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Lessons in Life

3 Sep

You may or may not know that I went to ‘blogference’ on the weekend called ProBlogger.

550 bloggers converging on one hotel on the GoldCoast is a hell of a thing, you can only imagine how many selfies and images of food were zipping across the interwebs. You would be forgiven for presuming it was a room full of narcissists, but I assure you it was anything but. There was much love and support to be had…

As many of you aren’t bloggers I’m not going to talk to you about the conference which although it was ten kinds of amazing, it’s boring as batshit if you’re not a bloggy type.

What I am going to talk to you about are a couple of the invaluable life lessons I learned while I was there, because I believe that no matter who you are or what your dreams are this stuff is relevant across the board.

Fear is a killer.

We all feel it.

It’s natural to feel fear around something you’re passionate about but you mustn’t let it cripple you.

I was shitting my pants about going and hanging out with so many chicks (chicks are freaky, right?) but what I discovered was a coven of love and support.

Darren Rowse, PB founder, said “If you want to conquer fear, don’t sit home and think about it. Go out and conquer it.”

How true is that? You need to go and punch that fear in the throat because scared people don’t achieve their dreams. I could be all ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ but it’s a bit wanky, so hear this….

FEEL THE FEAR AND DO IT ANYWAY.

You already know I’m a wanker. I told you about my vibrator.

Don’t be afraid to tell someone how you feel about them.

Just before PB I received a message from someone I didn’t know. A blogger. A really good blogger. And she reached out to me to tell me she really loved what I was doing and they way I was doing it.

She made my god damned month. I hugged the crap outta her when we met for the first time over the weekend and I told her she really touched me.

It made me realise that it takes little effort to tell someone you acknowledge what they’re doing and that you rate them. I took that on board and went and gushed all over a few people that I wanted to tell I admired and did I make their day?

Who knows, but at least I wasn’t scared to share my feelings.

You don’t get successful overnight.

Balls.

This one sucks big balls, sure, but it’s a great reason to keep going. Success, life, all of it – it’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Rand Fishkin, a specialist in something that I find really confusing, said “The price of success is failure after failure after failure.”

I personally would rather not fail lots of times, my poor ego hates it. Or maybe I already have failed many times. Lord knows, I’ve tried lots of things before I found this writing thing, but either way, you just need to start, and then you need to keep showing up consistently.

Set goals.

He who is aiming at something is more likely to hit it, than he who is aiming at nothing. Capiche?

Matthew Michalewicz touched on something that smashed me in the nose and made my eyes water….

Matthew Michalewicz

He also talked about goals, but you also need to believe in yourself.

And that shit is hard. It’s so much easier to doubt yourself, and wonder how you will ever achieve your dreams but you know what?

You are talented, creative and worthy, so why not you?

WHY NOT YOU?

Just start. Today. Better to start imperfectly than to wait until you’re perfect. I can’t remember which guru said this, and I’ve totes paraphrased but you get the gist.)

Achieving your dreams is not magic, it’s knowledge and process. Doing the steps that lead you to where you want to be.

When blogging royalty recognises you it’s ok to wet your pants a little bit.

I’m not cool. Not by a long shot. You knew that already but now the cat is well and truly out of the bag with the rest of the world.

So all of this inspiration and joy has left me feeling wrung out like an old sock. I feel a little sad.

I feel a little scared, because this is it.

I’m standing on the precipice of my new life and it’s now or never…..

These really are the days of our lives, and there is no half way.

You either do it, or you don’t.

 

 

There were many awesome women, but these women?  They are my tribe.

There were many awesome women, but these women?
They are my tribe.

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Portrait 365 : 230 – 237

27 Aug

 

 

Georgie

Georgie

“The word on the street is that three of my favourite things start with ‘C’ – champagne, cheese, and chilli crab.”

Anika

Anika

Because, fabulous, darling.

Geoff

Geoff

“I’m proud of my daughters because they’re accomplished.”

“Are you proud because they’re accomplished?”

“No, because of who they are as people.”

“Are you friends? Do they tell you their secrets? Is that why your bald?”

“Nah, that’s hereditary.”

