WARNING: This is where I demonstrate that I have no shame, or at least, very little, and if something is bothering me enough I just have to share. Please click away if you are easily embarassed or would rather not know this kind of thing about me. I won’t be offended, I just have to put this out there because, well, I have poor impulse control?

******************************************************************

I use a little thing known as an epilator. I have used it for some time. It is excellent.

My underarms and legs remain pretty much hair-free with a minimum of pain and fuss if I am nice and reg-a-lar about it.

However.

I am a bit squeamish when it comes to attending to my bikini line with my epilator. I do it, but if I have left it to grow back at all it is all together too painful for me to manage in one session. I have remembered this and have been keeping it well under control lately. Consequently, this morning it was time to have a quick tidy up after my shower.

Now, your skin needs to be completely dry in order to perform the whole epilation thing. It told me so in the manual when I first bought it and my brain has managed to fire that information at me every time I have used my epilator since. My brain did fire the information this morning. I did not take heed.

Just in case you are not familiar with the way an epilator works, it pulls the hair out by the roots with little rotating tweezer disc thingys- painful if you’re not used to it, some potential for maiming around sensitive areas.

I was in a hurry this morning.

I just have one phrase for you “labia mangling”.

The end.

We went browsing at a big shopping centre today. We had to get a present for a friend of Pudding’s who’s having her fourth birthday tomorrow and we needed a few other things. We had a nice time. I found a really beautiful dress, gorgeous navy with pink and silvery oriental kind of print. Sounds a bit off but it’s beautiful. Unfortunately, they only had a size 6, which in Australia is about as small as it gets. I am not as small as it gets. It would fit Poss but it’s not really her style. I loved the fabric so much (and the price -it was $7) that I bought it so that I could make something for Grub.

I digress.

We went to the toy shop to buy a present for Puddings friend. Gift was purchased, all was well. Just as we were about to leave though we spotted these by the window – in a glass case because they are THAT special:

Now, I understand that these are supposed to bring to mind a bit of Cabaret. I can see that, but what I also see is Super Skanky Stripper Barbie, now with bendy limbs.

Perhaps Mattel feel that they have neglected a market share by not catering to all of the little girls who aspire to one day mount chairs wearing fishnets? And, in an extra-specially well thought out move, this is the Barbie they have used to launch “The Pivotal Body”, which, from what I gather, just means she can be bent and posed in real pron star positions. You can bend her every which way. She will teach your daughter the art of keeping one’s limbs flexible. Also, if you fancy a bit of light S&M she comes equipped with chains.

What more could a little girl dream of, really?

Photos from here.

I am too tired to blog tonight. It is, however a good tired.

It is the tired of having been to the library and stocked up on book. Books for Pudding and books for me.

It is the tired of having been to the Adelaide Central Market for lunch. We went to our favourite food area in Chinatown, which is adjacent to the market. I had Hainanese style chicken and rice, which sounds very boring but is actually divine. It consists of fried chicken in soy sauce, chopped up (bones and all) served with steamed rice. What makes it so delicious is the fragrant broth, which you pour all over the rice, to make a kind of porridgey, soupy plate of goodness. It is served with a green sauce,  of which I haven’t figured out the contents and a garlic-chilli sauce. I first had it in Malaysia a couple of years ago and have been craving it, pretty much constantly ever since. Beefcake favours the frighteningly hot sizzling plates of stir-fried meat. It is so cheap to eat there and it is one of our favourite treats.

After our lunch we browsed the asian supermarket and picked up some of the special chilli sauce mentioned above,  some yummy tea and canned jackfruit, as well as some pretty paper for Poss to use for craft. We also found time to grab a bunch of Chinese coconut buns, a few different types but basically all sweet with coconut and/or custard. I have eaten enough bun-related goodness to keep me on a sugar high for a month. We also went to my favourite asian grocer to get fresh Thai basil and coriander to add to our salad at dinner – because of course, when one has overindulged in buns, salad evens it all out.

I am knackered. I carried grub in the Ergo and my pelvis hurts. I am going to greab a bppk*, a cup of tea and come jackfruit. I will try and post something interesting tomorrow.

The end.

