Entitlement

I've often thought that what ails us in the western world is our sense of entitlement. We've pretty much been raised to believe that our future will be better than our past, that our children will be better off than our parents. that our next iPhone will be better than the one we just fell in love with.

There is even a sort of "optimistic entitlement" that extends to the choices we make. Because I chose that car, I am superior. Because I buy this brand, it is the best.  Because I have this job, because I work for these people, they must be worthy of me.

At the age of 45, I've had my wake up call. I've had my eyes opened. Just because something is what I deem the best, doesn't make it so.

It's pretty sad to be this naive. It's even sadder to become this jaded.

Blerg.

Me and my [karaoke] shadow...

So most of you would know that I've become something of a karaoke diva of late.

[Understatement of the Century]

While many friends would rather stick pins in their own eyes than belt out a tune in the company of strangers, some do 'get it'.  But there are still many who ask the questions:

Why Karaoke?

Why Devilles?

Why DO fools fall in love?

[I remember someone recounting years ago that in a philosophy exam, one student got the perfect score by answering the posed question, "Why?" with "Why not?"

At the time, I thought, "Wow - so deep..." Now I think, "What a smartarse!"

Everyone with children will know that the only answer to that question is "Because I said so!"  

Sheesh!]

But I digress...

Karaoke...such an exotic word... KAR-A-O-KE... like 'chorizo', "Moet" (pronounce the 't', people - no joke - and Blogger doesn't give me the option to add the little dots over the 'e' so get over yourselves) and, god help us, 'bruschetta', it's often mispronounced and worse still, misunderSTOOD.

The ABSOLUTE joy I get from strumming my own pain with my fingers (two times, two times - sometimes more because we all know it hurts so good), singing my song with other people's words (to a Casio backing track, no less) cannot be misunderestimated.

I remember as a lass, being in the school choir, belting out ridiculous songs for Eisteddfod and thinking "this is cool"  (and also thinking "how the hell do Welsh people do anything else with their day but learn how to spell their own words) but I remember more vividly than I care to admit, being in Year 12 and in Religious Ed class (yes, I know) and in discussion over which songs to include in our Rock Mass (YES, I KNOW), singing out loud a hymn that I thought was very groovy. (At the time. Okay - I STILL like it.) Well, the reaction of the class has stayed with me FOREVER.

Obviously.

As I was singing, I looked around the class and looking back at me were girls  with, dare I say (yes, I dare), ADMIRING looks on their faces.

When I finished, someone said, "Wow, Nadia - you have a really good voice."

And that was pretty much it.

I've been trying to relive that religious (ed) experience ever since.

How I've been wasting my time...

So, it's been over two years since writing in this blog. I think that's a record, even for my sweet, slack self...

I read over some of the posts today, reminiscing over stuff and the overriding thought I had, apart from, "I have no memory of writing that whatsoever!" was, "DAMN! I am a funny bitch."

True fact.

So, to try and kickstart The Picky Bitch (for about the eleventy billionth time - read back and practically every second blog post starts with an apology) I put it out to the Universe (well... Facebook) and asked my peeps what I should write about.  I've never really done that before and now I know why, as the suggestions included "euthanasia" and "cotecchino" (google it, would ya?). There was an idea to revisit myself in my early 20s - "Nadia: The Newlywed Years", which I really liked, as well as quite a few suggestions around food (which makes me realise I have the right friends).

But the one that struck me most (not that I won't get back to the others as I am just jonesing for a good story about Italian sausage - thank you, A.) was from my dear friend, J.

"How about starting with a story about why you stopped and took so long to get started again?" 

Why, indeed.

Now, truth be told, I was never a faithful blogger.  I could never keep a diary. I can't even floss for five consecutive days without 'taking a break'. I know there's that thing around creating a habit by doing something for 28 days in a row. That is just so foreign a concept to me. TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS - that's like, a FEBruary of doing stuff and everyone knows, it's just too HOT in February to do ANYthing.

So why, oh WHY, have I been depriving my audience (to date, about three people, and I thank you for your past patronage) of my gift? It's not really that I didn't have the time but it's certainly that I didn't have the inclination. I just kinda lost it.

So what have I been doing instead? I think you know. I KNOW you know.

Fucking Facebook.

Now, I LOVE Facebook.  I really, really do. But DAMN, it takes up a lot of my brainspace.

And not only Facebook, but FACEBOOK ON AN iPAD.