Candice

Candice

“I used to wear heels to the corner shop. Now I’m more of a Cons girl, but these new shoes are comfy as fuck.”

Rodney

Rodney

“I felt like there was something wrong. 12 months prior I felt like I could hear two people talking about me and they were discussing how I was sick. I finally went to the doctor for a check up and they sent me straight to Emergency where they hooked me up to machines for 20 hours before diagnosing Type 1 Diabetes. Apparently I was nearly dead. The moral to the story – listen to the voice in your head.

Sam

Sam

Gabrielle

Gabrielle

“I was beside myself about turning 39, but when I woke up today on my birthday I realised I have lived a life less ordinary. I have won and lost, and taken big risks, and although my life may not look like I imagined it – that’s why I was framing out – I realised it’s better and the best is yet to come.”

Kerri

Kerri

“The poor Chinese waiter retreated in giggles when he heard ‘What colour is YOUR anus?”

One of the funniest yum cha conversations EVER between three very open, and awesome if I may say so, women.

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What not to say to a newly separated lady.

21 Aug

 

I got this.

If you follow me on Facebook you would have heard me mention that the neighbours are circling like gulls trying to ascertain WTF the new living arrangements at my gaff are.

If this is your first ever post, I’ll fill you in quickly – My marriage just ended and I’m doing a remarkable job of pretending it’s business as usual. I wear bright lipstick and stick a smile on my face and I drink a lot of wine.

This shituation is under control.

As I step out of my front gate I get swooped upon by curious suburban neighbourly types fishing for information to which I’m infuriatingly schtum.

My bestie suggested we build a man-sized mound of dirt in the back yard to really ‘fuck with them’. I personally thought that was pure gold. I could make it the new naughty corner and really look like the Mansons had moved in.

I explained the sitch to my direct neighbours because they’re home a lot. Now on my own in the house I thought having some neighbourhood watch was a sound plan. They’re a nice enough young fam bam. We say hi over the fence and it has real warmth but that warmth has not extended to backyard BBQS or key parties.

I’m good with that.

There is one particular Mrs Mangle nosey neighbour a few doors down whom I have avoided for about a year because I don’t dig her swag. Neighbourhood gossip ain’t my bag, and although pleasant enough, there’s not enough time for the peeps I’m crazy about let alone ones I’m lukewarm on.

So, the nice young Fam Bam was having a pretend picnic with their dinosaurs and teddies on a lovely rug in the gentle winter sun, and I stepped onto my back deck (which in awesome suburban style looks straight onto their greying knickers on the Hills Hoist), I gave them a ‘nice day for it’ salute and we all felt fuzzy for a moment and went about our business, until I heard my name being yelled across two gardens and a couple of fences by Mrs Mangle.

“Danieeeeeellle, where’s your husband? I haven’t seen him lately. Is he here? I saw him packing boxes into the car a couple of months ago.”

It was like a punch in the face to be honest. I could see the fam bam slowly sinking into the ground as they wish for invisibility and I did that thing where your tummy drops and your wee nearly squeezes out like silent tear from your urethra.

“He doesn’t live here anymore” I yelled back ” but perhaps over two fences and two gardens and a teddy bear’s picnic isn’t the best way to chat about it.”

And I stalked in, slamming the sliding door enough to shatter the glass into a million pieces – At least in my head I did. I really just politely closed it grumbling to myself because even though I never want to speak to her again I still want her to like me.

The other one I’m loving at the moment is “Wow, you have we very second weekend off from your kids. You’re so lucky.”

Yes, I am lucky. Because my marriage didn’t work out how we planned and I’m a single mum struggling to keep my shit together I get two days a fortnight to try and regain sanity. It’s awesomesauce. Everyone should have a crack at it.

In truth, the weekend thing is nice, but in an ideal world everything works out swell and you get a little ‘me’ time and family time is balanced  and everything is shiny and life is played to the ‘Family Ties’ theme song…..

“I bet we’ve been together for a million years, I bet we’ll be together for a million more…. sha la la laaa.”

*earworm alert – you’re welcome.

