Resolute

So 2012 draws to a close, I have much to prepare – various news years resolutions to make and also a shitload of previous new years resolutions to make good on because I thought the world was ending and I wouldn’t answerable to any of the rubbish I wrote last year

Each year I  make a list of things I want to do better or thoughts of making myself a better person, I think I may have mentioned them here before in a kind of ‘don’t really hold me accountable’ way

Looks like I’m going to say the same thing again, make a list of well-intentioned determinations that will be all but forgotten by Easter because I’ll be promising something else just to receive chocolate.

No no no no non (that last one is French, cause I’m all classy and shit)

This year they will not be selfish proclamations and declarations about my weight and constant quest for outer beauty (that seems to elude me each year like a bastard), but a determined purpose to make a real difference and these ‘differences’ shall fall into categories;

1)      Pay it forward;  whether it be to ensure that an arbitrary individual receives the hug they so richly deserve or perhaps giving a beat down to  those fucking arsehats that really believe you can just round the corner at the lights and change lanes at the same time without indicating….. mother fffuuuuucc

 

*ahem*

 

2)      Random acts of kindness; quite seriously this is an important one that I wish to embody in its entirety.  I want to randomly make people happy for no particular reason.  However I have horrid visions of handing off a bottle of wine to someone, wishing to congratulate them for being ace,  only to ignite their raging alcoholism and thus thrusting them into a downward spiral of negativity and self-flagellation.  But really, once you give a gift can you really determine how it’s utilised…. Surely not? It would be my mistake, move on.  I might keep it to the mundane by paying off peoples parking tickets instead…. Just in case.

 

3)      Give of yourself; I’m going to give it all over the place man…. in a charitable way, I’m going to give for those that run for cancer, walk for diabetes, grow horrifying facial hair for mens health, drink wine for dipsomaniacs awareness, eat for anorexics anonymous, drink fake  blood for those with an intolerable obsession for Vampires because they think True Blood is a documentary – whatevs – I’m all about the charitable, everyone has a cause, I don’t judge, just make sure that anything over $2 is tax deductable.

 

4)      Make time for what you love.  Well that’s easy, I love Savignon Blanc (cats piss according to my friend….. I’m ok with that) Pinot Grigio, Gewurztraminer and a jaunty Chardonnay that isn’t of the ‘house’ variety – we have many days to spend together, many stories to share.

 

Thank you for reading throughout 2012, I was pretty sure the world was going to end on some random date in December, but now that I know it’s not for a while yet I will be spending my time writing enlightening posts about personal revelations that may have a bit to do with the aforementioned wine.

 

Happy new year to my tens of readers – may you find your happiness in 2013 if you have not already

xx

 

ps: seriously though, they are some ace resolutions,  Pay it forward, Random acts of kindess, Give of yourself and Make time for what you love.  PRGM  - if you take nothing from these blogs - take that - PRGM.  It's catchy.

Positively Happy

Ok this is going to be an inspirational one peeps.

We’re getting to the end of the year – two public holidays in a row are looming upon us and I personally am starting to feel a little cray cray.

It’s harder to get out of bed towards the end of the year, it’s harder to be the energetic, effervescent ball of good time non-confrontational fun that people at work are so used to…..  it’s hard to cook the kids something that doesn’t go directly from the freezer to the oven.  I’m just tired – we’re all tired.  It’s December man, we’ve given up on giving a shit.

The last few days I’ve staggered around like a like a sleep walking elephant.  Glaring at the world through a twitching eye and a wayward fringe.  But something happened to me, yes something gave me the spring back in my step and it wasn’t my breakfast G&T this time.

It was ‘Positivity’ (I want to put pictures of flowers around that word).

What the? Who the? What?  (shit she’s on a detox again…….).

No really, I mean it.  I don’t mean positivity like ‘I’m a good person, I am a friendly person, I deserve to be treated more like a person and less like a slave’.   I mean this.

‘Hey *insert name of random person* you look super nice today!’

Or

‘Jolly Roger!  I saw that reverse park! you nailed it! Stranger high five!’

or

‘Wow I really liked the way you talked up sustainable printing practices at the staff meeting today, you really got me thinking’

Ok that last one was kind of tainted with sarcasm, but you get the drift – pump up someone’s tyres to get your own engine revving! (holla first and last mechanic type reference thing for the year)

It really works.  I said 3 nice things to people today, like totally off the cuff and random – I thought it, I said it and then I walked on a cloud of crazy happy with my chest puffed out a little.