So prior to 2011, I used to have to crank up the old laptop and log in and blah, blah...then I got an iPhone and I no longer had to post using the laptop. I mean, I was going BLIND, but I was connected.

Then along came the iPad and my life was essentially over.

Goodbye blindness. Hello absolute-time-waster-that-I-can-grab-day-or-night-upon-which-I-can-tippy-tap-incredibly-hilarious-status-updates (do I lie?)...

And not only Facebook, but Angry Birds and four email accounts and Draw Something and iBooks and Kindle and Zinio and Dragonvale (OMG- I forgot totally about Dragonvale - my dragons must be DEAD by now!) and Martha and Oprah and The New Yorker (yes, I only get it for the cartoons...) and Happy Place and freaking StumbleUpon, the most evil of them all.

What's another one? Watching TV on my laptop. I somehow think this is more virtuous (apart from that whole pirating thing) way of watching television shows because I don't have to sit through the adverts. GOD FORBID! So what do I do? Watch TV responsibly? No - I BINGE WATCH. Over this past week or so I watched the ENTIRE FIRST SEASON OF "CHICAGO FIRE". That's 23 times 40 minutes of show. That's like watching a FULL DAY of television [ more of less - someone get a calculator]. When you think about it it doesn't seem that long. But I did the same with "Happy Endings" THREE SEASONS! "Go On" (actually a pretty good show) and two seasons of "The Walking Dead" which should be renamed, "Someone Eat Those Stupid People Because I Am Sick To Death of This Ridiculous Soap Opera With Some Scary Bits And I'm Not Talking About The Zombies".

Can I blame reading books? Not really. Can I blame all that volunteer work I do? Nope. Can I blame all that hands-on parenting? Negatory.

*sigh*

But Facebook is the true time-sapper.  And it's not even that I'm particularly unhappy about the time that I have, and will, spend on Facebook. I get to chat to amazing friends and some almost total strangers that I've come to love as friends (you know who you are) and that's great. I think it's just that I've carved out no time to do the other things I love.

So I've become the writer who doesn't write, the baker who doesn't bake, the cleaner who doesn't clean (HA!  I just chucked that in there to see if you're still paying attention...), the reader who doesn't read,  the mother who doesn't mother as well as she should and generally the person who thinks that posting to Facebook is enough. That her iPad is enough. That stumbling upon life is enough.

Bah!

This Picky Bitch knows it's not. So she's back...

hey...

I'm a teeny bit in love with my new boobs...

Strangely calm...

...for someone about to have parts of her body removed. I think my overriding concern is that something will happen to me under anaesthesia and I'll die never knowing I died. I wonder if that's how ghosts are really made, a la Sixth Sense... I really believe that when I die, I want to at least know about it. I want that deathbed confession, the weeping family surrounding me - children, grand-children and, what the hell, great-grandchildren touching my hand and wishing me well on my journey, me saying something incredibly witty at the very end (would you expect anything less, really?) and hopefully just dying with a smile on my face at the thought of a life well-lived. But hopefully, the only things to die on the table tomorrow will be a bunch of my cells - only the ones getting chopped out and being deprived of a blood-supply and oxygen. Not any BRAIN cells, or HEART cells or cells I will need for hopefully a long while into the future. None of THEM. So it's time to (as Andrea Bocelli sings so beautifully) say good-bye to those bits that are leaving me.

Good-bye breast tissue - thank you for being there. No thanks that there was so MUCH of you. "Bountiful breasts" - so poetic to Shakespeare and the fantasy of adolescent boys - and adolescent men, to be frank - not so poetic when trying to be shoved into too tight bras and hoisted to somewhere they wouldn't normally reside unless sheathed in lacy lace and stretchy lycra. But definite thanks for the milk, the gallons of milk that have made my babies strong and smart and beautiful. Thank you for the comfort you gave - thank you for providing a bouncy castle of boobiness that my children have loved. Thank you for adding to the hugginess of me, the squooshiness of me. That was not a bad thing. Thank you from Sam for being so much. He loves you, he really does. I love you too. I just need less of you.

Good-bye uterus - thank you for being such a wonderful home for my children. I love your work. Keeping them safe and warm and fed and nurtured. You and Placenta - no place like womb. Thanks for the reminder every month that there are cycles in nature that we are still part of despite the crazy denial that we are above it, beyond it. It's not really your fault. You are the fall guy for those little fucker ovaries. It's their fault I have to get rid of you. But I need them more than I need you. Sorry, I know that's harsh. But true. I need those little bastards to keep doing what they do for a few more years. Otherwise I will turn into a man-beast. With more hair on my lip and chin that I know what to do with. Not ready for that just yet. I was not able to tame them. They had me in the palm of their hands. Squeezing hard. Too hard. So you gotta go. Sorry.

