Hoochiemumma

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D-Day

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Tomorrow is D DAY. Its a fundraiser for the Cure4CF Foundation. Yes, I’m at it again…. Yes, it’s probably annoying. I know how I feel when I see people over share the same thing. I eye-roll a bit and think “yeah yeah we get it”.

When you’re on the other side though, and there is a cause that you’re passionate about, especially one that involves your child, there seems to be motivation to be annoying and speak out.

Sometimes sharing too much can come across as attention-seeking perhaps? I have always struggled with this balance. There are plenty of people out there branding their existence with having a child with an illness. Usually, these people are giant pains in the arses and sometimes their kids are too.

I would give anything to not have this as a topic to write about. But here are.

We all have struggles through, a hurdle, or some kind of challenge that life throws at us. Every one of us. I’m sure you’re thinking of yours right now. When I think of my family and friends I can easily identify something going on in their lives that is, or has been stressful, hard, or sad. It’s called life I suppose.

Most often, struggles have some kind of silver lining. One of the positive things that having a child with a chronic illness has brought me, is being able to put things into perspective. It’s really easy to get hung up on the small stuff and I certainly do my fair share of that at times. Like this afternoon when Scarlett dobbed on Elliot for being a bit of a dick on the bus.

Did I speak to him about it.. yes.

Did he deny that he did anything wrong…of course.

Did he run away to his room while I was mid sentence, yelling “you just don’t get it mum, stop going on about it”… yes.

Did I see red and turn into psycho Sally and tell him that I will ban him from the bus myself and also used the “f” word twice in one sentence. Also yes.

So OK, sometimes I do sweat the small stuff.

Anyway… I digress.

I have often wondered what kind of parent I would have been if not for the experience of having Macauley. I have also wondered how different he would be too. Those early years were tough and I was fairly intense and controlling when it came to trying to keep him well. It was the only coping mechanism I had to make it feel like I had some kind of handle over something so uncontrollable. I was pretty much kidding myself, but it made me feel better at the time. Because his health was my number one priority, everything else kind of took a back seat and priorities shifted a little. I think I definitely had it in me to be competitive and compare. What a joy sucker that is. (Just a tip for new mums too….you soon forget the age they start crawling, or if they walked before they were one. Plus, once you have more than two kids you get them all mixed up and refer to those early years as “well one of you stated walking a bit late… I dunno which one of you it was now?”)

So by the time he turned 5 and started school, I didn’t really care that he couldn’t hold a pencil and write his name yet. Was he meant to? Besides sending me bat shit crazy, I didn’t worry too much that he was stuck on level 3 reader for what seemed a 100 months of Sunday’s. And who knew that being able to tie a shoelace by a certain age was a milestone to be aiming for? Just buy the velcro shoes people. They’ll get it one day. All of these things are important to a certain degree, but I kept thinking how lucky we were that he was at school, that he was born in the new millennium. If he were living in the 60’s I could have well been preparing his funeral, not his first day of school.

Which brings me to my point of being an over sharer. It’s due to people making more noise and fighting for funding and raising awareness that has led to some amazing medicines and research being done in science land. Sure, big pharma is probably all the horrible things that people say it is….to what degree I wouldn’t know. All I know is that without “Big Pharma” my big kid wouldn’t be here. As evil and horrible as people make them out to be, big pharma develop and provide my child with medication he literally cannot live without.

Organisations like Cure4CF Foundation raise money to provide funds for exciting developments and research focused on a CURE. I see it like a giant jigsaw puzzle where all of the new bits of research from around the world get tacked onto the older bits and are pieced together to solve the puzzle. I am hopeful that the puzzle of CF will be solved so that Macauley and many others can breathe a little easier.

Literally.

M

PS….As always, if you can give, please do or simply share to make aware. 🌹

 

 

The Glue to the Shit Show

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As much as I am an absolute supporter and cheer squad for women who achieve brilliance in their lives, excel in their chosen pursuits and smash some ceilings, I wonder sometimes, who is cheering for the other kinds of amazing women?

