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If your desk reflects your brain, your car reflects your….?

16 Jan *source*
DISCLAIMER : Not actually going to ever firebomb my car, nor do I suggest you do.
*source* DISCLAIMER : Not actually going to ever firebomb my car, nor do I suggest you do.

DISCLAIMER : Not actually going to ever firebomb my car, nor do I suggest you do.

I’ve heard it said that your desk, and the clutter or lack thereof may reflect the way you work and the way you think.

As I currently sit here typing I’m looking at a soft toy dog, a Quad Copter, boxing wrist straps, a cloth wine gift bag from my book launch 2 MONTHS AGO, a silk scarf, two note pads, 5 million Woolworths animal cards that I never put into an album, various pieces of unopened mail probably not containing love letters, a parking fine and some paw paw cream…. and an empty coffee cup.

Sometimes people ask me how I manage to do everything I do.

The answer is simple.

When most stay at home parents clean, I do more fun stuff.

The result is this blog, and a less than pristine house.

I’m fairly ok with the concept that the inside of my head is a tad on the unruly end of the spectrum and I’ll never suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder.

 I actually tidied my desk today….. Well, technically, it’s the dining table.

I do have a tidy desk in a tidy office but the second I sit in said office my offspring take it as a sign to pull everything out of the kitchen drawers, chase each other with crab crackers and metal skewers and go hand skating on my CD collection.

BS, Before Sproglets, I was never fanatical about my car interior, but I never had extraneous stuff or rubbish in my car either.

That said, I also NEVER had dried yoghurt sprays up interior car doors, seats or windows, fossilised apple cores, sand enough to bank up New Orleans should they require again, odd socks, random toys missing limbs and petrified rice crackers.

What if the state of your car interior is indicative of your soul?

I’m stuffed. Frankly.

Let’s just face it.

In my defence, my little driver’s area is actually really rather neat.

Perhaps there’s an area of my soul that’s not in danger of immortal peril.

My personal space in the car has small amount of sand. A dried up, vaguely cheesy wet wipe in the console (I tried to sort that yoghurt problem but I was driving), an eaten pear core (not mine, handed to me whilst driving yesterday and on exiting the car my hands were already full), otherwise not too bad, in the grand scheme of car filth. I’ve seen way worse.

But, really, what if it is representative of a part of my psyche???

Shudder to think.

While I’m on the subject, I may as well confess to the state of the children’s seats.

Do you allow your children to eat in the car?



I do, and when my children are finished with those chairs I will not be putting them on eBay. I will be giving them to the science department of the university to run tests on.

There is a microcosmos going down in the cracks of those chairs that consists largely of crumbs, squashed sultanas and bum sweat.

I wish I could find the ideal car food for them but I’m still searching.

It’s not banana. No way.

That gack gets squished everywhere and by the time the mercury hits 35C my car reeks like a gorilla’s yawn.

It’s also certainly not muffins, crackers, sandwiches, or anything that may crumb because by the time my tiny beasts are done with it the morsels left in the chair cracks are enough to feed a sponsor child.

I regularly think about cleaning the car out.

I think about it hard…. but when it comes to getting the extension cord and the vacuum cleaner and, and, and….. the thought makes me need to have a cup of tea.

Or bottle of wine.

I know you’re thinking why not a car wash?

Love, love, love the idea but then I’m stuck sitting there with toddlers while they detail my car for a million dollars.

Maybe I should simply start driving Mister H’s nice tidy car more often because no matter how hot it gets it never smells like cheesy banana.

In fact, it’s so beautifully clean that sometimes I just want to sit in there in the late afternoon, lock the doors, turn up Triple J and leave the kids to the witching hour.

To be honest, a large part of me thinks perhaps it would be easier if I just firebomb the family wagon, get myself a cheeky car loan and buy that Mustang I’ve always fancied myself driving.

Can you get baby seats in a ‘Stang?


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.

If you subscribe now to the Keeping Up With The Holsbys mailing list you will automatically receive my new mini-eBook ‘A Bit On The Side’  – A collection of fabulous summer salads and side dishes.

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Pelvic Flawed

16 Aug
Typical kegels face

Typical kegels face

If you see me in a bank queue, supermarket line or horse riding (????) and my eyebrows are raised, one eye is squinting like a pirate, my lips are pursed and my face appears to be spasming, that’s because I’m probably doing Kegels, or pelvic floor exercises.

