Why Christmas Makes Me See Red!

Getting fired up over Christmas!  I feel triggered! 

‘Tis the season to be jolly fucked off I reckon, especially in my family where we have two birthdays in December as well (followed by two in fucking Jolly January).  I totally wish that I got as excited as a cherubic, naive, little child as the month of December inched ever closer with its giant sleigh of financial and time burdens in tow, but alas – those days are over for this Grinch bitch.

Here’s how Christmas could be great for me.  Someone, maybe a fairy godmother type ethereal being, turns up with a Christmas tree, switches on some Christmas music, decorates the house with the sights, sounds and smells of Christmas, wraps presents noisily and excitedly in a nearby room, offers me chocolates and creates a menu for Christmas Day that they are going to execute with zero help from me. 

They arrange for all my loved ones to come together in one giant, peaceful, happiness fest, and organise suitable accommodation so that we can all be together in a happy haze as though we’ve all just downed Christmas ecstasy pills with our rose champagne. Any mess would just magically disappear in the twinkling of a Christmas angel’s eye, as though it had never even been there.  The only evidence of Christmas approaching would be a gently rising excitement flushing over me, building up to the equivalent of a Christmas orgasm.

Enough with the childish fantasies! This is what really happens to me at Christmas.  I can sense Christmas Satan coming with his sleigh of evil elves.  The stores get viciously threatening by hanging their intimidating decorations up, it’s a warning –  Satan and his Christmas Mafia are coming – you better pay up.  Time speeds up so that people look like they’re moving in fast forward and yet I’m in that dream like state where I’m trying to run but nothing’s happening.  All around the warnings are whispered insidiously into my mind ‘Christmas is coming, Christmas is coming...’

I can’t focus properly, the Christmas mafia are after me and I still have two birthdays to take care of, and a work do to organise, and all these end of year school events to attend.   A lot of people start acting like evil elves and furiously shop, do their gardening, clean their houses and take care of their whole lives work as though the world is actually going to end on Christmas Day!  Some of the spiteful bastards see me just getting on with normal life and are determined to make sure I’m aware that Satan is coming, and they cleverly smile with their teeth and crinkly eyes as they deliver the blood curdling question “have you done your Christmas shopping yet?”  I play it cool and sinister and let them know – I’m doing mine at the last minute- that stops them in their seasonal stride.

Even though I’m lurking in the shadows of Christmas and not operating in the frenzied, fake, tinsel-fuelled hell that many people are, I’m still subjected to annoying issues as a result of things like the sudden need for everyone to drive into town and take all the parks.  How the fuck am I supposed to feel Christmassy when I can’t even get a park at the supermarket!!!

Despite the horrors of Xmas I still eventually have to force myself to create the sort of atmosphere mentioned above for the sake of my family’s enjoyment, and lifelong memories of joy that will sustain them throughout their lives.  So at the last minute I will conjure up a delightful menu of food, heartfelt gifts, Christmas lilies that make the house smell like Christmas smelled when I was a kid, and I will kick Christmas’s ass! I will sweat out my dreams in the kitchen and enjoy the sounds of my family enjoying themselves, and I will clean up even though I feel like shooting a gun at a line up of Santas.

And the Christmas joy for me is knowing that my Mum did all that for me and my siblings, and I loved it, that boxing day is the best day of the Christmas holidays now for me, and that I have three kids who are teenagers and eventually they will do all this, and I will enjoy a Christmas smorgasbord of delight at their houses in the near future and then I will be singing Christmas carols at the top of my awful voice.

Merry Fucking Christmas Everyone!

WOW Polly, Did you really say that!?

Stuff that's all terribly boring to Polly...

I attended WOW (World of Wearable Arts Award Show) in the weekend and it was mind-blowingly good.  My friends Mum was exceedingly generous in buying us some tickets and enabling my long held desire to attend.  We made a day-long road trip together from Palmy to Wellington with just enough time to check out David Jones, and then enjoy a mouth stimulating cocktail near the waterfront at Foxglove before the show.

