Sunday, 21 October 2012

Thanks - I quit

Sometimes it all just seems a bit too much... or a bit too hard.

One of my favourite self-helpy type guru (hate that word) people, Martha Beck has a philosophy that I find interesting. She's a bit fan of horse-whispering (I'm sure my close friends will have heard me blather on about this while they glazed over blah blah blah - horse whispering... blah blah blah self help).

The theory is that you show the horse your intention, watch it carefully but not directly while all the time still continuing to give it body language that you want to join up with it.... the horse will also show that it's ready by chewing and other things... but the crucial step is once the horse seems ready... you turn your back and walk away and the horse will come to you.

This is something I have a problem with. I want to make things happen... to manage them and force them and it just doesn't work that way. You can only do what you can and then you just have to let that sucker go... and let the chips fall where they may.

This is terrifying to a control freak like me, but in my life nothing has ever worked when I've tried to make it go my way. You can't be passive or put in no effort either but you just have to be consistent and not worry about the outcome. Even if you get no feedback (which is the hardest thing... this weekend we played a gig to about 3 people... it felt like that but in the end I just thought - I quit - I can't make this better, I can't make this fuller, I in fact can't do shit except my job... when I finally did that everything was ok.)

So this post is just a little letter to me to remind me that sometimes you just have gently coax things along and then walk away and the solutions will come to you.

Below is Monty Roberts taking a horse from nothing to saddle and rider in something like 30 minutes...

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

A Wednesday Poem and Picture

I've been busy - crazy busy (refer to previous time on my hands posts - now think the opposite...)

buuuuuuut I do have something special for you - a wee taste of three of my fave creative genies...

Sugar Magnolia Wilson: Poet
Mike Worsnop: Photographer
Alica: Cat of perfections

This Haiku was written as a tribute to awesome Japanese cat pictures...

Ode to Hakata (a Haiku)

If you're Japanese

And take photos of your cats -

I do not hate you.

Thursday, 27 September 2012

Happiness and Sloshy Spinach

Bonjour/soir Blogee's

In this week's blog.... I'm not pissed off, I read 50 Shades of Grey and I attempt to make a green smoothie.

I has come to my attention (thank you flatmate) that I'm the a bit like the Alanis Morrisette of blogging i.e. I do it better when I'm pissed off. Yet as spring is sprunging and I'm still working through the jumbo box of shortbread I got for my birthday, I find that I am only able to work myself up into a state of mild annoyance. True it vexes me that the temperature is only going up slowly and that I only have a half a box of shortbread left and that the world is due to end in a couple of months (thanks Mayan Calendar!) so making any real effort to exercise seems like a waste of time because I won't need to worry about January beach time (which makes my thighs happy but my heart sad).

In spite of all these very real and pressing issues, I'm still pretty darn cheerful. Not really sure why - but I'll take it. I think that part of it might be waking up after 7 if the morning. It's amazing what a difference working with your actual body clock does. Maybe it was the green smoothie.... but more about that later.

For those of you who have read 50 Shades or possibly intend to do an "audio book read by Morgan Freeman" listening party. I have a little game for you... The Fifty Shades of Grey Drinking Game... yay.

I was introduced to these games by my brother (e.g. the rap video drinking game.... dude grabs his crotch... drink... ho shakes booty into camera... drink and so on)

So here it is get some friends or do it on your own...

Fifty Shades of Drinkin'... every time someone in the book raises an eyebrow..... drink... if the eyebrow raise is described with an adverb... drink again (e.g. he raised his eyebrow sardonically) every time Anastasia Steele (yeah I know, don't get me started on the name) incorrectly calls her conscious critical mind her subconscious... drink (and then drink again as you try to figure out how she got her four year English degree from a prestigious university that is saving the world from famine through Christian Grey funded research and STILL doesn't know what a subconscious is), every time you read the phrase "Inner Goddess".... drink, every time Anastasia has a highly unfeasible orgasm... drink, every time she describes Mr Grey's trousers... drink! By page 82 you will be completely hammered, which is probably the best way to get through the rest of the book.

Having said that - I finished it without the aid of alcohol and was very disappointed no-one got to use the butt-plugs from the giant butt-plug drawer in the "Red Room of Pain" (oh E. L. James you tease - good work with the nipple clamps though)

After that I needed something healthy to cleanse myself of the bad influence of trashy literature. And so I turned to the green smoothie pledge I made... yes my friends I made one and drank it too.

Unfortunately,while I may be the Alanis of blogging, I am also the Mr Bean of domesticity. Please try to watch the video without judgement.

Many thanks to my poor long suffering flatmate for having the courage to film me trying to work a blender.

Thursday, 20 September 2012

Mini - WTF

It's Friday - yay.

This morning I took a break from frantic typing of various manuscripts and things to surf the internet... one of the main headlines... "Lady Gaga gets fat!"



It's just an ass - get over it. You would swear she had dressed up like Jesus and burned a copy of the Qu'ran  AND a rescue puppy the way that people were freaking out.

What's worse is that I read the article.... I thought "oooh Lady Gaga is putting on weight I have to read that...." I hate myself right now, I really do.

Stop torturing people for putting on 10 kilograms it's not a fucking character flaw.

(She also smoked dope on stage which might not have been a wise choice but the fact that she was fuller figured was the main tack of a lot of the articles.)


That is my Friday mini - WTF

Here is the picture....  oh the horror!

I will leave you with that Friday classic... by Rebecca Black

Monday, 17 September 2012

Grouchy and ungreen

Hmmm this morning I woke up and I felt a bit angry with the world.

I have a cold, the builder next door keeps on singing with the music they play (he's one of those "ha ha I'm salt of the earth cheerful with a GSOH" types - who also thinks he's an amusing yet surprisingly talented singer... he is not!)

The birds are singing too loud and I think my cat hates me.

I think I have a life hangover.

I also concluded that I will never be a truly successful hippy because I just can't face mung beans or Chia seeds! (what is a Chia seed you ask? Fucked if I know... but they're on every hippy recipe site in the whole world ever - Chia seeds are the new Goji Berry) In fact since my birthday party I've been subsisting happily on a diet of left over cheese cubes, cocktail sausages and stuffed olives (I did make home-made hummus which gives me back some of the hippie points I lost with the cocktail sausages). I also don't know if I can bring myself to make a green smoothie. If you haven't heard of green smoothies they're all the rage at the moment. They're meant to give you glowing skin and sparkling vitality with their massive kick of micro and macro nutrients.

How do you make one of these little slices of nutrient heaven you may ask.... weeeelll you take some delicious fruit mmmm fruit and then add the same amount of Kale or spinach or some other type of green stuff. Then you blend it all together until it looks like.... well not good..... and you drink it.

I just don't think I can do it!

