third day. same headache. i think it’s a curse from my mother. this is so like her too. It, like her; is a medium grade irritation in the back of my mind at all times, makes me feel a little sick in the stomach, and gives me an overwhelming desire to self-medicate into a mild coma.
thanks mummy.
I have a headache. had it since yesterday morning. I think it’s because ive quite smoking. before you get all excited and congratulate me, i didn’t fucking mean to. As previously discussed i really love smoking. It above ALL else, (yeah i said it ALL else) is what truley makes me happy.
Perhaps i thought “One day”, “in the future” I might quit smoking. but not like this. one minute i’m happily puffing away and the next i’m in bed with a dirty repiratory infection without so much as the slightest desire to suck down on one of my few remaining addictions. When i grew up, got married and decided to have children i knew what it meant. when i was a child i acted like a child, spake like a child and smoked copious amounts of weed like a child, now i am an adult i put away childish things. I put away speed, I gave up pills, I even gave up coke. But by jove, i was not giving up smoking. or so i thought.
and don’t think i haven’t tried to continue. what? you thought i was fucking with you. I have tried to smoke 5 cigarettes this week each one worse than the one before. I’m only able to manage 3 feeble drags before coughing and spluttering like an 89 year old emphasema patient i’m forced to put down the cigarette and call it quits. It’s not just that i can’t breathe, each and every cigarette smells like shit to me. If i so much as smell cigarette smoke on someone else, it causes my sorrowful body to recoil in disgust.
Maybe one day I would have quit by my own accord. Bu i promise you, I would have given cigarettes the farewell they were due. After all who was there for me when i broke up with my first boyfriend? cigarettes! the first time i took a home pregnancy test scared I was carrying said boyfriends baby? cigarettes. The first time I tried to be cool and sneak into a club underage? cigarettes! who gave me the strength to listen to my mothers manipulative, controlling, lectures about responsibility and family obligations? cigarettes. Who is always there for me in the mornings when i need five minutes of peace, and the evening when i need to debrief after another long day? cigarettes!! Who have I shared more good times and bad with in the past 9 years than any other? the answer: CIGARETTES!! If i had my way we would have enjoyed one last night together surrounded by good friends and good booze, laughed a little, cried a little, and smoked a lot! I can’t even remember when my last cigarette was!! do you have any idea how that makes a person feel?? to be robbed of such a precious memory?
So don’t fucking congratulate me! I didn’t ask to join your non-smoking club. Externally we may be the same, but i promise you 9 years of nicotine addiction will not be, CANNOT be erased! every time i wheeze, or pant after climbing a long flight of stairs it will remind me of the truth about who i am inside. I am not a non-smoker, I am an ex-smoker. We may be divorced but that doesn’t mean there weren’t plenty of good times. I choose to remember the good times.
I’m pretty sure that there’s a game going around vodafone right now, and in order to score big each competitor needs to waste as much time on the phone “trouble shooting” my connection problem. seriously in the past 3 weeks i have spoken to countless technical assistants all of which offered me the SAME solutions. This is even after i explained that yes i had tried turning my phone off and on, using the sim in a different phone, using a different sim in my phone, soft-resetting, hard-resetting and countless other “solutions” the funny thing is they all say they are looking into it and will call me by close of day but somehow for some reason they never do.
I propose there is a large picture of me floating around the offices of vodafone, and at the completion of each and every more frustrating phone call the phone reconnects to the cradle amidst high-fives and hand slapping.
“ha ha!” they’re saying
“definately a bonus 2 points, not only did you connvince her to turn her phone of and on one more time even though she told you outright she’s tried it 5 times already, you avoided giving her any real help in the process.”
do you hear what i hear? I promise you it’s not me calling, because their little games not over yet.
lately It seems that every time i have a problem with a service or product, that whichever company i employ to provide me said service or product is working their very best to give me the very worst service they can.
Yesterday afternoon, just as i was putting the baby down for a nap, i recieved a series of very loud bangs on my front door (I don’t know why but for some reason my kids nap time acts a very sophisticated signalling device for assholes to come knock as loudly as possible and interrupt the few moments of calm i manage to steal for myself each day). I opened it to find a man in a bright yellow vest with a broad grin and a notebook of sorts. initially i thought he was selling raffle tickets until he spoke.