The day was already a winner before I’d even stepped into the TSB Arena for WOW. It was in this wandering around Wellington stage that my friend brought up Radio DJ Polly Gillespie’s ranty- tanty article about WOW.  We both screwed up our faces and said “F*ck her”.  My friend had not even read the article because she thinks Polly is just pathetic and won’t give her the time of day anyway, but I just had to check it out.  Maybe she heard wrong, maybe, Polly who asks for so much tolerance and understanding for herself, would never criticise something she had never even seen, maybe it was a stitch up...

WOW!  She did it!! Unbelievably Polly took the time to weave a tale all about why she found WOW so annoying.  She actually called her uninformed perspective “anti-antsy-pantsy-arty-farty-fartiness”!  She went on to describe this world event of extremely high calibre “all a bit of a craft project on steroids." She thinks WOW is a giant inconvenience to her and her friends, who get exasperated by all the women that come and get in their way in Wellington.  

That’s fine to talk shit with your friends Polly, hell everybody does that right? But to publicly talk shit and belittle people that find it outrageous to buy a $500 t-shirt from your friends shop is just the height of snobbery. Personally I think most of the Radio DJ’s on popular radio are quite moronic (Vaughan Smith and Karen Hay are notable exceptions, as are probably most people on National Radio) and I’m shocked that people can listen without wanting to grate their ears off, but I wouldn’t usually pick a public forum to air that .  And besides, I’ve got an audience of say a few hundred people at most, not the tens of thousands that you probably have. 

When you ask “What would Coco Chanel say for God's sake?” well I imagine she wouldn’t waste her time talking to someone so ill-informed about fashion as you, she’d probably go to WOW to recruit talent and rejuvenate her soul. I also would like to point out that you are not living in “POLLYWOOD”, but actually Wellington, where people like the arts a lot!  It does seem that you think that WOW is “silly” because it’s not all about you.  Well thank goodness because POLLYWOOD would not be a place I’d like to hang out.  Your stunningly cruel jibes about how people outside of Wellington dress say nothing about them and everything about you.  You’re a mean girl Polly and extremely selfish.  Why couldn’t you just say that shit to your friends and leave it at that?

So let me fill you in on the people that you have been talking shit about.  Well, for a start Dame Suzie Moncrieff whose heartfelt write up at the beginning of the programme should have you weeping tears of sorrow for your ‘silly’ words.  This amazing woman spent her life making WOW what it is and still feels passionate about she’s done.  I want to cry with gratitude for the inspiration that she is, if only you would cotton on Polly. The Directors from Inside Out productions Mike Mizrahi and Marie Adams along with artist Reuben Paterson who created this stunning show from threads of creativity inside their heads probably and hopefully won’t be wounded by your mindless comment. Probably Weta , who made the giant lifelike tiger that moved and spoke with Jermaine Clements voice, they might feel a bit put out about it.  Maybe Don Mcglashan who worked on the cleverly chosen music that saturated our souls, or the lighting guy that had us enthralled with at times terrifying and at times mesmerising light work might feel a bit f*cked off Polly.  Maybe the dancers that kept the show pumping on a set that moved, a magical constantly changing set, might feel miffed.  How about the designers that aren’t actually trying to make any type of clothing that you might want to wear? That’s really silly Polly- WOW is about art, it’s about showing just how amazing your skills are, what you can achieve when your creativity and your skills combine.   I’m not sure how long their designs take but I could well imagine it would be months if not years of work.  An award for your entry could be a career defining moment in a young designer’s life, not to mention for the models, dancers and all the cast and crew that create such an amazing spectacle.

Because I’ve seen how upset you get when people say bad things to you, I am utterly gobsmacked at your ruthless casting aside of the skills of such a huge bunch of talented people, basically anyone who participates in the arts, and their appreciation society.  At the very least you could have witnessed it first hand before you commented.

