Conversations with my brain: Welcome to 2013 (and a tired boat metaphor)

ERMAHGERD this boat has no crew. Or rudder. Or a deck.
(OK that's the sum of my nautical knowledge. Go here for the image).

Me: How has your 2013 started?

Brain: With abundant fabulosity, glamour and gentle fierceness, thanks. And yours?

Me: You’re such a liar.

Brain: I dispute that vehemently.

Me: You can’t do anything vehemently. You’re just a brain.

Brain: While we’re on the subject of me, why have you been constantly sending the word “transformation” into my severely tested frontal lobe for the last two or three years?

Me: That wasn’t me.

Brain: Well it wasn’t me.

Me: Then who’s been doing it?

Brain: I don’t know.

Brain and Me in unison: Ooooooh…

(They share a silent moment of awe at the mystical, unknowable nature of the universe). 

Brain: Anyway, so what’s this transformation thing about then?

Me: Oh. Well a while back I pushed the facilitation and training boat out from the safety of permanent fulltime work into the murky, turbulent waters of freelancing. Amazingly the leaky old boat didn’t sink.

Brain: Astonishing.

Me: Shut up. So instead of baking in the sun, sending up flares, drinking salt water and eyeing off my companions as possible entrées, as I waited for rescue from my capsized career, my paid job has become more (flam)buoyant inch by inch each year. No need to steer the boat back to harbour. Lucky!

Brain: Can I tell you how much I’m enjoying this boat metaphor?

Me: Shut up. This flexibility meant I could start things like this blog. Now it seems it’s time to take stock, and see where I fancy steering this here boat.

Brain: So that’s why the word “opportunity” keeps flashing across my synapses.

Me: Could be. I’ve been invited into a memoir writing group.

Brain: ER. MAH. GERD. Shitting. My. Self.

Me: And I’ve started back into fiction writing here. Now I have three books to write. Which is bloody ridiculous, because I work full-time doing something else right now. And some writing courses. This weekend I started Reiki Level 1* and I want to do more. This boat is being steered in a lot of different directions.

Brain: I wondered what that was. I’m knackered.

Me: Me too.

Brain: Stick a broom up your arse while you run around doing all this shit and you’ll keep the decks clean too. And now you've got me hooked into this craptastic boat metaphor! Thanks a lot. You’re clearly insane. 

Me: Who’s this “you” you’re talking about?

Brain: Oh very clever.

Me: So this year is shaping up to be a pretty exciting voyage. Yo ho ho and a barrel of rum, etc.

Brain: You’re weird.

Me: Takes one to know one.

Brain: I know you are but what am I?

Me: Um. What?

Brain: Shut up.

What plans do you have for 2013?

*I’ve wanted to do this for ten years. Finally it’s done. Now I have to practice. The gorgeous Dayle Walker is my Reiki Master and she is totally brilliant.** She also provides massage, hypnotherapy and reflexology so send me an email if you’re interested in her contact details. I can’t recommend her highly enough. She rocks. And is HILAIRE.
** Did you hear the Woop woop danger Will Robinson alert that accompanies sponsored posts? No? Me neither. This is not a sponsored post - I just adore her.

How to get rid of kids (not a sponsored post)

You know, I've had six whole days of child-free time. ER. MER. GHERD.

I miss him.

But I'm betting that within 30 minutes of him being home, I'm going to wish I'd bought a can of this when I saw it.

(Not a sponsored post).

(Not really a post at all). 

How are you coping these school holidays?

What do vomit, Downton Abbey and insanity have in common? Me, apparently...

Not Brendan Coyle pondering how to get vomit out of taupe linen.
Image from here.

Well I hope you've all had a rip-roaring start to the New Year. I've slowly dragged my reluctant froggy arse into the first working week of my year and it's PAINFUL.

Seriously.

So it was with real delight that I read some snort-inducing, cringe-worthy, HOLY SHITBALLS HOW DID SHE SURVIVE THAT moments while reading Alison's post about embarrassing situations here.  Her blog and my blog were separated at birth. (You get to guess which was the evil twin). Get her blog in your eyeballs, people.

Once I'd wiped my (thank DOG that didn't happen to me) tears of laughter away, I realised that I owed you all some more from my Top Ten Dumb-Arse Moments list. Thank you Alison for your inspiration.