‘Hey everyone – did you hear that – I said some nice shit for no reason!’  whoo yaay me right?!

I am running the risk at the moment of you thinking I’m a complete bitch most of the time, cause if you people already do this and 3 nice comments is you on a bad day when you have a hangover, gall stones and a raging thumbnail infection, well then I have to lift my game!

Having said that I already have an action plan in place. Tomorrow I’m aiming for five (and yes I have to work on the sarcasm), the next day 10 and then 15 and so on and so one until ALL I do all day is compliment people and voila serotonin crazed smiling freak Emily is here!  I can see after a while Husband is going to have to talk me down

“Come on Emily, you don’t need to do it, just say something mean again, say something mean, don’t praise randoms, put your iphone down, I know you’re saying nice shit on Facebook again, you can be happy without this, you just need some help, no no don’t wish the world happiness on twitter, you’re going to overdose nooooooooo………”

I will be placing a limit on this no need for reciprocation or recognition flattery.  Under no circumstances will I go in for the hug.  There’ll be no cheek kissing  or arm squeezing  – let me make that very clear from the outset.  So if I give you an unsolicited compliment don’t try it on, I’ll ro sham bo you as soon as look at you.

So rock it in the new world with me, get out there and compliment your pants off (ok that just went somewhere I didn’t intend…)

Oh hey! Yeah you reading this, you read that so fast, are you a speed reader or just really smart?  You seem smart.  I’m loving your hair right now……..

 

Ps: Jolly Roger isn’t a person – I’m trying to bring that back into my vernacular instead of saying ‘Holy Fuck’ because that’s apparently crass…..

If you don't have anything nice to say.....

So it’s awesome to have little people, little people that love you and feel so comfortable with you that they spout out whatever is in their tiny little, not able to filter brains……..  well actually it’s not that awesome really.

I’ve realised as my kids get older I find myself standing ‘on the sidelines’ of conversations,  listening to them commune with elderly relatives / people you used to work with / other parents / people you currently work with, just holding my breath and hoping they know what to say or are eloquent enough not come off sounding like loserville snot nosed bratty aresholes!

Unfortunately for me my kids pick the times when I think they need to shine to actually revert to rudimentary thought and action (they’re so much smarter at home…..)

I give you this example off the top of my head;

Shit day at work – pick up Charlie after school and take him to drama class ( I know, right! High brow much?), then pick up Lucy and dash back into work to wrestle with the scanner that refused to allow me to scan that 68 page document that must be emailed by 5pm on the same day.

Panicked  stress pants is an understatement to how I’m feeling.  Working part time somehow means you have this over abundant work ethic (must prove this job sharing caper is worth it….. I’m working so hard man you can’t even believe I’m only part time, yeah?).  So blinded by the need to prove I’m committed I rush in and leave the previously mentioned kid with the boss (mistake…….)

 My two senior managers dote on her, because a) she’s hella cute and b) it’s Friday afternoon and they can’t be fucked doing anything else.

Do you know what I get for my earnest, think about work first, conscientious ways?  This;

‘My Mum does really loud pop offs, but not as smelly as Dads’

When they told me about it all I heard was silence apart from the sound of a distant cricket, oh and  yeah, them snorting. 

I was fucking mortified.  Really?????  Really????  We practice your fucking ballet movements and sing the god damn ABC song 24 bloody 7 but you come out with that?

What is the point of having kids if they can’t reflect how awesome you think you want to be?

Have I lived it down?  No.

Do I take my kids to work anymore? No.  (actually that’s not true, sometimes I need to sit them there for a bit before their grandparents pick them up because the self-centred child carer’s won’t take them with that ‘weepy eye’….)

I guess kids say what you, as an adult, really want to.  That is before we get all narky and teach them what’s rude and what’s best left unsaid until you get home from the supermarket.  Why do we do that to them?  Is it because we want them to fit in with society or is it because we don’t want to be embarrassed by them?  Are we all just polite and silent because our parents didn’t want to be embarrassed by us?

