Kittens, Battle-Axes and all that lies between.

Today I am over at The Hoopla with my Ranty Pants pulled up so high, I might have given myself a wedgie.

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The Ultimate Guide to Divorce.

"That depends what the Pate, is made of..."

Click here for the Ultimate Guide to Divorce.

Do you realise what today is?

I know Meg! I was surprised as well.

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How to survive PMT.

That title is completely misleading as I don't actually fucking know.

What I do know, however, that as much as the female body in indeed a splendorous thing and has many useful features, it is never-ending in it's challenges. That it throws at you.Constantly.

Take getting older.

You might have had your babies, been through all sorts of wondrous and mysterious changes and just as your kids are old enough to get themselves of to school by themselves, and you lull yourself into a false sense of security that the tough times are behind you, your body has completely different ideas.

Yes. I am talking about PMT.

Men, you have permission to click away now.

PMT has never really been an issue for me until recently. Before, it was all like... "Oh, so that is happening. What a pain in the ass.." and then it was like stiff shit and on with the show.

Nowadays. Things play out a hell of a lot differently.

Firstly I am joined by my old friend Hermoine The Hormonal Zit, and quite often a few of her friends. And like licking the end of a battery, I know I need to leave Hermoine alone, but I am drawn to her like a moth to a flame. 

Hermoine is my weakness in times like these. Ditto chocolate, Maggie Beer Ice cream, long, complaining phone conversations with my mates, dirty looks at my spouse and very deep breaths when it comes to dealing with the Woogettes.

And the whole thing is just getting fucking worse.

Don't even start me on anything boob related. Or bloating. Or crying loudly or weeping softly.

I recall back in the day, sending Mr Woog up to the servo to buy 3 Wagon Wheels, a packet of Panadol and a box of tampons. The attendant looked at him sympathetically, before wishing him a lovely evening.

Like THAT was about to happen.

Interestingly enough, about 3 months ago I sailed through the beginning of the months with naught a twinge from the old bod. After 7 days with no sign of Flo.... I started crying.

FOR A VERY DIFFERENT REASON.

It was a false alarm, but that did not stop me from being VERY alarmed and Mr Woog was sent to the doctor for a note allowing him permission to be neutered.

So in conclusion to this over-share, I have learnt that although the female body is indeed a wondrous thing, she is also a total bitch, a sucker for punishment and will always and forever remind me that I am alive.

Just.

Now pass the wagon wheels and shut to door on the way out. Unless you have wine. Then you may stay.

When does all this shit stop?

Is it getting worse for you?

Love thy neighbour. Or not...

Over at The Hoopla today discussing not so nice neighbours.

CLICK HERE... AND SHUT THE FUCK UP, KEEP YOUR MUSIC DOWN AND IF I SEE YOU SET FOOT ON MY DRIVEWAY IMMA CALLING THE COPS....

No, not scarred at all.

The Fat Chick with a Tranny/Trucker Voice. Aka... ME!

Every Monday night I sleep fitfully. My nerves start churning and my old friend Mrs Self Doubt and her bitchy mate Madame Anxiety pops in to say hi.

Because for the last 3 weeks I have been on a national television show on Channel 7 called The Daily Edition. More specifically, I am on a panel called The Debrief where I chat with close friends Monique, the host, and fellow bloggers Beth and Kerri. I haven't really made a big deal about it because I was worried about what other people would say.....

Emails I get, hate forums pick apart the small stuff. Trolls.

BUT.....

At the beginning of the year, I decided to stop saying no to stuff that I feared. As a result I have snorkelled, been on radio, volunteered for canteen, hand fed a bad tempered fish, flown in a helicopter, picked up a dead rat, walked across broken glass, spoke up when I normally wouldn't and said yes to a regular television gig.

WHO THE FUCK AM I?

I am turning 40 in a few days and my life is passing me by, with me being held back by my own fears. And that, my friends, it is complete bullshit. 

That chick up there?

That size 18 chick should not be on television. We are the invisible women, don't you know? Over 40 and over the hill. She normally would never post a full length picture of herself. But there she is.

She has no business sprouting off about social commentary. She has been told in emails that she sounds like a tranny crossed with a truckie. And guess what....

I DO! I really do. My voice is not floral and lovely.

But it is mine. And I like using it.

So this year I am saying yes to all those things that I would normally say no to. 

And a little bit of me feels free.

This is an Open Ended Exam Question with no wrong answers.

What is holding YOU back?

And if you say nothing, you are a rare and lucky creature.

Sorry for going all Oprah-esque on your ass.

I just know that this is a bit of an epidemic for a lot of us.

Get your shit together.