Five - How to cure yourself of a crush (and ensure you're never allowed near expensive furniture again)

About 11 years ago, I was living the exciting life of a 30-something recently-divorced chick working in independent film in London. Which is to say I was working 16 hours a day, 6 days a week, going to the pub a lot, emotionally unstable and generally insane.

The makeup artist on the film had just moved to a new flat, teaming up with an actress. This actress was in a television show at the time with someone who bore a remarkable resemblance to Brendan Coyle. Look him up ladies, he's now in Downton Abbey. At the time, I was rather partial to a bit of Brendan Coyle. 

Imagine my excitement when I was invited to their housewarming party.

Imagine the utter squee-inducing delight when I heard that the-actor-who-resembles-Brendan-Coyle-but-is-not-Brendan-Coyle* (let's refer to him as Not Brendan Coyle) might be there.

Imagine the pee-producing combination of joy and terror as I walk in and there is Not Brendan Coyle, in the loungeroom.

Imagine the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed in my nervous/emotional unstable/insane state in order to hide the fact that I was nervous/emotionally unstable and insane.

Now imagine the disappointment when I woke up the next morning, amid a pile of sleeping bodies, to discover that I had drunk so much/something/whatever and then vomited. All. Over. Myself. And a brand new taupe linen couch, apparently.

Imagine the horror when the first words I heard that morning were Not Brendan Coyle saying "Way to throw up all over yourself, Aussie".

This is why I can never watch costume drama again, and flinch at the site of taupe furniture.

6 - Waiter, there's a funeral in my soup

Yes I did go to a fancy cafe in the hills near Melbourne.

Yes I did ask the nice lady all in black for some more coffee.

Yes she was a mourner from the wake that was happening in the private section of the cafe.

Yes I am going to hell.

7 - PT Barnum is still an arsehole

If you've been following the PT Barnum story here and here, you'll know that we've been hosting a slightly unwelcome roof visitor lately. As a result we bought a possum box and my partner kindly nailed it to a tree in our back yard.

Apparently trees and ladders aren't designed for people shaped like me.**

"I know," I thought optimistically, "I'll pop up the ladder and add the leaves and some banana to the box to entice PT in and make him so comfy he never wants to hang out in our lumpy old ceiling ever again!"

"I know," I thought, again with remarkable positivity, "I'll just go a bit higher and climb into the tree so I can reach".

"I know," I thought with mild annoyance, "I'll just waggle myself around a bit; I'm sure I can un-wedge myself from this position and get further into this tree".

"I know," I thought with admirable calm, "I'll just wait for my partner to notice that I'm firmly wedged via boob and hips between the ladder and this branch, and then he'll send for the fire brigade to cut me free."

"I know," I thought as I finally climbed down from the tree, "I'll just gas that little fucker out of the ceiling and he can go find a possum box in feckin' possum heaven."***

And so the list of my misadventures is growing. Think of it as a community service - humiliating me so you don't have to.

* It was Brendan Coyle.
** For the record, NOTHING in life is designed for people shaped like me.
*** Updated: I am now DEFINITELY going to hell. Three weeks after publishing this, I had to publish this. 

What have you done that was deeply embarrassing in front of a famous person?

You make the rules

Welcome to 2013 people!

In March I'll have been writing here for a year. Let me share with you some (cough) wisdom I've accumulated so far, about blogging in particular.

But really I think it's a metaphor for everything in life.

Enjoy. I'll be hitting "Publish" again in earnest here soon.

May your Yule logs be frog-laden this Christmas (another bog blog)

You know how things always happen at the worst possible times?

Just in time for Christmas, and family visiting, our toilet broke. No Yule log jokes please.

Proof positive that the Universe has a sense of humour (and is a bastard) - and that I CAN EVEN MAKE A CHRISTMAS POST ABOUT THE TOILET.

Despite our lavatory challenges, from my lily pad to yours, I'm wishing all of my lovely readers a safe, happy, and stress-free festive season. And functioning toilets.

See you all after Christmas Day sometime.*

*Or maybe sooner. Does your bog work? I'll be right over...

Hello, Alan Rickman. The Christmas Post.

I adore Christmas. I always have. I decorate the house, put Christmas music on, cook a crazy in this hemisphere it’s so hot turkey, ham and all the roasted trimmings.

At this time of year our movie favourites come out. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Scrooged, A Muppet Christmas Carol… all quality stuff on high rotation around here when it’s time to get your Yule on.

