will come from boy child. In any event.....
She'll be right!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
The Blog with the To Do List
I drive a newish car. Hermione Hyundai came into my life around 18 months ago. She is a sleek black sporty little number with mag wheels, tinted windows and a rear spoiler. She was my gift to myself when my marriage went pear shaped.
Now Hermione and I have an understanding - she understands that I am a busy working single mum and I understand that she is going to get me where I need to go in a very classy way. She is very good about my lapses in memory - if I leave my lights on and open the car door - she turns them off for me. If I press the wrong little button on the key whatsit - she will alert me to this fact by playing a tune for me with her horn which enables everybody in the immediate vicinity to turn and stare at me whilst muttering under their breaths something about noise pollution.
Lately though something Hermione does is starting to get under my skin.
I am a list maker. I have lists for everything that is going on in my life - sometimes I feel I need a master list - a list to keep track of all the lists. I have refrained from this up to this point as I understand how impossibly sad that makes me look.
What I do NOT require however is Hermione to start reminding me of things I need to do. She constantly reminds me I need to fill up the petrol tank. Now normally this would involve the needle pointing to the E on the fuel gauge. Hermione however is not satisfied that this would be enough encouragement for me. Instead she lights up a little picture of a petrol bowser right on the dash board! Its like my very own electronic To Do List. If I ignore her pretty little picture for long enough she then makes it flash - which I can tell you in peak hour traffic is very very distracting. A little further down the road she will tell me EXACTLY how many more kilometres I can travel before I may need to think about standing in the middle of the road, flashing my legs and hoping some nice young man will give me either petrol or a lift without abducting me. At this point it becomes a battle of wits between us to see who can actually hold out the longest. As the available distance dwindles down she tries to catch my attention audibly. Softly at first but increasing in intensity to arrive at a crescendo of the most horrible beeping sound you could ever wish to hear. This is around the time I throw up my hands (obviously not literally because that would be illegal whilst operating a motor vehicle) and give in to her demands. I never win.
Driving to work this morning I noticed out of the corner of my eye a little light on my electronic To Do List. I glanced down expecting to see verfication that once again I had forgotten to get petrol but what I saw took my breath away.
There on the dash board - right in front of me - was a little picture of a MAN in overalls - with a toolbox. Thats right folks - Hermione Hyundai was reminding me to GET A MAN. Not content with her lack of fuel - she now feels she has the right to comment on my LIFE?????? What will be next - a little picture of a pregnant woman - reminding me that I only have one child and to possibly get a move on as I am approaching 40 next year? A little picture of a liver - in the hope that I will be reminded not to drink so much??? A picture of a dollar sign with a big red slash through it telling me that of course I have no money?? My mind boggles at the thought of what she will display at any time I become celibate.
The thing is - its not the fact that she has taken it upon herself to remind me that I don't exactly have a permanent available man in my life - but rather the complete lack of information as to where the little guy in the overalls is to be FOUND. At the very least she could point me in the right direction.
So if anybody knows or sees the guy above - tell him I'm looking for him.
'Kthx.
Now Hermione and I have an understanding - she understands that I am a busy working single mum and I understand that she is going to get me where I need to go in a very classy way. She is very good about my lapses in memory - if I leave my lights on and open the car door - she turns them off for me. If I press the wrong little button on the key whatsit - she will alert me to this fact by playing a tune for me with her horn which enables everybody in the immediate vicinity to turn and stare at me whilst muttering under their breaths something about noise pollution.
Lately though something Hermione does is starting to get under my skin.
I am a list maker. I have lists for everything that is going on in my life - sometimes I feel I need a master list - a list to keep track of all the lists. I have refrained from this up to this point as I understand how impossibly sad that makes me look.