Today I am writing over at The Hoopla.

We discuss ways to get your shit together. And handbags. Naturally...

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Keep the Bastards Honest.

Hasn't it been a tumultuous week here in Australia?

I have grown cynical and frustrated with the political climate and really cannot be bothered to get into it so much, when so many have written about it more succinctly than I ever could.

Eden Riley - Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Box

Bianca Wordley - I tell my Girls they can do anything.

Gabrielle Chan - Gillard. The leader we had to have

I had dinner with the Prime Minister a few months back. I sat to her left as we chatted about everything under the sun. I remember asking her this.

"How do you get up everyday and face what you do?"

I was genuinely interested because if it were me, I would hit that snooze button and hide under the doona.

She told me that she just takes each day as it comes, goes to bed, wakes up and takes the day that is handed to her. 

After this week, I think she deserved a bloody holiday.

People assume that because of my social associations with her, that I am some sort of mad Gillard Groupie. But I'm not. I admire her hugely. I can see a strength in her that I long to have.

But I won't be voting Labour. The alternative fills me with dread. I think I am willing to cop the fine this time around. I don't know what to do.. *wrings hands*

Someone else that I admire is my Mum. She has been on the local council for 20 years as an independent candidate and is currently under the most hideous, personal and bullying attacks from the local MP Bart Bassett. He loathes her.

I asked her all the time. 

"Why don't you just chuck it in and play golf?"

And she tells me that she does it for the community. She represents her district fairly and without a personal agenda. She puts up with all the crap that is dished out to her on a weekly basis because at the very heart of what she believes in is fairness and unbiased representation.

Without a personal agenda.

A notion that I think our current crop of politicians could revisit.

Do you agree?

My Weekly Nemesis...

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My House. My Rules.

Click the sauce to find out what I am banging on about today over at The Hoopla.

And be warned.

I get a little ranty.

Lollypop Militia

I can, hand on my heart, declare that I am not an asshole. But I sure did spend some time walking around with my head up my own sphincter yesterday.

I had an attack of the vagues all day and this was pointed out to me quite early on in the morning.

I had taken the Woogette's to school, kissed each of their little faces goodbye and walked out of the gates. My mind was completely elsewhere when I absentmindedly crossed the school crossing. I was waving to the car car that stopped for me when, all of a sudden, there was the most alarming screech....

but with added cranky face

I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the crossing, as the cars banked up on either side of the crossing. I looked up to see an extraordinarily pissed off Lollypop lady, with visible steam coming out of her ears.

I took stock of the situation and quickly realised that I had done the unthinkable. I had attempted to cross the road without permission.

Now, going back to the fact that I am not an asshole, I do realise that this lollypop lady does a formidable job of keeping everyone safe. It is an important job, there is no doubt about it. Not questioning that for a moment.

And even though I am not a devil may care asshole, I will admit that my mind was in Disneyland, and not on the task at hand, which was to obey her rules.

"Oh my god. I am so sorry...." I stuttered.

"No, you're not!" she retorted and threw her stop sign down onto the ground, onto the road...

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There was a large crowd of obedient parents rallied around the back of her, all patiently waiting for the whistle to signal them to move across the road. Like cows in a grate.

I really wanted to just die, then and there.

I didn't know whether I should go back, where there was now another crowd of parents waiting, or to bravely step forward.

So I did what any moron would do.

I stood, cemented to the spot, as cars crossed in front of me and behind me, hoping for heavens that one of those sink holes that I have read about in the papers would appear under my feet.

Not a huge sinkhole, perhaps just a 2 metre version.

It was at this point that I had a flashback to that great game of the 80's, you know the one right?

Eventually, I think she thought I had been humiliated in front of most of the school population enough and marched towards me, blowing her whistle as she went. He eyes pierced mine until I was forced to look away.

As I feebly made my way through the crowd coming the other way, I caught a few glimpses of sympathy, and I took this as a sign that others had fallen foul of the Lollypop Lady's militant behaviour.

That, and to keep my head out of my ass and my eyes firmly on the road.

Ever been publicly humiliated?

It's not me. It's you.

Have you ever had your heart smashed into a million pieces?

I have, and it stung like a bitch.

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Walking in a Woogie Wonderland.

I used to pull beers in a Norf London Pub when I was but a wee lass. Come winter time, the old men would switch from Guinness and order a Hot Toddy.

I still prescribe them on occasion, for all that ails ye.

Come and visit me at The Hoopla, where I will share with you my Winter Readiness Program. Click Here.

My Allergic Over Reaction

Click here to read about how I almost didn't really die.

Community

Mr Woog woke early and left the house yesterday before the sun rose. It was about 5.30 am. He let Chuy out of the house and went off to work.