These are all standard Christmas movies. About Christmas. Set at Christmas time.

I have another collection of Christmas movies that are a bit different. These are the ANTI-Christmas movies. These are the ones set at Christmas time, but not about Christmas.  

Trading Places. This came out in 1983 - WHEN I WAS 15 PEOPLE JAYZUZ I’M OLD –
and is one of my all-time favourite movies regardless of genre. YEAH.
See the movie, then you’ll get the joke. YEAH. Hilarious image from here.

Gremlins - 1984. Don't get him wet, or feed him after midnight.
Image from here.

 

Die Hard - 1988. Bruce Willis and HELLO, ALAN RICKMAN*.
Way to crash a Christmas party, John McClane. Image from here.



Ghostbusters 2 – 1989. A sorry follow-up to the original but a worthy
ANTI-Christmas movie just the same. Image from here.

 

Lethal Weapon 2 – 1989. No pics of Mel thanks. Image from here.

Hmmm**. People losing all their money, forging unlikely allegiances, children disobeying instructions, people trying to kill each other, houses being wrecked, spirits rising from the dead  and HELLO, ALAN RICKMAN.****

Maybe they were about Christmas after all…

Have a cool Yule y’all and be kind to each other.

Can you name any other ANTI-Christmas movies?

* HELLO, ALAN RICKMAN.

** The 1980s was the decade of anti-Christmas movies. Or am I just showing my age.***

*** Don’t answer that.

**** OK so Alan Rickman isn’t directly related to Christmas but HELLO, ALAN RICKMAN.

HELLO, ALAN RICKMAN. Hans Gruber taken from here.

Harassment, possum-style

Dear PT Barnum,

This letter is in response to your unjustified legal action accusing my clients of harassment. Our clients (Frog and Partner) were within their rights when pointing a massive halogen lamp and camera at their own roof line at11pm on the night in question. My clients were not expecting to impact on your quiet enjoyment of the property as required under the Residential Tenancies Act.

My clients were surprised when you appeared, and any filming of you on was accidental.

My clients strenuously reject your assertion that they were running along in the dark, giggling, bumping into each other and hissing “ssshhhhh!!!!”. They were, in fact, checking that the back yard clear of obstacles, ready for the high-speed Christmas Day BBQ-to-back-door turkey-transfer.

They also reject without reservation your statement that they were “standing in their pyjamas at 11pm, on the street, hiding behind a shrub”. My clients state that they heard a noise and when they investigated,found you standing on their roof.

You state that you were standing “silhouetted against the night sky, at the helm of the ship, like a majestic marsupial figurehead,surveying your territory”.

My clients challenge this and say you were standing on the apex of their roof “looking to get your furry arse into trouble, probably with a (sexy) lady possum”.

In your legal action you state that while you were exiting the property, my clients stood laughing and waving a torch at you. My clients respectfully respond that they were assisting you in your tightrope manoeuvre across the electricity wires by shining the torch so you could see where you were going.

The noises you heard were noises of concern for your welfare, as you repeatedly and unsuccessfully tried to swing upside down, holding on by your back feet. My clients held these sounds in to a muffled snort to avoid waking their neighbours.

 Possum Gangnam-style. Abused image from here.

Given your recent history of noise disturbance, Gangnam-style dancing in hobnail boots,and dangerous circus tricks, my clients feel that they have no choice but to issue you with a notice to vacate their property within 30 days. They will provide you with alternative accommodation*, as prescribed by your lease.

Please sign the attached agreement and pop it through the manhole in the ceiling when you wake up ready to go dancing in your hobnail boots at 11pm tonight.

Yours sincerely,

D’oh and Scheisse

Lawyers to the Lily Pad

I am not serious enough for the internet (guest post)

The gorgeous Zoey is sitting on the lily pad with me today.

I adore her ascerbic wit and her photography is amazing.
She's snazbigly funny.

She also gives excellent squeeze. 

 

{Serious Internet Image from here}

Once upon a time, I looked like a serious person. I had a serious job in public health. I was passionate about all sorts of super important issues. I had gone to university and received a serious qualification. I’d always been studious. All things that to the untrained eye, make me look serious.