Continue Reading"The Glue to the Shit Show"

Mrs Weird of Weirdsville

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I was stuck in a room with my 15 year old son for 4 days. He was beyond thrilled to say the least.

CF has landed him back in hospital for a bit. Topped off nicely, was the fact he developed a cold so a Covid test was needed….Then lockdown hit so we weren’t going anywhere. Mr Lucky had me within arms reach for a longer stint than we planned.

During our iso situation, he made a comment after I hung the phone up from speaking with the ward clerk.

“You’re weird” he said.

After he got told to get stuffed, I dug a bit deeper…

“Weird how?… like scary weird or quirky weird or what?” I asked.

“Or is it just because I’m your mum and every kid thinks their parents are weird.” I added.

“Na… you ask any of my friends and they all rekon you’re a bit weird”.

This was also confirmed by my almost teen daughter when she looked at me, screwed her nose up a little and sympathetically replied to my inquisition with “well… yeah, you kinda are”.

Excellent. That’s what everyone wants to hear.

I would have happily settled for any other description than weird.

Clearly I’m not the cool mum, the laid back mum, the strict mum, the mum with the best pantry snacks mum, the handy mum, the smart mum, the chatty mum, the quiet mum, the funny mum, the friendly mum, the kind mum, the cranky mum, the “insert any other adjective you can think of” mum. Nope….I’m the WEIRD mum.

But look, if teenagers think I’m weird then I’m pretty ok with that because there’s some seriously weird shit going on in the land of the teen.

Weird is taking photos of a quarter of your head, writing “streaks” across it then sending it to all of your friends on Snapchat as a form of entertainment and connection.

Weird is not using a phone to TALK. Alexander Graham Bell would be quite miffed.

Weird is wearing socks and slides.

Weird is the ability to text at 300 wpm but the inability to get clothes INTO the laundry basket.

Weird is the resurgence of the 80’s mullet and somehow making it even uglier. Just stop it.

Weird is knowing every AFL player trade but not knowing how long to heat something up in the microwave. Like ever.

Weird is doing the SAME ANNOYING CRAP EVERY SINGLE DAY and then acting completely shocked when I lose my ever loving mind.

Weird is having a tanty after being asked to empty the dishwasher after a hard morning of sleeping until lunch time.

Weird is not being able to see something that is straight in front of your face.

Puh-lease. Spare me the lecture.

So me and my weirdness will just be over here living my best weird life being Mrs Weird of Weirdsville.

I would really love to hear what word your teens use to describe you as a mum? And if it’s “loving and kind” you can quietly go and live on Liar Island with the pizza guy.

Come at me fellow Weird mums. I can’t be living in Weirdsville alone?

Yours forever in the gloriousness of weird.


M

Random Ramblings.

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I’ve been a bit quiet on the blogging front. Seems the lady of leisure has not been leisuring. I know. Shock horror! Sometimes the best-laid plans don’t work.


So here is a list of random thoughts and questions as well as a few nuggets of wisdom that I’ve been reminded about or learnt about recently.

1. Firstly, to help you all feel like you’re not the only one slowly going insane, I spent 10 minutes hunting for my sunglasses that were on top of my head. I seriously contemplated a lay down because I am in genuine fear that I may in fact, be losing my sanity.

2. Question: Have I been going IN the outlane and OUT the inlane at our local supermarket? There are no arrows, but I sometimes get the stink eye from some very annoyed large car drivers. Is there an unwritten rule? Advice and debate freely accepted.

3. Organising a get together with like-minded supportive women is the most fabulous therapy ever. Having an agenda is even better!

4. People don’t always have your best interest at heart and simply have nothing better to do than fish for gossip. These people are joy-suckers. Avoid them like the Rona.

5. It’s OK to disappoint someone else before yourself, so saying “no” is necessary as well as refreshing.

6. Doing the hardest thing on the to-do list first thing in the morning makes the day so much brighter. I need to do this more often.