I’d also like to say if you have a distant acquaintance going through this, asking them about their financial status is actually rude. Asking me how I’m getting along financially is a little bit like asking me if my bowels are regular, and what’s the consistency.

Actually, you know, I’ll take the scat chat, please.

But I’m not immune to putting my foot in my mouth. No, sireeeee, Bob.

In fact, I’ve put my foot so far in my mouth on occasion, it was easier to remove it rectally than it was to cough that shit up, so I’m not judging anyone for their lack of tact….. however, if you’d care to express concern or curiosity buy me some goddamned $5 flowers and invite yourself over for a cup of tea.

Like I would do.

Or simply grab my hand, look me in the eye, and ask me,

“Are you cool? Can I do anything?”

I’ll say “yes, I’m cool”, and “no you can’t” so you’re off the hook but at least you weren’t a thoughtless dick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Portrait 365 : 222 – 229

19 Aug
Chandra

Chandra

“I lost my father when I was 12 and my mother raised my sister and I in Nepal. It was a struggle, and I came here to study. I had no money so I had to work to pay my way. There are no bad jobs.I did everything, housekeeping, supermarkets, Bunnings. Now I’m a baker and I still struggle to get my residency but soon it will come and then things will be easier.”

Casey

Casey

Stuart

Stuart

“South Australian 12 year old 200 metre butterfly champ.”

Unknown

Unknown

He was deaf and he didn’t speak English but armed with smiles and charades we got there anyway.

Annabelle

Annabelle

Graham

Graham

“I’m heading home to my house in the Riverina after a month holidaying in Cairns. I was up there with family and we went out on the dirt roads to Weipa and had a bit of an adventure. It’s really cold here though.”

Emily

Emily

“I competed in tennis until I was 15. I used to play with Laura Robson but then I moved to a school that wasn’t sporty at all so I didn’t compete any longer; which was a down point. Then I became a tennis coach which I love to this day. I should have carried on with tennis however I discovered drugs and boys.”

Ben

Ben

“I’m proud that I finally got my electrical license. I started my apprenticeship, and then I stopped doing it. I got lazy, but I knew that I needed to go back and finish it and sort my life out.”

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How I became a podium dancing alcoholic.

17 Aug
So sweet and innocent. Me at 2. Before clubbing.

So sweet and innocent. Me at 3. Before podium dancing in clubs.

My Dad is in Australia at the moment to do some traveling.

Some months ago he bought a Winnebago that he fondly named Wind Bag and periodically he skips across the ditch and takes off on a road adventure. He’s cool like that.

He stopped a couple of nights at mine on his way to pick up the Wind Bag and told me of his plan to drive from Melbourne through South Australia and up to Alice Springs before heading to Ayers Rock and the Olgas by the end of September. My green eyed monster’s eyes shone like emeralds…. that was one cool mo’fo’ road trip.

I sure would like to do that some time.

… But I have two kids and important routines that must be adhered to or my neurotic sky will fall down. I’m positively tied to all of my responsibilities so I could never to do something so crazy, could I?

The more spiced rum and lime juice we had to drink the more plausible it seemed.

There’s enough sleeping room for everyone. The kids can play outside if the space gets too cramped and there’s a tv for evenings. But the sleeping routine? I don’t know about you but I’m a stickler for it.

Dinner is 5.30

Bath is 6pm.

TV for half an hour at 6.30

Teeth and bed is 7pm

Reading a few books until 7.30 unless I speed read to get the hell out of there because I’ve had enough of them for the day.

I’m flexi within 10 or so minutes of this routine but then I start to get twitchy.

What would happen to this routine if we went on the road, all four of us sharing a living space smaller than my lounge?

 

Nah, too hard. My control freak couldn’t be bothered.

I asked Mister H if he could take a week off work so I could go on a road trip with my Dad. As amicable as Mister H and I may be I’m well aware that there will not be a lot of weeks in the year during which I can take off sans bambinos, so when Mister H told me to let him know how serious I was and he’d make arrangements I got to thinking if this was my only time off all year is a road trip with my Dad the prime way to spend it?

No offence Dad.

What if I want to go to Bali or Thailand with a friend? Or a lover, heaven forbid (I’ll get laid eventually, right??).