What I do NOT require however is Hermione to start reminding me of things I need to do. She constantly reminds me I need to fill up the petrol tank. Now normally this would involve the needle pointing to the E on the fuel gauge. Hermione however is not satisfied that this would be enough encouragement for me. Instead she lights up a little picture of a petrol bowser right on the dash board! Its like my very own electronic To Do List. If I ignore her pretty little picture for long enough she then makes it flash - which I can tell you in peak hour traffic is very very distracting. A little further down the road she will tell me EXACTLY how many more kilometres I can travel before I may need to think about standing in the middle of the road, flashing my legs and hoping some nice young man will give me either petrol or a lift without abducting me. At this point it becomes a battle of wits between us to see who can actually hold out the longest. As the available distance dwindles down she tries to catch my attention audibly. Softly at first but increasing in intensity to arrive at a crescendo of the most horrible beeping sound you could ever wish to hear. This is around the time I throw up my hands (obviously not literally because that would be illegal whilst operating a motor vehicle) and give in to her demands. I never win.
Driving to work this morning I noticed out of the corner of my eye a little light on my electronic To Do List. I glanced down expecting to see verfication that once again I had forgotten to get petrol but what I saw took my breath away.
There on the dash board - right in front of me - was a little picture of a MAN in overalls - with a toolbox. Thats right folks - Hermione Hyundai was reminding me to GET A MAN. Not content with her lack of fuel - she now feels she has the right to comment on my LIFE?????? What will be next - a little picture of a pregnant woman - reminding me that I only have one child and to possibly get a move on as I am approaching 40 next year? A little picture of a liver - in the hope that I will be reminded not to drink so much??? A picture of a dollar sign with a big red slash through it telling me that of course I have no money?? My mind boggles at the thought of what she will display at any time I become celibate.
The thing is - its not the fact that she has taken it upon herself to remind me that I don't exactly have a permanent available man in my life - but rather the complete lack of information as to where the little guy in the overalls is to be FOUND. At the very least she could point me in the right direction.
So if anybody knows or sees the guy above - tell him I'm looking for him.'Kthx.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Blog with the Chicken
I am an animal lover. I have a cat - a lovely feline who answers (well sometimes anyway) to the delightful name of Ms. Lynxy Mynxy. I had a dog - once. I have seen fish. Birds fly. So you can obviously tell I am a bit of an animal expert.
One animal however that leaves me quite cold - is the humble chicken. Now I am a big supporter of the chicken species generally - I will eat chicken practically any way you would care to cook it. Where would bacon be in this world without the egg? However the prospect of actually owning a live chicken sent me into 5 hours of unadulterated hell.
Boy child was on an excursion to a big city market with this school. The first phone call I received from him involved him asking me to tell a particular stall holder that I gave him permission to buy a knife. Now I have no idea why he needed a knife (or no idea that I wanted to actually think about anyway) even if it WAS a World War 2 Collectors Item for only ten bucks!!!! I patiently told boy child that in fact I did NOT give him permission to buy a knife and that I loved him and to have a good day. Well OK I was at work at the time and my boss was standing right next to me - so of course I did my best Carol Brady impression.
The next phone call received approximately 30 minutes later was to bring my world as I know it crashing down around my head. Boy child had called to inform me he had purchased a chicken. I was momentarily delighted thinking that all the years of my slaving away to make him lovely meals had finally rubbed off and that he had bought ingredients to make his long suffering mother a delightful Friday night feast. This delight was shortlived however once I realised he meant a LIVE chicken. Feathers and all.
I told him in no uncertain terms (boss was absent at this point so the Carol Brady impression went out the window with my composure) that he must give said chicken back - said chicken was not coming home with him - I was NOT having said chicken at my house. The call dropped out.
For five HOURS I sat at work envisaging arriving home to find chicken either in the yard being chased around by a delighted Ms. Lynxy Mynxy or otherwise in boy child's room - probably on his desk - next to him - glaring at me for ever objecting to her presence.
Upon arrival home there was a distinct lack of chicken. No chicken to be found. Upon questioning boy child on what happened to chicken he replied "I was testing you - if you were OK with the fact that I had bought a chicken then I would have gone and actually bought a chicken".
When did they get to be smarter than us?
Well as I tend to say - chicken or no chicken - "she'll be right!"
One animal however that leaves me quite cold - is the humble chicken. Now I am a big supporter of the chicken species generally - I will eat chicken practically any way you would care to cook it. Where would bacon be in this world without the egg? However the prospect of actually owning a live chicken sent me into 5 hours of unadulterated hell.