It must have been between 5.30 and 7am that the crime was committed. Another murderous rampage, this time targeting a wild rabbit. The body had been dumped on the back doorstep, innards strewn across the stairs. 

It disturbed me greatly.

Those who have read this blog before may recall that I am the owner of the weakest stomach in the whole of the land. I asked the kids to go hard at it with a shovel and a bag. I heard them try, screaming and scraping the pavement, before I told them to stop.

Because they were only making matters worse.

I took the kids to school and went onto the New Mum's Morning Coffee Chitty Chat. 

Now, I don't know any of them very well, and we were nattering on about this and that when I told them about the situation waiting for me back home. And how I really didn't want to return.

They were all suitably sympathetic.

"Well ideally, one of you would offer to come and sort it out for me..." I asked hopefully, hoping one of them was originally from the country.

And guess what!

One of them was originally from the country! Near Mudgee.

What a woman! We went back to my place via hers so she could pick up a pair of disposable rubber gloves. Armed with these, plus some paper towel and a couple of plastic bags, she did the best job ever!

She could have actually gotten a job on Crime Scene Investigation.

Before (have blurred the yukky bits)

After

I was so grateful to her. I told her that I didn't think that I could do that for someone else but I would happily do other stuff. Like make food, or pick up kids or expertly clean out a guinea pig cage. Just nothing to do with dead animals.

She finished up the job, dusted off her hands and told me....

"It is all about community." 

AND IT IS TRUE! 

When is the last time you helped someone out?'

What did you do?

Why are we so angry?

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Circle of Friends

Last night I basically forced myself on a new friend who has a kid at the same school as mine. I walked over to her place, a cold bottle of Villa Maria in my hand, and left an hour and a half later feeling socially satisfied.

Like me, she is new to the school and is also finding it hard to crack the scene.

Like me, she might have to invest in a Labrador, the local canine of choice.

She is one of 3 friends I have made, which is great because before that, I was really only mates with the Lollypop Lady and those exchanges were exceedingly limited, just a quick hello of a morning and afternoon. She has a shaved head and wears crocs with socks, and I suspect she has a good lot of stories inside that bald noggin of hers.

Another mate is also a new mum, and her kid is also under attack from the class bully. So we have something in common apart from a fondness of wine. I had a coffee with her this morning and we worked out our strategy, so it is safe to say that that whole little scenario will be ending soon. Watch this space.

My other friend is Ali, who came up to me in the playground and told me she reads this blog. HI ALI! She is tres cool and knows the local scene well. The local scene is very conservative. Mr Woog suggests I need to stock up on velvet headbands.

He woke in a filthy mood this morning. The kids were at their nagging best. I drove people to rugby and birthday parties, and the non-appreciation vibe continued. It was all I could do not to tell the lot of them to go and get fucked and walk out the door with a passport and a credit card.

But who would restock the toilet paper roll if I left?

So I stayed, knowing that things are a little easier when you have some local mates to bitch to.

Tell me about your circle of friends?

Old mates or new?

Any good goss to share?

I know nothing.

Is it ok to admit you don't know everything?

The answer is at The Hoopla.

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Have you ever bought anything off the telly?

I have.

Have you?

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But hurry! Stocks are limited....

Polishing a turd. Part two.

 Yesterday morning, I flicked through the paper and congratulated myself on being fashion forward. I OWN THESE UNDERPANTS! Am way ahead of the game...

Alan arrived and we discussed the possibility of transforming the side part of the house, encased in breeze brick, into a ladies cocktail lounge. He said "I will do it for you." which is what he says anytime I speak to him. 

My love for Alan grows daily.

Alan and Steven then busied themselves tearing out the rotting kitchen. I told Alan I wanted black and white chequered tiles on the floor. He accused me of being old fashioned.

At the end of the day, we were left with this. Do not mind the accidental product placement, but yes, I can recommend those removalists even though they left the dryer back at the other house.

*shakes fist*

Last night the kids ate pizza on the floor.

Because our current kitchen looks like this!

I chose to dine sitting on the back step, looking up into the sky, trying to imagine I was in Bali.

I never want Alan to leave, but he thinks he will be done by the end of the week. If you live near Sydney and need stuff done, you can email Alan at truongalan16@gmail.com and he will do it for you. 

There are a few Polishing a Turd posts left in this series. The garden, the bathroom and a gazillion other things. I hope you are not getting sick of them.

But the one thing that I do need to do is to come up with a name for this place and get a fancy plaque made, so it does not feel left out from all the other houses in the street. I think I have come up with something appropriate....

Unless you can come up with something better?