After two natural labours, I thought I was doing ok in this department. I can laugh, or sneeze confidently (Most of the time. If I brace.) I can even run or jump rope without cause for concern. That said, when I recently attended a super-dooper, high-intensity cardio class at the gym, I was in all sorts of trouble and the further into the class we went the worse it got.

The main culprit was star jumps. High speed, flailing arms, puffed out, trying to clench my nethers for all my might and still…. the shame.

I. Peed. My. Pants.

We’re not talking about Niagara, more like a tap washer that needs changing, but anything more than nothing is too much wee in public, no?

Naturally, I told Mister H immediately, as all husband’s are dying to know secret lady wee-wee business, and he was very understanding of my plight. Not so much as a smirk. He sent me an article he’d seen recently, regarding Cross Fit and peeing your pants which said boldly -

Peeing during exercise is not normal.

I am no doctor, nor am I a physiotherapist that specialises in ladies pelvic floor parts, but I beg to differ.

I did some highly scientific research (talked to my friends) and it would seem that it may not be preferred, nor supposed to happen, but it’s pretty damned common. Everyone I asked had had some form of urinary mishap (read : wet knicks) at some time in their life. In fact, the design flaw of the pelvic floor is so tragic that it appears that regardless of whether you have a natural labour or not, it seems gravity can take it’s toll eventually and you may need a crotch sling by the time you have a pension card. I did write a letter of complaint to the manufacturers of the female anatomy, but I’m yet to have a response.

The article I read points out the symptoms of pelvic floor dysfunction, in case peeing your pants isn’t obvious enough. Allow me to share.

Signs and symptoms of pelvic floor dysfunction:

  • accidentally leaking urine (or faeces) when you exercise, laugh, cough or sneeze
  • needing to get to the toilet in a hurry or not making it there in time
  • constantly needing to go to the toilet
  • finding it difficult to empty your bladder or bowel
  • accidentally losing control of your bladder or bowel
  • accidentally passing wind
  • a prolapse
    • in women, this may be felt as a bulge in the vagina or a feeling of heaviness, discomfort, pulling, dragging or dropping
    • in men, this may be felt as a bulge in the rectum or a feeling of needing to use their bowels but not actually needing to go
    • pain in your pelvic area, or
    • painful sex

If any of you, my darlings, leak faeces when you sneeze, I must recommend you go swiftly (maybe don’t run though, just brisk walk) to a physiotherapist that specializes in lady business, because you don’t win friends with leaky poo. As for accidentally farting, that’s not a biggie provided you have a small child or dog nearby to blame.

Need to do a lot of fanny crunches, or Frunches, as they're known in the business.

Need to do a lot of fanny crunches, or Frunches, as they’re known in the business.

A weakened pelvic floor is totally normal after childbirth, and unlike other saggy, baggy, droopy body parts, you can in many cases actually retrain it back to it’s former glory. It’s not rocket science, and it’s not even difficult but it appears than the biggest hurdle preventing ladies from getting their fanny crunches on is simply -

We forget.

I’m flat out remembering to brush my hair (I never, ever forget to eat. I totally don’t get those people), so remembering to clench and hold for ten seconds ten times, 100 times a day just seems to elude.

At least, it did, before THE INCIDENT.

I could quite happily never do another star jump in my entire life, but I don’t want to slowly, embarrassingly become totally incontinent. Screw that. Have you seen the size of some of those pads? You can’t fit those thingies in your Bonds hipster g-strings. No, siree, the only leaking I will abide is sweat, thank you very much for asking….oh, and a strong pelvic floor can also equal better orgasms.


Anyway, I can’t do them in public because I cannot keep a fricken’ poker face to save my life, but I’m trying to remember to do them in the car.

If you see me at the lights, and I look like I’m having some kind of conniption, don’t call the paramedics, I’m just doing Kegels.

Kegels face

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Having a blog flog this fine Friday with the gorgeous Flog Your Blog Friday crew over at With Some Grace

The dangers of exercise – A cautionary tale.

23 Jul
what I think I look like....

what I think I look like….

I joined the gym this week because I’m determined to bring sexy back to suburbia. I’m strong and sturdy stock but I wouldn’t say I’m a natural athlete. The thought of running endless kilometres or cycling until my arse is numb doesn’t appeal, so to keep my interest piqued I’m more of a group fitness chick.