 I’d like you to suck it up and go see a show Polly, buy a programme so you can read about the amazing people behind the scenes, then, at least, you can comment with some knowledge which would be a great turnaround from your ignorant uniformed rant.  

I hope next year someone enters a design called Polly’s Big Mouth, and that it takes up the whole stage and maggots fall out of it, or maybe you could just open the show with a giant apology...

P.S. I drove my car all around Wellington and I hope I cut you off... 

probably not supposed to use this image.

Stupid Market- Getting the Grosseries

Last week I was doing the dreaded grocery shopping on an average

That's right!

Saturday morning.  Whilst I used to enjoy the experience of wandering along sizing up potential candidates of the food kind to gain entry to my trolley, these days I just want to make a quick in and out job of it.  So, I was charging through with list in hand, weaving in and out of all the other shopping zombies hoping that I wouldn’t get in anyone’s way and that they wouldn’t get in mine.

Still, I am a fascinated observer of people and their behaviour and there’re a few things that stand out to me while I’m rampaging like a mad woman through the food palace:

Some people get really aggressive.

It’s like they believe they’re the only person that finds food shopping to be annoying and everybody else is having a gay old time and trying to make them angrier.  I really want to say to these shunters and grunters ‘hey, you know we’re not having a party here either, we’re just managing our attitudes way better than you are arsehole’.

Mums and Dads with their kids look at me with contempt:

especially if I have a small trolley.  Their gaze and body language is like a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.  I can’t blame them, they’re in the supermarket with children – there really isn’t anything much less enjoyable, or more stressful.  Anyway, as I freely saunter past looking relaxed, with my tiny trolley, I feel them shoot daggers into my back as if to scream ‘you don’t know what it’s like to have kids you bitch, wait till you end up like this’.  Jokes on them, I’ve been there done that, and that’s why I’m so free and happy now!

One thing I do find hard to understand is why anyone would do the groceries with their partner?! I mean it’s not like it’s a date, or an enjoyable outing of any kind.  Surely it would be about as enjoyable as cleaning the toilet together-yuck.  It seems like the couple’s grocery shopping thing might be all about insecurity and control.  The supermarket being such a great place to pick people up, I’m not so sure.

 I don’t think it’s all in my head though when I come round the corner with my trolley and straight into the path of an oncoming couple to find the woman glaring at me and the man nervously looking at his feet.  FFS! If you’ve got to keep your Man on such a tight lead while you bark and snarl off to the side you’ve got some serious problems.  If my husband was coming to the supermarket and wanted to run off with some chick doing her groceries then she’d be the one getting a shitty deal (I don’t mean he’s a dick head or a bad lover- he’s not) because she would have hooked herself an unfaithful man and I’d be free of one.

But last week, last week, oh my, this one took the cake!  So there I was marching around the supermarket and I’m in about the second aisle when I come across a forty to fifty year old couple with their trolley.  I hear him ask her ‘what are you after – Kremelta- or something?’ and she confirms that yes that’s what she’s after but that it’s probably not down this aisle.

 You see at the moment everybody is confused as fuck at the supermarket because they’ve done that super annoying strategy of changing everything around in order to make their customers disoriented, and keep people wandering around in there for longer.  In a situation like that a lot of people help each other out by asking and directing each other to the products they’re after.  So I made a mental note that that couple were looking for Kremelta so if I were to see it, I’d let them know.

I couldn’t remember what the woman looked like because the guy had been the one right in front of me.  He had a red cap on, jeans and a t-shirt and sports jacket.  He had the big, rounded, soft belly of a beer swilling rugby loving kiwi guy.  He also had a quite dated looking big bushy salt and pepper moustache.  

As I rounded the corner to the next aisle there he was right in front of me, and he had just found the kremelta.  I did what I thought was normal and smiled at him.

Just so you know.