Good-bye leaky bladder - goodbye wet knickers when I sneeze, jump, skip, hop, bounce, scream at Duran Duran concerts and cough. Although you may revisit me later in life...Depends. [Get it? See what I did there?] I will not miss that. That is yuk.

So what's the worst thing so far? The anxiety? The knowledge that I have left things undone? The fear that I will have made a mistake? Bah - done all that. Don't need having multiple procedures to go there... that's my modus operandi for my life. No, it was really the waxing. Sweet Jesus. I had a pretty close wax today. Not a Brazilian. Not even an East German, really. But a little more of a mow than usual. The waxer, aka Sadistic Sadist Grrrl, took a strip off the top of my map of Tassie, right under the leftover pregnancy spare skin I've been hanging on to just in case anyone needed any ["Skin? Anyone got some spare skin and a little fat?" "Yep! Over here!"] and I was thinking, as I broke out into a sweat and almost hit the ceiling, "If that's what it feels like on my tummy bits, WHAT THE HELL DOES WAXING LABIA FEEL LIKE???"

And you know what? I will NEVER find out.

Ch..ch..ch..ch..changes...

Yep. The only thing you can rely on in life is change.

Things that are changing:

1. My tolerance for the crap in my house. While it hasn't made it off the porch, there's been a bunch of stuff to leave the house recently. While it was almost easy to get it out of the house, the paralysing indecision that arises from "whether to sell it/whether to donate" is negating the good feeling from making the decision to put it out the door. Given my inability to organise a garage sale and given all the fires and floods, maybe the stuff should just get taken to a donation bin where hopefully it will find a grateful home. Or at least be someone's answer to what to wear to that 'bad taste' party.
2. My house itself. We have met with an architect and have a 'concept'. Whoa - I don't think you actually realise what a big step that is. Someone else is now involved in my dreams - literally an architect of my dreams. Now let's take that next step and turn a concept into a plan...
3. My daughter's life. New school, new rules, new dress... I wonder at what is happening in her head and am simultaneously pleased and horrified at our decision to move her from her chrysalis and out into the world. She seems different and maybe, and just maybe, to assuage my guilt, I think the change is for the good.
4. My relationship with my husband. Seems more grounded. He is more determined to live his life and I have gotten over my resentment (kinda, sorta) and actually am acknowledging his right to do so.
5. Me. Bits will be removed and reshaped and I'm again swaying between horror and delight at the thought of actually being physically different. Saying 'goodbye' to a chapter in my history - or should that be herstory...

Happy Birthday Dad

Yes, I know. I do go on about my Dad a bit. For someone who's been dead for almost 11 years now, he still tends to occupy my thoughts a lot. He is my Dad, after all. So I'm not really apologising but even when there's been a bit of a 'Picky Bitch' drought, it's usually my Dad who'll get me posting again.

So today would have been my Dad's 78th birthday. Wow. Born in 1933. A long time ago although to my rapidly ageing self, 78 isn't that old. My Mum has a friend who just turned 96 and she's pretty amazing - still making cakes and gnocchi by the truckload.

I have to wonder what kind of 78-year-old my Dad would have been. Would he just look the same but wrinklier and have whiter hair? As he already had white hair at 67 I suppose it couldn't have gotten much whiter so maybe that's a dumb thought.

If he hadn't died of cancer, would he have died of something else by now? His heart wasn't good. Would I be in the fresh throes of grief, mourning my father for having just died from a heart attack? Would my children be devastated at losing their Nonno, having known him for only a few short years instead of being oblivious not knowing him at all? What would have been better, really? I was 25 before losing the first of my significant relatives. My kids would have been less than 10.

Of course, he might not have died of something else in the meantime. He might have been still alive, pottering around the house, driving my mother nuts. I wonder how patient he would have been with this noisy mess of kids.

But he died at 67 and he's gone and my kids don't know him that well. I still remember though. And I still love him and I still miss him and I will forever and ever and ever.

And somewhere as I remember my Dad on the 78th anniversary of his birth, somewhere in Arizona is a family mourning the loss of their nine year old daughter. Their daughter, only two days older than mine. I am so sorry for their terrible loss. I wish she would have lived to 67. I wish she would have lived to 78. I wish she would have lived.

Ding Dong The Witch is Dead...