Until I found myself at a wedding and my first baby was about two. And I was faced with all sorts of serious questions like ‘so what have you been doing?’ Apparently creating an entire human and keeping her alive and/or not killing her is not an achievement. And while I tried to think of an answer that was not boring, I realised I’d lost a good portion of my bullshit ability. Which lets face it, a good part of my career in public health and marketing was based on my bullshit ability which I have to say is stellar. And as the evening wore on and I went from realising I was not serious and probably never had been to taking the piss out of everything that moved. I’m sure being on the piss helped.

At face value, the internet is not serious either. You’d think we are a match made in heaven. And we are kind of. I mean the internet has lolcats. LOLCATS people. Somewhere that has lolcats can’t take itself too seriously, surely. You say one wanker thing once, in a publication that no one reads and all of a sudden #ActivatedAlmonds is trending all over your ass. Not serious. You say one dumbass thing at a conference once and people continue to in-joke about it for freaking months. (Yep, that was another in-joke. ZOMG I’m doing it again) Definitely not serious. Or so it would have you believe. But the not seriousness of the internet is a lie. A bare-faced lie. And the lolcats are just there to distract you from just how serious it really is.

You know those slightly inspirational or slightly funny pictures that people post on facebook? People actually interpret that shit. Depending on how those people are feeling on any given day you might have given new meaning to their entire life or you might be wrong, so wrong. Or worse, you might be judging a whole minority group. Why do you hate people with [insert offended group]? WHY?! And you thought you were posting pictures of cake. You weren’t.

Also, don’t express an opinion. Be a sheep. Express other people’s opinion. That’s safer. Or better, fence sit FOREVER. The internet loves that. Because you can then keep everyone happy, all the time. You thought you were being vaguely amusing with that throw away line? Unfortunately not. You are now a troll. A troll bully. Who is stoopid. Now what were you saying about that thing I passionately care about but will forget tomorrow?

If you have a blog or a facebook account or on twitter and you don’t blog for a cause, re-share that ridiculous vaguely-related to cancer update or reteweet all the charities then I’m afraid you are a horrible waste of skin. I’m sorry, it had to be said.

I’m not serious enough. Because inappropriate jokes that the internet will never forgive me for pop into my head all the time. I find all the passion, all the outrage kind of exhausting and a bit boring. Except when I’m outraged by something then I’m all over it like a freaking rash. And then the internet gets to call me a hypocrite and then nothing I’ve ever said, ever has any meaning or value whatsoever.

After awhile you get desensitised to it. Now I’ll post a picture of my kid drinking homophobic hot chocolate WITH SUGAR, whilst sitting in a car seat with twisted seatbelt straps (I like to call it the baby death trap). When someone on Facebook complains about it (they will) I suggest they use the extremely disturbing unbaby.me app that will turn all of my baby pictures into lolcats. Or I’ll go into a forum where they are discussing how vanilla and annoying I am and I will only barely be able to resist leaving a comment ‘mmmmm vanilla’. But I don’t because then they might mock me by emoticon. Actually that’s not the reason, I’d be sitting there praying for the golf clap emoticon instead of the yawning one.

I spend too much time on the internet saying ‘yeah, that was a joke’. And no, it’s not me. I’m freaking hilarious. So when you see me around, please know that I am mocking everything in my head because I’m hiding from the Internet. That bitch has no sense of humour.

Zoey is a reformed perfectionist and chaos manager. She blogs in words and pictures at Good Googs, but mostly pictures. You can catch her being not serious on Twitter and posting things without hidden meaning on Facebook. She thinks the only purpose of her phone is to take photos. Evidence of this can be found on Instagram. (Frog: She also writes a pretty decent serious bio for herself).
 

Are you not serious enough for the internet too?

PT Barnum is an arsehole

Afro Possum created from here and here.

Na na nananana na naaa naaa… na na nananana na naaa naaa…
Possum Circus… Possum Circus… nanana nanana Possum Circus!

Those of you who’ve read my blog before will know how interested I am in creatures.

Over here I warned you about homicidal starfish and I shed a tear for lovelorn deep sea invertebrates.

Then over here I introduced you to some tragically crack-addicted Tarsiers.

I believe I may have talked about horse shit too.

This post is about another animal. PT Barnum.

Frankly, PT Barnum is an arsehole.



One of PT Barnum’s long-lost relatives,
from the non-performing side of the family.
Photo, strangely, from a UK site here.



Yes, the P in PT Barnum stands for possum. We know it’s him because we’ve caught him on the roof of our back veranda, about to leap into the trees in our back yard*. For a total arsehole, he’s pretty cute.