Kids will suck hard on that trip….

What if I want to go on a volunteer trip to a third world country, or trekking up some really ridiculously big hills?

Kids will suck hard on those trips too.

Screw it, I decided. I would go on this cool mo’fo road trip adventure will my Dad, and I will take the kids.

I can relax my regime, the sky will not fall. In fact, it will be good for us all (except maybe Dad whose serenity will be completely screwed, but he’s a good sport.)

I remember a photograph of myself as a child sitting at a table in a restaurant at night on a trip we had to the Canary Islands. I would have been about 3.

I think I was eating a bowl of eating ice-cream and strewn around the table were wine glasses and my Mum was in the picture too but barely. She was at the head of the table which was fading off into black.

During a phone conversation with Mama about the potential trip I mentioned the photo. I mentioned how she used to take us away on jaunty adventures where all of the routines were broken and it was fine, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

And she said, “Darling, after dinner we’d take you into the nightclub and you’d dance with us on the dance floor.”

She back-pedalled saying they didn’t stay out until 2am, and nightclubs there weren’t filled with Class A drugs in those days, but the go-go dancer was out of the cage.

That. Explains. Everything.

How it all began. Note my wine glass and food all over my face.  *not the actual photo I'm referring to in post

How it all began. Note my wine glass and food all over my face.
*not the actual photo I’m referring to in post

 

The difference three minutes can make

13 Aug

When I was chatting to my friend Carolyn from Champagne Cartel about how the Portrait 365 project came about because I’m essentially too lazy to study photography, she loved it so much she asked me to write a guest post for her.

it took me a little while get around to it, but I finally pulled finger and today I’m wrapped to be guesting over at Champagne Cartel.

Those chicks are fairly well flipping’ fab.

Number 1, Day 1, Portrait 365

Number 1, Day 1, Portrait 365

I’m the kind of person who learns best by just doing stuff.

When I was a fledgling TV producer I would just hire crew that had a million times more experience than me and I would watch them like a hawk and learn how it all worked by observation. I’d hazard a guess that people suspected I was faking it, but if you fake stuff a few times it becomes reality before you know it.

Except orgasms. Never fake orgasms.

To see the rest of this post check it out here.

 

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The tee shirt X File and Chai Chia breakfast trifle

10 Aug

chai chia breakfast trifle

(sorry there is no ingredients shot. I planned on doing it this morning but I’ve been up all night with a sick babe and I’m uninspired to say the least.)

I posed a little question on Facebook the other day about the infuriating mystery that is the little holes that appear in EVERY. SINGLE. tee shirt I own in the front at the bottom.

I thought I was alone in this strange phenomenon but I was comforted to discover that this wardrobe scourge is widespread and equally frustrating across the globe. Possibly the Universe.

You may think this is barely a topic worth writing about but by jove, I want to get to the freakin’ bottom of this shit.

Many people suggested it was all about the belt buckle rubbing on it, but then other sufferers of this professed to never wearing belts with their jeans (how do they keep them up? Another hard hitting, life changing subject for another day).

People queried the height of my kitchen bench, on the presumption that I grind myself back and forth as I cook…. alas, this is not it either. Firstly my kitchen bench is as smooth as a proverbial baby’s butt, and secondly, I don’t actually spend as much time in the kitchen as you may think, but if this was the case, why only my tees?

Why not everything I wear?

One reader swears it’s moths. She said her entire tee shirt collection is the same, as is her husbands. But are moths really that OCD that they all only want to eat that one little delectable spot that possibly smacks of bellybutton pheromones? What I loved best about her comment was a thread that followed when her sympathetic friend offered condolences for her moth plague and offered a shoulder if ever she needed to talk about it without fear of judgement.

Have I ever mentioned how funny you guys are? I love my peeps (and their imaginary moths). You endlessly amuse the shit out of me.

People thought their washing machines were too rough, or their cat was doing something jerky all over their tees, and I am still no closer to the truth.

The truth is out there, peeps. We need Moulder and Scully on this shit post haste.

He's obviously trying to hide the holes..... onto you, Mulder.

He’s obviously trying to hide the holes….. onto you, Mulder.