Well, he looked at me with contempt and anger for my freely given smile, turned on his heel, made a beeline for his partner and planted a big sloppy kiss on her face- right in front of me.  As if that’s not kind of weird and creepy enough he then turned and looked straight at me while he was pinching her on the butt!  Well, I guess he showed me that I’ve got no chance with him!!!! What a shame, I was so looking forward to kissing a bloody Neanderthal at the supermarket. 

It strikes me that one could see all of this stupid market behaviour by watching a bunch of monkeys in the wild.  This is domestic animal jungle activity, I should have started scratching myself and pretended to eat fleas I'd just harvested off my body. Or perhaps a guttural monkey scream would have been enough, I'm bloody good at those!

Alternatively I could have really fucked that guy over by bursting in to tears and saying 'but you promised that you wouldn't kiss her anymore, you said that you were just waiting for the right time, I can't believe I made love to you in the toilets here just last week'! Yeah, I'd love to see the look on that dick heads face if I had unleashed that shit on him.

Maybe I’ll just get a supermarket t-shirt made that reads:

·         Hate shopping

·         Married

·         Got kids

·         Just want to get my groceries done

·         Not interested in your boyfriend

·         Smiles are free – no strings attached.

Then everybody can just calm the fuck down and do their bloody shopping!

Don't be a Stick in the Mud

I like to observe people.  I’m not an obsessive stalker or anything, I mean I just like to mull over the similarities and differences in the way that people conduct themselves and to wonder about why that is so.  I couldn’t do all that without being judgmental in some way, so I guess I also judge people.  Judging people can hurt them so you’ve got to be quite particular about what you say and to whom when you are moving to the next level of discussing your judgmental thoughts.

I’m quite good with metaphors and similies, and that seems like a good way to express the things you might want to say in an abstract way without upsetting any particular party, although to be fair, some people just like to get upset about the smallest things and they just can’t be helped- let them get upset.

So I’ve been thinking about journeys through life and the paths we

choose and what the outcomes are, and I think the best way to illustrate this is with twigs and sticks.  

For the boring/annoying/question asking types who lack imagination – choose the length and thickness of the stick as you see fit.  The stick can be made of anything, personally I’m thinking of a knotted and gnarled groovy looking fallen twig, but for the more diligent you may like to choose a piece of wood that has been fashioned into an even straight line and is more uniform looking.

Anyway, sigh, those boring types always distract from my creative meanderings with their annoyingly practical questions.

Anyway, my twig, as described above, enjoys the thrill of the river ride.  My twig jumps in with no prior planning, no expectations and just enjoys the ride.  If the water is still my twig enjoys floating and thinking about stuff, talking to other chilled out relaxed twigs, and just rejoicing in being a twig in the river. 

The boring sticks, they’re busy making plans to enter the river at the right point, they’re discussing and debating where the flow might take them, all the dangers involved if they enter at the wrong time and how they could minimise any damage that might occur.  They’re getting all bent out of shape over which way is the right way to float and how to maximise their success at floating down the river.  For a start, they’re not going to help any irresponsible twigs whose journey has hit a rough patch; it’s their fault if they didn’t plan ahead.

It’s true that my twig could get into a spot of bother because it’s just floating down the river sometimes seeing amazing things, and having amazing experiences and other times getting thrown around in the rapids and getting smashed into stuff.  But these difficulties mean that my twig is richer in life experiences, even though it may be battle scarred.  Also my twig has to come up with solutions to difficulties as they arise and that means it’s not wasting time planning for problems that may never arise but creatively responding to the ones that do.

By contrast, the straight and orderly sticks are floating through a very narrow, well planned route that will get them to their destination in the most efficient and successful way.  Any problems they run into won’t be ‘their fault’ it will be despite their best laid plans and just a part of the uncontrollable erratic features of the journey down the river.  If they can the orderly sticks will keep these issues to themselves in order to avoid the shame it might bring upon their strategic planning skills.  One might not even know they had troubles such are their skills at ‘faking it till they make it’.