Neither of them are immune to these outbursts of honesty, my six year old proved his inability to mentally check oneself before speaking when he loudly and confidently proclaimed to his younger sister;

 ‘That’s what will happen to you if you continue to not eat your vegetables’

He was pointing to a short statured person ( by that I mean a midget, dwarf, tiny person – what’s the right term these days?).  Embarrassed? Yes.  But also a little proud because he listened to what Husband and I had constantly pleaded with him about for the past few years, plus his sentence construct was undeniably awesome and he saw what he thought was action and effect; point and case (well sort of…)

I realy don’t want to stifle their amazing ability to draw completely left field parallels between the remarkable lessons their father and I teach them with the lessons of the real world.  They’re funny and have an amazing innocence and resonance about them.  But there is of course a point where I have to draw the line with these honest proclamations and this is it;

In the bathroom, my  darling 3 year old daughter cannot contain her excitement,  she is totally uber thrilled after seeing me in leggings and a singlet (this will be an overshare), she squeals in delight whilst jumping around and says;

 ‘There’s a baby in your tummy, I’m going to be a big sister!’

As if the whole ‘pop off’ incident wasn’t enough, I’m imagining her sharing this with the whole child care centre.

Firstly, I am not pregnant.  Secondly, if anyone else had said this to me it would have been a swift ‘fuck you’, and eye gouge,  but being that she’s who she is, well I love her enthusiasm and am happy to know that if the ‘accidental’ baby comes along she’ll be fine with it.

This was however, the moment I declared I would return to the gym forever and would also introduce the term ‘tact’ into any future teachings that happen within this household.

It’s so bloody hard shaping the considerate leaders of tomorrow……

Broken Plastic, Broken Spirit.

Since having kids I've noticed that my sentimentality meter has gone into over drive.  I get so attached to 'things' they have used and played with, it's almost like I believe a little part of my childs soul is attached to the object..... actually I think I  really do believe that!

Recently a much favoured tupperware sandwich box broke.  So did my heart.

Hyperventilating, I went to throw it out.

But instead I wrote this Ode

Ode to the broken Tupperware

Oh piece of plastic, so close to my heart

Sitting on the dish rack sides ripped apart

Sun gleaming through your almost see through shell

Why are you leaving us, what the frigging hell?

 

You contained bowlfuls of soup like a breeze

Held in all the left over ‘sketti with ease

We used you for morning tea and plentiful snacks

You did it all, no complaint, whines or cracks

But now the hinge that secures you closed

Has eroded and buckled like a cheap garden hose

With a life time guarantee you definitely weren’t cheap

What for? All you’ve guaranteed is me being left in a nostalgic heap

 

I see you in pictures of first days of school

Or holding a sandwich for a trip to the pool

Or that time long ago when you carried the cake

On that horrendous ill-fated trip to the lake (don’t ask)

 

You’ve done good work looking after food for my kids

Been so useful when we’ve lost all the containers with lids

I salute you and your millions of applications

So stackable and neat, you’re a heaven sent creation

For you to be thrown away in the rubbish seems so sad
 

You’ve been with us through the good times and the bad

Well…. you could still be useful, with some tape or blu-tack

I might just pop you in the cupboard……. right up the back………

You should have been around when I had to get rid of some ripped cot sheets...... hysteria!

Facebook Faceoff....

So I’m taking a month off Facebook – it’s a challenge.  A challenge of monumental proportions.

I removed the link from my internet tool bar (yes I am too lazy to type the URL in…), I have tried to forget my password, I have not allowed myself to use my iphone for anything other than text messages and phone calls.  I didn’t realise how often I just check in, how often I update people on my status….. I love it – I miss it.

I can’t do it, I can’t do it, my fingers are itchy, my eyes are twitchy and now I’m rhyming.

It’s been a tough two days……

What’s weird though is how often in my head I think in ‘Status update’ terms – my brain is swirling and whirling with sentences of what I’ve been up to.  Something will happen and I’ll formulate how I’m going to tell people about it.  That has to be some kind of syndrome surely?

" ‘overbearingus updateus repetetivea' (that’s totes Latin) – the need to continuously advise the public of your goings on, either in an upbeat perky way that will instantly derive derision amongst your ‘friends’ or in a sarcastic tone that will be misinterpreted as cockiness which will result in you being treated like a pariah on future status updates."

I’ve got it bad man, it’s real and I’ve simply got to get them out – so here they are, two days worth of status updates for you read whilst I prepare to be a pariah;

• Got the window washers around at the moment – it’s like living in a zoo – seriously how many windows can one house have and how are they peering in all of them at the one time? (on the flip side though – I am being an awesome parent right now…..so nice and calm….)

• Busted going to the toilet by the window washers – thought they were up the other end of the house.  Can’t palm those noises off on the kids…… red face.