My journey into trying a whole bunch of new shizz to find better ways of doing things and conquer my fears etc has been interesting... sliding down scary things... check... going to random theatrical events... check.... meditation... check.... attending singles evening... check (oh hell I didn't write about that one... ha ha ha it was hilarious.... next post I promise). I even threw myself a birthday party which is one of my biggest fears (people who have known me for years can attest to this - every year my birthday comes and I don't organise anything - my thirtieth was an evening of Karaoke with 3 other people....)

The party was freaking rad! We had bongo drums and music and my beautiful friends - will definitely have a party again - yay another fear conquered. Which brings us back to healthy eating... I think that I'm going to have to attempt a green smoothie just to say that I have tried one. I will video the creation and and consumption for your amusement.

I have not backed down from the other challenges I will not be intimidated by a glass of green baby-sick.

Oh God I've committed now - I'm probably going to have to do it.

I'll keep you posted... now I have to figure out what kale is... I could probably pick up a burger on the way.

p.s. Below is Kris Carr - she is the queen of the green smoothie... mmmm delicious

Wednesday, 29 August 2012

Foodtown queue conversations and tips for canning jars... in that order

Too much time on my hands. You would think that that would mean more bloggeration, but it seems that it's hard to find inspiration when you have nothing... well nothing to annoy you.

I have realised this week that I only blog when I'm grumpy about something. Like a couple of days ago I was in the queue at the Foodtown when this random dude behind me struck up a conversation. Actually he struck up a monologue and it involved a lot of insulting my toilet paper choices and some TMI moments.
So there I was minding my own business in the Foodtown queue wondering if I should splash out an buy a magazine when this happened...

Random oldish man: "Your friends will think you're cheap buying the paper with no pictures on it ha ha." (He was one of those guys who had a slight overweight person's wheeze when he spoke (always slightly louder than was necessary or appropriate), elasticated shorts and a moustache.)

ME: (inside) "Oh no seriously?"
       (out loud) "It's really good toilet paper."

ROM: "blah blah blah paper blah blah" (Over loud incongruously jovial tones with undercurrents of "hey everyone look how clever and hilarious I am")

ME: (not really listening) "insert random half arsed attempt at witty come back"

ROM: (aggressively "funny"  reply completely unrelated to what I just said, offensiveness enhanced by slightly disconcerting invasion of optimum personal space) "blah blah blah toilet paper blah blah blah"

It becomes clear to me at this point that ROM has an agenda and isn't really listening to me. I try not to listen to him but I'm trapped between him and the old lady slowly going through her purse at the check out and my socialisation has taught me not to be rude. So I smile half-heartedly and look to the other end of his trolley. The man's wife is looking everywhere but at me and I can tell from her expression that she's glad someone else has to deal with 'Mr Opinions' rather than her. 

I'm trying to feign a pressing interest in the canning jars I'm putting on the conveyor belt. (the canning jars are a whole 'nother story... leading my flatmate to say "Hey T. The 1950's called and they want their pastimes back!" - too much time on my hands... you're lucky this blog isn't about the 101 uses for jars.)

Back to the story...

ROM: "blah blah blah you don't work for the government do you?"

ME:   (inside) "What?"
         (out loud) "What?"

ROM: "The government - you know. You probably work for the IRD."

ME:  (inside) "WHAT?!"
         (out loud) "Yeah. That's why I'm here, buying this white toilet paper in the middle of the         day. Ha ha"

ROM: Frankly I can't stand them... they're completely useless. ("humourous" tone dripping with just a touch of bitterness)

I wonder if he realises that by supposing that I work at the IRD and then saying how much it sucks that he's actually being a bit offensive...

ROM: "Do you know that the IRD made more mistakes with my business than with any other business in the history of the IRD."

ME: (inside) "I don't care."
        (out loud) "Oh that's terrible."

I look over at the wife, she makes guilty eye contact with me for about a second and then becomes very interested in the lighter and antacid display that lines the passage to the check out.

ROM: I even declared bankruptcy and they still said I owed them blah blahblah (I don't remember numbers sorry). It took them 6 months to work it out.

ME: (inside) (very uncharitably) I CAN'T imagine why your business didn't work out - you seem like you'd be a TREAT  to work with.
        (out loud) Oh. Gee that's awful.

 At this point I stop making eye contact because I don't want to talk to this guy anymore... this does not deter him.

ROM: "Are you sure you don't work for the government? I bet you're John Key's personal assistant."

ME: (inside) WTF?
        (out loud) Yes Mr Key loves his plain toilet paper."

ROM: "I can't stand the guy. How do you know when John Key is lying?"

ME: (censorship is gone now. Why would I work for John Key? Is it his way of working in the only joke he knows?) UM let me guess (dripping sarcasm)... when he opens his mouth?

ROM: No no when he scratches his head he's telling the truth... when he opens his mouth he's lying ha ha ha.

ME: (inside) Didn't I just say that?
        (out loud) .... (nothing, at this point I pull the plug on responding to anything the guy says)

Mercifully I get to the check out lady at this point. She is a lovely Indian lady. I want to hug her for not being ROM. She asks me about the jars. I tell I'm going to make lemonade concentrate. She asks how you do that, I tell her. It's a nice conversation. And then...

ROM: (loudly interrupting the conversation. Smug that he has managed to find me out and recognize my accent) "What part of South Africa are you from?"

ME: (inside) Fuck off
       (out loud) Johannesburg... and then you keep the syrup in the fridge and you can add soda water and make lemonade. My friend does it. It's amazing.

Check out lady: "That sounds great. I'll try it. That's 52 Dollars"

ROM: "Don't tell her that... say it'll be 349 Rand. I can do foreign exchange calculations in my head. And no I'm not an accountant or a mathematician... ha ha." 

ME: (inside) Seriously... fuck off
        (out loud) "......"

Check out lady: "Are you collecting stickers? To get the glass set?"

ME: "Ooh no, but I'd like too"

ROM: "Don't drink any Nederberg out of those glasses, those are Kiwi glasses. ha hahah ha ha" (the word Nederberg is pronounced like it's some kind of $1 dollar vodka made of of gasoline and the unwashed calluses of Russian field workers")

ME: (inside) "I hate you."
        (out loud) "I only drink South African red wine." (I don't but this dude makes me want to be patriotic)

Check out lady: "I've heard that the red wine from Italy and Spain is great."

ME: "Yeah, Chile too."

ROM: "Do you want to know something about red wine?"

ME: (out loud - with barely veiled sarcasm) "I bet you're going to tell me anyway."

ROM: "If you ever go to the blah blah blah region blah blah blah Australian blah blah bubbly red wine blah blah blah refrigerator blah blahblah"

ME: (inside) Your poor wife
       (out loud with no veiling of sarcasm) "WOW you learn something new everyday."