My twig likes to collect colourful things and invite other twigs to

join them on their journey.  Travelling through the muddy waters and little pools at the edge of the river affords great leaf and other colourful item discoveries as well as party opportunities with like minded twigs.  Twigs are happy to party anytime but sticks have planned gatherings at responsible times.  Twig parties are out of control colourful events and stick parties are subdued.  Sticks make sure they are the straightest and cleanest they can be at parties, it’s important to mix with the right sticks to get ahead in life.

As twigs travel down the river they join up in little random rafts with bits of debris as their artwork, they support and help each other through the whole journey.  Sticks travel in small orderly groups, often in groups of two or four.  If someone in the group breaks the stick rules they set them adrift, and sometimes that stick joins the twigs and lives happily ever after. 

Nazty Naz Wins Competition to be NZ's Most Hated Woman

Nazty Naz

Just when Naz was starting to win some of New Zealand over with her cutsie smile, crinkly nose and girly laughter, out she comes with all guns blazing!  I hope you’ve got your passport ready Naz, because you’ve just won the competition, and are now New Zealand’s most hated woman.  On the plus side I guess Judith Collins is now heaving a great sigh of relief and preparing to hand over the crown.

In what was a pretty cringe worthy show, our Monday and Tuesday night guilty pleasure, this episode absolutely took the cake!  Was it Mike Puru squirming uncomfortably in his chair as he tried to get the girls to ‘open up’, Jordan’s maugerly boring chat, or the clearly irate girls that felt that they’d been held in ‘captivity’ in a Mansion!  No, it was the shocking entrance of Naz theNazty Queen as she snaked down out of her tree in the garden of Eden and showed her true colours- and what awful colours they were.

Naz entered unapologetically, and launched into an expletive filled diatribe that virtually nobody had immunity from, except precious Jordan of course.  The audience gets both barrels when she responds to a clearly quite perceptive audience member that yells out a very succinct description of Naz.  “come up here and say that, I f****n dare you” or something pretty rank and disrespectful for live TV  that she yells back.  Again Naz is clearly just being ‘confident’ and forgetting to be ‘respectful’ to others.  Or maybe it’s us, we’re just not confident and strong like her...

Next in the line of fire is Kate.  After asking Naz why she had made it onto Naz’s ‘hit list’ when she hadn’t even talked to her, Naz replies ‘I talked to you in the house, don’t talk shit’ I don’t want to exactly quote Naz because 1) I know how much it annoys her when people get it wrong, and 2) I’m already wasting heaps of time just writing about the psycho already. 

Well, Kate shone tonight.  Good on you Kate.  You weren’t scared to let Naz know she wasn’t worth wasting your time on.  Kate and Gabs were confident, respectful and truthful.  One can only hope that Kate gets some ‘alone time’ with Naz after the show- now that’s some reality TV I’d like to see.  I suspect that Naz won't be partying with 'the girls' after the show- she'll need a special escort to get her safely passed a simmering lynch mob of designer dresses and perfume.

Because I started watching The Bachelor a few episodes in, I never had the displeasure of viewing that half witted fellow bitch of Nazty Naz – Claw-ditz or something like that.  One could not meet a shallower, more idiotic, fame hungry, desperate woman. I’m guessing you’ll be able to pick up her designer clothes at bargain prices tomorrow. Still at least she was there so that Naz had someone to sit beside and rudely interrupt, giggle and point with. 

Mauger disappointment

To be sure Jordan was a mauger disappointment.  What do we really know about him.  Not much, and to be fair it seems like that is all there is to know.  If you close your eyes and listen to him speaking he sounds ‘exactly’ like John Key.  If you ask him a straight forward question he sounds ‘exactly’ like John Key.  He just beats around the bush using benign, meaningless lingo.