• Oh gosh, I really can’t understand why so many people are so vindictive and nasty – even if I knew someone was guilty of something heinous I would never stand outside a courthouse and spit on them or yell shit at them.  I really feel for Lindy Chamberlain.  I’m pretty sure I saw a pitchfork in some 80s footage.

• Holy walnut crackers my windows are clean!
• Took  Lucy to the MCHN this morning for 3.5 year check up – appears she has a bung eye – have to get her eyes tested – am already imagining her in beyond cute, child sized adult glasses, is that wrong?
• Lara Bingle – really? I can’t…. I don’t…. I mean I….. what? Huh?
• Ugh – holla – gastro is in the house again
• I should really work out how to use twitter.  I’m not on a Twitter challenge.
• Seriously, didn’t even last 24 hours, Lucy finger smudges and ‘goodbye Daddy’ kisses on 80% of windows around the house.  I want my money back
• Have just cooked caramel slice, zucchini slice, choc chip biscuits and butterscotch pudding  - not sure why, perhaps it’s my passive way of teasing poor Charlie – he can’t eat any of it – although I think butterscotch self saucing pudding would make an excellent stomach/intestinal lining….
• Ate half a pack of choc bits – feeling a little queasy – is it the choc bits (and raw cake mix and zucchini slice and 4 cups of coffee) or is it Gastro……

Oh that felt good – my head is empty again and I’ve sort of had a facebook hit. Only 20 something days to go (when did I start again?  How many days in June?  Did I say calender month?....)

ugh, one more

• Have forgotten Twitter password.  It is taking FOREVER for them to send me through a new one.............

Case of the Whiskey Sours....

You now that song “Its the end of the world as we know it” by REM?  That crazy mother has been swimming around in my head like no ones business after getting pissed at a really rude shop attendant.

You know when you wish you could zing someone and you think of it 2 to 3 hours later or even worse only 5 minutes later in the car and it just wouldn’t be right to run back down and blurt it out with your hands on your hips nodding your head.... haven’t done that before.....

In my ragey drive home ‘It’s the end of the week as we know it and I need wiiiiiiiiiiine’ was going around in my head, along with some other choice words.  Then I thought how awesome would it have been if I had burst into song and totally gleeked it up –

I couldn’t help but rewrite some of the verses to suit my requirements.  Suffice it to say I’ll never win an Aria but I do feel fine now it’s all out!

(You may have to youtube the song to remember it, I’ve taken it from the second verse.....)

Check out chicks got the power, got yourself a case of sours. Ignore rude question spurn, in hell you hope she burns, remember tight lip grin, infuriating, head turning, price checking, grudge getting. Trolley doesn’t want to escalate, emotive agitate, watch the handle, check my motive, stop the frown stop the frown, what? My confidence, crushed, oh no don’t call me dear couldn’t you hear? A torment, a torment, a torment of whys?  Gonna give her a contusion, forgot my aperitifs, my patience unwinds

It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it and I need wine.........

The other night I dreamt of wives, living up their separate lives. Sipping cocktails in the (checkout) line, The Blenheim, Ruby Duchess, Grey Goose, Harvey Wallbang(er), you awful nasty, bitch face, check out chick boom! You sarcastic, simplistic damn bum head, right? RIGHT

It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it and I need wine.........

Sorry for getting that song stuck in your head. 

Oh and suck on it check out chick....

Catch youse – gotta go set up a flash mob at random supermarket in not to be mentioned suburb....... (check your facebook invites.....)

A mild Autumn day....

I was just watching a documentary on Australian Bikie gangs, where the journalist and some of the bikies were imploring the community to see them as just normal people, no different to you or I. To that I say;

But you look like scary mother fuckers!? ??

I’m sure the media has a lot to do with their bad reputation, their clearly poor reporting of violent drive by shootings and the way they focus on the big hairy tattooed ones is utterly inappropriate.....

But still, they do look like scary mother fuckers......

Before you start going red in the face and shouting words like ‘Judgemental’ ‘Conclusion jumper’ and ‘Jingoism-ist’ (I just learnt that word!) at me, I have a story to tell you, it’s my story, a story about the day I came face to face with a bikie or two.

It was a mild Autumn day in Autumn, an ill wind was blowing and the clouds had moved in front of the sun, there was an eerie silence that could only mean one thing.......