7. Someone gave me a solid and simple piece of advice and let me tell you, it lifted a weight from my shoulders and has helped me jump a hurdle I had made for myself in my own head. Which leads to…..

8. Procrastination isn’t laziness. I spotted this today and yup.. mind blown. Yes yes and yes. I procrastinate a lot and generally… one of these is the reason.

9. Gin is nicer than I had thought it would be and if you have two of them, they make your legs relax. After three it may make your legs do more than just relax. Buyer beware.

10. My youngest child is willing to pay his older sister “a hundred bucks” so that she “won’t tell mum (he) was eating on the lounge” (new lounge… my kids are savages… NO EATING ON THE NEW LOUNGE).

11. Also… my youngest child doesn’t realise that I can hear him without seeing him.

12. Term 4 is always the worst term for parents of school aged children (and teachers too, I imagine). She may be a shorter term but she’s an intense bitch of a thing that needs Valium, with a possible back up of two leg relaxing gins.

13. Letting go of the need to “figure it all out yourself” is a good move. Surrendering to the fact that we all need help is a form of self care and not a weakness. This mantra needs to be repeated by stubborn tarts like myself on a weekly basis.

14. Question: Do conspiracy theorists just believe all of them or can you choose just one or two and go hard and fast. Like, can you believe that 5G is going to kill us all but vaccines are OK, or is it all or nothing? Also when is Pete Evans going to disappear into his own arse and STFU.

15. Everyone should watch Dr David Attenborough’s “A Life On Our Planet”. Everyone. It should be made compulsory viewing in schools. It will either confirm your ethos or challenge the ideas about the way in which you live. It will remind you of our role within a much bigger picture. Either way, it will bring tears. Tissues required.

16. Final question: why is it that going to bed earlier doesn’t make me more pleasant in the morning? Why? A question I’m sure my family would like answered.


On that note… Goodnight!


Until next time.


M

I Am Woman… Hear me Roar (and complain).

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I overheard a conversation a few months ago. It was about someone looking to hire a mechanic.

“Would you hire a female mechanic?” 60 something-year-old man asked a similar-aged woman.

“Yes,” she replied. 

Her response was quickly retorted by 60 something-year-old man with “really?” as he screwed up his nose.

60 something-year-old man (who will now be referred to as Dickbrain) then continued to say that he knew of a girl who might be looking for some work. She “was fully qualified and EVERYTHING”. Dickbrain sounded shocked that a mere female could pass successfully. He then continued to describe WHAT SHE LOOKED LIKE. Cause I’m sure mechanics relies heavily on one’s appearance.

People like Dickbrain make me shitty.

I understand that Dickbrain was probably brought up in a different era, has different values, and probably didn’t “mean anything” by his comments and facial expressions but why are these comments still made? Why is it so shocking that a female can fix cars? Didn’t he watch Neighbours back in the 80’s? Just make a reference to Charlene being a mechanic like normal people and move on with your day.

This is the perfect example of why feminism is so important and why I am cranky with myself for not being braver and speaking up. However, like most keyboard warriors I’d rather get opinionated and mouthy from the comfort of my laptop and flanny Jim Jams thankyou very much.

I think the word feminism can be a dirty word for some people. It can somehow be divisive when at its core, it’s trying to be the opposite.

Is it because of the stereotype of a feminist? Do you conjur up images of a bitter and twisted old lesbian man-hater? Or maybe a woman who is outspoken? Perhaps it’s a career-driven woman? Or a grumpy bitch in her mid forties with nothing better to do than rant away on her sub-par blog.

Wait, what?

Sure…. all of these people might be feminists but here’s a news flash. Men can be feminists too. It’s not an exclusive club for just those with two X chromosomes. We can’t find equality with only half of the population being engaged. So what are “feminists” banging on about.

The definition of feminism according to the Merriam Webster dictionary is:

Definition of feminism

1 : the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes

2 : organized activity on behalf of women’s rights and interests

Pretty simple. Equality. Not too much to ask is it?