“I’m here from AGL to disconnect your gas, you have an outstanding account.”
damn it buddy, you really fucking enjoy your job. sorry to burst your bubble but i don’t think we have our gas account with you.
“i can turn it off know and when you find out who your account is with i’ll come back and turn it on”
are you fucking with me?? THAT’s the most reasonable solution you can think of? or as i suggested
“could you NOT disconnect anything and just wait till i make a phone call?”
“I have orders to disconnect.”
“you’re being a bit aggressive, can you just WAIT till i make a phone call? ”
“who are you calling?”
“My husband, maybe he can clear this up”
“look lady (ha i’m 25), i’m just a contractor, i am commissioned to do this work.”
This is where he pissed me off, either you work for them or you don’t. none of this “I’m just a contractor” crap. and anyway who contracts themselves out to companies so they can turn off people’s gas and electricity. seriously that’s his entire job. He fills his days travelling to the houses of people who obviously struggle financially, and skipps to their front door, and with a rat-a-tat-tat and a grin gives all he has to give to families in need – a trumped up excuse about “just following orders”. it’s gettting cold right now. he knew i had a baby, did that make it all worth it. I bet he’s an antisemite. well the jokes on him, just like the rest of his goose-stepping friends who were likewise “just following orders.” Someone once told me that the best revenge that jews can make on the nazi fucks who wanted them dead is to have big jewish families and educate them about their jewishness… well what does mr anti-semite “I only work here” disconection man think we’re gonna do to keep warm? huh? see him in 9 months.
so i left to make my phone call and after finding out that this was in fact an old bill and writing a check for the kindly man i waited an extended period of time, maybe 5, 10 minutes just to piss him off. i’m nothing if not passive aggressive. And as i handed him that check i realised two things and smiled
1. there’s not enough money in my account and as soon as he leaves i’m cancelling the check.
2. I love pulling the anti-semite card
3. at least it’s something to blog about.
I’ve been in bed for the last few days with some dirty respiratory infection slipping in and out of delirium and attempting to keep my fever under 39 degrees Celsius. There are few things I enjoy about being sick and eating ice cream medicinally only works after a tonsillectomy.
I love taking cocktails of drugs and watching daytime television. This can only be enjoyed for a limited time because when these are combined regularly you only grow acutely aware of the lack of meaning in your life. Trust me. i used to work in hospitality, and all i did between shifts was watch daytime television and take shit loads of drugs. very fucking depressing if your constantly high and the most meaningful thing you can immerse yourself in is a debate about which jeans give the worst muffin top. Oprah may be my strong black sister but she really scares the shit out of me in large doses.
The other thing i love about being sick is that last day in bed. You know the one, you feel ok when you’re lying down but the minute you stand up the room starts spinning. you know it’s not long till you’re back at work or school which only intensifies the need to enjoy the last few moments of GP sanctioned freedom. It’s like a magical mini holiday. I personally like to arrange my bed with a variety of activities all within reach. there’s a certain feng-shui of sorts which aids in my feeling both rested, entertained and productive.
Firstly i need to have any medication, tissues, throat lozenges etc as close as possible. Important both when in actual need of medication, and intermittently when reminding yourself and all visitors that you are in fact very sick so they should be very nice and bring presents. Next i usually have a stack of work piled neatly towards the end of the bed. Now i’m in university this is very easy to accomplish, just a couple of text books, a subject outline and a few journal articles and hey presto! – all i have to do is look at the schoolwork and i feel that i’m not wasting time playing video games, i’ll catch up on all that work as soon as i’m feeling a “little stronger”. obviously i need my phone, a bottle of water, my computer, 20 pillows and a couple of dvd’s all placed strategically around the bed and by the time i’m all set up i can’t for the life of me remember why i’m usually so motivated to be one of “those people” who work hard and contribute to society, this is way more interesting.
The last thing i love about being sick, and this is possibly my favourite, is looking at all the funky shit that pours out of my body. currently i’m coughing up a loads of phlegm that is a sort of ashen-grey colour, and after a couple of days on antibiotics am getting a lot more to look at.