Ok no seriously - I was walking past legal aid one day with my $5 lunch time pasta special in hand. A couple of large bikie men, with dark glasses and an inordinate amount of denim on were standing outside. They were smoking and observing the passing foot traffic. I hastened my step a little, wanting to get past quickly before they drew out their sawn off shot guns....... I should have remained calm however, because the pointy toe of my shoe got stuck in the cobblestone and I fell completely flat on my face.

My red pasta sauce splattered everywhere, my sunglasses scuttled up the street, one lens popping out and I really really hurt my knee. I’d been taken down.

Once the dust settled and as the embarrassment started to jab at my insides like a red hot poker, I was assisted to my feet.

Who was it that helped me? Was it my colleague who was walking up the street with me? No, she was too busy doubled over laughing. Was it the suits that were walking in the opposite direction? No, they quite literally stepped over me.

It was the two burly bikers. They stopped what they were doing and helped me up, one walked the short distance up the road to retrieve my sunglasses whilst the other held my arm and asked me if I was ok.

Shame.

I was utterly shamed.

A timely yet painful reminder to never judge a book by its cover.

So why are you telling us this Emily? Well I guess the thing is there are bad apples in every barrel, but ultimately I believe you should only judge people by the way they treat you.

So Biker 1 and Biker 2, I will never forget you, may the roads stretch ahead of you and the denim always be in plentiful supply. I’m sorry you look like such scary mother fuckers cause I really think alot of your troubles would be solved if your club approved material was terry towelling and the compulsory headgear was a jaunty sun visor.

Just saying....

Top 10 things I've learnt this week

I had a birthday this week. It wasn’t a milestone but I’ve never felt this disturbed by a birthday before.

I have nothing more to say apart from the learnings I wish to share from this week;

1) If you do not drive an automatic vehicle but hire one for a week whilst your manual vehicle is in the shop, you should remember that the little letter ‘N’ does not stand for ‘Normal ‘Driving. That high pitched whirring scream is the car you’re in and you aren’t going anywhere until you move it into ‘D’

2) Turning 36 is a mind fuck. No two ways about it and I can’t describe it any other way. I’m spent. I’m on the downward slide to 40

3) 40 is not the new twenty, fuck off everyone. It’s just not.

4) Attending your first parent teacher interview is nerve wracking enough, having to sit on midget sized chairs and bend your legs sideways to fit under the table does not give you any kind of upper hand. You’re the teachers bitch.

5) Chlorophyll shots every morning does not make you friends with people you share the ‘facilities’ with.

6) It will take one week of continuous viewing to get through 232 episodes of The Flying Doctors. I’m willing....

7) Delta Goodrem is loathsome – I can’t even remember what benign songs she used to sing, but her appearance on ‘The Voice’ has me shouting foul mouth sentences at the screen. Stop.Pretending.To.Have.Rhythm.And.Style.

8) The realisation a good healthy diet and regular exercise maintains weight and wellbeing is too much like being in the midst of a mid life crisis and makes you want to drink more and eat a pack of Tim Tams for tea.

9) I’m never going to win the Sunrise $10k Cash give away if I don’t ring in but I don’t want to ring in just in case I win and people realise I watch Sunrise...

10) I’ve got it pretty bloody good, I have a loving husband, 2 gorgeous kids and am on the way to being the person I want to be - living independently of an aged care facility – I’ll take it for as long as I can

Multi tasking is sometimes not the friend you want it to be.

As a woman, I multi task. It’s in my nature, I can be doing one thing whilst watching something else. I can talk and complete two or three tasks at the same time. I often delegate my multi tasked tasks back to myself I am THAT impressive.

I am woman hear me jot down a list.

It’s not really something women spend alot of time bragging about though. Do lions brag about chasing down and killing a zebra, do musicians brag about the song they’ve just thought up in their head (actually I think they probably would, I would!), do liberals brag about always having to pig headedly take the opposing point of view to anything remotely socially progressive ? No, because it’s all part of their nature, it’s just the way it is.

I have sometimes had thoughts of sharing my multi tasking wins, but I would take no satisfaction in making my few male readers feel alienated and disoriented by the revelation that it really is possible to bathe a child whilst cleaning the bathroom sink, folding the towels from the dryer, removing the children’s toothbrush that is firmly wedged in the sink hole all whilst talking with my mother on the phone , planning the dinner and washing said childs hair.