Predictably, here I am. The 1st of January. All filled up with hope and renewal and such. Making another effort to revive The Picky Bitch, God love her.

What did I learn in 2010:

1. Never take anyone for granted. People can surprise you. Big time.
2. There are still lessons I need to learn.
3. I don't have to do everything on my own. It's okay to lean.
4. I will die someday.

That pretty much sums up the year.

Booyah!

Six months to a brand new me???

Okay, so the past couple of days haven't been the most favourite of my lifetime. Preparing for a colonoscopy will not make the Top Ten of Fun Life Experiences. It's a pretty amazing way to lose 2 kilos in about 5 minutes but I wouldn't recommend it.

But when you get to a certain age, all your bits start falling apart and your brain is the least of it. Routine maintenance which includes a camera up your clacker is not that many people's idea of a good time even if the Internet will tell you different.

But I'll tell you - there is some EVIL SHIT that they sell in chemists.  And that's not even pun intended. Although it works on some level.

Stuff that makes your proximity to a toilet very important indeed.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Where have all the emails gone...?

In a misguided effort to be the first cab off the rank, I signed up to switch my work laptop (which also acts, let's admit, as my home computer) to Windows 7. In a miscommunication with our IT Guy (some of my readers will know who he is), I lost about 7 years of personal emails and email addresses.

Lessons learned? Always back up EVERYTHING and always be the SECOND cab off the rack in an IT roll-out.


So does this count as one more thing on my '50 Things' even though it was inadvertent?

While not within that realm of losing your life, limb or country, there is some indescribable (although I am in the throes of trying to describe it anyway) mourning that is taking place within me. It's a loss that is unique to this century - virtual loss.

But to keep it in perspective, it's more a case of an ongoing "Oh, well" instead of weeping and gnashing of teeth and renting of garments - so Old Testament. Okay, maybe I gnashed and rented and wept a teeny little bit and threw in a few other choice words for a little added drama first and the "Oh, well" came later. And I thank those among you who have shown me the appropriate level of sympathy. That combination of "Thank God that didn't happen to me" mixed with "I feel your pain". Anything more would be ridiculous. Words from the Age to mirror a loss from the Age.

I feel as though a portion of my life has been stripped away - all those chain letters, all those offers to purchase shoes, books, holidays...GONE - gone back into the ether from whence they came. But also gone are the emails from people no longer with me, either separated by death or distance.

And to be honest, it's not that I read them all that often. But knowing they were there was a small measure of comfort. It seems that I have the same desire for virtual clutter as I do for the stuff clogging up my cupboards and drawers.

There was also the issue of the congratulations emails I was saving from the birth of my son. Although the child has no Baby Book, I held on to me holding on to these emails as evidence that I at least had done that for him.

So, like paving Paradise and putting in a parking lot, I won't know what I've got 'til it's gone - or what I had now it's gone as there could be other things in there - not just emails - that have just up and left me.

My emails got run over on the Information Superhighway by the 18 wheeler Behemoth that is Windows 7. Virtual Infanticide.

Rest in bytes.

Oh, well.

Throwing out 50 things...

Just been reading Gail Blanke's Throw Out 50 Things.

Fifty??? I could probably throw out 1 bazillion and 50 and it still might not make a dent in the stuff in my life. However - let's not get all negative before we start as that's a prime example of one of the behaviours I need to throw out: my need to put myself down. Guess what? The emotional stuff - the negative voices, the old scripts one keeps living even though they've been outgrown - they count as things too.

But before I get ahead of myself - and let's face it, most of my humour is based on making some fun of myself so I won't give that up completely because that just wouldn't be fun for anyone - I have actually taken on board what this woman is telling me.

Why her? Why now? Did the planets align? Have I finally kept my New Year's Resolution to "Act Like a Grown-Up"?

Dang it - I think I have.

So - what have I chucked?

[And the killer is that 50 magazines count as ONE THING!!! Oi vey - so it's not as easy as it looks.]

• Old non-stick frying pans that are now stick frying pans - did I somehow think that stray Teflon particles in the atmosphere would find my kitchen and miraculously re-coat my pans??? Out they go.


• Old bakeware - I just had an amazing insight that I don't need chipped Corning Ware baking dishes in 5 different sizes as - guess what? - my mother - Queen of the Baking Dish of Any Size You Desire - LIVES NEXT DOOR. Out they go.