I recently went to my doctor because of what i though was conjunctivitis. turns out i was just host to one of the biggest nastiest styes this world had ever seen. I was pleased to discover that instead of not touching the affected area (which i had been doing, thinking it was the dreaded pink-eye), I was in fact encouraged to continuously squeeze as much pus out as possible, because apparently, that helps them heal. To get things rolling the doctor offered to numb my eye and eye lids and try and squeeze some out herself. Naturally i was all in, but didn’t expect to be quite so excited by the experience as i was when she offered to show me all the pus she took out. I couldn’t believe it, usually doctors just throw it in their bio-hazard jars without so much as a thought, but obviously she knew how to get my return business.
Just a thought while we’re on the subject of medical practitioners. i’ve been searching frantically for a masseuse for my aching torso and perhaps someone who will combine it with some reflexology. Time and again i found centres that looked reasonable until they mentioned that some of the other services they offered included – taroh reading, reiki, psychic counselling and angel healing. Just a thought, If your trade is taught to you by celestial beings or guided by your own intuition you are NOT a professional, so please don’t be shocked when i fail to take your massage services seriously, i have a sinking feeling that i’ll go in looking for some relief for my tired muscles and end up being offered a “happy ending”
maybe this post isn’t so interesting but hey, fuck you, i’m in bed sick. i’m not your little dancing monkey, i’m allowed to have an off-day.
seriously though, i’ll try harder next time. promise.
I received a letter last week from readers digest saying i should sit down and get comfortable because they had news that would change my life. Now this is a killer opening statement, my attention was all theirs I sat and I read on. I’m not sure the person writing it had any idea how much my life was in dire need of changing.
I am currently juggling a range of issues and responsibilities, not the least of which includes my overwhelming need to wean myself of facebook and stop stalking people from high school who would never consider themselves my equal 10 years ago but for some reason are desperate to add me to their long list of facebook friends. And if one more person posts a glamour shot as their profile picture I’m going to personally track them down at their home in the early hours of the day and take a photo of their makeup-free, blotchy skinned, slightly asymmetrical morning face and post that up for the world to see. Why should they be able to pretend they’re some kind of supermodel just because pixie photo is in their local shopping centre. they just look like a wanker to me.
in the past few sleep deprived weeks i have entered into a new chapter of my adult life, one that many of you would understand. This is the “why do people keep breeding when they obviously don’t like their kids” phase. Seriously. Condoms are really fucking cheap and unless you’re shaving your head and melting down at the mtv awards there’s no fucking excuse for bringing little humans into this world if you have not thought a little further than, “Wow shiloh’s so pretty, i want a baby too”
If you have a couple of ankle-biters you may be familiar with this situation. Struggling to go anywhere or do anything in public may be extremely frustrating and time consuming HOWEVER, if you see a stranger/ acquaintance/ hobo on the street and feel the need to complain loudly about your children IN FRONT of your children chances are you’re the one who needs to have a fucking time out not your 3 year old who’s sole source of self-esteem is the parent who can’t have enough foresight to see the damage this may do.
And NO, i will not join your facebook group “Mum’s going mad” because unlike some of you skanks, i happen to like my kids and refuse to join a group of people who’s only thing in common is their need to complain about their children. Just a thought. If it’s that fucking bad maybe instead of blaming your children, you wanna look at yourself for your inability to provide a consistently, loving environment where they are free to make mistakes and learn from them without criticism or judgement. Could it be that’s why their acting up all the time?
I too have days where all i’ve done is changed a series of nappies and try without much luck to put babies to sleep (in the impermanent sense), and after about five or six hours of being worn down have an uncontrollable urge to run into the local pub and drink 8 – 10 beers in quick succession. Most of the time raising young kids is boring as hell, a series of repetitive, manual tasks which takes absolutely no analytical skills, it is also quite isolating, especially if you’re the first amongst your friends to journey into the magical world of parenting. However, at no point do your kids need to hear how hard it is for you to be their mother or father. Grow the fuck up and figure out some coping mechanisms that don’t strip your kids of their self-worth.