I’ve sampled a variety of classes this week and I just suffered my first injury.

I was rocking it like a white chick in Zumba. I was salsaing, sashaying, and gyrating my way to hotness when I realised my glow had progressed into a full blown sweat which needed a wipe, in case the drip fell off my nose and landed in front of me. When your pelvic floor is as shithouse as mine, any drops on the floor can cause a minor heart attack. My towel was off to the side so I just grabbed the bottom of my oversized singlet (the de rigeur apparel for almost middle-aged hip-hoppers) and swiped it across my sweaty face.

Unbeknownst to me, a piece of sushi rice from lunch had hardened into to a razor that slashed my nostril, causing me to make a girly squeal. Thankfully it was in time with the Carib beats and the instructor mistook it for enthusiasm. The ensuing frantic wiping of my stinging nose was also not unlike my trip to the Caribbean but that’s another story.

It’s not the first time I’ve injured myself in the gym.

I’ve attended numerous gyms over the past 15 years so it stands to reason that someone as klutzy as I would have sustained a few injuries. For the most part they’re lame ass injuries. Kicked a dumbbell, shin gauge in the spin room, armpit chaffing and such.

I dare say the most fantastic of all, and one of my all time most embarrassing moments, was at Fitness First in Bondi Junction. I was on a treadmill in a cardio room filled with gorgeous young ladies who never broke a sweat. They wore matching LuluLemon ensembles in pastel shades that highlighted their perfect tans, and their carefully applied make up screamed ‘I spent hours to look this natural’.

I’m one of those beetroot faced exercisers. You know the ones. The second they start warming up their head goes puce and you wonder if they’ll need a paramedic before the class is out.

what I actually look like...

what I actually look like…

Anyway, I was in all my purple glory after a half hour run on the treadmill when my left foot ventured off the belt and onto the stationary side part. This caused the foot on the treadmill to flick out behind me like a ballistic ballerina on meth. Accompanying said acrobatics was a big, high, girly squeal, just loud enough to draw the attention of everyone within a five mile radius. Fearing the worst I tried to steady myself, but I over compensated in my panic and my other foot to hit the other stationary side.

I could smell my fate (or was it my feet?) and I could not stop it. Before you could say Geronimo, you unco wench, I was on my knees on the treadmill, and being unceremoniously spat off the back.

I cracked up. How hilarious! Imagine that??? If I saw someone do that I would quite possibly pee my pants laughing but the room was silent. I looked around and everyone pretended they couldn’t see me. So much more humiliating than pointing and laughing.

What was wrong with these people??? They couldn’t have not noticed the almost six-foot beet-headed woman, arms and legs flailing across the cardio room.

The attractive girl I landed on was simply forced to acknowledge me as I was in a heap at the foot of her machine.

‘You ok?’ she asked disinterestedly, never losing a stride on her Cross Trainer.

‘Yeah, are you? Wasn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever seen???’ I asked

Get this…. she rolled her eyes. Stride, swish, stride, swish, so forth and so on….

I jumped back on the metaphorical horse, trying to save the tiny amount of face I may possibly still have had, but my wrist was smarting, and my knees were stinging and my pride was somewhere under a piece of equipment. That would have been bearable, but every ten seconds or so I would imagine myself on my knees flying across the room and crack up again.

In summary, the gym is a place of torture. Sure, the benefits are many and varied, but take note that danger is around every corner, and humiliation is just a treadmill mishap away.

Have you suffered a gym mishap? Can you make me feel coordinated with a similar tale of embarrassment?

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Hooking up with the Essentially Excellent Jess and the IBOT kids because I’m blogging on Tuesday.

Lifestyles of the Challenged and Daggy.

4 Jul

If you’re a friend of Holsbys on Facebook, then you would have seen my shame two days ago when technology and my lack of record keeping caught up with me in a rather embarrassing event, that left me looking like a tool.

Just to recap, I finished the latest episode of Holsby TV and when I went to upload it to my YouTube Channel I was denied access, with a message saying that account had been permanently deleted and could not be retrieved.

matrix, keanu

I don’t know if you’ve ever needed tech support from Google, but the online support matrix makes stopping bullets with your bare hands look as easy as picking a booger. You are guided through a series of questions, before returning back to the same answer -

Your account has been permanently deleted and can not be recovered, Full-fricken’-stop.