• My non-stick 9" cake tins - I have brand new(-ish) Chicago Metallic cake pans that are MUCH BETTER in my oven and so I don't need those crappy old ones ANY MORE - OUT THEY GO!!!


• Django's Faux Crocs from last summer - and I mean LAST summer as in 2008/09. His feet ain't getting smaller, sunshine. And there's nothing to get sentimental about over skanky pitted rubber shoes. Won't be bronzing those.... out they go.


• My skinny jeans. 'Nuff said. OTG!!!*


• This old navy blue wool coat I dragged home from Alaska that used to belong to my friend Jenee' - she was smart enough not to take it back home to North Carolina - WHY, OH WHY did I think that a coat that was too hot for Raleigh, wouldn't be too hot for Perth, freaking Australia??? It also weighs about 10 kilos so not only have I never worn it, I probably also paid some serious postage to never wear it. Out IT goes...(to be donated to someone with bad circulation 'cause you could LIVE in that coat in the winter - okay, now that's given me a sad 'bag lady' image. But at least she'd be warm.) This is getting bad on so many levels.***


• About 48 kilos of tissue paper. What makes me think that I would ever re-use skanky crushed tissue paper. There's being green and then there's being deluded.


• Old nappies. Unused, you'll be pleased to hear. I cannot be sentimental over a Newborn Baby Love any longer. There weren't millions of them - I'm not a total lunatic - just about 6 total in various sizes. I just really don't know why I was keeping them. In case we all went back in time, I guess. It could happen. It could.


• Books. This is a hard one for me. I love to hang on to books but I must admit that I had a few stinkers that needed to go. Actually I had already taken about 10 to a book exchange and got about $70 in credit for them so that's okay. I'm just not into putting them on eBay and I'm not a swap meet person - it kills me to sell things for 10 cents or a dollar - in a weird way, I'd rather just give it away for free. But the book exchange thing is good - I can do that. Those places don't smell gross like they used to when I was a kid - there's a fine line between Eau de Olde Bookes and Eau de Skanke.
  Funny thing though: when I was sorting my books I came across Cut the Clutter, Peter Walsh's It's All Too Much and Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Big? as well as The Queen of Clean Conquers Clutter. And Simple Steps: 10 Weeks to Getting Control of Your Life: Health, Weight, Home, Spirit . And I say: HUH! Why not them and why Gail Blanke? Is it her engaging wit? She's pretty funny. It is her crazy coiffure? Actually I think I've just figured it out - it's because she reminds me of Nanee Barbara and has that same kick your ass-ness about her coated in love. That's it! She's channeling Nanee. How cool. Nanee though, it has to be said, was probably the biggest pack-rat in the world. Even so, it's something in the way she writes that makes me think of Nanee.


• Magazines. See above. Magazines are magical. I can re-read them over and over and because I have such bad memory retention, they are always new to me. I actually have a theory that the stories change between readings but that's just my kind of crazy. Got rid of a few old IKEA catalogues because I realised I actually own everything in there now.
  [IN AN ASIDE - because I've been known to interrupt myself on occasion - I just bought another bunch of IKEA furniture. I told my friend C that I'd be screwing all weekend and I have. First Micke, who was pretty easy although I got something stuck in him and it took AGES to get it out. Then last night, it was Billy. Wham bang, thank you ma'am. Up he went, nice and erect, in no time at all. And then Billy again today. But this time he was bigger. About twice the size. I still managed to handle him on my own as Sam was out. I put the screws on him and he got himself together and when I put my nails in his back he was done. A bit of IKEA raunch there for my readers' pleasure. Really, it was nothing.]

Okay - so because of the additional IKEA furniture, I've been able to clear through bookcases - and have created some space, both physical as well as mentally. Hence a Picky Bitch posting and everything. See - it does work.

Gotta go now because even though I've cleaned my kitchen - somewhat - that food won't cook itself - damned, stupid food - and I've got to go and apply heat to it and everything.

So - what's my tally? I've also thrown out:

• Video cassettes
• Old shampoos and conditioners - and as a result of cleaning out under the sink, I found the motherlode of NEW shampoo and conditioner bottles - I will not need to buy hair cleaning products until 2012 - and once the end of the world comes, who'll need more, right?
• Skank-fest old toothbrushes - I mean, I use them to clean my tile but only need one at a time - I am not Edward Toothbrushhands, for pete's sake
• Papers - YE OLDE BANKE STATEMENTES from 1873 - on parchment and everything...
• Not one but TWO rusted spring-form pans
• Single socks - 437 single socks
• Random cardboard boxes. The accumulation is because of my kids' penchant for 'making things' out of them. Enough of pandering to their ways!

