Sad.
Why are you sad Kelley?
I dunno. I just am.
Is it this or this or this or this?
Nope. That is no different to yesterday, and yesterday I wasn’t sad.
Could it be the fact that you haven’t slept in days? Or perhaps that you were stupid enough to go clothes shopping and nothing would fit your fat arse and those changing room mirrors don’t lie about your aforementioned fat arse?
Shut the fuck up. I said I was sad, do you wanna rub it in? Sheesh.
I am just trying to help. You don’t have to be a bitch about it.
Sorry. I am just sad. Can’t I just be sad? Just for a moment? An hour? For no freaking good reason?
But why? That is totally irrational. Are you about to get your period?
Oh fuck off. *checks calendar* No.
You need vitamins. What have you eaten today?
Um, does coffee count?
No. Stupid woman. Go eat something.
But I am too… meh. I just wanna have a cry.
But WHY? There has to be a reason. Rational people do not just randomly feel sad for no fucking good reason. Snap out of it woman and go and mop the floors.
I don’t want to. I just want to… I don’t know what I want to do. I think I am hungry but I am not sure. Oh God this feeling is so frustrating.
Tell me about it.
Oh fuck off.
You already told me to do that. My, we are firing with the insults today aren’t we? *sniggering*
Yeah. Thanks for that. You are no help.
Well if you told me what is wrong I could help you!
I don’t know! I don’t know! It is nothing.
Is it ‘woman’ nothing? Like, I have to try and guess and get it wrong just so you can get shitty and then feel better cause you have transferred your frustration onto me?
Oh fu… leave me alone. Nothing is nothing and I don’t want to talk about it.
Is it ‘woman’ don’t want to…
SHUT UP! I am sad. Deal with it. I will snap out of it when I fucking feel like it now LEAVE ME ALONE!
And it goes round and round in my head. Rational Kelley trying to make sense of Irrational Sooky LaLa Kelley. Waves of sadness envelop me, swirling around with frustration at not knowing what the hell is wrong.
Please tell me you have days like this. Please tell me that you have conversations in your head trying to make sense of the feelings that have no goddamn place clouding your day for no good reason.
And tell me that the sensible you in your head wears sensible shoes. And that is why we hate her.
Popularity: 16% [?]
Adventures in babysitting
I was a good babysitter.
I didn’t get much of a chance to hone my mad skillz, unless you count the freakshow that used to live next door to us when we lived in the city who gave birth, asked us to help her name her child and then dumped her on our doorstep for 2 years, then off and on till the child was 6.
But that is a story for another day.
When I was around 17 our neighbour would occasionally ask me to sit with her kids while she went out to dinner with her husband. And when I say neighbour, I mean the people down the road from us that we could barely see their house from our driveway. Cause at 16 my parents ripped me from the throbbing metropolis of the city and transplanted me to a place full of cows and horses that would lay on the ground just to fuck with me.
But that is a story for another day.
So these neighbours would feed, bath and put the kids to bed and all I needed to do was just chuck on a video (shut the fuck up) in and eat myself silly on the array of snack foods they would leave out for me.
And then PAY me. SCORE!
Word got out about my awesomeness and a couple on the other side of the road decided to employ my services.
This couple were a very churchy lot. A church that I had not heard of at the time, and the name escapes me now however CULT screams at me when I think of them. They were the self sufficient type, think that show The Good Life with added freakiness.
So they clomped on over in their gumboots to seal the deal. I saw the look of barely disguised horror when they found me, surrounded by my menagerie (sheep, horses, dogs, cat and our mad death cheater chook Bent Neck) sunbaking on the menage.
This is a menage you dirty minded fuckers.
In a bikini. Well the bottom half anyway. Hey, I lived in the middle of NO WHERE I thought I was safe.
So they organised for me to come and sit with their kids while they went to a goat sacrifice churchy thing on Friday. They said they would be back before dark. So I was all ‘cool’ and they were all ‘what is this language you are speaking?’ and I was all rolly eyes and ‘yes, that would be fine’
I got there around 1pm. Their boys were racing around the house like hooligans while they smiled sweetly at them and then at me as if to say ‘aren’t they just the most adorable kids you have ever seen in your entire life?’ and I was cursing that I didn’t think to pack the duct tape and rum.
Cause you know they ain’t gunna have no liquor cabinet for me to raid.
So after they left, the kids turned it up a couple of notches, when turned it up a couple of notches means their heads span around on their necks and they started crawling on the roof and showed their affection by punching me in the face and having an afternoon snack on my thigh.
The afternoon wore on to the evening. I was starting to get a little jumpy wondering what would happen to these little fuckers once the sun went down and goddammit I have a club waiting for me to turn up to. And it takes me hours to work out what I am wearing.
Around 10pm I rang my mother.
