Haberdashery

One of the beautiful thing about writing is trying to catch the elusive Words threading their way through your mind like silken ribbons... gently flicking you with their tails as they pass by, glimpsing them from the corner of your mind's eye, floating merrily and laughingly just out of reach as you mentally dash around trying to gather them in a golden butterfly net...

It's one of those maddeningly fun things about this thing what we do, no?

Knowing your limits

This story amuses me greatly:

A drunk 22-year-old woman on her P-plates has crashed into a McDonald's restaurant in Sydney's west while trying to negotiate the restaurant's drive-through, police say. The woman - who returned a blood alcohol level more than six times the legal limit for a fully-licenced driver - drove her Toyota Starlet into the drive-through of the restaurant on Harold Street, Macquarie Fields, about 2.45pm, police said.
While trying to negotiate the drive-through she smashed into a brick pole, severely damaging it and exposing electrical wires, police said.
The restaurant has had to close the drive-through until it is deemed safe to use.

It brings to mind the rite of passage that Maccas have been advertising recently - the getting of one's 'P's' and the driving of one (with one's non-driving friends, in one's mother's Cortina (that may just be me)) to the nearest Golden Arches for the getting of Drive Thru. Maccas chips, sorry, fries, never test as good as when they've been passed through that tiny window directly to YOU in the Driver's seat. (Again, this may just be me).

Anywa, what amuses me most about the story is the fact that I have enough trouble negotiating the Drive-Thru lane as it is... attempting to do it while completely slaughtered is..., well, let's just say I admire her ambition and persistence. Also HA!

*snort*

*craves chips. yes. chips*

Mandatory Reporting

I am a big fat enabler, a pusher even, of illegality.

I must come here and lay my burden down, admit my sin and beg the forgiveness, or at least the understanding of my peers...

I have been downloading tv from the interwebs (um ah...)

and if that weren't bad enough, this evening I toddled off downstairs to enjoy myself some iniquity (with a cup of tea and a lemon tartlet to sustain me) of the Gossip Girl variety (Bloody Chesty - she's been haranguing me to watch GG and I finally succumbed to the Peer Pressure)... but I was waylaid en route to the study by Miss M. She knew that I had downloaded the Dr Who Children in Need special and demanded that I initiate her in the ways of the tv-on-the-puter viewingness.

I hesitated for barely a moment before agreeing to let her watch just this one tiny ep, a snippet that would do her no harm, and besides, it's not like the ABC will ever show the Children In Need special...

Before I knew it, Miss H was also ensconced in the comfy chair of Swivel and they were hooked. The CiN Special was over in what seemed like seconds and they were hungry for more, refusing to go to bed until I had supplied them with more pilfered Dr Who...

And what's a poor beleaguered yet indulgent single mother to do??? Sit and watch the Dr Who Christmas Special with them, that's what! The Special Guest-Star was Kylie Minogue - 'Gee Kylie looks old' says I 'and what an odd accent she's using'... 'Who's Kylie Minogue' says Miss H... Which made me feel every inch the tea-drinking, biscuit-nibbling, slipper-wearing OLD PERSON that I so obviously am...

Anyhoo - they're hooked, and not listening to reason and demanding that they watch MORE Dr Who tomorrow...

What have I created?????

stuffing

My brain seems incapable of formulating more than a sentence at a time, so dot-pointy goodness shall have to suffice until I Get Things Together (somewhat more than they are at the moment, obvs...)

* Happiness is being elbow-deep in tomatoes - skinning, seeding, chopping - making roasted tomato sauce for spinach & ricotta cannelloni for my girls.

* Said Happiness is increased at least six-fold if there are not one but two curries simmering away on the stove for later in the week...

* Musing... Is it your pre-menstrual state or are they just being a dick?

* I've been dancing around my kitchen like some demented Hillsonger to Jars of Clay's Redemption Songs, arms in the air, praising my Lord... because it's right, dammit. And because I am. Redeemed. By His Blood.

So there.

* Tiny Steps for womanhood this week, in my world anyways... I mowed the lawns, cleared up the carcass (mostly feathers as it turns out) of a generic Bird that was dragged into Slaughterhouse 5 (aka the downstairs bathroom), and cleaned the fish tank. All of these usually being MrB's jobs, and subject to clear demarkation. "I don't need no stinking man" may or may not have gone through my head as I did these things...