I took one look over my shoulder at his partner and thought 'better you than me lady" and hightailed it out of there.

I sat in my car for a bit wondering if I was an anti social person. It did weird me out when I lived in  Christchurch and the local butcher recognised me. "Hi there Miss. Beef Sausages again?"

I felt strangely intimidated. I didn't want a personal connection with the butcher - I just wanted some beef. And it was none of his business if it was sausages again. Just shut up and give me the sausages.

Being from a big city, you learn that you have to be careful who you make conversation with... they could be weirdos. And I like the fact that you really don't have to speak to anyone like on the London Underground. Sometimes I, being a bit of a natural introvert, find making conversation unbearably difficult. 

It also brings up the question of lack of community in urban environments. People need people. I particularly feel for the elderly. I can see how it would be lonely when no one takes the time out to speak to you or acknowledge your existence. Maybe having a bit of a chat in the Foodtown aisle makes us all feel connected again. Maybe feeling connected would make us nicer. And the more we shut off from other people the harder it becomes to open up. I encourage everyone who reads this to have a chat with a person in the Foodtown aisle. Especially if they're a lonely looking little old lady.

Just please refer to the above conversation to see what not to do! (If  I see Random older mustachioed man at Foodtown again. I'm hiding until he goes through the checkout!)

Also please find attached some canning jar information (good to know I'm not alone in the world)

Sunday, 19 August 2012

The thing about uncertainty...

The thing about uncertainty is that it's so darn... uncertain.

There comes a time in your life that you have to just accept it. I have a birthday coming up in a few weeks. I won't say how old... I don't even want to admit it to myself... but I guess I thought that my life would be very different to what it is now. I actually hadn't thought much past thirty. That was sort of the cut off point of how far I could imagine as a child or teenager. I did have some idea about what I wanted my old age to be like but the bit in between was a big blank.

I'm at the bit in between now. There are a lot of things that I wish I could go back in time and tell myself. One of them would be that doing the 'right' thing doesn't always get the right results. That there's no such thing as a 'real job'. That I shouldn't really have been panicking about how little I had achieved with my life when I was 25. If I had spent less time panicking I would probably have achieved a lot more! I would tell myself that (in the famous words of Lenny Kravitz) 'it ain't over 'til it's over' and it's never over so there's always hope.

When I first discovered the horrifying truth that there are no happy endings and that nothing external will solve your problems or make you happy for longer than 15 minutes I was FUCKING depressed by it. As I write it down it still seems really depressing but I think as have I started to accept it I'm kind of finding it exciting like nothing lasts but there's always an awesome new adventure on the way so love what you have now and embrace what happens next.
( this is when I'm not hiding in my room, watching back episodes of Justified (I love you Timothy Olyphant!), eating sour lollies and refusing to come out because it all just seems too hard).

I can't go back in time though so I began to wonder - what would future me say to current me... eat less saturated fat would probably be one thing. Take risks while you can still walk up a hill unaided - this makes me sound like an old lady but we all think 'wow I'm 37 now my life is practically over why bother' - it's ridiculous - I blame the media and anti-ageing creams... a recent Vogue issue had 'hot' creative talent and then next to it in brackets (under 45) is 45 the cut off age for talent? WTF does that give our youth to look forward to?

Future me (with her blue rinse and hearing aid sitting in her rocking chair) would say 'looking good young lady - go ahead and wear those tight pants' (probably what I would say to deeply insecure younger me with her fresh skin and perky bottom)

I remember my grandmother (my father's mom) giving me advice when I was about 5 or 6 years old, she said 'wear lots of make-up and flirt with boys'. I only just got it. I think that's what my older self would say to me too. Not be a 'ho' (if there is such a thing and it's not just a sexist construct to disempower women and so on) but get out there and enjoy your life and feel good about your self and appreciate what you have while you have it and look forward to what's coming next.

So yeah it's not amusing or anecdotal but it's what I'm thinking about at the moment.

p.s. the weta came back... I think it's stalking my flatmate... . He'll be washing the dishes and suddenly look up and the weta will just be sitting there... watching him...

Sometimes it likes to mess with him by hiding inside handles of appliances that he needs to use. He reaches over to open the dishwasher and SURPRISE it's our friend, the weta. It's almost Hitchcockian.

Wednesday, 25 July 2012

blog - grrrrrrrrrrr

 Inspired by Russell Brand, the Dalai Llama and various other people who seem nicer for meditating. I have committed to meditating twice a day. Unfortunately it hasn't made that much difference yet. Today I was walking down Queen street, minding my own business when one of those charity vultures in a bright blue windbreaker jumped out from behind a pole and started trying to force me to notice him. "Hey pretty lady. Hi. Hi there. Is that a smile? Can I talk to you for a minute"

I have never felt less like the Dalai Llama. In all honesty I had to stop my self from grabbing the UNICEF clipboard he was waving around to attract my attention and shoving it in a very, very uncharitable place!

I don't like my space being invaded, but it's even worse when it's for charity. What the F? Just because you have UNICEF on your jacket doesn't mean I'm going to give you my credit card number. Also it pisses me off that the person who says no ends up feeling bad about it all. Oh no I just turned down UNICEF - I'm going to hell and so on.

My first job in New Zealand was doing the door to door version of harassment charity. You know when someone knocks on your door and shows you pictures of starving orphans or whatever and tries to get your credit card number... that was me. It's still right up there as one of the worst jobs I've ever had in my life ever (even worse than dressing up as a bear for a children's theatre production of Noddy. The bear suit weighed over 10 kilograms (I was Mrs Tubby Bear so there had to be padding to make me suitably tubby) and was like one of those 1980's sweat to lose weight plastic jogging suits  try dancing and singing the 'I'm a tubby bear' song in that! - I lost 5kgs doing that production! I wanted to rent the suit out to rich housewives as a get thin quick scheme...)

Anyway back to the story...

So the adverts for the charitable endeavour featured dollar signs (you know the one: 'make $$$') This is, of course, always a really bad sign. I now know that $$$ is code for 'who needs a soul anyway' or prostitution (which I have more respect for than ambush sales tactics).

The advert was something like "Save the world and make $$$. Get experience and work towards a promising career in sales and marketing."

This bore little resemblance to the actual job which was, in reality, 'knock on random people's doors and hassle them until they give you their credit card number or tell you to f&%k off"

They did training which involved teaching all the leaping out from behind things and forcing eye contact with annoying banter and arm flapping techniques that Mr Charity above used. For every person you convinced to sign up you got commission (I was having a 'ding unethical' moment but I was kind of in love with the idea of being struggling immigrant making good through the sweat of my brow and good old fashioned American family values - kind of like that mouse in "An American Tale" but not Jewish.... or in New York.... or a mouse.... ) 

Finishing my training I set out into the world with my fresh clipboard and a pocket full of dreams.