‘They aren’t back yet and the kids won’t go to bed’
‘Did you feed them dinner?’
‘Oh. OK.’
So I chucked some food in their direction. What, I have no idea, I let them choose cause most of the stuff in the fridge was alien to me. All green and red and colourful but without a chocolate centre. I mean WTF?
Finally I managed to push the boys into their bedrooms and barricaded the door.
It was 12pm.
The party was started and totally without me. And man, was I pissed. There was this hot DJ that I just met that I wanted to check out… (who would eventually get me knocked up and become the ol’ ball and chain, but that is a story for another day..)
Finally around 1am they wander in. No apology. No explanation. They are all, ‘hello! Have fun?!’ and I am hoping they are fucking stoned or something cause one day with their kids made me want to stab myself repeatedly in the eye with a combine harvester.
I am wondering who ‘dark’ is and when the fuck he got home. Cause they sure as hell took their sweet time getting home before him.
‘OK, I am off now. Would you mind giving me a lift home?’
Cause I think I have rabies or something in my thigh and I can’t move my neck. Tonka Truck to the back of the head will do that to you.
‘OK!’ the wife trills, ‘Oh and Kelley, here is your payment’
And she hands me a glass bottle.
*blink blink*
I study the bottle. I am wondering if I actually have a touch of concussion, cause my eyes seem to not be focusing properly and I have lost sense of feeling in my hands cause dammit that doesn’t feel like a wad of cash. It feels like a bottle.
I look at the wife and back at the bottle.
She smiles brightly.
‘It is parsley! I dried it myself!’
‘Huh?’ I am feeling slightly drowsy and a little nauseous.
‘You sprinkle it on salads and stuff. You will never taste any better!’
‘Huh?’
‘You are welcome! Are you free next week?’
I am only free if that fucking bottle is full of green stuff I can smoke. BEFORE I get there.
The husband goes to bed and the wife starts locking up the house while I am still standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at the parsley in my hand.
‘Well, good night then!’ as she pushes me out the door to walk the eleventy hundred miles home. In the dark.
I finally stagger in the back door, to find my parents awake watching a movie.
‘How was it?’
*blink blink*
I show them my payment and they die laughing.
Fuckers.
Popularity: 17% [?]
I’d rather a fucking angel on my shoulder…
Alternate title, reason number 47 why I am never EVER gunna get on that Blogher sidebar thingy and they are gunna chuck me out of the mommy club and I will NEVER get me some purdy shoes.
I have been trying to write a post all night.
A post about MPS getting digitally assaulted by his doctor.
A post about random randoms that may or may not have pissed me off today.
A photo essay of me shaving my legs.
But I have a problem. A rather annoying fucking problem.
No one will give me any freaking peace.
Right now. This exact moment, MPS is sitting so fucking close to me I am considering asking him if I have any blackheads on my nose. And he is reading over my shoulder.
Yes you are fucker. I can smell the Homer Hudson chocolate mousse on your breath, and dammit, it is making me hungry.
Every time I get a an awesome kick arse post idea some random child will come up looking for attention and shit. I point them to my blog header and they take no damn notice and start on about what they did today or being hungry or complimenting my hair or something and I am all ‘LOOK AT THE DAMN HEADER CHILD!’ and then get distracted by the shiny and forget the kick arse post.
Sheesh.
And then if it isn’t the damn chillen, it is the phone. People wanting me to pay bills or converse. Can’t they just read my blog or send me an email or something?
Sheesh.
So how do you write blog posts? Are you like me and just sit down, brain dump as the need arises but get performance anxiety if there is some man with a porn star moustache that has just had a rather attractive Sudanese doctor lube up his fingers and insert them in his butt, and get paid for the privilege, peering over your shoulder…
or, do you actually think about what you are writing, craft your post, finding the perfect stolen legitimately gained image, use this button
that apparently makes your ramblings legible, and think before you post.
And do it all sober?
Inquiring minds want to know. Don’t we MPS? Now go brush your damn teeth.
Popularity: 18% [?]
Dammit. I knew there was something missing from Boo’s party. And keeping with the tradition of freakishly long blog post titles, something about Christmas too.
Ninja Freaking Clowns.
Awesome.
Thanks to Mindy and Jenny over at Good Mom / Bad Mom.
I still don’t know who is who but they should totally put me on the payroll as Freaking Awesome Ninja Mum.
On an unrelated note, but tying in with the theme of Freaking Awesome Ninja Mum, right now, hiding in my laundry under a pile of washing is this:
Duuuuuuuuude. Awesome. To the power of 12.
And yes, I have THAT much washing to do. Moo cleaned her room. Nuff said methinks.
I can’t wait till Christmas Day when E and I uphold the tradition of getting plastered on Splice cocktails and rock it on with the kids birthday presents. Might make her her own Josie and the Pussy Cats costume. But she can be the fat pregnant triangle playing one that they kicked to the curb. Kinda like Pete Best. But cuter. And sober.