I have learnt everything i know about parenting from my parents (well mostly form my mother) Everything they did i just do the opposite and i’m pretty much on track with every major parenting book. for example, when i think of how my father dealt with the responsibility of family life (umm,, basically fucking off..) i think, how can i do the opposite? (in this case, just waking up in the morning and sticking around till the evening).
My mother however is an endless source of parenting tips and tidbits, how-to and how-not-to’s. for example my mothers strategy for dealing with tantrums in young children includes such phrases as “i’m a good and fair person” and “if you choose not to do as i say/think as i think/ act as i act then you’re forcing me to withdraw all love and support from you”, “why don’t you understand how much you’re hurting me”, “that’s very bad behaviour and every time you throw a tantrum somewhere in the world a baby dies from AIDS.”
I promise you is that she is so consistenlty wrong about absolutely everything she thinks and believes, that if someone could just translate what she says into it’s polar opposite then they could find a cure for cancer, there would be no more starving in Africa, and no fighting in the middle east.
Perhaps i’m going too far. there are several things I should be thanking her for, like – not drowning me in the bath as an infant, not placing a photo of me with contact details on a web site for paedophiles, not forcing me to work in a sweat shop during early childhood, and occasionally offering me clean food and drinking water.
anyway as you may be able to tell i have quite a lot going on both internally and externally right now so when an offer comes up that offers to change my life all i can do is shout “Where do i sign?” and as i read on i discover all i have to do to have an opportunity, to go in the draw, to win $30, 000.00, is order a 12 month subscription of readers digest. I can’t loose. Either i win the money or i have a bag full of books that just might be heavy enough to break your nose next time you complain to me about your kids.
Look it up. I’m not interested in spoon-feeding you, and obviously you have plenty of free time. learn.
i don’t deal well with pressure, and now the cats out of the proverbial bag I feel the need to keep this as interesting and topical as possible. So in this spirit i begin today’s sermon. Smoking mothers. You’re all fucked. Seriously don’t you know how dangerous it is for you. You may think that in the privacy of your own home when the kiddie are no where in sight (or smell) that you are free to indulge one of life’s few remaining legal pleasures. But you’re not. All eyes are on you and you better grow the fuck up and stop thinking you are entitled to any kind of respite now that you have given birth.
Recently i visited my sick father in hospital, and after 3 hours of travelling and an hour and a half long reunion fit for a Virginia Andrews novel i felt the need to tuck my baby safely into bed and debrief with my friends Peter Styvesant and Johnny Walker. However, as I approached the checkout in the neighbourhood coles and inquired after a pack of my brand of choice the woman in front of me couldn’t stop staring in disbelief. A mother smoking!! Overcome with the need to qualify my actions i mentioned to the checkout chick ”It’s ok, they’re not for the baby, we’ve taught her better than that, she can’t start smoking until she develops a serious drug dependency. And anyway it’s better she does it at home with us than trying it with the kids at daycare, you never know what it is in it.” (By the way, the ability to be passive aggressive is a highly valued skill in our family, passed down from mother to daughter)
Yes i know it gives you cancer, yes i know it’s a leading cause of death in the developed nations, yes i know it makes you smelly and none of the cool kids are doing it. But it’s addictive because it makes you feel good.
In years gone by that simple fact was understood, but it seems in these modern times smokers have become offensive for simply persevering in the face of resistance. Like revolutionaries of old we lead the charge against the oppressive forces which seek to control our every move and action, dictators who monitor and regulate our every wheezy breath.
I am not advocating any practice which endangers the life of another, i didn’t smoke during my pregnancies, am careful with my butts lest they clog our waterways and lead to the oceans rising in apocalyptic measures, and am very wary of the people close by when enjoying the occasional PDA (public display of addiction). However, when I’m in dire need of a hit and i ask a passerby for a light it seems they translate this as an invitation to re-educate me, in the hope that the gods of modern health theory will reward them in their efforts to convert another tar-blackened soul. A simple yes or no and you can be on your way. Telling me “I don’t smoke” as you condemn me to pc hell is not necessary. I’m not asking you to have one with me, because quite frankly their too bloody expensive, and as supply and demand works, every new person who starts smoking ends up costing me another $10 a week, and I’ve just started dipping into my kids school fund (yes, I’m serious, I’m smoking my kids future dumbass).
