The Acidic Observer - The Home Edition

It's been a while since the last Acidic Observer, and for that I'm sorry. I have been quietly swallowing my burning views, instead of ranting about them here, like a sanctioned looney.

Thankfully, that mistake is being rectified as of now. And my aim, this week? The Darwin Housing Market.

The Man and I have been looking at building a new home over the past few weeks - probably a more sensible use of our time would have been investigating the value of internal organs on the black market.

Darwin property is at a peak, right now. To be honest we were lucky to have been able to buy a house when we did, back in 2010. Since then, the cost of property has skyrocketed. Why? Because of the Itchy Project! Well, it's actually the ICHTHYS Project, but calling it the Itchy Project makes me feel better.

It's all about gas mining and other boring stuff. Well there's more to it, but I'm just not that interested. Darwin was expensive enough without this sudden influx of interest - and while I'm sure local business, and not forgetting local developers, are loving the boom - the rest of us aren't!

Well, not me, anyway.

I also blame the state and local Governments for being so greedy that they release land in pissy amounts, driving up the price as people compete to be the newest owner of a fucking postage stamp.

I'm sorry, but when land is costing the same amount as the home we want to build, I kinda lose my shit.

And when I say kinda, I mean I morph into a wolverine and rip the head off of any unsuspecting realtor/developer who might enquire as to whether we are interested in purchasing this block before anyone else does. Even though we'd be lucky to fit a garden shed on it!

Trust me when I say that those who are renting are being shafted left, right   and centre, too. People/investors/greedy fucking bastards know they can make money from the influx of new employees of Itchy who need a home for their families. So what do they do? Up the rent to a bonkers level, dump the current tenants who can no longer afford it, and happily give it to a mining exec and their family who can afford $800+ a week because they're not paying for it. Gina Reinhardt is!

Well, maybe not Gina - but you get the idea.

Of course, just to really rub salt into the wound, I'm dumb enough to go onto realestate.com and look at the cost of building new in our hometown, in SA. Cue complete fucking meltdown as I ask the gods to strike down every single person in the NT who is contributing to the demented costing factor of a home.

I feel like for the prices we're looking at, we should be living in Sydney or Melbourne. Next door to Hugh Jackman. With Nicole, Keith, Sunday Roast and...and...the other ones on the other side. We're not looking for sea views, we're not looking for 3 hectares and some livestock. It's Darwin, people! You know, the place where mangoes cost $4 each and are brought in from Queensland, even though there are mango farms down the road. Where diesel is 20-50 cents a litre more than anywhere else...everything takes twice as long and is twice the price because of 'shipping', and then when the Ghan derails (again) it means the shops start advising us that stock will be low and we will have to make our own deodorant and toilet paper until the train can get here again.

IT'S DARWIN! We don't have a single department store. Even Freedom Furniture abandoned us!

We only have 1 power and water supplier which is Government owned. But our power systems haven't been maintained properly so now the prices are increasing by 15% so the Government can afford to upgrade and bring Darwin out of the middle ages so the power won't drop out when a gerbil on a treadmill gets struck by lightening.

The Darwin City Council slogs you $40 parking fines for being over your time limit in street parking - for the privilege of parking under a fucking frangipani tree where the flowers glue themselves to your car when it rains and secrete this disgusting white milky stuff everywhere. And then, of course, the bats shit all over your car. And then the rain clouds part and bake it all into the paint of your car so it needs to be re-done every 2 years.

The housing situation is just one more tooth in the cog of 'what the fuck, Darwin!?'.

It's all so painfully typical, I have no idea why I even get shitty anymore.

I'd say it was hope that makes me think things will change - but really, it's denial. And it get's me through, until we want to move on with our lives.

So overall, screw you Itchy, screw you Government and, today, screw you Darwin.

You are all on my shit list until further notice, Or I win the lottery.

Then I'm gonna move in next to Hugh.

The Acidic Observer, Volume VIIII

First of all, let's get this out the way - the Duchess of Cambridge is in LABOUR! Hallelujah!

This is how I think it's going...

"Oh, bother it all, those contractions are just ghastly, Will dahling..." 

"Can I ask my manservant to ask the servant to get you some Finnish purified ice, Katie, my dove?" 

"That would be spiffy - could you put in the order for my epidural, these pains are positively BEASTLY!?" 

"Certainly, Harrington will fetch the doctor immediately, but it may be a few moments wait while we get the best anaesthetist in the world here..." 

"Stone the crows, motherfucker, get me my epidural now and shut the fuck up! Don't touch me! Rub my back! Get me ice chips! Stop touching me! Did I say stop rubbing my back!? Where's that fucking doctor!? Stop talking! It huuuuuuuuuuuurts!!!!!" 

"...????..."

Now Kochie can stop crossing to a live feed of Mel standing in front of a building trying to grasp for things to say and not look like Charlie at the window of the sweet shop, totally separated from the chummy, joy of those smug bastards on the inside.

Sucks to be the one who jumped ship first, doesn't it Mel?

Anyway, sorry for the impromptu hiatus of a couple of weeks. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you'll notice we got a new member of the family.

He's a Great Dane, Irish Wolf Hound cross. His name is Loki - after the Norse God of Mischief.

Some people would say we're tempting fate with a name like that.

It's like having a new baby but a shit load worse because I can't make him wear a nappy and he chews everything, including my TOES. It's apparently completely normal - but given that I'm not a dog person, I haven't a fucking clue.

The only positive I can think of is that he doesn't eat his own shit.

Loki is The Man's longed for family pet. The Man has put up with my love of cats, tolerated their tendency to shit outside the litter box when we lived in an apartment, their love of shredding the couch and the armchair in the baby's room and their long memories and the resulting revenge.

So I felt it was only fair for him to finally have a companion of the dog kind.

And he's bloody lucky he's a cute dog, otherwise I'd have an attractive dog skin rug in the lounge.

Speaking of cute, The Man led me to my burn this week by making a passing comment that, according to some woman in the UK, babies have to be more than cute, they also can't be a red-head, to be loved.

Sometimes I think there are people in the world who should be bitch slapped. 

Repeatedly.

Her name is Katie Hopkins and she is a UK reality star. Not that this fact gives me any fucking clue who she is - but if my reality were the same as her's, I'd swallow a cyanide pill and end it all.

Katie is just one of many people who should not be allowed to speak. To anyone. Ever.

She chose to share this gem on Twitter: "Ginger babies. Like a baby. Just so much harder to love."

Hang on...like a baby? How does red hair make a baby anything but a baby? Unless they're an orang-utan - but they are still called BABIES!