Watching Naz greet Jordan as though he was still her ‘babe’ was just plain horrible.  And rather than act like a gentleman and kindly deflect her clingy, possessive behaviour, Jordan acted in a maugerly spineless way.  He let Naz get all close and personal without thinking about Fleur’s feelings at all.  Good old Kate was onto it though, she made some noise about it and rightly so.  High five Kate - you beauty!  If only Jordan had rescued the situation by saying something like ‘I knew all along it was Fleur’ but no, the clumsy idiot thought we’d all feel sorry for his ‘difficult choice’ between Naz and Fleur!!!!   Nice one mate, hard to understand why you were single eh?!

Question time just got worse and worse.  A clearly irate group of 'girls' ask some confronting questions and make some underhanded jabs about the whole Bachelor show.  Mike looks like he knows things are out of control and starts to glow with a thin sheen of nervous sweat.  At this point the only thing that could save the show is if Jeff from Survivor came and took over.  Naz still thinks her and Jordan are ‘a thing’ and tries to answer questions that the girls have directed to Jordan.  Taking a swipe at Ceri when she asks Jordan why he concealed his acting career from the girls, Naz tries to deflect this question by saying that Ceri only did The Bachelor so that she could get onto Dancing with the Stars.  Well Naz might as well have just punched a puppy on TV! Everybody hates her, her fate is signed, sealed and delivered.  Well, maybe Jordan still likes her- because he’s very, very stupid.

Maugerly concerned about her new boyfriend

Fleur’s entrance to the show is a relief.  All the ‘girls’ like her, as do the majority of New Zealanders.  Even Jordan likes her quite a bit.  She is demur, genuine and lovely which is nice.  However, it’s all a bit sad because her future relationship with Jordan looks like it’s going to be maugerly disappointing. Everyone wants Fleur to be happy, it just seems highly unlikely that Jordan is going to be the key to that happiness.  

The only future for Naz is as the future Bachelorette, otherwise she might as well call Natalia Kills and Willie Moon for advice on how to cope when New Zealand hates you.

UPDATE**** Having learnt nothing from her disgraceful behaviour screened on TV last night, Naz rolls out even more of her Nazty behaviour on The Edge radio station this morning. You can see her happily giggle away while she reveals that she slept with Jordan multiple times...click here to watch her nazty, manipulative act.

Following this Jordan and Fleur arrive for a 'chat' with Jay Jay, Dom and Randall and boy is it disappointing.  Again Jordan explains just how tough it was to choose.  Really!!! Has he learned nothing?  Has nobody leaned in and said 'look mate, even if that's true, The Bachelors over now and you're best not to say that'!  Jay Jay even asks Fleur how she feels when he says that and Fleur agrees it's hard- but still Jordan hasn't cottoned on.  I'm beginning to think he should have chosen Naz. Watching Naz play with Jordan like a cat torturing a mouse would be a great follow up show for The Bachelor. And seeing Fleur live happily ever after with someone who thinks she is their true one and only would be the kind of happy ever after most of us would like to see for her.   

Snickers Bar Smoothie

This is not usually a blog site about recipes but I’ll make an exception this time because of the bloody amazing flavours you’re all going to want to have in your mouths.  If you hate peanut butter, or snickers bars then piss off- this is not a blog for you to read.  If you’re from the Paleo religion, I’m not sure whether this will fit into your particular set of torturous conditions, but I’m sure you can tweak it into more of a self righteous show piece smoothie recipe to share with your tribe, and masterful leader Pete Evans (snort).

Anyway, back to the smoothie recipe.  I love peanut butter, I love salt, I love eating and I love smoothies.  I didn’t come up with the rebel’s idea of putting peanut butter in a smoothie but I’d like to thank that wonderful, creative mind whose eager taste buds planted the seed.   It’s been whirling around in my mind for a while now that I must try a peanut butter smoothie, but the kids were never as keen.  Well, finally one day when I had the opportunity to actually think about what I’d like, and fulfill those fantasies, I made up the best frigging smoothie of my life!!!!

The perfect set of circumstances had combined.  I was hungry for something yummy and nourishing (though the latter was not really as important as the former), I had some sachets of smooth peanut butter and the blender was on the bench.  I let my mind-tongue make the recipe, and while I ruminated on how disgusting it was that we in the first world have enough food to be able to blend it all up and post photos on instagram to show off, I accidentally created heaven in a tall glass.