Apparently it is. And in the words of my 8 year old who has been asked to unpack the dishwasher… WHHHYYYYYYYYYYYY?

I don’t get why it’s taking so long. I don’t get why the most powerful man in the world is a raving sexist lunatic and gets away with it. There’s so much I can’t make sense of. I also don’t understand some of the chauvinistic blah on a Facebook page I follow. (Yeah, I know…. press “unfollow”). I don’t know who runs this page… maybe Dickbrain does? It’s embarrassingly out of touch and disappointing that the people who enjoy chasing little white balls are obviously ok with chauvinism masked as humour and wit. It’s just keeping typical old men’s attitudes alive and thriving. Sad but true.

Also… I got a notice in my post box about anti-abortion hoo-har? Please let’s not have to fight for that right again. 😩

Anyway… I shall trot my high horse back into the stables now as I hum the iconic feminist anthem. Your song, Helen Reddy, which is older than me, has inspired thousands. It seems it will take thousands of years, if ever, for the roar to be really heard.

As Molly Meldrum would say… “do yaself a favour”. Turn up the volume and sing the song ladies….

Yours in bra burning goodness 

M

Farewell Winter… 😔

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Welp… that’d be 35 years in a row now that I forgot to get “Bikini Bod Ready” for summer. Just gonna call it a day on that one I rekon and perhaps tweak my social media feeds so I never read THAT phrase again. #fuckoffinstagraminfluencers 

Admittedly, like most women, whether you’re skinny or fat, short, or tall; potato shaped or carrot shaped; big boobs, no boobs; fadoobalas, or twiggy arms, we all have some kind of existential wardrobe crisis when the weather starts to change. I had one the other day because it was 30 degrees and I forgot how to dress myself. 

I know I’m not alone here….we all stare at our wardrobe full of clothes wondering what the hell we wore last year? I tell you what I wore…. about the same 5 outfits on rotation and all the other crap hanging up is classified into groups of “might wear that again one day”, “might fit into that again one day”, “I love that dress I go nowhere to wear” and “I paid a shit tonne for that so I can’t possibly throw it away even though I’ll never wear it again”. 


The pressure to “get ready for summer” was lost on me years ago. I’m not ever summer ready. I live in denial that it will come. Summer doesn’t like me and I don’t like summer. I’m not from these parts. I’m a decendant of Irish and Scottish folk. I think there’s German in there too somewhere and perhaps part vampire because I react to the blaring sun in quite a similar fashion. 

Please summer… stay away. Besides the killer magpies, Spring is fine. Let’s leave it there shall we? Who needs summer? There’s so much not to like. Plus, the thought of having to consider shaving the 6 inches of leg I show in public is just too much right now. After all I only shave my legs for the lady who does my pedicure and when it’s sheet change day, neither of which hap­pens often enough. 

For all you summer loving people, enjoy the impending warmer weather and time in the sun… for it will end and the world will be as it should be once more. Overcast and under 25 degrees. 

M

The slow walk to Old Lady Town.

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old-woman-945448_960_720A couple of weeks ago, I tripped up a step and landed like a drunk hippo. There was no time to prepare for this “fall”. No warning, no tripity trip weird little arm-flailing dance before my demise. It was harsh and quick, and not in a pleasant way. I fell smack bang in my driveway. My knees are still recovering and I’m grateful that the school bus full of kids at the end of the driveway didn’t witness my demise.

My question is, when does the phrase “I fell over” get changed to “I had a fall” and who decides when that happens? Somehow the word placement changes the whole vibe. 

Saying you “fell over” incites that you were playing sport or being active or whimsical or drunk on the dance floor. It’s youthful and often doesn’t end up in major injury. If you topple over getting out of a chair or lose your footing putting your undies on does that count as “I fell over” or “had a fall?” Is there an age bracket or is it classed by activity or injury? I’m still sporting scabby knees and a bruised ego, but if I’d broken a hip or a wrist would my incident be reclassified to the old lady term? Would I be starting the slow walk to Old Lady Town? If I ever fell over again, would it be a case of… “oh my god, she had another fall, bring in the zimmer frame….STAT!”?