Katie, clarify this for me - you're saying that I should stop loving The Jellybean because she has a tinge of the ginge? That somehow she is a sub-standard child because she is lucky enough to inherit the Irish red from my side of the family?

To assume that any child is difficult to love is a shameful thing to say. To assume that a child is difficult to love because they have a hair colour you're not fond of? You're an ignorant, despicable human being.

If I were you, Katie, red hair is the last thing I'd worry about. My biggest concern would be that my dumb-arsery was hereditary and, therefore, my kids would be doomed.

And just in case she didn't waste enough oxygen sprouting that load of crap, Katie continues on in her 'wisdom' that you can clearly identify what 'class' a child comes from, based on their name - and anyone with a 'lower-class' name is not welcome to play with her children.

Well, I don't think she needs to be concerned about the 'calibre' of anyone wanting to play with her children - no mother in the world would let their children be exposed to the offspring of a total fuckwit.

Obviously, Katie hasn't opened a newspaper, gone online, or stepped outside her bubble and realised that a child's name has NO bearing on their background. In case everyone has forgotten, Kim Kardashian named her daughter North West. One famous actor and his wife named their daughter Reignbeau. They have completely butchered the spelling of a natural phenomena. A NAME DOESN'T GET ANY MORE BOGAN THAN THAT! And this kid comes from a background that Katie would sell her cheap, reality TV soul to be associated with.

I find it ironic that the people who have the exposure, have the least to say to improve the world. Or just their own IQ.

Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that but not with all those flies and death and stuff. - Mariah Carey.

I've never really wanted to go to Japan. Simply because I don’t like eating fish. And I know that's very popular out there in Africa. - Britney Spears 

I'm not sure if it's funny or bloody frightening that, even with MENSA candidates like Mariah and Britney in the world, Katie is as close to being insightful as I am being announced as the new Queen of Atlantis.

Which is a shame because I've always thought I'd look good with a crown.

The Acidic Observer - The Territory Day Edition

It's been pointed out to me on several occasions that I appear to love bagging the shit out of the NT.

It's true - I do. But to be honest, it's not like I'm creating things out of thin air. All the things that boggle my mind are there through sanction of Government or the pure stupidity of some of the people that live here.

Between the irritating lack of competition in various areas which means we pay a premium for things like housing, to the outrageous cost of living because every provider loves to use the excuse of 'shipping' so they can add an extra 25%.

Last time I checked, the NT was still a part of Australia - we are not floating in the middle of the ocean, we are not only accessible by one man canoe and we have roads for trucks so you don't need to load up mountain goats and pack mules.

The greed of the minority shits me to tears and those that have the monopoly will never let it go.

Assholes.

I know there are dickheads everywhere, the NT isn't special in that regard - but I think because Darwin has such a small population compared to other capital cities, it's more obvious. And because the NT has always had a culture of 'come here and do what you like', it attracts all the tourists that should really be in jail.

The NT also has a knack for harbouring criminals. But it's that talent that means my Dad will never be unemployed.

To clarify - 99% of the people that live in the NT are lovely, respectful, normal people. It's the 1% that seem to take it too far and just make things harder. And the dickheads stand out like a sore thumb.

Yesterday was July 1st - and here in the NT that's Territory Day. Historically, this is the day in 1978 when the NT commenced self government. But I question exactly how many people actually know that, or understand why they live in a place where fireworks and ridiculous speed limits are the norm.

Territory Day has become an excuse for people to spend a shit load of cash on fireworks and go home to inadvertently amputate their own extremities, give themselves massive burns, or do the same for a friend.

Only a true friend would get blind drunk and light a firework in your butt crack. It's a documented fact.

I don't have any objection to the fireworks themselves - but I object to fuckwits being able to buy them. I also object to the dickheads who continue to set the fireworks off before and after the event. At 3am. On a Wednesday.

There is a lot of talk about whether 'cracker night' should be banned, and there's a part of me that screams 'YEEEEEEEEEES!!' and a part of me that sits back and says 'meh, whatever'.

When I first moved here, and the horrifying realisation that I had been relocated to a capital city with no major department stores wore off, cracker night was a massively redeeming feature for the NT. It was a consolation prize of sorts - you can't go shopping here, but you can have your own fireworks spectacular once a year.

Fabulous!

But I didn't count on all the yahoo's in the world descending on Darwin in a coordinated effort to blow the fucking city to the moon.

I also didn't count on their trials beginning a week before the event, and further trials continuing on until Christmas. Because that's awesome.

Not.

I don't care how free spirited or 'true blue Territorian' you are - being wrenched from your sleep by random explosions in the middle of the night isn't cool. Especially if you own pets.

One of our cats is already so high strung that a leaf blowing in the wind 500km's away will startle him. A firework explosion requires valium. Repeated firework explosions - well, not even valium can make that okay - I just have to accept that I will be wearing a cat-turban for the foreseeable future, secured by claws embedded in my eyelids and scalp.

Am I some out of town harpy, whining on about a tradition that is integral to the NT identity? Probably.

Am I the only one whining on about the dickhead factor? Hell No! In fact, one person has suggested that going outside on 1 July is just plain stupid.

This year, however, I think the NT News said it best...

"NOTHING says self government like allowing the public to set off Chinese-made fireworks in confined spaces. Those proud patriots were at it again, lighters in one hand, a beer in the other, celebrating Territory Day last night with the danger that freedom allows."

Danger. Freedom. We can't have one without the other. I just hope the consequences are worth it.

Wordless Wednesday - The Amateur Photographer Edition

Linking up with Trish at My Little Drummer Boys for Wordless Wednesday.

The Acidic Observer, Volume VIII

Tuesday just seems to roll around so fast, don't you think?

Maybe because the world seems to be so considerate lately, and has been pulling out the dumb-arses faster than I can register them.

Let's address the most obvious issue to begin, shall we?

If you've been living under a rock in the Himalayas, then you may have missed the fact that Kim Kardashian realised her baby was due around the same time as the royal baby, and decided that moment she needed a C-section to cash in effectively.

So last week, she had a baby girl. And probably a tummy tuck.

And last week, she named her baby 'North West'. There's no word on the name she's given to her tummy tuck.

And last week, we found out they call little North, 'Nori' for short.

Because it's not enough to give her a ridiculous legal name, but they have to give her a nickname that implies she will be wrapped around some rice and salmon, and served with chopsticks.

Why not cut out the middle man and name her 'California Roll'?

However, this week, Kimye is in fine company. I'm unsure of the amount of national coverage this story has received, but we all know Darwin can be a bit of a hub for - to put it kindly - the intelligence-challenged members of the world. Or fuckwit tourists, if you prefer.