* The above line may or may not be construed as gloating by a certain person and I request he takes it in the dot-pointy spirit in which it was written. ie, chill the fuck out.

* Proof that the Sadness manifest in me knows no bounds: I saw the news about the SYTYCD tour and squeeeed. Out loud. Very very loudly. Belt-tightening? What belt-tightening? Chesty, do you know of anything of this 'belt-tightening'?????

* Today I had more than one close encounter of the Red Back kind. And while being momentarily struck by how beautiful a spider they are, I didn't hesitate to kill them.Which kinda makes me sad/ freaked out/ determined not to buy any more plantpots with spider-house-sized lips in equal measures.

* In super amazing awesome news, a dress that I thought I had given to charity a year or so ago, I discovered in the linen trunk in my room today. I had obviously decided said dress was to be handed down to my daughters, being a gorgeous charcoal grey wool shift type number. The awesome amazingness comes due to the fact that I now fit into said dress again, for the first time since the very very brief period between weaning Miss M and falling pregnant with Miss H.

* I shall be rocking it, oh yes I shall. Girls (you know who you are), lets organise a drinks/dancing thang pronto!


...and now my bestest friend in the whole wide world is on the phone so I must away....

Rude Boys Outa Jail

I'm having a week to myself... It's MrB's weekend with the girls, and as school holidays start today, he's staying for the week to spend some 'Quality' time with them...

This means I get to go away - all by myself - to Berry for the week. And there's no interwebz down there, so I shall be forced to, um, I'm not sure.... do something else?

I'm going to get The Book of the Month today... so that's one thing.

I also have the first two seasons of West Wing, care of the gracious Gigglewick. And the first season of Supernatural, care of my own weakness for Sam'n'Dean...

There may even be skinny dipping, just for the hell of it, and because I don't care about being perved on by stray cows and kangaroos...

It shall be fun*. And right now? Fun is what I need.





*Like flying into work with The Specials blaring, startling random Factory Guys... that was kinda fun too!

Every Day With Randomness

I love and Adore Blondie - I may have discussed this on one or two occasions before (I'm wondering whether I've also discussed my inability to spell occasssionss? Cos it always looks wrong, even when spelled correctly... and I'm pretty sure it's not correct in either of these instances)

Anyways, Blondie. Love.

What I don't love however, is her need to insert random Frenchness into her songs*. Tis very wankful and annoying particularly when French is one of the languages I chose NOT to learn at school, therefore leaving me with no option but to sing along basically going 'blahdy blahdy blah' in a Frarnch accent.

Although, while randomly choosing to speak in a French accent for periods of time ranging from 2 minutes to an entire afternoon is something I have been known to do, at least I know that I'm doing in jest (and also maybe in an attempt to piss someone off (hmmm... could this have anything to do with my current marital problems... Discuss)) and not because I'm a dirty dirty post-punk, platinum blond Francophile hipster with a high tolerance for Wank.

Now go listen to Denis (or is that Denneeee?). You know you want to...




* And not just Denis - but bloody Sunday Girl and at least one other that I can't think of right this very second. Grrr...

Deep Breaths....

and...

Phew...

So, yeah disappearing posts and whatnot, just adding to the general air of mystery surrounding this blog of late... Sorry about that. I received a late-night (well mid-afternoon, but late night at point of origin) phone call from a Concerned Reader who felt that the tone of the post left a lot to be desired. I guess I didn't manage to express the, well, inexpressible sadness in my heart too well.... pfft! And I call myself a writer! (Well, I don't actually, but for the purposes of this sentence, just assume I do...) I may put it back up at some point. I may not. It's the new 'Devil-may-care' attitude I'm rocking... you convinced???

Basically, I asked MrB to leave. I'm not happy about this. Nobody needs to know the whys and wherefores. They only need to know that I think I'm doing the Right Thing, and that in doing so I am making my children a priority.

That's it in a nutshell.

And may explain the total 'Not-Goodness' vibe that has been permeating these parts.

And I believe completely that Things will be OK.

That is all.

And now, hopefully, normal transmission can resume shortly.