I’m not selfish and I can’t bear to keep this recipe to myself so here it is.  Keep in mind that this was accidentally healthy-ish and not on purpose, but Hallelujah, because I can be as greedy as I like with this one.  If you want to have your own little wank-fest party and skite about your pure as fuck ingredients, well be my guest a-hole, everybody thinks you’re a dick anyway.

Stuff for Snickers bar Smoothie

Almond/Coconut/Cow Milk - I use Almond or Coconut because Dairy gives me a tummy ache
Nuts - I use Almonds or Walnuts but you can use whatever fuckin nuts you want
Banana - All my shitty brown bananas are chucked in the freezer and are great for smoothies
Smooth Peanut Butter
Maple Syrup - Because it tastes so good, there’s no other reason - don’t be a dick
Salt - OK, I used Himalayan pink salt but just because I have a jar of it next to the stove

Method

If at this point you are scratching your head and wondering what amounts to use, well use your fuckin’ brain, it’s not rocket science.  Enough milk to make your mixture up to the amount of serves you want, not obviously a large greedy amount of nuts, one banana for one person, a decent amount of peanut butter, like two tablespoons, and just enough maple syrup to make it sweet but not sickly sweet.  It’s a smoothie mixture so it should be smooth and not like a glass of concrete.  This recipe really is for winners, so losers- go take a hike.  It doesn’t matter what kind of blender you’ve got, as long as it fulfills the function of blending then that’s fine.

So by now you should have a delicious, snickers bar tasting smoothie in your hand, drink up and enjoy, take a photo and share it on instagram if you like.  If you want to be an unlikable health freak that still enjoys the taste of snickers bars but feel that this recipe is too simple and not skite-worthy enough, please search google for one that suits your particular level of food snobbery.  There are heaps of smoothie recipes out there that surely are only made and photographed, because I wouldn't drink that shit. So fill your boots freaks, shove your $100 whey protein and shit in there – I’ll be right here enjoying my low key Snickers Bar Smoothie.

I don't need to dress this up.

Fat Chance

My, what a bonnie child I am!  At the age of 41 I am still surely making my Mother proud by following the above average line for my weight gain.  I just know when I go to visit her next that she will proudly take me out to visit all her friends, parade me around, and be the envy of all.  Surely they will see what a great Mother she is by observing my impressive gains!

Recently whilst I was rummaging around for undies and preparing to dress my extremely impressive body, I had a breath-taking and slightly comical experience.  As I grabbed the undies and shook them out, they unfurled like a ship’s sail, and I stood there in a shocked ‘Shallow Hal’ moment.  Though incredibly familiar, quite shabby actually, I was caught off guard by their stretched and saggy size.  Were these truly mine?  I knew they were; but I felt a mixture of horror and humour at just how big they looked.  It was like I was seeing them for the first time and I didn’t like what I saw.

While I tucked my tummy snugly into the shabby yet accommodating cotton under clothing, my mind traveled down delightful avenues.  What if being 'bonnie' carried on past the baby stage?  At what age did being chubby switch from being a badge of good health that people delighted in, to something to be ashamed about?  When did Mum’s friends go from saying things like ‘look at her little chubby hands she’s just lovely’ to ‘have you seen her daughter, she’s quite big...’, followed by raised eyebrows and a lingering look of disappointment.

I kept travelling down the path and imagined that my weight was still of great pride to my Mother, and how impressed her friends would be.  Mum would meet me at the airport and throw herself at me in delight.  She’d kiss both of my chubby rosy cheeks and exclaim happily ‘look at you, you’ve gained weight, you’re such a clever wee thing, you always were a good eater’.  I’d beam my cute smile at her with my cheeks so chubby they look like they’ll burst.  Mum will look around her proudly, observing the other Mum’s and Dad’s that wish they could have such a 'bonnie' daughter.