I'm not sure why they all come here, and the ones who manage to get a drivers license are the ones who I think should be deported immediately. Except for the interstate visitors who come here with their fucking caravans and Winnebago's.

They should be banned from leaving their own driveways.

Recently one tourist from the UK, 28 year old Alex Neale, took 'dickhead tourist' to a whole new low and was busted riding around on the roof of a Coles delivery truck.

Image courtesy of the NT News website

When the driver pulled over and Alex dismounted, he had the nerve to ask the driver if he could take him home, before just strolling off.

Alex, the cost of a bus ticket in Darwin has gone up by a whole dollar. But I'm sure if you had called your Mummy, she would have sent you the extra dollar. Shit, she might even have sent you enough to cover a return trip!

We can only hope the return ticket would be from Darwin to London.

But just in case he doesn't go home, I think we should all encourage Alex to participate in the fashionable activity of standing on croc traps. I think he would be a natural.

Ah, crocodiles - culling the gene pool since the beginning of time.

And while we're looking at dickheads in the Territory - let's have a quick look at our Chief Minister, shall we?

I'm sure there are plenty of ways to eloquently tell the opposition to butt out. But why bother with such nonsense when "get out of the way, piss off" says it all!

Adam Giles is one step closer to greeting the Queen with 'would you like a shower, shit and a shave before we crack a tinny over breakfast?'

People say the NT is a bit rough - but I just don't see it.

The Acidic Observer, Volume VII

It's been a couple of weeks since I posted - probably because there seemed to be a total lack of anything for me to take the piss out of. Without looking like a total jerk.

And so here we are, back again, because there have been some developments that I just have to address.

For starters, Saturday morning news announced that Princess Kate is now on maternity leave. That's wonderful, but for the life of me I can't think exactly what she's taking leave from. I know it's hard graft to have to get up in the morning, dress up, have someone do your hair and make up and then have your driver schlep you to a dock somewhere for you to throw a bottle of champagne at the base of a boat - but I honestly don't think 'maternity leave' is applicable here.

And speaking of babies, of course we're all aware of Kim Kardashian now being a mum to a baby girl. I honestly send her congratulations - as a mum of 2 girls I can honestly say it's awesome, when it's not total fucking chaos.

I still have genuine concerns that there will come a time when her new daughter won't fit in her handbag, and Kim will be faced with a terrible dilemma - 'do I keep the baby, or do I go back to having a dog in my purse?'

We're all waiting for the grand announcement of this little baby's name - and I hope it's something that she won't have to legally change when she's 2 days old. Obviously it will start with 'K' - perhaps Kay-Mart? Kat-Alog? Kitty-Litter?

No, something more traditional and relevant.

Ka-Ching? K-ash? K-ommission?

Whatever they name that little girl, I just hope they dress her properly. Because it's fair to say that her mother's choices have been enough to warrant her mentally unstable.

Proof that money doesn't buy anything...

What the...?

Taking clucky to a fucking demented level...

Although, I should confess that my parenting hasn't exactly been A+ grade lately, and this weekend took it to a whole new low.

I decided that Saturday would be a great day to go dress shopping. I'm schelpping along to The Man's annual work-fancy-pants event, and I figured I should probably make an effort.

Miss 4 decided it was essential to be in the changing room with me. Of course. I checked my privacy rights at the door when I gave birth to her.

One minute everything is fine, the next minute she's scrambling under the changing room door like an escapee from Alcatraz and all I can hear is her wailing at my Mum..."the balloon is up my nose, Nanna, and I can't get it ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!!"

Hang on - what balloon? What do you mean it's up your nose? WHAT THE FUCK!?

So, we take a trip to the chemist to get some pointy tweezers to see if I can fish it out.

I couldn't. Naturally.

So we drive around Darwin, searching for a GP clinic that's still open.

Nope, nothing. Naturally.

The ultimate last resort is attending the emergency department of Royal Darwin Hospital. Usually because if you don't die of your injury first, you'll die of old age waiting to see a bloody doctor.

We took the risk, and for some reason the emergency department was empty. EMPTY. It was a miracle. And then I remembered that the V8's were in town and chances are the waiting room wouldn't fill up until after all the pubs were shut. It was only 4pm - plenty of time!!

We were triaged, and we were whisked in for the nurse to take vitals and whatnot. She said it would take 5 minutes for the doctor to fish it out and we'd be on our way.

Famous last words.

We sat under the stare of this sign for 5 hours.

And, finally, we were seen by a doctor before an autopsy had to be performed on all of us.

After looking her over for all of 3 minutes, the doctor decided that she couldn't see anything and that, because we had to wait so long, the balloon had probably moved further up into her nasal cavity and it was no longer accessible.

At this point, I almost lost my shit.

The doctor proceeded to tell me that she would send us home and to come back if a foul smelling discharge started coming out of Miss 4's nose.

Yeah, I wouldn't come back if my fucking head was on fire.

We eventually got home, had dinner at about 10pm and I had a night full of constantly checking on Miss 4, terrified she would suffocate in the night from a stupid balloon.

At about 6am on Sunday, Miss 4 comes in to our room and stands with her nose inches from my face to announce "Mum, I have a boogey!!"

Cue revolting sniffing and a sickening cough which produced the following...

We now have a standard conversation in our household.

"What belongs in your nose?"
"Boogeys and sneezes, and nothing else!!"

Next time I go shopping for a dress, I'm going ALONE.

The Acidic Observer, The 'What the Fuck, Universe!?' Edition

This week The Acidic Observer comes courtesy of my own life.

There will be swearing, irrational problem solving and more swearing.

They are 100% First World problems, but they are shitting me to tears so I am going to bitch about them here.

Because if I can't bitch on my own blog, then what the hell is the point??

For starters, Power and Water are on my shit list. They are at an all time high on my shit list, in fact. Why? Well, in my experience, when you send out an amendment to a power bill that shows your bill is well and truly covered and you have a surplus to carry over to the next quarter and then the next week you send those same people an ACCOUNT for $1,300 for the same quarter you just told them was paid for - you're going to end up on someone's shit list.

And, frankly, they should be grateful not to be on my 'hit and run list'.

Then the pool man knocks on the door. He's checked on the leak from the pool pump we were talking about, and it's not the 'o' ring.

No, of course it's not the 'o' ring - why would it be something that could be solved for under $10!

The entire fucking sand filter has split, and to make it even better we can't claim it under the 10 year warranty because the pool and equipment came with the house when we bought it, and the warranty isn't transferable.

Are you shitting me!!? Fine, there's another $1,200.