*It took a little while for me to relaise I had typed “greab a bppk” I would correct it but I think it too beautifully reflects my current state.

After yesterday’s unpleasantness, I didn’t sleep too well. I got up at 6.30 this morning and emailed the friend who had stumbled across my blog. I explained the situation and said I hoped I hadn’t offended her. She was very nice about it and quickly got back to me saying there was no problem. My friend S was very sweet and sympathetic and made me feel oh so much better. I have very nice friends, who are very indulgent when it comes to my little nervous breakdowns. I think there was some worry that my previous post may have been worded rather too strongly but I think that people probably realise I didn’t intend to cause offense.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

So, moving on, I made a most distressing discovery this afternoon.

It’s like this, see? When I got my beautiful, deluxe, shiny phone of spectacularity last week, I gave Rhubarb my old sim to use.  He had a prepaid one and call costs etc, would be better with mine. I had been intending to grab a couple of items that I had stored on the sim, particularly a message from a friend about her daughter’s birthday party this weekend.

Rhubarb arrived home from school and I asked to borrow his phone. He handed it over without a second thought. He had been thoroughly tidy and deleted the message that I was interested in. Arse. I will have to call my friend to get the address for the party. I was mildly annoyed but considering I hadn’t asked him to keep it, there is not much I could do.

Now, I am not the snooping into things sort of parent. Oh all right, I AM the snooping into things sort of parent but I would like my kids to think that I am not because that way they keep their guard down. When I was browsing his message inbox I stumbled across some messages. Several messages. Messages that made me feel a touch queasy and had me break out in a sweat.

Up until now, Rhubarb has maintained that he has no interest whatsoever in girls. He doesn’t like them. This is fine with me. I channeled my mother-in-law, whose dearest wish was always to have a gay or lesbian child, and assured him that whoever he liked, he could tell me.  Much eye-rolling ensued. Honestly, teenagers, they are too easy. If you are a parent who enjoys teasing and tormenting their children during spare moments you’ll find you really enjoy the teenage years.

Sorry, got sidetracked, so, I was looking through his inbox and there they were. Messages. Messages from a real-live girl named B (I twittered her name earlier but have since thought better of it, you can check there if you’re curious). Now, bear in mind that he is in the room so I really didn’t have time to read all of the messages. From what I could see, some were innocent enough, discussing the antics of fellow classmates. Some, um, not so much. Some looked very much like the flirtations of a girl who is attempting to woo my son.

Oh Fuck.

He is 13.

Now, I can’t admit to having read these messages. I can’t admit to having seen them. If I do, the fragile balance of ‘cool Mum who doesn’t interfere too much’ and ‘teenage boy who is willing to volunteer some real information to parents’ will be thrown out. He will no longer volunteer anything. We knew this girl existed because of previous snooping efforts he had mentioned to Beefcake something about one text he had received from her. So he’s sharing, kind of, which I don’t want to ruin but fark.

What if this girl is horrible? He’s only thirteen, this can’t be okay can it? I mean some skanky, skankbag is after my baby!

So, I’m stuck, unable to do anything but have a little giggle about it with Beefcake. I tried telling Rhubarb at dinner tonight that you can get a girl pregnant by holding her hand. He didn’t believe me.

I am sooooooo not good at keeping things to myself. Not saying anything to him about this just might kill me but I will do it, because that’s the kind of Mum I am.

So people, how old were you when you first started having “relationships”? I must confess I was an early starter. My first umm, ‘physical’ relationship was at fourteen. That’s why I am so worried???

I’m not a hypocrite at all.

When I first started this blog, all the way back in October last year (actually five months ago today, which is pretty cool) I didn’t really know what I was getting in to. I had been lurking on other people’s blogs for a while. I had  even commented on a couple. I knew I was quite addicted to reading blogs but I had no idea that the act of blogging would become such an important release for me.

I remember when I decided (after a couple of days) to start deliberately, actively trying to get people to come and comment on my blog. I delurked on a bunch of blogs and I started using my URL when I commented. I took a few days but pretty soon I had my first commenter. Pretty soon I had a few people who were willing to come and comment on the drivel I write here.