When I google “why do my tee shirts…”

“Why do my tee shirts get holes at the bottom” comes up third on the list. THIS IS A REAL PROBLEM.

The internets worry that they are too fat, or the quality of their tees are too shit, but the explanation that all roads keep coming back to is this -

YOUR JEANS BUTTON + YOUR COUNTER TOPS + YOUR TEE RUBBING IT’S LITTLE HEART OUT IN BETWEEN =

tee shirt x file

 

I’m sure that all of this super sleuthing has made you ravenous for a breakfast of champions and being as chia is packed with Omega 3 it’s proper brain food so you’ll be back on the case in no time….

I have some great loose Chai tea so I made a pot for this….. you could use Chai tea bags if you have, but not that Chai Latte stuff cos it’s FULL of sugar (which is why it’s so yummy)

chai chia breakfast trifle

Chai Chia Breakfast Trifle

What you will need :

  • 300ml black Chai tea
  • 80 ml coconut milk
  • 1/4 cup of chia
  • honey to taste
  • apple or pear, berries and yoghurt to serve

What you will need to do :

Steep your tea for a good 10-15 minutes, add your coconut milk and honey to the tea. Pop your chia and the tea into the container, cover and toss in the fridge overnight.

In the morning, grate your apple or pear and stir it through the chia mix.

Pop a spoon into your serving bowl, add a layer of yoghurt and berries, then add another layer of chia topped with more yoghurt and berries.

Seriously great way to start the day!

chai chia breakfast trifle get in my mouth

I always smirk at my breakfast before I eat it.

Cook Once, Feed All COVER_lr

Cook Once, Feed All is about making your life easier whilst preparing nutritious and quick food for your family. Hailed by Mouths of Mums as the ‘must have recipe book for all families’, this book is a collection of family friendly recipes, all accompanied by stories from my life.

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A letter to the twerp who flashed me.

8 Aug

Funniest_Memes_honey-i-m-too-tired-to-slap-you_6218-2Hey dude,

I’m the late-30’s mother of two you flashed last night whilst I was stopped at the lights. Just wanted a quick word with you that I never got to have because I thought getting out of my car to rant at you may not have been the best plan of action.

I’d been admiring you and your 15 strong crew of pals because you looked awesome. I would have high-fived the kid whose party you’d been at because 1980’s gym wear is a cracking theme for a party, and you lot were quite the spectacle in your lycra and terry towelling as you weaved across the street in front of traffic not giving a shit because you’re 22 and in-fucking-vincible.

I was just driving home from a brief catch up with a friend to relieve the sitter so I was annoyed that your buddy in his lycra, midriff, tank top stood in front of my car at the lights, air-humping, with his little packed lunch cowering from the 12 degree winter’s night.

And my annoyance was amplified significantly when the light turned green and he continued to make whoopee with the bonnet of my car.

Being as mowing that skinny, little jerk down would have got in me in a smidgeon of trouble (luckily I didn’t get a foot cramp, mofo), my best recourse was my car horn…. perhaps my horn made you think of your flute because you whipped that kit outta your pants and waggled it all up in my face quick smart.

Maybe your friends laughed, shit, maybe if I was 22 with a skin full of booze and an 80’s g-string leotard up my butt-crack I’d think it was funny, but I ain’t….. I’m too friggin’ old, and too friggin’ tired to want to play balls. Specifically, yours.

You may think you’re cool but you, young man, are a prize dick. Your mother would be ashamed, and I feel old for saying it but that what I think.

I know it wasn’t personal, and I’m not really even offended, however I do want you to know that you should keep that ridiculous looking shit in your pants until summer if you really want to intimidate someone.

So, yeah, thanks for the flash. Penises are silly looking at the best of times but when they’re wrapped in fluro Spandex, attached to showy prats, you looked a total tit.

Give yourself an upper cut from me.

Yours sincerely,

Annoyed.

photo copyright Living Pages

photo copyright Living Pages

Portrait 365 : 215 – 221

6 Aug

Jack

Jack

I didn’t want to interrupt Jack mid-song. I just quickly asked his name and guerilla’d him.