Although I've been wondering how much it would cost just to fill the stupid thing in. I may have mentioned this solution to The Man...

Finally, I wake up this morning and flick on the news only to find the TV in the lounge room has a massive red strip of pixels down one side of the screen.

Yep - thanks Universe - fuck you too.

On the bright side, this irritating shit happens in 3's, yes? So we're done. For now, at least.

Power and Water seem to want money every 3 months.

Bastards.

We really need to invest in a generator.


 

The Acidic Observer, Volume IV

Reality television - it's endless fodder for acidic review.

And I'd like to focus on 'Embarrassing Bodies'.

The entire concept baffles me. If you had a terrible case of haemorrhoids, would you go on national television to have it assessed by a GP? Would you feel less embarrassed about your condition, knowing that people sitting down to dinner would be serenaded by your bum cheeks being unceremoniously spread?

And that in itself brings up some serious questions regarding scheduling. I don't know what kind of iron-stomached sadist is choosing when it should go to air, but holy crap batman, you need to rethink that one.

If you're too embarrassed to go to your regular GP - a closed environment, no cameras, total confidentiality - what the hell would possess you to jump into the back of a truck and have a doctor prod your privates while a cameraman hopes his wide angle lens can capture the 'moment'!?

And let's hope you jump into the back of the right truck, for starters. You'll give the Postman a fucking coronary if you sit down and start launching into a conversation that contains words like 'discharge'.

Trust me, your regular GP doesn't bat an eyelid at conversations like that. More importantly, if you haven't had a chance to wax in months and you need a pap smear in the depths of winter, your regular GP will be the only one to witness that. Most importantly, you don't have to apply foundation to every part of your body that a camera might need a close up and apply lipstick to all your lips - including your vag.

And they draw a curtain while you get dressed so they don't go home and giggle about you tripping over your knickers.

Now, don't lie - we've all had that moment where our toes haven't gone through the leg hole, resulting in a less than dignified nose dive into the floor. But there's no one there and you can pretend it never happened.

If you go head first into an examination table because your stiletto got caught on the edge of your lacy g-string, on television, the whole world will be laughing.

But just when I thought I had seen it all - every a-symmetric breast, every bent penis in the UK - and there was no where else for them to go, they come out with 'Embarrassing Bodies: Kids'.

What the actual fuck?

Are we seriously going to start parading our kids and their issues in front of television cameras? Well, yes, we are.

"Oh darling, I know you have an issue with going to the toilet, but we're going to see a lovely doctor in the back of a truck and the entire world is going to be able to share your 'learning to poo' journey. Won't that be fun!?"

And people claim bloggers are oversharers! Are you serious!? Yeah, I may write about applying lipstick to vaginal lips but I'm not attaching a 'how to' video!!

Regardless of my opinion, it's clear reality television has a strong following. Whether this is a good or bad thing remains to be seen, but what I do know is the next reality program needs to be 'Psychiatric Roadshow'.

There are a lot of Big Brother viewers out there who need to get their heads read.


 

The Acidic Observer, Volume III

Another week, another edition. I figure this could go on forever, given the dumb-arsery of some people who manage to get their opinions published.

It's currently 5:57am.

Between the myriad of thoughts in my head, the ongoing process of 2 different alarms going off and being snoozed by The Man (since 5am) and the noise of one cat licking itself at end of the bed, I thought I might as well get up and write this.

While I can return to sleep amidst endless thoughts and stupid alarms, I just can't ignore the cat.

My burn this week is centred on a series of comments in an article I read, titled 'The Retro Mummy', featuring the lovely Corrie from Retro Mummy, and Kate from Picklebums, amongst others.

The general overview of the article, written very well by Alexandra Carlton, is that there is a growing trend in women choosing to be at home with the family rather than prioritising a career, or being a working mum.

The article covers the position of stay at home mum and working mum quite well, and I honestly thought there wasn't anywhere else to go with it. Alexandra was open in her writing stating that being at home isn't something everyone can afford, which is very true, and Corrie admits to receiving emails regarding that very subject.

The article states that there has always been a Working Mummy Vs Stay-At-Home-Mummy situation, much the same as Breast Vs Bottle and Immunisation Vs Non-immunisation. We 'eye each other with faint suspicion, each fearing the other is living a more fulfilled life...', and it's true! Personally, I have been struggling with the idea that I won't be returning to work and I'll be a full time SAHM, because I worry I won't be of enough value to my family - that if I'm not putting money in the bank, I have no worth.

It's not true - being home with my girls and, hopefully, showing them that finding a balance between home and work is more than possible, is very valuable, and you can't put a price on that.

Although Centrelink certainly try.

But those points aren't my issue.

In closing the article, there were quotes from 2 women, Anne Summers and Clementine Ford. Summers is apparently 'exasperated' by the fact that some women are choosing their families over the 9-5. And I would like to quote her with "If women want to quilt and craft and sort out their linen cupboards on a weekly basis that is their business. But don't claim it is a superior way to live,". Yeah, because when I get out of bed all I can think about is making sure my tea towels are all folded the same.

Clementine Ford goes on to say that staying home is 'self sabotage' because the divorce rate is high and, when that happens to you, finding a job after you've 'cut yourself off' is difficult.

I have to admit, the sun is awfully bright in my eyes when I walk outside once a week to put the bin out. And there are these really loud machines that seem to contain people - my husband sits in one and it takes him to work every day. He calls it a 'car'. My husband tells me all sorts of stories about the outside world, and it sounds so exciting.

One day I hope to be able to read something called a 'novel'. But right now I'm in the middle of my Woman's Weekly Cookbook.

Anne and Clementine, thank you for your feedback, and thank you so much for claiming that the stay at home mum is dragging society back to the 50's and, in doing so, are reducing the value of women all around the world.

My blood boils at the accusation that a change in attitude towards work and family means my generation has wasted everything that the bra-burning days fought for. And while I could stand back and say 'I never asked you to burn anything for me, so go fuck yourself!', I should probably take a different path to the same conclusion, or risk having my house attacked by Germaine Greer clones, catapulting burning girdles at the windows and screaming "down with cupcakes!!"

It shits me to tears that Feminists are so high and mighty about what has been done to further the working woman, that they can't see a choice to be home or at work as another positive step for the feminist movement. Once upon a time, it wasn't a choice - if you were female you were home. No negotiations. There was a time where we weren't even viewed as worth educating. We were a burden, something our father's had to pay a man to marry and take away.

The last time I checked, baking a cake and learning to make a quilt aren't the indicators that we're returning to medieval times and we're going to start putting thrushes on the floor and use chamber pots - because, you know, we're home to empty them now.