Late every night the Possum Circus** wakes up and goes tumbling, leaping, swinging and generally stomping around in hobnail boots in our roof space. Waking us all up.

Then Possum T Barnum comes back home, scratching and thumping, doing the lasso move and singing “Heeeeyyyyy sexy lady” at around 5am. Waking us all up.

Holy shit, he is craptacularly LOUD for such a small critter.

We could call someone to catch and remove him, but they’re apparently only allowed to move possums (even circus ones) 50 metres from where they live.

Erm. I reckon PT might be able to work out how to get home.

We could get someone out to patch the holes where he’s getting in. WE can’t do it because FUCKPANTS our roof is high off the ground on one side. The problem with this option is – what if we trap PT Barnum inside our roof space? He’ll be left die of dehydration, Gangnam Style, leaving a hideous mouldy dead circus possum stink behind.

Neither of these options works for us.

So I’m throwing myself (and PT Barnum) on your mercy.

How do you evict a possum circus from your roof space permanently and humanely?

 

*Good luck doing this move after yesterday PT, when R cut down the closest branches to the house. Sucker!

**We think it’s actually just one possum - PT Barnum. Not sure how he manages to make so much noise, even with those hobnail boots. What’s he doing up there? Possum Circus Gangnam Style?

***I wish I knew what bastard was selling hobnail boots to small territorial marsupials. I’d buy a pair of their boots, shove them on the nearest possum and pop it in THEIR roof space. Selfish arsehats.

May the road rise with you this Christmas

 

Photo from here.

This is not a BLOG POOOOOOSSSSTTTT…

No, really, it’s not. Instead, it’s a quick thankyou note to some lovely bloggers who’ve linked me in Christmas linky thingamajigs and the Sunshine Award.

I love that these wonderful, kind bloggers have linked to me – what a lovely Christmas surprise!

• The fabulous Miss Cinders from SMOM
• The gorgeous Mumabulous
• The lovely Mrs D from Mrs D’s Maunderings. 

I adore each of you, and thank you so much for involving me in your linkies. Go check these ladies out.

The idea of these link games is to ask questions, answer them for yourself and then tag people to then do the same, in a big, fun chain-letter-blog-dance that could, frankly, go on a for about a decade. Terrific for driving traffic to your blog and maybe picking up some extra readers.

Here are my answers from these linkies for those who are curious**:

1. What would I do with a million dollars? Pay off my home loan, sell the house and buy somewhere near some really good coffee. Give some to the RSPCA.
   
    
2. Favourite Time of the Year? Bedtime. No, actually it’s Christmas. Bedtime. At Christmas.
    
3. Favourite Festive movie? National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Can I refill your eggnog for you? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?
   

   

   Image from here. 

4. What is your Passion? It changes daily. So ask me tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day... good luck keeping up with that one.
5. Favourite Colour? Purple.
6. Favourite time of the Day? See No 2 above.
7. Favourite Flower? One that doesn’t have wild crazy plant sex every Spring and make me want to gouge my eyes out with a weeding fork.
8. Favourite Non-Alcoholic Beverage? What are these non-alcoholic beverages of which you speak?
9. Favourite Physical Activity? Seriously? Do you not know the frog at all?
10. Favourite Vacation? Anywhere that includes warm weather, a pool and cocktails. Lots and lots of cocktails...

At this point I’m supposed to link to a handful of other bloggers that I admire. The bad news is, I’m not going to carry on the link. I admire many, many fabulous bloggers but I don't want to add to the business of this insane season by linking to them and obliging them to continue the chain. So yes, I am the Grinch who stole the linky.

The good news is that I want to wish everyone some peace and rest in this fuckpants crazy time of year. I hope you all survive it without too many valium-laced eggnogs.

May all your Christmas lights illuminate first try.



Image from here.


May all your trees be squirrel-free. (At this point I’d also like to add possum-free but that’s the next blog post)

Image from here.

May the road rise with you this
Christmas Season

Image from here.

*“The Sunshine Award is an award given by bloggers to other bloggers. The recipients of the Sunshine Award are: “Bloggers who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogosphere”. The way the award works is this: Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to them. Answer questions about yourself. Select 10 of your favourite bloggers, link their blogs to your post and let them know they have been awarded the Sunshine Award!”

** Probably just those three ladies I mentioned above.