So instead of lecturing me on the damage i’m doing to myself, and of course the very fabric of society, maybe you could afford me the same consideration i show you and respect my right to self-determination. Because if you don’t we’ll have no choice but to band together and employ guerrilla tactics – starting by blowing our caustic smoke in your incredulous faces.
VIVA LA REVOLUTION!
i am generally polite. don’t get me wrong i can curse like a sailor, but i generally reserve this part of me for good friends, people who cut me off in traffic and the first few seconds after i hang up the phone from my mother. Most of the time i can interact with people and not feel overcome with the urge to smack them over the back of the head and scream “fuck off you small, small person” and truth be told when confronted with an individual who goes out of his/her way to cock up my day, i often respond in an overly polite manner, usually out of shock. for example; after the birth of my second daughter when a “friend” called to say congratulations she asked,
“another girl, congratulations, is your husband disappointed?”
“why?” I asked,
“because you didn’t have a boy.”….
my response was
“(long pause), no we’re quite happy with two girls. oh, whoops, the nurse is here i have to go, sorry,”
what i should have said was
“yes, he’s extremely upset we have a healthy, beautiful child, and no, we had no idea going into this that there was a 51/49 split that we would have a daughter but had we known we would never had agreed to another child right now, just waited till the IVF program was more selective you stupid bitch, now FUCK OFF!!”
but i didn’t say that. I still don’t. I see this “friend” at the occasional birthday party our children attend together and for some unknown reason force myself to talk slowly and in monosyllable words so her and her troglodyte husband can understand what is being said. I leave slightly stunned and often replay past conversations in my head realising YET AGAIN that she’d said something absolutely ridiculous that i YET AGAIN responded to politely.
I wonder what would happen if i spoke up, just for one day said all the shit I’ve been keeping inside. Like when I’m waiting in grocery store with my kids at the end of a long day and everyone’s hungry and screaming (myself included) and some poor bastard in front of me hasn’t got enough money to pay for all their groceries, tries a few different cards and nothing works, looks around all embarrassed and says, “can i come back later for them?” then takes 10 minutes writing out a form with his contact details on it…. THIS doesn’t piss me off. It’s the middle-aged, middle-income assholes that look around rolling their eyes at everyone in the cue. Like their saying “why do poor people try and buy food when they obviously can’t afford it, and here he is wasting my time when i have to get home to pay the cleaner, watch too much television, and eat my way to a heart attack.” I think next time instead of looking empathetically at the person struggling with embarrassment I’ll just hit the bitch with the rolling eyes and call it a day.
My biggest fear is the pandoras box affect that opening my mouth may have. It’s been a very long time since i’ve let my inner asshole run loose and it’s very possible when he’s free he’ll give me the finger and never return. I don’t think i’ll be too honest in the near future, i still have to get my girls into reasonably good schools and not quite sure if the town bitch’s kids will be invited to all the nice girls’ parties.
But one day, it will happen. I plan on living to 120, so when i hit the 90 mark I’ll just spend my twilight years saying all the shit that’s been held up inside, and everyone will have to be nice to me anyway. That’s what happens when we’re really, really old. People live in fear of triggering a cardiac arrest in the decrepit so I’ll use this weapon against them.
Or maybe you’ll roll your eyes at some poor sod without enough money, and I’ll just start then.
I’m not that funny usually and i’m a little bit drunk as i wite this, my first post. Not that giggly-drunk where everything is all a little bit easier and more interesting, but about an hour and a half after, where i’m starting to get a headache and feel sick, so not necessarily the greatest the greatest start in history but at least i’m not going to piss people off by being super-perky as they gloss over the page.
this experiment is here simply because George Lucas is an asshole. I’m not a die-hard fan, but like many people waited far too long for star-wars to end (or begin you geeks) and was pretty pissed off with the outcome. Revenge of the Sith… Bullshit!! I’m a few years too late, and i’m pretty sure around a million little nerds out there have blogged the same complaints however it needs to be said as it served as catalyst for my blogging. So suckers there it is.
Can’t wait to sober up and stop my head from hurting