What about those stay at home mum's who start a business based on a passion they found while home with their children? Are they dragging us back to the 'old days'? 

Trust me, there is nothing easy about choosing to stay home. Most working mum's will tell you that the days they go to work as their 'day's off'. I know mine sure as hell, were! Conversations with adults, 8 entire hours without having to watch anything from the Disney Junior channel and when you say 'no' to someone, they don't throw themselves to the ground and scream, until some stranger walking past labels you a 'bad person'.

And let me tell you bitches something, trying to write a scathing blog post while nursing a baby on one side, and comforting a sick 4yo on the other isn't easy, but that's what I'm doing right now.

Maybe there would be no mummy war about this if the feminists calmed the fuck down and stopped trying to find a culprit for a change in society that they don't like. Maybe the feminists are the ones who are struggling to keep up? Maybe the feminists are the ones regressing? Because having a whinge and a cry when things don't go your way, sounds awfully like the temper tantrums Miss 4 pulls when I tell her she can't have chocolate for dinner.

So put on your big girl panties, put your fucking bra back on and stop making women feel bad for their choices. Or else we'll put you on the naughty spot.

 

The Acidic Observer, Volume II

Hello Tuesday!

For a minute there I thought I wasn't going to have much, if anything, to add to this little ranty pants saga. I was worried.

First of all, Dan and Steph won the MKR finale - it was the best outcome I could have hoped for. Dammitt. And then, there were no drink driving celebrities, no one suing KFC because they don't serve Big Mac's and no new cars with cameras to replace our eyeballs.

But then, like a beacon of ranty hope, Channel Seven premiered their new show, Celebrity Splash.

Oh. Dear. God.

It was like a car crash - you know you shouldn't look, but the chance of glimpsing something horrific is just too tempting. And it delivered.

I was mildly confused for a moment because I couldn't work out where the celebrities were. I know I'm young-ish, but I like to pride myself on having been born in the mid 80's and, as such, familiar with a vast majority of past and present TV personalities.

However I'm not sure if the word 'celebrities' is as applicable for this show, so much as 'random people, some who used to be on TV before you were born'. But I agree, 'Random People Splash' just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Perhaps 'I've Run Out of Money Splash'? or 'My Knees Are Giving Out and I Don't Think I'll Make The Next Olympics Splash'?

Aside from the fact that it appears to be a bunch of victims people throwing themselves from the highest platform available, I'm not quite sure what the point is. There are plenty of belly flops that make you cringe...

Wait! That's it! I noticed they were mildly ambiguous about what the grand prize would be for the unfortunate, spandex clad winner, and it has just occurred to me. 

What this show should really be called is 'Reconstruction Splash'! By throwing themselves from a platform and possibly having their faces mashed and internal organs liquefied by the watery impact, the grand prize is an all expenses paid trip to the reconstructive surgery ward of the local hospital.

And we all know that the first step in reviving a long lost career in television (or a non existent one) is some brand new, well enhanced plastic features. And a body lift so tight, the surgeon uses your belly button as a marker for your new lips.

I know we've run out of ideas for movies and so we're rehashing everything we can (Titanic 3D, anyone?), and it's only a matter of time before we see Fay Wray being dragged to the top of the Empire State Building in 3D, but I honestly thought TV had a bit longer before we were dredging the bottom of the ideas pond.

Okay, let me re-phrase that. Dredging the bottom of the Dutch ideas pond. Because apparently we can't think of terrible ideas all on our own, we have to borrow some from the land of legalised marijuana. Which kind of says it all, really.

In the meantime, I am grateful for my Foxtel subscription - yes, it may be mostly re-runs and shows from the US, but if it means I can avoid the terror that is Free to Air TV, then it's worth every cent.

 

'D' is for...?

"...I'm a lady. And, with that comes an estrogen- fueled need to page through thick glossy magazines that make me hate my body." Mayim Bialik, The Big Bang Theory.

This is pretty standard for being female - magazines, marketing, friends and family all have their own opinions on how we should look and what we should be doing to make this 'perfection' happen.

In my experience, my self-loathing didn't start until I was in highschool and suddenly the need to be skinny and blonde was bigger than the need to breathe. Cleo, Cosmo, Girlfriend Magazine and every single advertisement for clothing I saw told me that being short, chunky and not a platinum blonde meant my value as a person was negligible.

Sad, but true. And I have no doubt that my experience is similar, if not the same, as 90% of women out there...the 90% of us that don't fit the stereotype.

I hate that grown women are subjected to this kind of stupidity, and I'm always thrilled that people like Dani from Danimezza, Melissa from Suger Coat It and Nikki from Styling You are doing more and more to show the world that everyone can look and feel amazing, because they are. Full stop, no returns.

So when I was flicking channels and I came across a documentary on Austar titled 'Diet Crazy Mums', I thought it must be something about women losing the baby weight regardless of what it took. I was expecting to see women on a variety of diets and, when they didn't get the results they wanted, having their mummy-tummy's (and anything else that might have the slightest jiggle to it) liposuctioned, nipped and tucked with a few breast enhancements thrown in for good measure.

What I wasn't prepared for was a program that has the following prologue: "This documentary follows three mothers who are obsessed with counting calories and exercise and are teaching their children how to diet from a young age. The show also looks at how the mothers' lifestyle affects their children's views on body image and food. All the women featured believe they're doing the best for their children - despite facing increasingly harsh criticism from those who don't share their attitudes towards parenting."

Now, I'm all for parents taking an active role in their children's nutrition and health - hello, it's a part of being a parent in the first place. If nutrition and health were irrelevant, the breast-Vs-bottle war would never have got off the ground, much less have the polarising effect is does. But I do object to forcing your own body-issues on to your six year old.

I have never met a six year old girl who would respond to the question "Do you think there's anything wrong with the way you look?" with "I'm fat, and that's the truth." It's horrifying! I would be devastated if I thought anything I said or did made my little girl think she was anything but perfectly normal. At six years old, there is no need to be aware of 'thin' or 'fat' or to know what a bloody calorie is - for goodness sake, I'm 28 and I have no idea about calories, kilojoules or whatever they're called - they are just words written on the sides of packaging.

Miss 3 is allowed to eat whatever she would like to - within reason. I won't let her have a bag of lollies for dinner, but just because I'll let her have a few lollies over the passage of the day doesn't make me some kind of non-caring mum who's happy for her child to live on sugar. All it means is that I'm doing my best to teach her moderation and that we need to have a mixture of foods in our diet. If she tells me she wants a pear and some Jatz crackers for lunch, then fine, I'm not going to stress myself out over it.