I lasted one day.  I hated it so much. I hated bothering people at home. I hated that we couldn't actually take one off donations that people were willing to make. I hated it all. The final straw was going to the house of a very lovely man from England. He asked me if I was ok. I burst into tears and ended up sitting amongst his rose bushes being comforted by the poor guy. I quit the next day. The most hilarious thing is that I found out from someone who worked there that everyone had been told that I'd been fired (obviously they didn't want anyone to realise that quitting was actually an option).

So now when someone comes at me with a clip board and patter I truly want to smash them.  Maybe it's bitterness - maybe it's not. I will, however, always give at least 5 bucks to anyone who is willing to dress up in an animal costume for charity - now that shows dedication. (trust me I know)

p.s. breaking news my flatmate has had a Weta on his sock for a couple of days. Both of us are too scared to touch it. I think it might be making a home there... I'm going to start a fund to help it bring its family over from the old country... I just need to get my clipboard

For those of you not from NZ this is a Weta

p.p.s. I wrote a song about the Weta... it is below

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Benjamin Button - not

I was debating whether to post this but I think that even though it sucks to be me in it (ha ha) it's pretty hilarious....

So this week I went to have my measurements taken for bridesmaids dresses with one of my dear friends. I'd had a heavy week (band practice, interesting event launches, mental karaoke evenings) So I rolled out of bed, showered, organized my hair (as best I could - it's always slightly touch and go with my hair), skipped the make-up and raced off to meet her.

I have to admit that I've been a bit nervous about having my measurements taken. It's always kind of nerve wracking. I don't own a scale (I say NO to Fascist weighing implements), so I have no idea other than on my clothes as to any changes in my silhouette. Anyway she measured me and looked a bit horrified (I could see her trying to keep it inside) as my waist and rib cage measurements were a lot bigger than she expected them to be, so for the dress they would have to get it two sizes bigger than my hip size. So of course the first thing that went through my mind was - omg there's something wrong with my body! I'm essentially malformed and so on.

I remember once reading that the essential difference between men and women was that when something doesn't fit a woman she thinks - "there's something wrong with me" while a man thinks "there's something wrong with this shirt". I was trying to me a man about the whole thing but not really doing so well.

Anyway moving on - we proceeded to the jewelry counter at a nearby mall. It had one of those islands that the assistant stands inside surrounded by pretty gems and the like. She immediately latched onto me and followed me round and round as I browsed asking me if she could help,  trying to upsell and generally scaring the living crap out of me with her attentiveness. (I couldn't work it out - did she think I was a shop lifter? How could I do it. Everything was under glass. Maybe she thought I was an X-men shop lifter.) Subconsciously I started going round and round faster and making random changes in direction to see if I was being paranoid or if Ping(our helpful assistant) was really on me like a heat seeking missile. She zigged for everyone of my zags and was starting to look really nauseous (round and round and round ya know) so I took pity on her and stopped and said "I don't buy jewelry - speak to my friend she's the one who's buying."

Ping looked confused and then said, "oh I thought... well sometimes mothers bring their daughters in to buy them jewelry"


I did a goldfish with my mouth a couple of times and then tried to smile politely and say it was ok but inside - inside was another story.... "I'm strangely shaped AND I'm OLD, but not only am I old but I LOOK OLD!"

I laughed it off - ha ha ha but really inside...

Also I've always looked pretty young for my age - resulting in a lot of really embarrassing moments including - when I was 27 being called to the front of a queue at a club by the bouncer and berated for trying to get into a club at my age. His face, when he saw my id, was a picture though.

It appears those days are gone now.

Truth be told I am old enough to be a mom - but my friend is 30!!!! come on!!

I immediately vowed to never ever ever go anywhere again without full war paint when I say full I mean full (but natural looking so that it seems I've put in barely any effort , of course). I considered googling (the fast hasn't been going so well) botox options. I went straight to the bathroom and put on mascara and some lipstick (which actually made quite a remarkable difference) but I had to admit that gone were the days that I would get id'd if I didn't have make up on. Now people think I'm just to busy with my four adult kids to be bothered with my appearance.

And maybe I am getting old... I remember seeing the artist Flo Rida's name and thinking "Why on earth would somebody with that many tattoos want to call himself Florida - what's this cat thinking? It's hardly appropriate Daddy-O. It's just too square. The youth of today... (ok I possibly didn't say the last part but the first bit is all true)

I remember one of my friends at the age of about 33 saying 'kids these days' when talking about her kids. I was horrified - she was acting like she was about a hundred and five (and it was about the terrible influence of that scandalous tear away Avril Lavigne - come on she's hardly Marilyn Manson!) (not that I would want my kids to be influenced by Avril... 'hey hey you you I don't like your girlfriend'...smack (Avril not the kids... ) When I was Avril's age we had to walk uphill through the snow and the blazing sun to attempt to break up someone's relationship )

I just don't know if I can get my head around looking like a mom. It wouldn't be so bad if I actually had kids - but not having kids and looking like a mom feels a bit... sad. If you don't have kids you should be glamourous and fabulous and have disposable income to spend on things like Botox and facial peels (which I don't).

The one bonus thing though was that for the rest of the weekend I got to bum around and do as little as I wanted (including eating popcorn in bed whilst watching True Blood) - a thing I'm led to believe doesn't happen when you have kids. And I can now buy alcohol at the supermarket without ID.

Below is Flo Rida apparently this song is about fellatio (the youth of today!!!)

Saturday, 14 July 2012

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My beloved Alicia

Saturday, 7 July 2012

GoogleFREAK:The internet... and other weird ass things

My name is Teresa and I'm an addict.

I'm addicted to Google - I can't stop googling things.

 Today in my googling I found out that if you were in Rock of Ages and married to someone called Katy that things are not going very well for you on the relationship front. Wowzers Tom Cruise get off the sofa - you didn't see that one coming! I have to admit I feel weirdly sorry for him... but only a little. 

The whole scientology thing is a bit of a brain melt. This, naturally, started off a bit of a googling chain reaction... Scientology, ancient dead aliens (they were dropped in Volcanoes by some dude called Zenu) attached to us and making us sad until we give all our money to the church of Scientology (erm I think that was how it worked), getting audited by a weird thing that looks like a Geiger counter with two metal tubes attached to it  and people feeling better than ever until they don't and try to leave but can't. Operating Thetan levels, missing people, SeaOrg the mostly land-based leadership of Scientology (yeah I know... what the F), intimidation, Squirrels (not the furry animals - the Scientology defectors) and the search for Tom Cruise's actual height (a secret more closely guarded than anything in Scientology.) 