I have a friend who falls over quite frequently. It amuses me more than it should. She’s had a few rippers. I’m thinking she is definitely heading towards the “had a fall” category. She hasn’t done any major damage to herself yet, and she’s often taking the dog for a walk when she flies tits up, so maybe she is safe for now. We were chatting on the phone once and I heard a weird noise followed by my friend’s voice yelling out “I’ll call you back in a minute”. Yup… tits up again, sending her phone launching into the air as I merrily chatted away to no-one.

While I’m on the topic of ageing. Why is mother nature turning me into a man? Actually, she’s turning me into my 15-year-old son. Pimples and random chin hairs. Who knew that I would have so much in common with my firstborn? “Pass me the Clearasil and shaving cream will you darl? Mummas got a mess going on”.  It’s not quite that horrific yet but be warned… At some stage in your 4th decade, you will go to bed with a face as smooth as a baby butt, and wake up with an inch long hair growing out of your face. And if you’re one of the blessed ones, it will sprout out of a mole and your tears of angst for your lost youth will roll right off that hair of disgust and fall into your morning coffee. It happens. Even the most hairless of us cannot escape our destiny of carrying tweezers in the car glove box for a quick pluck in the rear-vision mirror.

Life can be cruel in the most disgusting ways. It could always be worse though. At least us women-folk don’t need to worry about being in ownership of a drooping scrotum, where every day the distance between that precious parcel and the toilet water becomes forever closer. Live with that fear. Give me chin hair any day. 

Until next time, stay upright and hairless.

M

 

 

 

 

Blessed be the Scone.

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You know those people who make a signature dish or a kick arse cake or some other mouth watering delicacy and are too precious to share the recipe? Yeah..those people are a little bit sucky.

If we were living in Gilead, I would definitely agree that they should be sent to the Colonies. (sorry, I’m still obsessed with The Handmaids Tale…. Praise Be).

Luckily for me I don’t know many of “those people” and have a whole load of hand-me-down recipes from the wise cookers in my world. They’re just like hand-me-down clothes, but even better. Sure, some of them are old fashioned and out of style, but like good fashion, the best ones have stood the test of time. Thankfully we have said goodbye to some of the recipes born in the 60’s and 70’s where gelatine was the top commodity for the savvy cooker and pineapple pieces were a staple ingredient. Being a Gen X’er there’s still something comforting about a surprise burst of pineapple and a weird mixture of cultures within one dish.

I have a rabbled collection of recipes, stuffed into notebooks and folded into pages amongst recipe books. Some of these have been lovingly named after the giver. There’s Nanna’s Sponge, Sally’s Beef Strog, Mrs Beare’s Pav, Janet’s Potato Bake and Sherry’s Snag Casserole, just to name a few. I also stumbled across this one not that long ago.

Lyla Sutton’s Scones..

Bless her socks, what a super cook she was!

Anyone who I nursed with in the early part of the 2000’s would know about the scone of all scones.

This recipe was lovingly shared by Lyla, typed out and trotted about to all of the scone lovers amongst the staff. I forgot I had it. It got stuffed into my *cough* “well organised recipe collection”.

I gave up years ago on the scone making caper. I resolved it was a genetic default because my mum declared she couldn’t make scones and my previous attempts at scone making were horrendous. I’d tried every different version and even “fool proof” recipes didn’t crack the curse.

Mr “I’ll eat anything” Hooch even had some rather harsh things to say about the rock cakes I tried to pass off as scones. Comments like those have helped him master the art of celibacy.

Anyway….in the COVID slump we slid into, I was watching some day time TV and I saw a segment of an elderly lady cooking scones. I watched on, looking for the secrets. There’s always secrets. It seems it’s just one simple move between masterpiece and flop in the baking world and if anyone knows how to bake stuff, it’s usually women, over the age of 80. They’ve mastered their flops… in more ways than one.