All kids go through stages where they just won't eat anything other than a specific food, and working through this stage with your child can mean making some compromises on both sides  - they can have their coveted chicken nuggets, but they won't be allowed any dessert because they're not eating any vegetables. And if you ask me, it's a win win situation because a) you know your child has eaten and b) you're teaching them that they can't live on chicken nuggets and if they're not prepared to eat the healthy stuff, then there's no way the treats will be making an appearance.

I don't think, however, that just because a mother might have a terrible self-image that she should be subjecting her child/ren to calorie restricted diets, exercise regime's and constant weigh-in's. If a parent has genuine concerns about their child's health, there are ways to go about resolving those concerns without creating a home-based 'fat camp'.

One mum put her 2 teen-aged daughters on a strict diet that she followed herself, and would harrass them to be doing time on the treadmill everyday. The mum openly admitted that she was going to bed hungry and would constantly wake up in the night as a result. So, as much as I totally agree that physical activity of some kind on a daily basis is great, why should her daughter's want to slog it out on a treadmill when they're probably starving and have no energy as a result? Needless to say one daughter gave up quite quickly, while the other continued to try and meet her mum's expectations.

Giving your child an unhealthy relationship with their body and food from the moment you can make them understand is going to do more harm than the odd burger ever will. Kids are just that - kids. And they want to be able to experience things, do what their friends do and just have fun. Why ruin that by instilling fears in them that are unjustified?

There are enough hurdles to jump in life regarding appearance that our children will have to face - you want your child to be able to come to you for support and encouragement, not look at you as part of the problem.

As Miss 3 grows and begins to absorb these things on her own terms, I will discuss it all openly, but the message I will be passing on at every stage will be that she is wonderful just as she is and nothing on the outside is more important than what's on the inside.

FFS!? Friday: The Out-Law Edition...

It's been a restless night, people. Pregnancy aside, my anxiety was at an all time high after Miss 3 was on the receiving end of a hammer.

Now, to clarify - she's okay. A bit bruised and she has an impressive but superficial laceration behind one ear, but she is perky, eating, drinking and being her normal self. No concussion, no loss of consciousness, no loss of balance, pupils equal and reactive and normal reactions to stimulus.

It's times like this I'm glad my Mum is a nurse.

The Man is suffering a case of the guilts for leaving the hammer on the ladder, rather than putting it away. I'm suffering a case of the guilts for not having been in front of Miss 3 when we went into the baby's room - if I had, I would have got the light on faster, she wouldn't have bumped into the ladder and the hammer wouldn't have fallen on her.

Another score for parental guilt...just in case my MIL hadn't totally destroyed what was left of my self esteem.

It feels like this millennium century decade year week the MIL has really pulled out all the stops to be at the top of my shit list, yet again. If it was an Olympic sport, the committee would just express post the gold medal to her every 4 years so no one had to bother leaving home.

Our week was great until Wednesday morning. The MIL works at the hospital where my OB is, and I took Miss 3 to see MIL as a surprise after my appointment. This is an important lesson for everyone on how 'doing the right thing' will come and bite you in the arse...

• MIL decided it was important to let me know that she'd been discussing my fracture with her 'friends' and that clearly my lack of nutrition and weight are the reason I hurt myself...FFS
• Apparently my OB is a waste of money if she's not even bothering to do a check on my calcium levels (she has), and what is my OB doing about my appearance?...FFS

MIL then decided it was time to have a chat about the renovations we're doing in the house...

• She informed me that she an FIL are aware that "I'm getting myself all worked up over getting the house finished" and she thinks this is worthy of an eye-roll. And then she showed me how awesome the whites of her eyes are...FFS
• But she then made the concession that "I suppose it's understandable not to want construction happening when you bring the baby home". Gee, glad you said that MIL, I couldn't possibly think about having feelings without your permission...FFS
• MIL proceeded to have a dig at The Man. Why am I worried about getting things done in the next 8 weeks when I know The Man always finishes things off at the last minute?...FFS
• Your underwhelming faith in your son is awesome...FFS

The topic shifted to the fact that I'm on maternity leave. This is the point where I should have grabbed Miss 3 and run away...

• I was asked what I do all day. I dutifully listed off all the things Miss 3 and I have been up to. The official response was "so you don't do much of anything, then?"...FFS
• It was then suggested that if I had kept working then maybe I would have less time to be dramatic over the progress of the renovations...FFS

After all these pearls of wisdom were bestowed upon me, her attention then turned to their new car, some snide remarks about my SIL (The Man's brothers' wife), further wonderment over their new car, the fact that they were buying a new car and finally, in case I wasn't aware, the awesome news that they're buying a new car and I should look it up so I can drool over it.

Yeah - I'll be sure to do that. 

Snort.

Overall it was the surprise visit from hell - which completely fell in on itself and spontaneously combusted when a promise was made that they would 'pop over on the weekend'. 

It's been decided that from Saturday morning our entire weekend will be spent with the blinds down, lights off, scuttling around the house on all fours using sign language to communicate.

Either that or we're moving house entirely. I'll let you know how it goes.

FFS!? Friday...The REALLY Cranky Edition...

I've been working on this post all week. Since Tuesday in fact, because there were some things from the weekend that linger, and as the week has progressed, more and more people have been lining up to be on my shit list.

Well, I'm more than happy to oblige.