Above is a snippet of the awesome bottle of fully carbonated crazy juice that is Tom Cruise and Scientology... (it's 30 minutes but - it's 30 minutes of WOW..... take some time out and watch it)

In the midst of my quest through the maze of WTFery that is the internet - I also found out that Oprah is a satanist - bringing Eckhart Tolle and God-forbid... meditation to the masses and obviously while they're sitting quietly and focusing on their breathing and surrounding themselves in white light or whatever, they are actually being inducted into the cult of Oprah (I knew all those book club books seemed suspicious!! Trying to get through the Poisonwood Bible did make me feel mildly suicidal!). Then I found out that Christianity is a cult that went mainstream (I did find the way the vid started with Jesus and Buddha and then proceeded on to other popular religions like Jim Jone's People's Temple and the Manson Family a leeeeetle bit confusing) and I also, also found out that the British Royal family is descended from ancient Sumerian reptile aliens.

 My final and possibly most disturbing discovery was that there has been a terrifying increase in the number of people losing the plot (google "bathsalts" - not the type from The Body Shop) and trying to eat other people's faces off. Out of these theories the only one with current actual documented evidence that it's actually really happening in reality is the "Zombies eating people's faces off" one (really did that have to be the one that's true - I thought the queen was aging suspiciously well - I had my money on the reptile theory) but still I'm starting to feel a little nervous about going out of the house... also I find myself starting to wonder - I mean there are some crazy things that happen in the world (see face-eating Zombies!) maybe there is some truth in the conspiracy theories.

Throughout history human beings have had a morbid fascination with weird and confusing shit (The fact that people actually watched Lost to the end is proof of this). Is it because we want to believe in something? 

When I was about 9 or 10 years old I found my mother's stash of "Mysteries of the Unexplained" journals. Being an above average reader for my age I soon developed a keen interest in aliens, ghosts and the Loch Ness monster... I also developed a real fear of being abducted by the previously mentioned aliens. (Many a night was spent lying very very still in my bed hoping that they wouldn't come and get me I wasn't totally sure what a probe was (only 10) but I could tell from the articles and the blurry re-enactment photograph that it wasn't good!... I remember reading one article that mentioned that there were millions of spheres that looked like mothballs when someone was abducted... to this day I still feel panicky when I smell mothballs!)

That was pre-internet nowadays anyone with access to an internet cafe can put their theory out into the world. I have begun to have a bit of a conspiracy theory conspiracy theory. What if all the conspiracy theories are there to be so ridiculous that we miss the truth in amongst them. Maybe the whole purpose of information overload is to break our spirits so that we just give up because it all seems too much.

How do we know what is and isn't true - people lie all the time. e.g. I didn't have sexual relations with that woman.... oh actually I did -or- Asbestos doesn't cause cancer.... oh look it does - or - Vanessa and I are still together.... oh wait we're not  (yes I'm still on about that) And don't even get me started on advertising!

How do we separate the truth from the rubbish? To be honest I haven't got a fucking clue. Maybe I'm not convinced that chemtrails are part of a weather control experiment by the USA military because my free will has been subdued by the fluoride in the water supply coating my pineal gland.... gah! (Google fluoride and pineal gland!)

All I have learned is that Googling begets more Googling!! This is not always the best thing in the world. For instance I now know that there are bucket-fulls of crazies out there - all of whom can type (sort of) and make websites and put things up on the internet (and create blogs that go blah blah blah about their opinions.... oh).

So what to do.... well, I'm thinking of implementing a Google fast... and getting a hobby... like basket weaving... or macrame.... only problem is I'm going to have to Google them because I don't know anything about them.... which creates a bit of a conundrum.

Or I could move out to the middle of nowhere and just get back to nature - I saw this enchanting place on the internet.... it's run by a lovely bearded man in a kaftan... I'm sure it's a legitimate spiritual retreat... now where is my credit card

PS below is a full Scientology Doco for anyone who is interested... it's cray cray!

Thursday, 21 June 2012

The eternal irony of existence a.k.a. things never work out quite the way you think they will a.k.a. Seriously?!? What the F&%???!!!

Not much been going down this week so I have dedicated this rambling and disjointed post to the randomness of life in general and just some dumb stuff I've thought this week and I ask what does it meeeaaaaan?

But first a digression into vocabulary to set up the post appropriately:

Ever since Alanis released her song in the 90's I've been a bit confused about the meaning of the word irony. The Macmillan dictionary defines it as follows....

Irony [UNCOUNTABLE] a form of humour in which you use words to express the opposite of what the words really mean
‘You’ve been so kind,’ she said, her voice heavy with irony.
a touch/trace/hint of irony: His writing contains a cheerful touch of irony.

[COUNTABLE/UNCOUNTABLE] a strange, funny, or sad situation in which things happen in the opposite way to what you would expect
tragic/bitter/cruel irony: By a cruel irony, General Franklin was killed at the very moment of his army’s great victory.
the irony (of something) is that: The irony is that it would have been faster to have taken the back roads after all.

(FYI this is versus sarcasm which is defined as... the activity of saying or writing the opposite of what you mean, or of speaking in a way intended to make someone else feel stupid or show them that you are angry. No, really????)

An intellectually superior (this is sarcasm) ex-boyfriend once told me that the Alanis song (which I liked at the time) misused the word irony. If the Macmillan dictionary definition is correct then Alanis wasn't far off... unless she actually changed the use of the word ironic... (p.s. he was a dick - this is neither ironic nor sarcastic.. it is merely accurate!)

So here we go - things recently that have made me go Seriously!?! WTF???!!!

1.This year I was going to study film-making but I thought... I want just one year of not being totally broke so I'm going to work this year buy a new car, pay off some debt, enjoy my life, and then next year I'll study.. .nek minnit... Lost job (recession)... car costing fortune... more broke than ever before  (can't do anything that costs anything )...WTF?

2. (This contains Game of Thrones season 1 spoilers so skip if you don't want to know...) The irony of watching Sean Bean in a program and thinking 'at last Sean Bean has a part where he gets to live to the end of the series and isn't a traitor of some sort' (see Boromir and the rest of Mr Beans body of work...) Well... Game of Thrones viewers know how that one ended!

PS below is a link to the Sean Bean death reel... Interesting fact "Sean Bean dies' comes up as one of the top searches on Google when you type in the name Sean Bean - maybe I was being a little naive thinking he would make it to the end of G.O.T.

3. This morning I got aggressively cut off from entering the motorway by a Christian radio and television sales rep. (Really - he had Rhema  and Shine TV logo's on his car and everything!) He gave me the dismissive sour face and almost drove me off the road anyway.... DUDE??!! WHAT WOULD JESUS DO!!