I’m not sure what bit made the difference but I’ll share what I have learned…

“Scone making tips- 101 – from the worst scone maker in the history of scone makers who can now bang out a fluff ball of joy, like I’d always dreamed”.

Tip one. When it says “sift flour”. Sift the damn flour. Some recipes say sift, some don’t. For the love of baked goods, SIFT.

Tip two. Mix that sludge with a butter knife until it’s only JUST hanging together.

Tip three. Tip it out and GENTLY pat the dough down into a square shape.

Tip four. Don’t be messing about with a round cutter, just chop that dough up into squares with a floured knife. 

Tip five. Always keep in mind that scone mixture is more fragile than a premenstral teenager. Don’t. Poke. The. Bear.

Tip six. Bang those squares of deliciousness onto a tray and put them close together. Apparently scones like to help each other rise up. Nice one scones.

Tip seven. Brush with a little milk, (preferably not with the pastry brush you coloured your own hair with while COVID shielding 🤔), and slide into a HOT oven.

Now sit back and watch those babies rise. Definitely eat them warm, straight from the oven so you can love yourself sick while dreaming of taking out the blue ribbon at the next Country Show. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Blessed be the scone.

Thanks Lyla. Your baking lives on.

M

Tik-Tok….tik-what?

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Omg. I got sucked into a tiktok vortex and dragged one of my friends along for the ride.

I was stalking children, but not in the way that sounds.

Here’s an idea. If you have a kid with a tik-tok account or even if you don’t think they have a tik-tok account, log yourself on and take a squiz. You might be surprised at what little Johnny or Mary is doing and/or watching. Just giving you the heads up that in TikTok land Johnny may be known as “dixi_normus” and Mary could be “sassyqueen482❤️”. It’s a free-for-all. God knows what our generation’s grandchildren will be named. I draw the line at underscores (pun intended) and silent letters.

Second idea. If you find out your kid has a tik-tok account make sure it’s private. I can see all sorts of stuff. I can see inside people’s houses, parents in the background, school and sports club logos and what they ate for tea last night. I now know what school your kid goes to, who they play sport for, what you look like, what car you drive, what their siblings look like and if I was a sick a perverted idiot I could spend a bit of time and find your house aswell.

Am I over-reacting? Probably. Am I being hypocritical because I use social media, with a public page and I blog about my family? Possibly. Am I a 10 year old child who doesn’t know a lot about online safety, potentially being exposed to strangers who see me as an easy target? No. Am I being followed by hundreds of people. No 😏. Am I a pre-pubescent boy following a tiktok account called Sexxyyyy Ladieeessss being exposed to a bit of soft porn while I scroll through my Tiktok feed. Also NO. Plus I’d be more inclined to be following Sexxyyy Mennnn thanks.

Like many parents I grapple with social media. I love it in many ways and hate it equally as much. It’s definitely here to stay, so there’s no point fighting it. I personally use it quite a bit. It’s a source of entertainment, news and connection. I do most of my news reading online. I collect a lot of recipes to cook for my family to whinge about. I follow my favourite artists, comedians, actors and social commentators online and also follow leaders and organisations who I have learnt a lot from. It’s a big wide world out there and it’s all accessible through the click of a few buttons. All great stuff, until suddenly it’s not so great.

Much to the disgust of our teen I’ve had the “porn on the internet is not what sex is really like” conversation aswell. Someone told me once the average age that a child is exposed to online porn is 8. What in all fuckery is that? I also added details about the fact that “most women don’t look like that in real life and no, you probably won’t be doing THAT the first time you explore the world of sexy-time. It will probably be exciting but awkward and weird as well as possibly being over before it begins”… (I think he’d left the room at this point yelling “we learn this at school… please stop talking mum, you’re weird”). But it’s our job to talk about this stuff isn’t it? It’s our job to launch into their world a bit and keep a “watchful eye” (totally not spying.. 🧐)….They’re gonna stuff up for sure, and that ok. That’s what kids do. I just want mine to be safe and informed. I need to have a bit of confidence that I’m sending kids into this online world armed with a bit of knowledge.