It’s easy to scoff at the idea of planning dinner, but dinner is the biggest multi task of all. Especially when you have one child who wants all food to remain separate on the plate, nothing touching and positively absolutely nothing yellow on there. Whilst the other only wishes to eat butter. At room temperature no less.

I hear you, oh here we go this is all about women running a house, isn’t it, Germaine Greer would be rolling over in her expensive duck feather filled duvet..... hhmmmm yes, However naysayers, I did multi task before I had children. I recall nights where I would be putting liquid eyeliner on with one hand and mixing a vodka cranberry with the other. Of course in my day mobile phones were not that huge (well actually they were ginormous, but you know what I mean), I imagine the young women of today could do all of the above whilst tweeting about Gaga’s meat dress (did that make me sound old?)

No one is going to say it for me so I am just going to quietly mention it.

I am a multi tasking god

If there was an award out there for the person that gets the most stuff done in the most efficient way with the least amount of tears from others and themselves THEN I WOULD BLOODY WELL WIN THAT AWARD/CROWN/BRONZED TIMER!

However, on that note I must confess. I had a huge multi task fail the other day. I feel I have to share it, for the good of mankind you see....

I would like to make it known that putting your socks on whilst doing a wee just doesn’t work. The laws of physics or engineering, perhaps even gravity prevent it from being successful (sorry about the visual you have right now).


To the multi taskers amongst us, I salute you. It’s a ne’er spoken of skill and a rarely commended one. Print yourselves off a certificate, you deserve it!

I know there’s more jokes in here about men and multi tasking. I have visions of my husband juggling a baby with a full nappy, smoke coming out of the oven and a ringing phone all whilst he maintains a look of panic and confusion. But I wont go there, there’s no good in plainly point out ones down falls...... too easy.

Rear Ending - not everyone's perfect start to the day...

This morning I was in a minor car accident, totally random, totally out of nowhere. When it happened I sat there confused for a little bit, I was even embarrassed that it had happened, not that it was my fault, but it seemed embarrassing to think someone may have seen me bounce around like a little dodgem car, head bobbling back and forward, car all wobbly!

My air bags didn’t go off, but I was lucky enough to have some safety equipment on my person that I’m thinking of patenting. I hit my head on the headrest and truly believe that my back combed beehive saved me from a potential acquired brain injury. The soft underside cushioned my skull whilst the lacquered outer of the ‘do’ cracked like a bike helmet……. My kids will now be sporting mini beehives for the rest of their lives, Schwarzkopf will be applied liberally to heads before departure from this house. Beehives hey? Who’d have thought? Not only totally amazing hair dos but a radical safety apparatus too.

After a near death experience it’s apparently normal to ponder your own mortality and the bigger questions of the universe. For me I had niggling long term unanswered questions flash through my mind at point of impact;

‘Why are there such things as weight loss books, shouldn’t a pamphlet be enough, stop procrastinating and just get the point of it’

‘If no one is using the colour function on the printer why does the yellow always run out? Who’s secretly printing lots of yellow stuff?’

‘Why when you break a big bank note does the change just magically dissolve over the next 24 hours?’

‘HOLD on STOP!’ I can hear you saying, ‘ But Emily, your car was stationery, the other car was going approximately 10 to 15 kilometres an hour, what on earth are you talking about, that’s as near death as a deep paper cut or hair dye in your eye??!!’

Well, with much indignation, to that I say………. Yes, true but it does make you think about what it would be like to have a near death experience and after watching a cheesecake slide quickly off your passenger seat and in slow motion fall onto the floor right way up and fully in tact, it makes you wonder if some awesome sugar fairy or dessert god is watching over you and giving you the nod of further approval.

I can feel your incredulous looks right now, so ok, it was a minor accident, but gosh it was loud and I was so shaken that I laughed like a maniac with the inattentive driver that rear ended me. I’ve been feeling a little strange all day because of it, I ate half an orange and poppyseed cake for afternoon tea (who am I kidding, that’s totally normal after any stressful event….. or ordinary day)

The whole unfortunate even has really changed my perspective on safe driving. I wasn’t doing anything wrong and I ended up with a flat hair do and a sore neck for my troubles, it must be awful to be involved in something higher impact than that.

Driving home I think I got over 20 kilometres an hour once, I gave way like no ones business, sounded my horn when rounding corners of any kind, I kept a safe distance of 500 metres from the car in front . People were waving arms and flashing their lights in appreciation of the reminder to drive safely!