• Told the Inlaws Outlaws that we're expecting a baby girl! MIL's immediate response was 'oh, so you'll be having another one then, for a boy.' Are. You. Serious!?...FFS
• Miss 3 happened to let slip a name from our 'possible name' list that she has fallen in love with, and MIL's response was 'that's fucking hideous'. In front of Miss 3. I wanted to stab the woman in the eye with a fork...FFS
• The MIL also turned around to announce that clearly The Man is at fault for us having a little girl. Like it's a fucking crime!...FFS
• My father is going through mid-life crisis #3,234,665 and I am going to stab him in the eye with a fork if he doesn't stop being such an arse-hat...FFS
• I'm referring to him as my 'Father' rather than 'Dad' because I don't like him at all right now, and 'Dad' is too caring for how I feel right now...FFS
• He won't stop picking on my Mum about completing her nursing degree. Well, last time I checked she works full time, studies full time and still manages to see us regularly and look after a 56 year old husband child who makes snarky remarks about how on earth can she find the time to study when she's too busy looking after the rest of the world and not him...see, total arse-hat...FFS
• My father is very material and money is everything to him. Money becomes his only thought, night and day, during mid-life crisis mode. He has more than some people could ever dream of, and his selfishness is disgusting. It makes me want to slap him...FFS
• I feel like a bitch because my Mum cried on the phone the other day. She misses looking after Miss 3, but The Man and I aren't letting it happen because we don't want her around my Father's shitful behaviour...FFS
• Did I mention I feel like an evil bitch for making my Mum cry?...FFS
• My solution is to have Mum at our place as often as possible, but when she's here all she wants to do is clean and do chores so that I 'don't have to worry about it'...FFS
• If I didn't think it would set off her claustrophobia, I would cling wrap her to a chair...FFS
• My workplace is making it as difficult as possible for me to access my leave - I personally think this is in direct response to me having to go on leave early on advice from my OB...FFS
• I don't know why I'm surprised - I work with a bunch of women who's biggest concern in life is where their next drink is coming from and how soon can they get it. People like me are a waste of space because work comes AFTER family and I'm not a raging alcoholic...FFS
• How dare I put my health and the health of our unborn child first! There are spreadsheets to be done, wench!!...FFS
• If I see anyone from work on the street, I'll be hard pressed not to swerve onto the sidewalk and chase them with my car...FFS
• Daycare totally buggered up our fees etc and so now we have an account for $550 due to their system screwing up...FFS
• They only discovered the error after doing up our final paperwork for pulling Miss 3 from care now that I'm at home. If she was still at care they never would have known...FFS
• So much for going on maternity leave making life easier...FFS
• The Man is going to Sydney for a few days from Sunday for a company booze and feast-fest something-or-other. He says it'll be all work, work, work but I know that's a load of bullshit...FFS
• He also came home last night to announce he bought tickets with his brother to some music festival thing in Adelaide in March...FFS
• This is after he promised the next trip we took would be as a family since he took a boys 10 day trip to Bali in a villa with a butler, cook, maid and would text me about his massages that cost $5 for 2 hours...FFS
• The closest thing I get to a massage is the 2 cats clawing the shit out of my shoulders to indicate they're hungry...FFS
• I'm turning into Betty-bloody-Crocker and I'm afraid to get on the scales at the OB's office in 2 weeks time...FFS
• The insomnia has started to kick in and so it gives me more time to dwell on all the bullshit and realise how badly our ceilings need to be re-painted...FFS

So this week has certainly been a pain in the arse - all I can say is TFIF!!

Pregnancy, Construction & iPhones on a FFS!? Friday...

Oh Friday - I love you. You herald the beginning of another week in this pregnancy and one less week for everything to be done that I've decided MUST be done before this baby arrives.

Good times.

But let's cut to the chase, shall we?

• My self esteem is at an all time low when it comes to my appearance. So when The Man happens to mention that a model in an underwear advert reminds him of his brother's wife, my ground level self esteem begins to dig a tunnel to the centre of the earth...FFS
• He tried to make me feel better by saying it was the models face that reminded him of his SIL- it had nothing to do with her body. But we all know the more you explain, the worse it gets...FFS
• When The Man and his brother were demolishing part of the house, they managed to have an entire section of wall bring my laptop, crashing to the ground, with it...FFS
• Missed The Man's computer by a mile, of course...FFS
• Miss 3 has managed to lose her iPod. I know it must be in the house but I can't find it and it means my phone is often recruited as a replacement. I only discover this fact after she's gone to bed and I find my flat phone buried in the couch...FFS
• I'm sure my friends must think I'm a rude bitch for not answering my phone or replying to messages...FFS
• Miss 3 doesn't bother with The Man's phone. Only mine...FFS
• The Man, his brother and a carpenter mate are completing the walls to the new baby's room tomorrow. I have an impending sense of doom about the idea of nail guns being used...FFS
• Perhaps this is because they are the most accident prone people alive, especially when together...FFS
• I also keep having premonitions of a visit to the emergency room...FFS
• I found some awesome maternity clothes in the newest Big W catalogue. But I forgot that I live in Darwin and the idea that I could buy something advertised is completely ludicrous...FFS
• The OB has me on maternity leave because I need to be able to rest a lot to allow my ribs to heal. Not sure how that's meant to work when I have a baby using them as monkey bars...FFS
• And just in case my life sounds far too glamorous, the all-the-time-sickness hasn't gone. I had to throw up in my handbag the other day...FFS
• This awesome retching also does nothing for the rib situation...FFS
• I've developed a disturbing addiction to pancakes. This does not bode well for my plan of minimal weight gain in this pregnancy...FFS
• My nesting is in full swing and it's turning me into a nut job. But it's not my fault, THE HOUSE AND EVERYTHING AROUND IT IS JUST SO DISORGANISED!!...FFS
• The biggest issue is that as soon as I've put something away, I can't remember where I put it. Such as my house keys or my child...FFS

So there you go...now if you'll excuse me I have to go clean all the things I cleaned yesterday and put things away in the hope that I'll remember where I put them.

FFS!? Friday - The Non-Pregnancy Edition...

Because nothing has changed in this pregnancy recently - still nauseated, still tired, still emotionally INSANE with the added bonus that my spotless complexion is now spotty. Yeah - I'm thrilled about that.

ANYWAY - moving on to the FFS!? Friday...

What's sent me over the edge this week?

• My cousin announced her engagement on Facebook on Wednesday night. This is engagement #4. To a guy she's been dating for 3 months. FFS
• It's all well and good to say you know someone and you love them - but when your relationship is based on text message and Facebook because he's away for weeks at a time? FFS
• My cousin already has 2 kids our of (now) 4 engagements...is there another on the way? FFS
• She then said they are signing paperwork in 2 weeks time and our aunt will be marrying them. What's the hurry? Is our aunt really that desperate for celebrant work? FFS
• In the next update she said she had quit her job and was a happy SAHM now. I guess that's doable when you've hooked up with a guy who works on the mines. FFS
• Then she announced that she had made an appointment with a plastic surgeon for breast implants. FFS
• I suppose that debunks the 3rd baby concern?
• It's Friday and I don't work Friday's anymore. It's my sleep late day. But I'm up early to take my brother in law's cat to the vet because his cats have moved here but he hasn't. Yet. FFS
• It's the cat who's on valium because it's high strung. It's probably going to try and claw my face off. FFS
• 3 people won the 70 million lotto this week. I wasn't one of them. FFS
• I was at a planning day for work on Wednesday. Because certain colleagues kept flapping their gums, I was over the parking limit and it cost me $19 in parking fees to leave for the day. FFS
• Their gum flapping also meant we didn't get to leave early. FFS
• My house looks like a bomb has hit it, but our cats decided that wasn't enough and have decided that vomiting everywhere is an awesome improvement. FFS
• If they're not careful, they'll be going to the vet today and coming home in a plastic bag. FFS

So there you have it, that's my whinge for this week.