Kids can be savvy and smart and sneaky though. If my kids wanted to have private accounts and hide or block me, so they can watch sexyyy ladiesss or someone busting out some bad dance moves accompanied by some totally inappropriate swearing, that’s understandable. Come to think of it, they can get all of that from me on any given night in the kitchen… why the hell do they need Tik-tok? Anyway, who wants their parents watching everything you do? I sure as hell didn’t, so I don’t expect mine would either. I like to remind them though that I’m honing my investigation skills. Some of my favourite books to read and podcasts to listen to are based on true crime investigative journalism and I’m starting to think I could change my name to Cagney or maybe Lacey? Who was the one that always seemed tired and had the annoying kids?

Good luck and stay strong out there. 2020 parenting is a far stretch from the days of spokey dokes and cabbage patch kids with the most controversial topic of debate being whether Boy George was a boy and if so how did he get such great eyebrows?

M

A post about nuthin’…

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analysis blackboard board bubble
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I got nuthin’. No light bulb moment floating in this head. I’ve run out of juice to produce. I’m all a bit “meh” and I also think the algorithm that allows people to see these posts has died along with my will to wash my windows.
I’ve sat staring at the screen, wanting to write but….nuthin’.
There’s so much I could write about I guess, but who needs to read another persons perspective about Donald Trump? If you want some entertainment though, the brilliant Sarah Cooper is worth following. You can find her here.
Pete Evans is balls to wall crazy.. I could rant about him for pages, but I can’t be bothered. Meh. His comment feeds can be a great source of entertainment if you want to check out his online antics on his Facebook page.
The Black Lives Matter movement has been so so important but I don’t want to dip my toe in that pond. Nor do I want to speak about Victorian’s who need to stop being dickbrains and listen to what the health authorities are telling them. Maybe they’re fans of Pete Evans and are the ones who bought his $15,000 doo-dads to ward off the virus? Spoiler alert. It’s not working.
We’re such a weird bunch, us homosapiens. I don’t understand a lot of human behaviour and sometimes I feel like an outsider looking in trying to figure it out. No, I haven’t gone insane and think that I’m an alien, although that may make sense some days. I just don’t get people. But that’s OK because there are people who I’m sure as eggs don’t get me either. Some of them live in this house and look at me with strange side-eye.
By the way… where does the saying “sure as eggs” come from?
I tell you what I really don’t get…. is the mid 40 memory loss. What’s with that torturous minefield of madness. I thought I was heading down a path of early onset dementia but the lovely ladies of The Hot Flush podcast set me straight. Anything you need to know about the womanly world of changing hormones… plug into this one. Plus they are very entertaining, they jump on their high horses and swear a lot. They are my people.
So as you can see, I sometimes have nothing better to do than listen to podcasts and read about the biggest nut jobs on the planet spruiking their madness for the masses.
Well hasn’t this been an enlightening read for you? This has been a post about nothing… (I feel a title brewing). It’s been complete and utter drivel if you will. Which happens to be the name of one of my other favourite podcasts. Christian Hull makes folding laundry and cooking dinner so much more entertaining. Sometimes a bit on the raunchy raunch side, but if you’re curious about Grindr then you’ll get a lesson or two.
Thanks for reading this far because I just re-read this and it has reinforced that not only am I a woman with questionable memories, but also of questionable skills. Speaking of which, I’m attempting to up my dubious skill level and last week recommitted (for the third time) to a course I enrolled into 4 years ago. Yeah, ummm “self paced” doesn’t really work so well for me. My pace is almost backwards… So I’m off to be enlightened with new knowledge for my memory-less brain. I’m also considering buying a Fitbit, because I seem to like making attempts at things I will probably never commit to.
Sounds like fun….
Meh.
M