But, but, but….. I can still see it. It has to still be there.

So, I called in the in-house tech support. My husband is a computer nerd and can generally work out any issue I have if I’m prepared to admit that I’m struggling (2 minutes after pushing every button).

Alas, he could not help. I was deleted. Erased.

erase dictionary meaning

In the grand scheme of world issues, this is not really a big problem, however, it was so difficult this tech-spazz, to set it up in the first place, I was not looking forward to this prospect. Like, I would rather clean the toilet with my toothbrush kind of vibe.
Also, I would not be able to use the same emails, passwords, channel names…nada. So although it’s not as bad as world hunger, it’s a right royal pain in my arse.

The next day I tried to find a number for tech support. Couldn’t find anything in the matrix, kept coming back to the fact that Google ONLY has online support and no actual people to talk to anywhere in Australia.

So, it seemed logical to call Californ.i.a. Right?

Head office?

They didn’t answer cos of some time zone issue…. but then I thought I’ve seen jobs for google Australia. I’ll call Sydney office.

Still seems like a legit plan, no?

The receptionist was none too impressed by my problem and stated 10 times that she cannot help me, and there is no-one to talk to and I needed to get my snivelly butt back into that matrix and sort it out like Neo.

Long story short, I finally recieved an email, which I activated myself through some god-knows-what path that indicated that I was using the wrong email address.

Bup-bow. Fail.

How embarrassment… but I was so damned thankful – like, REALLY THANKFUL – that I didn’t really give a rat’s arse.

Anyhoo, I was explaining to the Holsby in-house tech team how I solved the issue myself, and I very proudly mentioned that I called Google U.S. of A., and Google Sydney Head Office, to which I received explosive laughter.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You called Google Head Office for a Youtube technical issue?’


‘That’s like calling Bill Gates to tell him your computer won’t start’

Mirth, mirth, mirth.

‘What wrong with that?’ Still don’t get it.

Mirth, mirth, mirth.

I bloody would call Bill Gates if I thought he could help!!! What’s the point of messing around with the minions if you can go straight to the top???
I’d probably be more of a Steve Jobs stalker but Vodafone can’t even get it right to Coogee, let alone heaven.

Anyway, onto the Holsby TV thing, I reckon it’s about time our kids started paying their own way by making themselves useful.

If you train them up right from now, you could be relaxing, or Facebooking, while they do they housework. It’s not shirking your duties, it’s teaching a child to fish.
They’ll thank you later.

Check out the new Holsby TV episode that shows you how -

PS I made Mister Clever Clogs promise not to go to work and laugh at me with all of his computer nerd friends. I bet $50 he did it anyway.

Are you technically challenged? Done anything ridiculous you want to share?

Are you sick of your children freeloading and you want them to earn their keep?

If you like what you’re reading why not like my Facebook page now or subscribe via email, to be sure to always keep up with the Holsbys.

Hooking up with The Lounge, with Kim over at Falling Face First,  Blogs and PR – Talk To Us Thursday, and Francesca Writes Here for Thankful Thursday……

Ugly Sexy is the new Hot… 8 of my faves

25 Jun David-Caruso

I have been known to have left-field taste when it comes to the smellier sex. Beauty is absolutely in the eye of the beholder, but every now and then even the beholder crumples their eyebrows together in a quizzical fashion and thinks -


You know how sometimes you see someone across the room and think they’re as ugly as a hat full of arseholes, and yet when you talk to them you find them strangely desirable?

I can’t believe I find these dudes sexy, in fact, I should really probably keep it a secret. Don’t judge me, for I am just an animal and I can’t control these things.

Have a look at these sexy ugly schmos….

Jack Black


I have no idea what it is. He’s short, he’s chubby and he looks like he smells quite funky, and yet….
He doesn’t take himself seriously and seems very naughty in all the right ways. I reckon a night out with Jack would be raucous and hilarious. He’d take you out for Mexican and karaoke.
And he totally rocks the orange Yo Gabba Gabba suit (if you like that kind of thing).

jack-black yo gabba gabba

Heston Blumenthal


 Heston is a little bit ginger, and a little bit ruddy, a little bit baldy and a little bit awkward.
Heston is also a little bit nerdy.
(Actually, that sounds like I just described my husband!!!)
Mix these elements together and you get someone hot. His experimental nature, his sense of fun and the way he pushes boundaries is super appealing……as is the thought of bacon and egg ice-cream in bed.