4. Don't know if this is ironic or not but it was a comment on the effect of media, film making, reality vs fiction in the modern world and gossip magazines on simple minded people like moi... the other day I was walking through a book store and saw a back cover of a book with a photo on it. "Hey" I thought to myself, "that looks just like those photos of Ashton Kutcher I saw where he was dressed like Steve Jobs in the 70's" When I got to the front of the book I realised that it was the autobiography of.... Steve Jobs. So it was actually Steve Jobs in the 70's looking like Ashton Kutcher dressed to look like Steve Jobs in the 70's... how did it come to this? Why didn't I just think 'hey that looks like Steve Jobs?' When did fake real become more real than real. (another relevant question ... when everyone is starving on Survivor island... what are the camera crew eating? I have visions of all these people on one side in their loin cloths fashioned from animal intestines and what's left of their sleeping bags, eating bugs and drinking their own urine and on the other side there's a camera man eating a burger chilling in a comfy chair under an umbrella next to the catering table. It kind of takes the whole... survival thing out of Survivor. They should call it "SURVIVOR" (refer to sarcasm/ irony definitions above)

5. Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis. Why why why? How will I ever have a long lasting relationship when they couldn't make it. They've got an island dammit!!! How did this happen? When did hope die? It feels like  finding out that Snow White has been dumped by the prince after being discovered videoing herself involved in light bondage and MMF action with Doc and Sneezy in the palace pool house... it's just plain WRONG!

It's more than a little depressing. I just have to keep on reminding myself that it can also go the other way... e.g. Woman about to get evicted from house wins lottery or finally giving up on love and then meeting your soulmate in a parking garage. 

Case in point - I was having a poor me moment re. relationships a while ago and as I lay on my bed in the starfish of despair (this is when I lie in the middle of the bed on my back in a starfish position and yell 'why? why???' at the ceiling - normally I alternate between the starfish of despair and the clam shell of despondency - which is more like a foetal position and which, in opposition to the starfish,  involves whimpering and muttering of "why why??" rather than the full volume raging at the injustice of it all of the former), so as I lay there I thought - "I don't want to be Jennifer Aniston - always dating the John Mayers of life while the Angelina's run off with our Brad Pit (note to self:  avoid combining self pity and alcohol with online tabloids in future) Within a few weeks  of this this thought she was dating that super yummy Justin Theroux (who I have always had a serious crush on) I REALLY want to be Jennifer Aniston right now. You just never know when it's going to turn around.

Is it karma? I don't know, but it's good to remember that sometimes things just don't go your way for no good reason and not because of anything you've done... but then sometimes things do go your way for the exact same lack of reason. So be ready for it!

Below is a picture of Justin Theroux - metaphor for the week - sometimes you lose a Brad but sometimes you gain a Justin! (I am soo deep... yes that's also sarcasm)

Friday, 15 June 2012

Mug Wars

We human beings are territorial. While we have evolved to be able to play words with friends during the completion of important work tasks (neurosurgery and the like) and support a child in Africa for only $1 a day, the grumpy little banana hoarding monkey inside us all just won't go away. One place we can see this is in the work place in a game I have come to affectionately call 'Mug wars'.

 You bring in a special mug to work. Possibly it was a gift with 'World's greatest mum' on it or maybe it's exactly the right size for your morning coffee. Whatever the reason you chose it, you chose it and it's yours and then one day you arrive at work. Hmmmm, you think to yourself... I could do with a coffee/ tea/ chai latte / insert hot drink of choice. You mosey on down to the cupboard, open the door and BAM! no mug. The horror... the fury. Some bastard has taken your mug! The first time this happens there's a strange feeling of being violated. Who would do that to you? Why would they do that?

The second time it happens you get angry. And indignant! And... angry. Seriously, if someone doesn't want to drink out of the dodgy looking pint sized work supplied mugs then why don't they bring their own instead of taking something that ISN'T THEIRS! You leave scathing notes on the work notice board or take to hiding your special cup behind or even under things on your desk. Anything to preserve the sanctity of your special drinking vessel. You give co-workers the beady eyeball. Was it you who took my mug? You try to work out who you can trust. If someone can use your mug what's to stop them from permanently 'borrowing' your special pencil from the $2 shop with the plastic  eraser on top shaped like a bowl of noodles. Work relationships sour and paranoia abounds.

I used to be really judgemental of mug guarders. Ha ha ha I would laugh smugly to myself. It's just a stupid mug - who gets that upset about a mug? LOL, ROFL etc.

Except it appears that I do....

A couple of weeks ago I rolled up at work - tired from the night before (I might have been to see a band - the details are hazy) and desperate for a coffee. I got to the cupboard and what do you know... no mug. Everyone knew which mug was mine. It was pretty noticeable. Anyone who had taken it had to know that it was mine.  I felt a wave of anger and resentment with a hint of betrayal. Who would do that kind of thing. Especially now when I needed that mug most!

Grudgingly I made myself a coffee in one of the substandard work supplied mugs. Obviously this abomination of a cup was way too small so I would have to go back for a second helping - annoying. I was grumbling to myself as I went to my desk. Across from me was a reliever who I'm particularly fond of. He inquired about my well-being. I said I was feeling a bit grouchy. He said 'oh dear, sorry to hear that' and then he took a sip of tea from... MY MUG!

Me: THAT'S MY.... (I realise I am yelling and try to tone it down a bit).... mug
Hapless Reliever: Oh is it? (looks at the mug nods approvingly) It's a great mug (takes another sip)
Me: (low growling tone... think wolf mama protecting cubs) That's my mug.
HR: Oh....(HR is being a bit slow on the uptake here - part of me wonders if this is on purpose to prolong mug abduction) ... oh sorry ( HR looks genuinely sorry - hmm liar??) I can use another mug if you want...

At this point I realise that HR probably doesn't know it's my mug (being a reliever and all) and I start to feel a liiiiitle bit like a crazy psycho.

Me: It's ok (I say in high strangled tone that clearly indicates that it's absolutely not ok but I'm trying to pretend that it's ok so that no one thinks I'm weird - it may be too late other people are starting to stare. I try to smile. It's hard. I have to force it. I think it might look more like a grimace... or a snarl... I stop smiling immediately)
HR: No really, I can get another cup - I didn't realise that people had special mugs.
Me: (aloud - in a strangled high pitched voice) That's ok, you didn't know... ( (inside) - Oh come on, you can't tell me you didn't notice the 20 shitty 1970's smokey-glass half-size coffee mugs interspersed between noticeably expensive full size mugs that are obviously lovingly chosen to suit the individual drinkers needs and personality!!)

The hapless reliever looked at me,  eyes wide with what I think might have been fear, and then drained the tea and handed over the mug. I felt a little bad about my outburst, but not so bad that I didn't take the mug, wash it out and immediately make myself a cup of coffee in said special mug. The coffee tasted good. It tasted like victory.