In the last five months I’ve made some really fabulous bloggy friends. It has brought so much to my life to find that there are people out there that are just like me in so many ways. I love and need my friends in real life but on the internet so much is shared, so much is given generously, it is simple, few demands are made. I write stuff down (and, let’s face it, with me it is just any old crap I have floating about in the brain pan) and people come and read it and say stuff to me about it. I do the same for them. We share our stories. We find our common threads. There are different threads that tie me to each of my blogging friends. Each thread is some facet of my personality that is nurtured by the presence of that person in my feedreader. What could be more wonderful.

I mentioned that I had an accident recently when I took a trip into the world of alcohol fueled idiocy. Fine, a couple of friends who know me well already can know about my blog. I was a touch upset with myself but I soon realised that I didn’t really mind. These are not people who will judge me, no matter what I write, I could pretty much say anything to them they’ve pretty much seen me at my worst already. No big deal.

So, last week my friend S mentioned that she had opened up a Twitter account. I told her I was on there and we agreed that we would friend each other. Over the last few days I started having paranoid thoughts.

“What is she followed other people who know me in real life?”

“What if people find my blog? ”

“Oh shit. I am going to have to unfollow her and her husband and block them so they can’t follow me!”

I knew I was going to do this but I was putting it off. Knowing that my friend would probably roll her eyes and tease me a little bit for worrying about my anonymity. I knew she wouldn’t really care at all but I was embarrassed.

Then, tonight, I open the laptop and I have an email “suchandsuch is following you on twitter”. Oh crap.

I paniced and blocked my friend, her husband and this other person (also my friend but not someone I see as much).

I sent S an email apologising and having a little meltdown.

I had a big meltdown.

I had a big cry to Beefcake. I’m not sure he entirely understands but this blog is just mine. Just for me and my thoughts. You know, in Harry Potter, how Dumbledore had a pensieve. He would pull out the strands of memory, his thoughts, and place them in the pensieve for safekeeping. That’s kind of what my blog is to me. I need this room to lay out all the brain clutter. To connect with other people. It is mine, it is safe.  Having everyone know about it feels like my mind being invaded. I know that this is a public space but there is a difference between public to a bunch of people you will never meet, most of whom are on the other side of the world, and people who you might see at a family function.

So, tonight I pulled my blog down for a little while. I had decided to start a new blog, in anonymity, somewhere else.

I had another sob to Beefcake.

I put it back up again.

I don’t know, maybe I will need to get myself a new space to write in but for now I’m just going to go with this:

People, if I know you in real life please go away. I can’t stop you, well actually I can but I don’t want to. I keep this blog private. I need it. Please fuck off. xx

You may think that post is formed out of a lack of blog fodder on my part. Not at all, not at all. This is out of my genuine concern for my fellow blogger. TAKE HEED or you will be me.

1. Do not discuss with sister-in-law the fact that i-phone would make perfect replacement for husband (if only vibration capabilities were improved) in front of teenage son. He will ask you what you were talking about later.
2. Do not flaunt i-phone at husband too much. He will begin feverish coveting of said. Tantruming may result.
3. Do not shut labrador in back part of house when you go out for several hours. She will feel cheated. She will headbutt door and wall. In  rickety old house, this means you will come home to broken bathroom mirror – dislodged from wall and smashed all over bathroom floor*.
4. When vaccuming in bathroom, do not come too close to toilet roll. A roll of toilet paper has never unrolled so fast (Beefcake’s mistake, not mine.).
5. When sending daughter to sleepover birthday party, check her bag. She will forget pyjamas and hairbrush. Other mother now knows your failings as a mother.
6. Do not allow husband in to the supermarket alone. He will run in to sleepover mother. She will bring up the topic of daughter’s nightime coughing. He will make us appear negligent parents. Also, he will not buy milk or dog food.
7. Do not allow teenage son to sms his father. Prick will not bother to respond. Son will be let down. Will take it out on you.
8. Do not post bitchy things on twitter and then admit to sister-in-law that you are on twitter. That is living on the edge.
9. Do not attempt enthusiastic high kick whilst “dancing” with 3-year-old son. You don’t have the pelvis for it.
10. When sending husband out for milk, dog food and chocolate, tattoo the words ‘buy milk’ on his forehead. Not only will he return without milk but he will persist with charade that he did, in fact, purchase milk. He will go out to the car, you will hear the car start, you will hear it pull out of the driveway. When he returns ten minutes later, he will hold up milk and say “found it, it was under Grub’s seat”. You will want to throttle him.
11. Buy more than one can of dog food at a time. Remembering at dinner time EVERY NIGHT  for weeks that you have no dog food will grow tedious over time.