We’d go and meet Mum’s friends and their kids from our playgroup days.  I’d be the delight of the meet-up.  ‘Look at Pam’s daughter, isn’t she chubby, just glowing with good health, gosh Pam is such a good Mother, she must be so proud’.  The Mum’s with the thin kids would feel ashamed of themselves for their unhealthy, emaciated children, and encourage them to eat some more afternoon tea which they are just picking at.  They’d be trying not to appear jealous as they watch me tucking in ravenously out of the corner of their eyes.  Inside they’re boiling with jealousy and thinking what a bitch Mum is for rubbing their faces in her success.

As the meet up gets more intimate and friendly and everyone finds my chubby, cheek splitting smile utterly adorable, the thin kid’s parents try and talk up their kids stunning achievements and amazing personalities.  No-one’s listening because they’re all transfixed on my Mum, who’s attentively wiping food from my double chin while gazing adoringly at me. They are all waiting for the moment when they can squeeze my thigh rolls and watch me giggle with delight.  Mum will tell them I always was a good eater, never fussy and I just eat anything she puts in front of me.  The thin kids Mums will all look at each other and roll their eyes spitefully because deep down they know- they’ve failed to raise a healthy, fat, bonnie child...

I'm dressed now and ready to hit the day, self esteem high...

So Goodbye 2015 my Annus Horribilis...

So Goodbye 2015 my Annus Horribilis...

And from the worst year of my life and the pits of despair, I have clawed my way through the black sorrow to gasp a refreshing lungful of fresh New Year air.

And although my soul has been deeply scarred from my experiences, now is the time for rejuvenation, because this journey through hell did not come without lessons and revelations.

I have truly met myself for the first time, the personal me, the me that I think I am inside.  I like me, I’ve nestled in, I’m home.  The other me, that other’s see, seems like a stranger, an evil twin, with good and bad qualities, but still me, I’ll toy with that...

Last year I learnt that I’m a writer, I was always meant to be a writer,  I’ll always be a writer.

I’ve learned that I need solitude and space for creativity, but also people and experiences to build my stories with.

My Family and friends are the most important things in my life and nothing else compares, I’d give anything for them.

My body will reflect my genetics, lifestyle, and age which is as it should be.

My work will not dominate my life ever.  I will only work to the level required to fulfil my passions and earn the small amount of money that is truly needed to survive.

I will minimise my stuff as much as possible, because it is a pointless waste of space, money and time.

I like my garden, the birds, walking with my dogs, biking and big and small adventures.

My body may be aging but my soul is growing more full and colourful every day.

I will be a lifeboat for my friends and family as they have been for me, keeping me afloat.

I’m scared that I might have run out of time to learn all the things that I still want to learn, like French, Japanese, Spanish, Italian, American History, Graphic design, Dressmaking, British History, Greek Mythology and so many more things.  I’ll just keep reading...

This year my goal is to publish a book.

I will watch a movie every week, because stories and art together are good.

I don’t like sci-fi or special effects.

I only want to be friends with honest and genuine people.  I don’t care where you live, or what size you are, or what car you drive.  I just like interesting minds and kindness.

Shallow and materialistic people are boring.

Spending your life chasing money and following rules is a waste of a life.

I like to be fit and healthy, but I will still drink alcohol, eat junk food and sleep in till midday in the weekends, because that’s what makes me happy.

Crying daily is not normal for me and if it starts happening again I’ll make changes sooner.

Other people in the world are suffering a lot, this doesn’t ease my pain but it helps me keep things in perspective.

I’ll always be angry that men that kick balls and climb mountains are hailed as heroes but the huge sacrifices that Mothers make go unnoticed.

I’m really strong, but I almost broke.

There is comfort in the ordinary things like doing the washing and making dinner.

I will tread lightly on the world and hope the world treads lightly on me.

I believe in the energy and power of our minds and souls and that together we can achieve amazing things.

This year will be my annus mirabilis.