So what is on your Awesome list for Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/getting something in December for no other reason than it fucking rocks?
Updated to add: Apparently in the feed reader you can’t see the video of the Ninja. Sucks to be you. Now click over to see the awesomeness…
Popularity: 21% [?]
Thursday
I realise that some of you are reading and it is not even Thursday yet.
Or it could be Friday.
Or December.
Or like the year 2050. If so, do you guys have flying cars yet? That would be really cool, especially if you look like the Jetsons. Cause when I was a kid I totally wanted to be the daughter.
Or Melody from Josie and the Pussycats. The blonde drummer. Cause as a child I was dark skinned with blonde hair. Like most children of the late seventies early eighties.
Oh, and if any aliens are reading this, please don’t kill me. Or suck out my brain to use a brooch or something. Cause I can be useful. I could bake you a cake. Or help you pick out some kick arse shoes for your tentacles.
Ahem.
So, here, right now, as I write this with Boo flapping so hard he is about to take off and dinner not cooking itself in the kichen, it is Thursday.
And I am feeling a little weary, now I am working 4 days a week.
Yes, I can hear you, ‘I work 60 hours a week, what I would give to work 4 days a week during school hours… blah blah blah’ Yeah, fuck off. I am a princess.
And princesses should not have to work 4 fucking days a week.
So the day started like every other day, flying out of bed and screaming WAKE UP! gently whispering ‘time to get up my darling’ in to the ears of my loved ones.
Getting everyone ready, making lunches, packing bags, ironing (I KNOW! WHAT THE HELL?!), moving people in and out of the bathrooms, washing, beds, feeding the damn bunneh, driving driving driving to buses, trains and school and finally careening the car into the work car park at 9.01am.
Natter to the security guard while punching the lift button repeatedly. Alas, I must ride with the resident Pussy Cat Dolls wannabe who is texting and chewing gum. She exclaims how much she is loving this hot weather and I resist punching her in the throat.
There are cameras in the lift you know.
Heave open the double doors that I swear are made of freaking lead, and plop my bag on my desk. As I step towards my chair I feel a little funny. I look down and I have broken the heel off my shoe.
Yes.
My shoe.
My wedge sandals.
I stared in disbelief. A hush fell over the entire office.
But I handled it with dignity. Did a few urgent things and then drove home to change my shoes.
Cause I rock like that. *stifled sob*
When I came back I got the pleasure of witnessing the chick that sits within ear and eye shot devour her SECOND bag of donuts. And then a couple of spring rolls, a bag of chips, another bag of chips, yet another bag of chips and then FOUR chocolate bars.
And there was an apple on her desk. Decoration I think.
Put me off my latte. Almost.
Did worky worky things and left early to pick Moo up from the train station after her Chemistry exam, to take her shopping for clothes for work.
She started her new job this afternoon. At a music store. Just like her mummy did at her age.
Dumped her at work and went to school for a meeting with the principal. Walked out with promises of everything I wanted and the guy eating out of my hand.
I rock the shmooze.
Picked up Boo, discovered that my child with Autism that is not supposed to understand social cues and the like, bullied another child today… discussed how we were going to handle this, drafted a social story, gave the little turd a stern talking to (he told a child that wanted to play with him to go away because he smelled like germs. The poor kid almost cried and other kids laughed. Broke my fucking heart) then swung around to the train station to pick up Too and came home to fall in a melting heap in front of the airconditioner blowing a breeze up my skirt.
Dinner?
The chick down the road in front of the hot grill is making it. Grilled flake and chips for the win.
And I get to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.
Adding a side trip to stock up on booze and maybe break out my Josie and the Pussycats outfit.
Popularity: 24% [?]
I cheated. I strayed. The one man in the world that always anticipated my needs. Please forgive me.
Oh how will you ever forgive me.
It was a rash moment. She was there. I was there. There was time. The kids were otherwise occupied.
I couldn’t resist her.
I mean her skillz! She drew me in with promises of rapture and I was feeling a little low.
I needed a pick me up.
I needed some reassurance that I still had it.
And you were unavailable. So busy. So awesome. But everyone wants a piece of you and I was cast aside.
I don’t blame you. It is not your fault. The fault is mine.
I could have serviced myself. You taught me well. Showing me how and leaving me breathless at your amazing ability to give me exactly what I want, need, no matter how much I protest or say ‘do whatever, you decide, I trust you’.
And I do.
And then I strayed.
We talked about you during it you know. She whispered, ‘He will never know’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Trust me’
And I did.
And now my fucking fringe is crooked and too fucking short and Oh Sebastian the Wonder Hairdresser will you ever forgive me?
*sob*
Popularity: 30% [?]