Later that day I hid the coffee cup behind a the pen holder on my desk. (I managed to stop myself from leaving a scathing note on the board - only just though)

After 'mug-gate' I had to take a long hard look at myself. Decisions were made. I would never judge someone's ridiculous behaviour again - well I would try not to  it would depend how ridiculous it was ( eg. cycle shorts will never be immune to my ridicule and people with giant fins on the back their car to improve road holding in a country where the maximum speed limit is 100 km per hour and ...) and I would be less possessive of things because they're only things after all. But, having said that, God help the person who 'borrowed' my twink pen and didn't give it back... I'm off to write a note on the notice board about it right now....

p.s. this is a picture of the mug... I'm sure you can understand what the fuss was about...

Friday, 8 June 2012

The least chilled out person I know....

I am officially one of the least chilled out people I know. For years I have struggled to be have that cool I don't-care/what-ever-ness about me, but the time has come for me to admit that I'm not cool and I'm not calm. I'm bossy and neurotic and, occasionally, mildly agoraphobic and I don't deal well with change.

People who know me are probably L-ing their F A O at this statement. They know it's true. They know I'm in denial. The revelation came this weekend when I went on holiday with my lovely friends on a bit of an impromptu kiwi road trip. It was hard to get me out of the house into the car. "But  I have 15 episodes of Game of Thrones to watch... and my cat will miss me" I cried as darling friend (who for the purposes of blogging and privacy will be referred to as Darling Friend) expertly wrangled me into agreeing to go with. Our accomplices on the journey will be called NZ's best lasagna maker (NZBLM) and her flatmate NZ Guy.

The lack of plan, however, bothered me the most. I felt unsettled. "What do you mean make it up as you go along???" the tiny little stressed-out person inside me yelled. ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN! To qualify this - the 'anything' that could have happened in the far north of NZ would most likely have been getting a flat tyre or running out of chips before we got to the next gas station. Yet there I was, neurosis at the ready, prepared for anything... the battle of the car door locking being a perfect example

The scene - stopping off somewhere to go for a walk in a magnificent Ancient Kauri forest...

Me: (attempting chilled out tone) "Hey man shouldn't you lock the door"
NZ guy: (in infuriatingly laid back NZ guy fashion) " don't worry, this is the country"
Me: "I really think you should lock the doors"
NZ guy: (looking at me oddly but still annoyingly chilled out) 'nah man it'll be sweet"
Me: (starting to get worked up)"shut up and lock the doors"
NZ guy: "but it's the...."
NZ guy: (look of fear in eyes) "ok..... " 

So we proceeded, along an amazing wooden walkway, through the magnificent trees so old when we touched them they felt more like stone than like wood. The whole scene looked like it had snuck off the set of The Hobbit for a quick smoke break and decided that it didn't fancy going back. (Right now I'm sure Sir Peter Jackson is yelling at a lowly forest wrangler... "HOW DO YOU LOSE A WHOLE FOREST. And what am I supposed to do with all these elves now!)

As I walked through the trees I was worrying about the bags in the car and my current financial situation and WTF I was going to do about my work situation (I contract as an English Language Teacher and work is thin on the ground at the moment. Really thin). I looked around and thought "Oh Trees" and then I stopped (I was absent-mindedly videoing said trees for posterity) and thought - "These trees have been here for hundreds of years... and I'm here now... and I think I'm missing it."

So I hung out with the trees for a bit and tried to hang out with the moment too, this is not easy for me. I also realised that I'm not going to change... thinking about every angle and wanting to be prepared is part of my personality and the years of trying to be someone different haven't made a dent in my intrinsic behavioral patterns, but have succeeded in making me dislike myself and have made having 'fun' seem like a whole lot of hard work.

So what to do... maybe the secret would be to accept that I'm neurotic and a bit odd and try to do things anyway. To stop fighting what I am and maybe work with it for a change, being organised and responsible isn't a terrible trait (it's not a sexy trait either but I have an electric guitar that makes up for it). As I thought that I became aware of the trees, really aware of them and I just wanted to laugh and laugh. It was a moment's revelation that will probably result in a lifetime of having to deal with myself.

The rest of the weekend turned into a blur of awesomeness...  we drank tequila, I sang ACDC with the pub band (didn't know the words but with ACDC does it really matter if you can get through the chorus), we did carpet synchronized swimming (don't ask) and my fellow travellers turned our lounge into an epic blanket fort.

The next day we ended up at an awesome place called 'Action World' where you can try out tight-rope walking; trapeze; rock climbing but to gain entry to these you have to go on the super slide, which looks fine from the ground but at the top it's like a nightmare tower of terror (especially for me with my epic fear of heights)

I didn't want to go. I really didn't. I was terrified but in keeping with my new plan to accept myself I decided not to try to convince myself that I wasn't terrified. I waited for my turn, feeling terrified, I went up the weird, wobbly stairs, feeling terrified, I sat at the top of the slide in the awkward half pillow case thing you have to sit in, really really really f&#@ng terrified and then I went down the slide. And then I knew really terrified! When I finished I waited for a bit and went again. And then I went again. By the third time the terror was turning into excitement and anticipation. "New Zealand's best lasagna maker" mentioned the same thing when she went on the trapeze. She said she had fallen off so many things that by the time she went on the trapeze she just didn't care anymore. (She fell off the high tight-rope about a hundred times but in the end she made it across... you always do)

As sit here writing this I don't feel like a different person. I feel the same, if anything in some ways I feel more stressed and more scared about the future not because it's going to be terrible but because I know that I just have to keep doing the things that scare me until they don't scare me anymore. And because now I have no excuses not to do things just because they're scary. All I can do is be as prepared as I can be and then be prepared to jump or to fall off... and get back on again.

Which is a metaphor for life I guess. Just keep falling off and getting back on again... and like the trapeze instructor lady said "don't look down - that's when you fall. Look up at where you're going and you'll make the jump"

This is me going down the slide from the tower of terror!

Tuesday, 5 June 2012

meaningful stuff and not so meaningful too

When I started this blog (a week ago - it's sounds profound to begin with "when I started this blog" but really it was just a week ago so yeah anyway) I wanted to write about things that I was thinking about - possibly meaningful topics and deep philosophical conundrums that confront the modern woman in a ever- changing society. So for this week I've been pondering - 'what oh what shall I write about?'

I, of course, then proceeded on to have a full-blown Virgo moment... this blog... it must be the best blog ever written... it must be PERFECTION... when people read it choirs of angels should sing "aaaaaah thiiiiss is the beeesssst blooooooog evaaaaaaaaah aaaah"

This piece of super-rational thinking was followed by the inevitable.... complete inability to write anything lest it fall below the standard of awesomeness I wish to set for myself (and in fact all blogs ever written ever ever). So I've fallen back on that good old writers trick... just write whatever.