So to the people taking the time to read this, I ask that over the Easter break you especially take the time to please drive carefully and safely. If you’re travelling long distances make sure you back comb yourself a large beehive and lacquer it into place.

Happy Easter and Happy travels everyone.


Ps: Sorry to Morphy for using the word pamphlet…….

Pps: Would you buy something called the 'Beesife' (say it like 'bee sayyyyfe' - get it? no? needs more work? BeeSafetyhairdo just seems OTT....

Dear Emmely, I have some things to tell you…..

The other day in a magazine I read a letter that Maggie Tabberer wrote to her younger self. It was full of inspiration and supportive musings, twas little surprised there wasn’t a warning about over use of kaftans and turbans. Thought I might write one to myself, I’m having a little difficulty dealing with the fact that I’m 36 this year – I still feel as though I’m 16, I still feel as though adults treat me like I’m 16 and I wonder what mad person has let me care for their kids for this long….

*ahem* ok here we go

Dear Em,

I’m the future you, well actually you’re the past me, so this is weird and now I’m regretting this idea a little – I wont bore you with details on how we got here, I’ll just get into it

I know you’re considering changing the spelling of you name to appear a little edgier to your friends, firstly, they already know how your name is spelt, so don’t bother, secondly, don’t write your new name all over your CD cases because that shit’s going to haunt you forever and your future husband will take great joy in teasing you mercilessly about how you wrote ‘Emmely’ all over your Violent Femmes CDs…..

School – I know I know – you’re so not interested in anything I have to say about it. I wont lecture you (because I know how much attention you pay to those), but I will just pass on a couple of things that might be useful. College is not going to be your friend, you need structure and the freedom of college doesn’t agree with you. Some things to consider; Your absences are recorded on your report cards – first term it’s ok to not know this –but really there’s no excuse for the terms after this – it really isn’t worth the hassle, especially when all you’re doing is hanging around on College campus anyway??! Don’t quit Maths in year 12 without telling your parents – might be better to let them know before the lack of term report makes them query the competence of the school. Also be thankful that your Dad highlights all the good things in your report before focussing on the negative – that’s a good strategy, although I do know it prolongs the anticipation of the yelling.

Oh and on a good note your Psych teacher will tell you not to bother sitting the exam because you would have to ace it to pass the subject, ignore him. You ace it. (Which actually makes me think, if you apply yourself in class you might do really well, ok yes yes sorry moving into lecture territory.)

Enough about school - there are a few things you need to thank your mother for – as much as you rallied against her and believe me I still remember the silent stand offs in Sportsgirl and Miss Shop where you are holding the black dress and she is holding the floral one – there are a few things you can be thankful for – she’s not going to let you get a hyper colour t-shirt – that’s a plus, no one needs to know when you’re hot under the arm pits. She will not let you use hair spray or a teasing comb on your fringe – trust me, just trust me on this one. However she is going to let you get a perm – try to re-think that one before you go ahead. She is not going to let you wear 4+ pairs of sport socks to high school – again I think she’s onto something there, so don’t fight it. Finally, she’s going to be right when she says wearing old army boots makes you seem a little masculine – keep pushing the line that a pair of Doc Martens are more ladylike, I don’t feel like I worked that as much as I should have and I really think if you go on and on and on about it you could end up with a pair for Christmas 1993 – persistence is the key, she admires persistence……

Here are some things I would like you stay away from if you can – cask wine, clove cigarettes, the 1992 Jacki’s Marsh Forest Festival, Red Earth perfume, 50% of your work Club nights.

Things I would like you to do more of – save your money, attend more classes at college (Shut up!), driving lessons, exercise ( you really are going to end up doing none at all, maybe if you don't quit hockey because it interrupts your weekend vodka drinking we wouldn’t have this problem now….), travel (further than Melbourne).

Oh wow I didn’t even get to inappropriate workplace behaviours, length of skirts when going out, guidelines for vodka usage and laughing inappropriately at marriage proposals – I might have to do a second letter to early 20s you/me another time.

Best of luck with it all, you turn out ok - Chin up (no really you have a tendency towards double chins – keep the chin up and don’t allow short people to take pics of your face)

Sincerest best wishes, Em/Me/You.

Ps: Yes, you will end up sounding like your parents.

Pps: stay away from boys called Chris or Mathew (yes one 't' - be on the look out)

Ppps: I've only just realised the Psych teacher totally reverse psyched me! Man he was good!