Adrian Brody

adrian brody

I just can’t put my finger on it with this guy. He’s beakier than Gonzo, and appears to be compiled of sharp edges all put together to make a man.
He did something to me in the Pianist and I’ve never gotten over it.

Hugh Fearnley -Wittingstall

hugh fearnley wittingstall

 I like dudes that can cook. I find a man in the kitchen quite sexy, unless he leaves a mess like Chernobyl. I think everyone would agree that Chernobyl was not sexy.
This scruffy haired host of the River Cottage just seems like a nice guy with a great food philosophy, and he can totally rock a bed of vegetables. One would need to be slightly cautious with said bed, however.
Is that a carrot in your pocket, Hugh?

Jack White


Emo, moody, kooky and quite odd. Jack White’s a ridiculously talented mo’fo who has some serious sex appeal. If you squint he looks like Johnny Depp’s cousin.
I would encourage him to either have a good night’s sleep or use a touch of concealer as he can bust out some eye bags like he’s done ten rounds with Tyson.

Steve Carrel

steve carrel

I hated 40 Year Old Virgin. I tried to watch it three times and each time I never got to the end. It sucks. It’s terrible.
Date Night? Appalling.
However, I saw Steve in indie flick Dan in Real Life opposite Juliette Binoche and I found him just lovely. He has lovely eyes, and a good sense of humor. Well, Dan did. I thought he’d be old enough to be my Dad but then I realised that I’m old too, so it’s not true.
How did I get so close to 40? At least I’m not a virgin.

Eddie Izzard

eddie izzard

I know, right? He’s a man half in drag….and yet?
Everyone agrees that a great sense of humor is attractive. Someone that can make you laugh is almost always 3/5 of 1/2 the way into your knicks.
In the case of Eddie Izzard, you could also borrow his knickers and probably shoes. I have big feet so this is sexier than you could imagine.
Possibly get some strange looks catching the bus together, but I’m not afraid of a little controversy.

Hugh Laurie


It’s not really about Hugh Laurie. I never found him appealing in Blackadder. So that leads me to conclude that my sexy ugly crush is all about House. Doctor Greg House the bad tempered, Vicadin addicted, wunderkind with the acerbic wit. It’s about the acerbic-ness I think. It appeals to my inner arsehole.

David Caruso


Only joking.

Do you have a sexy ugly crush? Who is it? Go on, tell me!

If you have enjoyed this post be sure to like my Facebook page now, or subscribe via email and you can be sure to keep up with the Holsbys.

Hooking up with the gorgeous Jess at EssentiallyJess for some fun lovin’ IBOT action.

Still flogging my ugly sexy horse over at Flog Your Blog Friday with the divine Mama G.

The Rise of the Merkin

28 May a trick of light, or a green tinge minge?

I was hanging the washing out this morning and my mind wandered to the sex scene I saw in Boardwalk Empire, Season 1, last night.

It was the one with Nucky’s crazy-arsed, sex-kitten girlfriend and the self-flagelating FBI agent.

Remember it?

Anyway, if you’re not into The Empire, which you totally should be, I’ll recap it for you. The hot young starlet was all boobs in the air with a little cowboy action on top of the freaky muppet-faced agent, and there was a full frontal of her rather hirsute lady bits.

This is her face, not her hirsute parts.

This is her face, and a fur stole. Not a shoulder merkin.

I was thinking that with the rise of serieses (should be a word) set in precise eras at the moment (think Boardwalk Empire, MadMen, Game of Thrones….haven’t seen Downton Abbey, is there sex in that? I imagine it would all be rather proper sex if it was) that an overtly groomed minge would not fit the characters.

I imagine that most every starlet in Hollywood is fairly hairless these days, so do you think it would be a part of their audition process to discuss whether they could grow a cracking bush befitting the era, or are the production companies simply bringing on board merkin specialists to counteract the landing strip look?

Most of Boardwalk Empire’s frontal-nudity scenes needed to involve merkins “to keep it real,” since “nobody really has hair anymore,” said the show’s makeup director, according to this article I found on the subject.

I also found that Hollywood is required to use merkins to keep their classification ratings down. Real pubes are out, but stunt pubes are totes kosher. If we go by that, then every single celluloid bush we see is actually a merkin.

Then my mind wandered to the actual acquisition of a merkin.