*Note: We have no proof that this is how the mirror became dislodged but, judging by previous headbutting attempts, this seems likely.

Beefcake and I went through my wardrobe last night and could find nothing for me to wear – he actually agreed with me that this was (pretty much) the case. I was forced to make a last minute trip to Sportsgirl to pick up a top (there is one literally two minutes from my house) so that I would be able to venture out unadorned with food or snot.You know, it had been so long since I went out that I was actually kind of nervous. Let’s say, nervously excited.

Anyway, my friend , S, picked me up (she was a little bit beside herself too) we made our way out into the wilds to pretend that we were cool and ‘rock and roll’.  When we pulled up to the venue there was a line about a mile long, stretching down the main road outside the pub. We both moaned about how long it was and just having to queue to get in. This should have been the first sign that I am old.

As it happened, by the time we had parked the car, the doors had opened and the line had moved inside very quickly. I won’t give you a blow by blow but let’s just say that the support acts should possibly have stayed at home and there may have been some generally old fartish comments about smoke drifting in from the beer garden and how very loud the music was.

We both enjoyed Josh Pyke’s performance very much. You know when you go and see a band live after having listened to the cd extensively and you are expecting it to sound something like the cd and it doesn’t. They’ve changed subtle bits of melody here and there, they’ve left bits out, the singer can’t sing all that well and you’re really disappointed because you want to go and sing along to the music and have it sound as it does in your head. Yeah, well this wasn’t like that. He was good. He can sing and was chatting to the audience – he was actually pretty funny. We had fun.

Here it is though:

I AM OLD. Now, I know that really,  I’m not old. I am a very young woman still, despite having a few grey hairs and having friggin’ four children who are quadrupling the ageing process with each paint melting scream or fight they subject me to. I know that I am really a young woman but I have moved into a different phase in my life. I’ve had a subtle attitude shift. Whatever I am now, it is definitely not rock and roll.

Let’s look at the evidence, shall we?

1. I used to be a smoker. Even when pregnant or breastfeeding I used to wish I could smoke, I loved smoking. I hate the smell of cigarette smoke now.
2. I was annoyed when the crowd went ‘woo’ in that loud and high-pitched way that people do when they are cheering for a band. I found it most annoying.  I’m sure that I have said ‘woo’ in the past. S and I took a stand by saying ‘woo’ in laid-back old lady fashion. We were hilarious.
3. I had to suppress the urge to get up on stage and tell the audience to calm down – they were being so raucous. I don’t know why they were so excited. For fuck’s sake, it’s a guy with a guitar.
4. Standing in high heels all night just about killed me. My feet were so swollen when I got home that it felt as though I was walking on little cushions. Beefcake performed extensive foot rubbing but they were still swollen this morning – actually they’re still quite sore.
5. I had something grumpy and/or cynical to say about everyone and everything. I would publish some of it here but you don’t need to see that side of me.
6. The thought “all round entertainer”  crossed my mind as Josh Pyke was chatting and joking with the crowd (am I 65?).
7. I drank a low carbohydrate beer.
8. I got really annoyed when he did an encore. Why tell everyone that this is the last song and then head back on, having donned one of those harmonica wire frame thingies mere seconds later. Wow, spontaneous. Why does he need that little ego boost? The crowd has been ‘woo’ing for him all night!
9. It was completely exhausting. I practically needed to sleep all day!

So, there you have it peeps. I am an old fart well before my time. The children have sapped the youth out of me……

Well, mostly, there was one woman there, signifcantly older than S or I, who was dancing her little heart out with abandon. We made a pact. If either of us ever sees the other one being quite this inappropriately frisky, we will put a stop to it. I’m just hoping it will be a little while before I get there.