Keeping this in mind, I'm going to try to do one thing a week I haven't tried before and then write about it and also tell you about all the shit my friends said when we were drinking (it's going to be AWESOME). Since most of my friends are pretty smart and articulate (even after a couple of glasses of wine) I'm sure it's all going to end up o.k.

So to the task at hand. This week I went to check out the Auckland Playback theatre group. Playback theatre is a kind of improvisational theatre where the audience tells stories and moments from their lives and then the company of actors perform it. The actors are great!

So anyone can tell their story - so this is both the awesomeness and the not so awesomeness of the experience. When the stories are good - they're great but when they're bad.... well the lights are all on and you have to walk past everyone to get to the door, which is normally where the storyteller sits sooooo if the story's bad then you're not going anywhere. And not everyone is Steven King. Trust me...

One story was about the change from analogue to digital television in New Zealand and the process of getting a new television vs getting a special 'freeview box' for the current TV set which was nearly impossible but story teller 1 didn't want a new TV because the the old one had sentimental value so she would have to get a loan to pay for the changes to the current sentimental TV and because of the playback theatre format this meant the audience got to sit through the story being told and then watch the story of the analogue to digital including the telephonic loan application process being re-enacted by the intrepid theatre company. It was GREAT!

Writing the above makes me sound like a total beeeyatch - as I write it I feel bad. I feel mean and judgemental. I can see the value of the form. I can see what they were trying to do. I totally understand the process and how it's good for people to have their stories heard... but part of the way through the woman with her harem pants and bandanna discussing her aid work in India (the story involved scintillating details like a rundown of how many shock absorbers they damaged on the drive to the mountain school), I started to get that horrible feeling of claustrophobia not unlike the sensation created by the breathing-in-space noises in '2001 A Space Odyssey' (I've never watched the whole thing, I couldn't get past the breathing) or in ocean liner based disaster movies when the water is hitting your upper lip and you still haven't found a way out of the ballroom.

However there is a silver lining to all this I learnt a new word .... intersex. As in "this girl I know said that she was intersex but when she showed me her vagina she clearly wasn't. Even though my friend and I both said she looked normal "down there", she didn't believe us and so my friend had to show the other girl HER vagina to prove that there really was no difference."

Yes, this was also one of the stories.

Weirdly enough, I think I'll probably go back again. The same genetic quirk that makes us all addicted to the Big Brother Shower Hour and the Jersey Shore makes me want to go back and see what happens next. Will story teller number 1 finally get digital TV in time for her "New Zealand's Got Talent" audition? Will 'Bandanna-wearing philanthropist" get those shock absorbers fixed? What will happen to the red-head with the fear of lifts and how did  two guys with highly unlikely randomly matching fro's end up sitting on opposite sides of the audience? Are they related or is it just some kind of weird synchronicity??

There's only one way to know....

Go to see some Playback theatre near you - let me know what you think....

Saturday, 26 May 2012

So after having an intense discussion with someone last night ,next to a fire, in a room full of polished looking yuppie types drinking pretentious beer, I have decided to start blogging. You can draw your own conclusions from that.

Anyway... my friend and I were discussing babies and thirty-something friends with babies. To clarify my friend and I are both thirty-something friends without babies who have (obviously) other similar aged friends who have in unison popped out a whole bunch of babies. Aforementioned friend had baby-free date night with friends who were babied up. The baby mommas spent the whole night bitching about how hard it is to be a mother and how they hated it and how aforementioned friend was so lucky to be single and free and able to do anything she wanted.

Which made me wonder - why are we trawling the interweb for likely looking men and then finally meeting "the one", settling down and producing much-longed-for offspring and then bitching about both the man and the offspring to our friends (some of whom are trawling through the interweb and so on)?

Of course this isn't a blanket occurrence but it is pretty prevalent. I've heard it in various workplaces, on buses, at coffee shops etc. So, being the curious monkey that I am, I want to know why. Why? Why? Why?

I for one have been thinking about the fact that I might never have babies - late thirties... no likely prospect in sight and I don't know whether it's heartening or depressing to hear women's stories about the "joy of motherhood". Is it one-upmanship? (some of the discussions do remind me of the famous Monty Python skit... "your whole family lived in a shoe-box.... we dreamed of living in a shoe-box" = "you're baby doesn't sleep through the night... my baby has never slept ever ever" "Well my boobs are never going to be the same - aren't you lucky to be single and free and with your original boobs"  "But what about your child" "I'd rather have the boobs" REALLY WTF?????)

Is it fashionable to dislike your child? Is it uncool to be into motherhood? Are mom's trying to make non-mom's feel better about their non-mom status by making babying seem horrific e.g.Single non-mom: "You have a loving relationship and a beautiful child (insert slight tinge of envy)" new mom: "Oh it's horrible the baby never sleeps, I can't remember when I last had sex and I really want my original boobs back"

Is it a case of "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence"? If we refer back to the previous example, we can see that new mom is thinking non-mom is going out all the time and hooking up with hot Brazilian surfers at cool parties. Non-mom is thinking of the last time she had sex, which was six months ago with a balding, middle-aged  accountant who, kept on calling her mommy during sex. This means that neither new-mom nor non-mom are getting any and the only real advantage that non-mom has is being able to watch an entire episode of Dexter/ Grey's Anatomy/ Project runway etc in peace. (At this point I hear a chorus of new-mom's saying - YES all we want is to watch a TV program in peace.... and possibly our original boobs back!!!!!.)

It could also be that the media has created a golden ideal of motherhood which involves glowing laughing women and cute, cuddly babies and  lavender-scented bath times and never-ending supplies of four-ply toilet paper and puppies and a catchy theme tune and, possibly, unicorns. So after pushing out the mini-me women are stumbling around tired, disillusioned and bitter, trying to find the coffee and yelling " who used all the toilet paper and where are my fucking unicorns!"

And then there's the judgement on women who decide they don't want to have children. There must be something wrong with her - she must be cold or dysfunctional or devoid of human compassion or some such crap. (I have to admit that I have actually thought these thoughts once apon a time and seen it going through people's minds when they ask about my childless, man-less status - OMG you should see their faces when I mention that I also have a cat!)

It seems to me that all women are being set up for a weird lose-lose mentality. We do it to ourselves and we do it to each other. No babies by accident.... sad, lonely loser, crazy cat lady or wanton strumpet... no babies by choice... selfish cold fish (also see: crazy cat lady or wanton strumpet).... happy mom.... unambitious throwback... miserable mom.... ungrateful whinger.

The only way I can cope with all of this is to try to adopt a win-win attitude - i.e. if I do have kids then I get the wonderful/terrifying experience of raising a another human being. If I don't then I get to very, very occasionally sleep with hot Brazilian surfers, watch entire marathon runs of my favourite TV programs and I also get to keep my original boobs.

I would be really interested to hear the opinions and experiences of moms, new-moms and non-moms... please post in the comments.