Does one purchase a pube-wig off the shelf, or is it a made-to-order thing?
If the pret-a-porter groin rug is anything like the cheapo wigs you buy at a shopping centre, they ain’t gonna fool no minge-afficionado.

Pubic afros come in many different shapes and sizes so it couldn’t possibly be a one merkin fits all scenario.

The Palm Merkin..... looks totally natural, yet tropical.

The Palm Merkin….. looks totally natural, yet tropical.

Obviously, merkins were first introduced in the 1400’s to hide all manner of genital nastiness in prostitutes, the least of which being shaving due to lice, the worst of which being marks left by STI’s such as syphilis. Mmmmmm, nice.

a trick of light, or a green tinge minge?

a trick of light, or a green tinge minge?

I imagine there was a bit of a quiet period in the evolution of the merkin until recently when de riguer of the hair-down-there has been upped to a range between the vertical Hitler moustache to the Telly Savalas special.

Make-up dept totally powdered that pate.

Make-up dept totally powdered that pate.

I’ve already blogged about my thoughts on IPL laser removal of pubic hair here, and one of the main issues I have with it is that when our daughters reach puberty, we’ll be telling them that their new hair growth is perfectly normal, yet we’re bald as badgers.

I wondered then if it would become the norm to sport a merkin in the coming years by way of making our pubescent girls feel that they are indeed normal?

Anyway, I daydreamed about muffs for so long that I barely noticed that I’d hung my 5 tonnes of washing.

Who’da thunk it?

What do you daydream about at the washing line? Can’t be weirder than that.

Hooking up with the tuesday blogging gang at IBOT with EssentiallyJess.

A Few Lessons in Patience, Grasshopper

26 Mar

fresh olivesPatience is one of those virtues that many people aren’t born with.

I wasn’t born with it. No, siree, Bob.

I’ve been known to lose my shit in all manner of places due to a distinct lack of willingness to endure. I used to be incensed by tardiness. A friend running late was enough to make me lose my cool, but now I almost expect people to be a little late, and people cancel last minute all the time when they have kids.

Thankfully, there are many opportunities in life that force allow you to train yourself to have a greater level of patience.

1. Parenting

If you don’t learn to overcome your impatience and quick temper, your head will implode and you are in danger of becoming an alcoholic. Children will make you late, make you tired and make your house messy. Watching a baby learn to feed themselves requires the utmost patience as you watch food going up their nose, all over the floor and in their hair.
You can almost guarantee they won’t do that at 15, so be patient.

2. The Post Office at Christmas

The post office brings out the S.L.O.W. in people. Everyone fumbles for their change, takes inordinate amounts of time to write things and chat to the cashiers about the weather. I hate the festive post office so much I always swear I’m going to send my cards in July… I never do, of course.
I tend to send none at all and say they got lost in the mail. Win.

Did I say I cut them? I used the term 'I' very loosely......

Did I say I cut them? I used the term ‘I’ very loosely……

3. The female toilet queue at a music festival 

There is nothing more disheartening than waiting until the last second to leave your favorite band to hit the Port-a-loo, and finding yourself at the end of a line of ladies jiggling from foot to foot. It’s amazing how you can hold it until just as you’re about to assume the ski-hover, 5 cms from the fetid toilet seat, and then you almost pee yourself as you undo your top button.

4. Listening to your Grandfather’s stories…..again.

I don’t know about your Grandfather, and after a recent little health hiccup, I’m pleased ol’ Fred is still around to be infuriating, but he tells the same stories over and over. I try not to cut him off or fill in the blanks but it’s not easy.
I was so thrilled recently when my child flat out refused I pull his finger.
He is smarter than I was at that age.

filling the olive jar with water

5. Growing Your Own Vegetables

From little things, big veges grow, but it doesn’t happen over night. Some things are sweeter and more delectable eaten as babies (think peas, beets and carrots, and lambs) but others need to time to ripen and mature into something that can grace your plate. Daily tending, with water and kind words can be a chore at times, but with perseverance and patience you too can eat a caterpillar nibbled, oddly genital shaped, organic vegetable.

6. Rendering video

Anyone in the business of movie making will know what I mean. Watching that little blue bar slowly creeping across the screen is maddening if you’re in a rush. A deep breath and a cup of tea may not speed it up, but it will relax you. Or have a whiskey. Or a wank.