17 things that I can think of right now.

Not bad.

*Out they go.

***Am getting tired of the whole rousing 'OUT THEY GO' thing so I won't do that anymore - you get the picture.

And in an embarassing PS I also threw out a bunch of 'flours' - about 6 kilos of completely moth and larvae infested flours. Seems as though pantry moths are an equal opportunity insect as they infested the regular flour with as much alacrity as the spelt and rye. In a complete more-lunatic-than-usual-even-for-me lunacy, I purchased all this flour in the weeks prior to going overseas, thinking idiot thoughts that I would have the time to bake some bread. You wouldn't want to eat the bread I would have baked with that flour. Vegetarians wouldn't eat it, that's for sure. Erk. So that makes 18, 19 if you count the moths. 20 if you count the larvae as a separate item.

Have I really been having fun? Is that why the time has flown?

So yes.

We all know.

It's been a while.

Okay - so that bit's over. Don't even really know what to say. Life is pretty good. Work is okay. My kids never listen to anything I say but apart from that total lack of respect, I think they love me.

My husband loves me and I love him. I may not have been able to say that with such certainty a year ago.

We have lost another man in the family and it's almost a year since my Zio Mick died.

I wish I commemorated my Dad's 10th anniversary in a joyful way but I just have to realise that my family is not that way. We don't 'do' celebrations around death.

I had an interesting discussion with my eight-year-old daughter who was in an existential mood, "Mum, why are we here? Why this planet? Is there anyone else out there?"

This 42-year-old would love to have had the answers but I had none. Just more questions.

Nine.

I'm feeling crappy today - it's hot and humid, nobody could sleep in our house last night so we were all wandering around like zombies bumping into each other as we needed more water and to be comforted from bad dreams. I think that in my mind I'm disasterating - if I'm pissing and moaning about the first really hot day of the summer, what's it going to be like when it's 40degrees for weeks on end.

Nice, huh?

It's also the ninth anniversary of my Dad's death and this year, I'm more annoyed than anything. Annoyed that after nine years, there is no excuse for bringing it up and wanting some sympathy - that's all done with. It's a limbo year - not quite ten, too far past five. But it still really sucks and I still really miss him and I still want to talk about him but feel stupid for wanting to. I can get all excited about next year - the BIG TEN - you have an excuse for telling people, "My Dad died TEN YEARS AGO! Can you believe it's been TEN YEARS?" And you get the sympathy and the hugs and there is some allowance for bringing it up because it's TEN YEARS - a nice, neat number. People wouldn't look at you funny for mentioning that.

But nine? Nine is just nine.

I miss you Dad. And you're not coming back. And it still hurts. And I still love you. And I miss you more today than I did nine years ago when it was so raw and painful.

I want to think about you and miss you on all your anniversaries - the 11th, the 17th, the 23rd, the 37th. All those awkward numbers.

Until someone starts mourning me.

a brand new day

We stayed up to watch the Inauguration last night into the wee hours - and thank you J., for all the texts and all the tears - it got a little lonely there at 2am, with S. and I having our little party for two.

It's a lovely feeling to have intellect win over indolence, brains over braindeadedness (if that's not a word, it should be), and other alliterative phrases that I'm too tired to think of right now (a little of that braindeadedness is making itself felt in my noggin today).



So the burning question is not what you can do for your country, but - what the hell is Jon Stewart going to talk about now? Unless we get another Sarah Palin - sweet Jesus, NO! - what has he got to work with?? Surely, I mean, surely he is not going to pick on Obama. I may have to not love him as much if he does that.

[Note to Jon: I will always love you.]



Oh what bittersweet times these are when the Republicans have their tails between their legs and there is nothing to bitch about. I'm hoping for a very uneventful administration so that some hard work can be done and people can pull their heads out of their asses and realise the American Dream needs a little tweaking.



So what was my favourite bit of the whole shebang? Apart from Obama's beautifully stunning oratory? It had to be this guy:




Some are finding the ending of this offensive but criminy, can't we all just be mellow (not just the 'yellows')?

*cringe*

I thought it was a beautiful benediction and a call for tolerance.

With a few racial stereotypes thrown in for 'colour' (see what I did there?).

It's OVER!!!! - UPDATE - I know what a SHAMWOW is now!!!

This is wonderful -

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Barack Obama: Path to the Presidency

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

"This man is charisma, piled on top of gorgeous, wrapped in a sex tortilla and served with two scoops of 'raorrrrrr'!" GO SAMANTHA BEE!!!