Stolen moment

Stolen moment

Tanja

Tanja

“I went sky diving in Surfer’s Paradise recently. I was really scared to do it, and I knew I would be really scared while doing it, but I also really wanted to do it. It was amazing.”

Phil

Phil

“I started doing ballroom dancing 20 years ago and then I stopped for 13 years. I just started again because I found a local club that has ballroom nights on for free. It’s so much fun.”

I walked into Phil’s shop and he was cranking some serious ballroom tunes loudly. At first I thought it was karaoke but his story impressed me way more.

Bernard

Bernard

“I gave up smoking last Christmas after 50 odd years. I don’t even want one when I drink because I went so far as to change my brand of beer. I used to be a VB man, but now I’m Pure Blonde.”

Ian

Ian

“I’m proud of my three kids. I’m from the baby boomer generation; I’m in my mid-60’s, I had a good life, and I retired at 55. My life has been great and I sure don’t have anything to complain about.”

Anika

Anika

Green tea towel cape : check

Cauliflower in my trike trunk : check

Let’s roll.

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The Art and Madness of Falling in Platonic Love

3 Aug

Do you know Carolyn from Champagne Cartel?

You bloody well should. We started with a mild Facebook/blog comment here and then, which propelled swiftly into pen pals. When we finally swapped phone numbers it felt as though we’d known each other forever and now I consider her my friend.

My crazy, nutty, funny, clever and generous friend.

In fact, it a bit freaky because sometimes I wonder how it’s possible that I can have so many similarities with one person…. could we be twins?

Anyway, I asked if she’d do me a guest post, and I got something even better.

Check her out….

friendship

I have taken to falling madly in love with new friends lately. Oh, I love the old ones too, of course, they’re like those smelly old ugg boots that live in your cupboard and get dragged out in winter to schlep about the place with us – mmmmm, comfy.

But old friends have heard all my jokes. They know my stories. They are wise to my hackneyed old shtick.

But that ‘new friend’ smell just can’t be beat. New friends are full of potential. They haven’t smelt your farts yet, and they don’t know about that disgusting thing you did on Year 10 camp that you only let slip three times after way too many G&Ts.

And these days I fall totally, helplessly in love. But not in the rudey-dudey way. Just beautiful, soft, keep-your-tongue-to-yourself ladylove. And I reckon that’s even way more fun than falling in the sexy love.

Here’s how I see it:

A) Falling in platonic love with new friends: excited banter, drinking wine, compliments (I love your hair; no, I love your hair!), funny text messages, laughing, cocktails, dancing in bars, selfies, slightly self-conscious hugs, more laughter.

B) Falling in potentially sexy love: excited banter, drinking wine, flirty text messages, laughing, waxing your legs, waxing your lady garden, plucking your eyebrows, curling your lashes (like he would notice, seriously), worrying about your breath, buying condoms, sexing (including doing that thing you don’t really like all that much but do with him anyway because, you know, he’s so nice), washing sheets, worrying about whether he’s getting back with his ex or whether he’ll call or whether his mother will think you’re a whore.

I think I’ll take option A please, Larry.

And there is something delightfully refreshing about making women friends when you’re – ahem – of a certain age – don’t you think? There’s none of that bullshit competition that everyone pretends isn’t there when you’re 23. Is she prettier than me? Was he looking at her? Was she talking about me in the toilets? I’ll never have an arse like hers…

us at Kidspot... ten drinks into our bromance.

Us at Kidspot… 10 drinks into our bromance.

My latest ladylove experience has been to totally fall madly in love with my host here, the delightful Danielle Colley. I met her in Sydney at a Kidspot blogger bash, and although I already liked her cyberself a whole lot, we experienced a magical romance that night – fuelled largely by tequila and a very hot pantsuit.

But I think she’s amazing. As, clearly, do you because you’re here reading her blog even though she has let some shmo on here you’ve never heard of. And I think I’ll be her friend for a very long time – even though she does have a better arse than me.

If you made it to the bottom of this post, that means WE should be best friends too! Please come visit me at Champagne Cartel so we can hang out and I can talk about your arse.

the kind of delights you will discover with the Cartellians.

 

 

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