Now, I need to finish this up so I can get my shit together, pick up a valium-based cat and hope it doesn't freak out while I take it to the vet.

FFS indeed.

FFS Friday...

Ah, another FFS Friday. Given it was my Birthday and Valentines Day this week, I really didn't think I'd be pulling out a FFS post.

And yet, here I am. But I swear on all the Marian Keyes books I own that this will be the last whinge about the biggest husband fail in my married life, so far.

Let's get cracking shall we??

• The Guru forgot my Birthday - FFS
• It was almost lunch time before he thought to tell Miss 3 it was my Birthday and to give me a cuddle - FFS
• He went to get a haircut on my birthday (fair enough - I really wanted him to) and took Miss 3 for the ride. He said he couldn't get a cake while he was out because Miss 3 needed to go to the loo and interrupted his shopping mojo. But he came home with his Iced Coffee - FFS
• The Guru called me at 3:10pm on Valentines Day to tell me that Interflora had called him to say they couldn't fit his order in - FFS
• WHO ORDERS FLOWERS ON VALENTINES DAY!? - FFS
• He then tells me he told them not to worry about it and he'd bring flowers home from 'somewhere' (read: wilted leftovers from Coles) - FFS
• He gets home with NOTHING - FFS
• He tells me he couldn't find a florist that was still open, but I passed 3 on the highway that were open late for husbands like him - FFS
• Getting recognition for 7 years valuable and dedicated service at work (not too sure about the valuable or the dedicated part...) at the Staff Meeting on Valentine's Day meant they had done more for me than my own husband this week - FFS

Right, so that's it now, no more talking about it.

This week is officially done and can I just say - thank fuck for that.




  

Fresh Horses Brigade: Farewell...

It's not the kind of thing I thought I would be writing on the day before my birthday, but Eden calls and, she always has such compelling requests, I can't say no.

Planning your funeral was always something I thought should be done by your family and/or friends. The people who knew you best. But apparently I was very, very wrong if you listen to all those Insurance Line advertisements on TV. Apparently I should be planning it myself, and have the money ready and waiting.

Well, excuse me for not rushing out to buy the insurance - I'll fully admit I'm one of those people who is superstitious. As in if I have a funeral insurance policy, or if I write my will, it means I'll die.

And I'm so not ready to do that.

But I can't deny that my death is something I've thought about. I shared some fears not long ago. And I still fear death with the chilling worry of someone who has too much to live for. Which is a good thing. The day I no longer fear death I think will be the day it takes me.

So I shall live forever. Awesome.

But Eden is specifically after the song we would play at our funeral.

My Mum is very open about death, and was even looking into a career as a mortician. Until she took up nursing...moving on...and has told me about various scenarios she's considered for her funeral. One of her ideas was to have something rigged up to make her hand wave as people leave.

Because we all know how freakin' awesome a funeral would be if the dead person waved goodbye. Not.

I know she wants to be cremated. Her claustrophobia means the thought of laying for eternity in a narrow box with the lid bolted shut is the worst thing I could ever do to her, short of putting her in it while she's still alive. So cremation it is. And as for the music, well - I'm still not too sure about her choices. But it doesn't have to appeal to me, so here we go...

When people enter the chapel she wants Fastball's 'The Way'.

"...the children woke up

And they couldn't find them

They left before the sun

Came up that day...

They just drove off and

Left it all behind them..."

That's what my Mum loves about that song. If I was a small child, I'd be worried about my Mum packing up and pissing off without me. Now, I'm not worried about her going, her sense of direction is awful.

At the end, she wants Monty Python's 'Bright Side of Life' playing. And for people to be made to stay and listen/watch the clip. Even if I have to handcuff them to the chairs.

I can totally do that.

As for me...well, I'm not entirely sure.

There are a few possibilities, I suppose. A few songs that speak to me and I'd like people to think of me when they hear them - in a positive way.

The first is probably the most 'tragic'. A friend from Canada used to roll her eyes every time I played this and would tell me how it was "always the slow dance song at all the prom's". But I love this song, and we don't have prom's in Australia, so she can bite my arse...

I would listen to the full Enigma CD when falling asleep and this song always stuck with me. The lyrics are prophetic, in a way, because when we die I like to think we're not frightened, but that we relive everything wonderful from our life and get to start again with the same soul, but a different body.

The second is just a beautiful song that I love...

"...In the sun, I'll wait for you..."

Because I hope that's how it will be.

Death is such a huge empty space on the radar - and people spend their whole lives asking the question 'what happens'? And if they ever get an answer I'll be the first in line to get it. Maybe that's why it's so frightening - it's the only 'true unknown' we have. In a world where 'the unknown' is simply another title for 'I'll Google it', where we know the ins and outs of our own DNA, the idea that there is something we can't Google or get a straight answer for is worrying.

But I like to think it's a place we'll all be happy. Besides, no one has come back to say it's shite!

To check out more music and, possibly, some interesting ideas for your own funeral, pop over to Edenland.

Fuck I hope writing this post doesn't mean I'll die. I'm still not getting insurance.

February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 4...

Day 4

| A Stranger | 

Because sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't know who I am...

Want to play along? Visit www.fatmumslim.com.au for all the details.

Polly Dolly: Packin' Purple

Purple - I'm not always a big fan, but I saw this dress and I loved it. It's not too bright, and it's not too sickly either.

I'm always drawn to darker shades of colour...it probably has something to do with the fact that I was always told the darker the colour, the more flattering.

I thought the belt helped break up the block of colour, even though I know colour blocking is so 'in' right now. And I liked the shoes because they have a red/purple colouring about them and they go well without being too matchy-matchy.

Either way, this is just a casual outfit to meet with friends over coffee, go to the library, grab some groceries and then pick up the kids from school.

A simple pony tail works well - and it doesn't matter if you haven't washed your hair, it usually gives you better volume and styling ability. And we all know that being a Mum means you don't get to wach your hair every day as you did pre-child...well, not without military style advanced planning and execution.

I would wear this without thinking twice - it hides all manner of sins and can be put together in a flash while trying to get your family out the door!

Button front dress
$23 - stylesforless.com

Melissa zigzag shoes
$100 - edgeofurge.com

Lucky Brand hobo shoulder bag
$199 - piperlime.gap.com

Tag Heuer diamond bracelet watch
$4,500 - nordstrom.com

Beaded jewelry
$8.99 - papayaclothing.com

Ichi studded waist belt
€25 - welikefashion.com

OPI Nail Varnish - Black Cherry Chutney 15ml Health & Beauty |...
£11 - hqhair.com