...and this is hilarious....roll on tomorrow!

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

The Bush Years: Jon's Dubya Impression

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

"Here's what I like about monkeys?..."

UPDATE: I just found out what a ShamWow is by pure chance (thanks, StumbleUpon!).

Check it out:



He sells something else called a SLAP CHOP - Hilarious!

Happy 2009...

To the three people who read this blog... Happy New Year and thanks for your continued love and friendship.

Been having a lot of fun on Facebook lately and am feeling slightly guilty for giving it so much time when my sweet little PB page is so neglected.

Facebook is phenomenal. I really think it's an amazing tool for reconnection. And a lot of crap-sharing. Do people really need to know that I think it's ridiculous that hot cross buns are already on the shelves of the grocery store???

The funny thing is that there are total strangers wanting to join the group I created "Hot Cross Buns should be sold on Good Friday only". What makes people want to join a group like that? What makes people want to let everyone else know that they lost their shoes/are doing the ironing/are going skiiing/baked a pie...? (I'd want to know who baked a pie as long as I lived close enough to get to eat it).

So what happened in 2008? Apart from 'growing up'?

• I visited my beautiful friend J., in Hobart, easily my most favourite place in Australia.
• Saw Rufus TWICE
• Went into marriage therapy
• Went on my first romantic holiday with my husband (see 'marriage therapy')
• Taught myself how to film and edit a short movie
• Cried a lot
• Laughed some
• Reconnected with old friends
• Healed some old wounds
• Picked the scabs off a lot of others to discover they were nice and shiny with scars and not still bleedy (gross, but accurate analogy)
• Said good-bye to my brother's former life formally and welcomed his new one by baking lots of delicious cupcakes with my wonderful friend, C.
• Won a team award at work
• Won an individual award at work
• Made people laugh
• Tried to keep breathing

Goals for 2009:

• To be a better friend to my husband
• To be a better friend to my kids - have more 'Dad' time with them instead of just 'Angry Mum' moments
• To really figure out if I want to move my family to Portland
• To try and get a handle on my financial karma
• To keep staying 'grown up'

That's it for now.

Love yas all!

What a long time between drinks...

I felt compelled this morning to write again after not having written for so long.

It's been an amazing year in that I think I've finally grown up.

Yes - grown up.

This year has taught me that I don't have to cling to the 'me' of the past, that the 'angry me' is not the entirety of me, that I can rejoice in my blessings and the roof won't cave in (although my neck is braced as I write that - old habits...) - that I can be HAPPY. That it's okay to be HAPPY. That while I don't have the right to be happy, that there is no entitlement to be happy, it's still okay to be HAPPY.

I love my life, the crazy goals I set myself, the sense that I can actually do things, that I'm accomplished, that the world is simultaneously fucked up and beautiful, just like me.

An amazing year of looking inside, turning myself inside out and actually liking the result.

Truly blessed.

Truly, truly blessed.

Here I go again...

Okay, so to continue the Adventures of Nadia in Her Year of Going Out, I had quite possibly (and this is a sad revelation in its own way) one of the BEST nights of my LIFE last week.

I took it upon myself to book out a Gold Class Cinema - 34 seats in all - and invited all my girlfriends and female family members - no stinky boys allowed - to go to Mamma Mia! the Movie. What a HOOT! I don't know what was most exhilarating - knowing that I could sing my freakin' HEAD OFF and not get looked at that strangely (as my family and friends are more than aware of my penchant for singing OUT LOUD and in public) or seeing Meryl Streep sing HER head off and not get looked at that strangely - WHO KNEW!! The girl can BELT out a tune along with all her other talents - AND do the splits mid-air AND actually convince me that she could have shagged Pierce Brosnan, Stellan Skargard (with the funny little 'o' thing over the second 'a') AND Colin Firth not only in her 20s but could pretty much manage it at the age of 58. She is just GORgeous!

So how much better could it get??? Being surrounded by friends, drinking wine, eating food (incidentally - don't order the parmesan and rocket salad unless you want parmesan and rocket down your cleavage - it's hardly safe eating POPcorn in the dark without it going everywhere, let alone an actual MEAL), watching Colin - all gorgeous and WET (it should be in his contract that he MUST appear wet in every movie (this one)/TV series (check out 0:55) and commercial



as he looks so very good wet, he really, really does) - and me being able to sing AND dance without censure - it was like the most glorified Karaoke experience of MY LIFE!!!