Boy child was on an excursion to a big city market with this school. The first phone call I received from him involved him asking me to tell a particular stall holder that I gave him permission to buy a knife. Now I have no idea why he needed a knife (or no idea that I wanted to actually think about anyway) even if it WAS a World War 2 Collectors Item for only ten bucks!!!! I patiently told boy child that in fact I did NOT give him permission to buy a knife and that I loved him and to have a good day. Well OK I was at work at the time and my boss was standing right next to me - so of course I did my best Carol Brady impression.
The next phone call received approximately 30 minutes later was to bring my world as I know it crashing down around my head. Boy child had called to inform me he had purchased a chicken. I was momentarily delighted thinking that all the years of my slaving away to make him lovely meals had finally rubbed off and that he had bought ingredients to make his long suffering mother a delightful Friday night feast. This delight was shortlived however once I realised he meant a LIVE chicken. Feathers and all.
I told him in no uncertain terms (boss was absent at this point so the Carol Brady impression went out the window with my composure) that he must give said chicken back - said chicken was not coming home with him - I was NOT having said chicken at my house. The call dropped out.
For five HOURS I sat at work envisaging arriving home to find chicken either in the yard being chased around by a delighted Ms. Lynxy Mynxy or otherwise in boy child's room - probably on his desk - next to him - glaring at me for ever objecting to her presence.
Upon arrival home there was a distinct lack of chicken. No chicken to be found. Upon questioning boy child on what happened to chicken he replied "I was testing you - if you were OK with the fact that I had bought a chicken then I would have gone and actually bought a chicken".
When did they get to be smarter than us?
Well as I tend to say - chicken or no chicken - "she'll be right!"
Monday, June 2, 2008
Blog Numero Uno
Only smart people have blogs. People who can string two words together and make them a story. People who have lives that beg those two words to be told. People who, with those two words, can paint a picture and a fantasy that have other people salvating at the next instalment.
That's not me - but she'll be right mate! That overused and often misunderstood Aussie catch phrase that I try to live my life by. Roof collapsing and mortgage payments overdue? She'll be right. Cat needs the vet and there is no bread? She'll be right. Boy child needs medical attention but I have to be at work? Well maybe She bloody well WON'T be right! Ok so I strayed a tad.
It's the new age Aussie "glass half full" motto - along with "no worries". Well I have PLENTY of worries let me tell you - yet the phrases slip magically from my lips - never however really making any impression on the good old brain cells who it appears seem to have control of the whole "happiness/contentment" issue. I'm not sure it was such a good idea to put those little fella's in charge of such an important thing - I would prefer to base my happiness on the state of say um.......... my little toe? I do think the world would be a more serene place.
So in summary my life is as follows: Separated 39 year old (OMG 40 next year) with a 14 year old boy child who could injure himself walking to the bathroom. The fact that he rollerblades and plays football and does stupid boy stuff is enough for him to be xrayed with a horrific regularity. Boy child has endured some serious stuff along with some not so serious stuff - but he is still here and breathing for which I am always eternally grateful - "she'll be right!"
So there is my first blog - I am all blogged out!!
K.
That's not me - but she'll be right mate! That overused and often misunderstood Aussie catch phrase that I try to live my life by. Roof collapsing and mortgage payments overdue? She'll be right. Cat needs the vet and there is no bread? She'll be right. Boy child needs medical attention but I have to be at work? Well maybe She bloody well WON'T be right! Ok so I strayed a tad.
It's the new age Aussie "glass half full" motto - along with "no worries". Well I have PLENTY of worries let me tell you - yet the phrases slip magically from my lips - never however really making any impression on the good old brain cells who it appears seem to have control of the whole "happiness/contentment" issue. I'm not sure it was such a good idea to put those little fella's in charge of such an important thing - I would prefer to base my happiness on the state of say um.......... my little toe? I do think the world would be a more serene place.
So in summary my life is as follows: Separated 39 year old (OMG 40 next year) with a 14 year old boy child who could injure himself walking to the bathroom. The fact that he rollerblades and plays football and does stupid boy stuff is enough for him to be xrayed with a horrific regularity. Boy child has endured some serious stuff along with some not so serious stuff - but he is still here and breathing for which I am always eternally grateful - "she'll be right!"
So there is my first blog - I am all blogged out!!
K.
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