Go and see the movie (have done, twice so far this week), buy the soundtrack (check!) and enjoy one of the most fun movies of the decade. I've got to say, it even beats singing along to Grease (and co-incidentally, was filmed in Greece - spooky).

PS Even Pierce's crap singing can't cast a pall over the sheer joy of it. Poor love, he did his best. And let's not analyse that if, in fact, Meryl had shagged them 20 years ago, she would have practically been my age - she does look amazingly youthful but I think she could pass for closer to 50, not quite 40 - BUT WHO CARES !!!

Weird dreams...

Okay - so I know that one of the biggest conversation killers starts with this line, "I had the weirdest dream last night..." and you sit there and try not to stifle a yawn while someone proceeds to tell you ALL about their aMAzing dream. And it isn't 'amazing' as you know - it didn't REALLY HAPPEN!!! And it happened in their head, while they were asleep...

But even so.... get ready people, cause I'm about to unload!

Now some of you - okay - all of the three people who read this blog - know of my slightly off-kilter obsession with Duran Duran. 'Obsession' might not be exactly the right word as it's not as though I even listen to their music now all that much - it's more of an obsession with re-capturing the obsession I had with them when I was 15.

So I saw them in concert in November 1983 (good grief) and then again, only 20 years later in December 2003 and then most recently in April. And it was great - every time it was great. Because every time, not only did I experience the concert, but also had some sort of loosely defined 'personal encounter' with them, in that, I saw them outside their hotel, outside the arena of them being a band on stage and more like them just being really famous people trying to get away from me. Although, and R. will back me up on this - the last two times - 2003 and 2008 - we totally did have personal encounters with Nick Rhodes (who was always my favourite even if he's the most effeminate and pretentious). And he was SO NICE!!! Like, 'take time to be with us' nice. Like 'I will make eye-contact with this person and actually respond to their frantic questions' nice. I LOVE the guy because he is one of the few (and I actually have met a few - see previous post) famous people who 'connected' with me. So the short of it is that I still have a deep affection for him that I don't think will ever dissipate in that he is decent to his fans and does not treat them like lepers (Si-MON!) and does not run away from them (Si-MON!).

Wow - that was one heck of a digression, even for me.

So back to the weird dream. Well - you three also know that I have the most amazingly vivid dreams with the most incredible attention to detail. I dream theatrically - and this is not a lie - I even once had a dream with credits... so last night I had this lovely dream where I got to hang out with Nick and Simon (who wasn't a butthead like usual) and it was totally lovely. Weird? Okay, maybe not so much. But just lovely. Lovely in the way that I am totally starting to convince myself that I actually have an alternate life in my dreams where I get to hang out with famous people ALL THE TIME. I dream about famous people ALL THE TIME. I hardly ever dream about my family - I've probably dreamed about Nick Rhodes more than I've dreamt of my own kids and I've definitely dreamed about Al Gore more than my own husband.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN????

It means that I wake up with the HUGEST smile on my face as I get to be a groupie without any of the guilt. [Okay - I don't have sex with Nick cause he is pure and asexual but I totally would go there with Simon even if in real life he would not look at me.] It's fun and I love it. I get to have these great conversations with famous people I like and it's hilarious. In my dreams, I have kissed Bill Clinton (don't vomit, C. cause if he was as hot in your dreams as he was in mine, you totally would have too!), I've cuddled on a couch with Al Gore while discussing our kids, I sang "These Boots are Made for Walkin'" with Simon Le Bon just last week. One of the stranger celebrity dream encounters I've had was finding Jimmy Barnes in my closet (?). There are countless famous people in my dream states....

So it's fun to go to sleep when you're me. I never know who I'll meet in my head. I love my crazy-ass stupid dreams - MUCH better than those hideous ones where you find yourself at the airport having no idea where your luggage/family/passport is. Of course, if it's me, then most likely I'm travelling First Class with the band....

My new love (Liz Lemon) meets one one of my old loves (Al, Baby).

Dear GOD, I about DIED laughing watching this on my new latest favourite TV show, 30 Rock, and was so happy to find this clip on the NBC website so I could share it. Apparently NBC did have a 'green week' and I'm trying not to be too cynical about it as they are owned by GE, after all. But they are still allowed to make money as long as they make it ethically - now am I being too naive???

[So as I've met Al Gore, does this mean that I'm only two degrees of separation from my new idol, Liz Lemon aka Tina Fey??? Life just gets better every day]