7. Waiting for your husband to do the thing he said he’d do later

If I ask him again, it’ll be nagging. Only ask every 6 months so you cannot be accused.
After a year, pay someone else to do it.

8. The person in front at the checkout requiring a price check

This only ever happens when you’re in a rush or your kid is having a Force 10 meltdown. Annoyance is only momentarily alleviated if the product requiring said price check is of a personal nature, like KY or profillactucs  prophylactics frangers.

water and olives

9. City traffic

Suckballs. ‘Nuff said.

10. Brining your own olives

I’ve never done it before, and it’s certainly not hard. After gently slicing them all, I popped them in water which we lovingly change every day for 4 weeks. After the four weeks is up, I’ll put them in brine which we change every couple of days. After about 6 weeks in total, they’ll be ready to marinate in some olive oil with lemon and chili and garlic, if we so desire. Not hard, but requires great patience, Grasshopper.

Stay tuned for Olive Brining, Part 2.

Hooking up with Our Growing Edge for the monthly link up. Come and flash your culinary adventures with us…..only 4 days until this month is closed, but next month there will be another opportunity to tend your growing edge.

Check out deets here.


EssentiallyJess is my homegirl, so pop over and see what shaking at ibotville…..

Do you want a piece of me? Holsbys birthday video.

22 Mar

Some of you may know that I used to be an actress.

Now, all of you can see why I gave it up.

You may also note, I have not given up being a total idiot.

Somethings will never change.

I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Your comments, and clicks, emails and love, mean more to me than I can express.

I’m also well chuffed I stuck something out for a year.

Happy Birthday KUWTH. You’re now approaching toddlerhood.

Linking up with WithSomeGrace, to flog myself silly. Go see what Mama G is up to this week.

Whoring around this week with Flash Blog Friday, just so I can flash while I flog. Check out the FBF hostess with the mostess at Twinkle In The Eye

15 Hipster Words You Need To Be Cool

19 Mar

Due to the simple fact that I’m a moderately uncool, almost middle aged person, I realised I needed to get a little jiggy with my hipster speak.

Sadly, I think jiggy went out in early 2000 when the Fresh Prince got his life ‘turned, flipped upside down’ and started making in-roads as a serious actor.

I thought I’d share a few spectacular Gen Y-isms that everyone should try to absorb into their vernacular, in order to up their cool rank.

Drop this shizzle at the right moment into the right conversation and you too can sound like your finger is somewhere near the pulse, if not actually on it.

1. Amazeballs

‘That dress makes your eyes look amazeballs’

Not sure how it came about, but can you imagine if you were the first person that ever put those two words together?
His friends would have laughed their arses off at him, and then started using it as an in joke…..and then it went viral.

Would the opposite be suckballs? Should be. I love that too.

Can I start a suckballs revolution?

That would be amazeballs.

2. Totes

‘I think he’s a douche bag’ ‘Totes’

I bloody totes love totes. You know why?

Because I’m really important and busy. So busy that using the word totally in it’s entirety is just too time consuming for me.
Using the word totes frees me up more time for Facebooking.

'Gee Burt, your rack looks totes amazeballs in that ensemble!'

‘Gee Burt, your rack looks totes amazeballs in that ensemble!’

3. Awks

‘I realised my skirt was tucked into the back of my undies. Totes awks.’

One of the biggest things I’m noticing is that we’re just abbreviating the crap outta stuff. That said, I love awks.

Awks is an awkward sounding abbreviation that covers everything from an accidental fart, to putting your foot in it.

I’ve been known to do both. Simultaneously.

4. Devo

‘I’m devo cos I’m heaps povo and I can’t afford to go so my FOMO is going off’

Devastated. I think devastation is such an amazingly powerful word that devo seems like the younger sibling.

If a family member forgets my birthday, I’m devo. If it is because hey has passed away, I’m devastated.

See? Different.

5. Grill

‘He was all up in my grill’

Your grill is your face, or more specifically, your teeth, but for some reason I always thought it was your arse.
Your arse is your trunk.

If you have your grill in someone’s trunk, you’d better hope they’re buying you dinner.

 6. Povo

‘I’d love to go see One Direction but I’m, like, povo’

I haven’t used this one, personally, but I can absolutely see the value in it.
Especially if I was, like, totally poverty stricken.

I don’t think we’ll be hearing it in World Vision ads any time soon.

7. LOL

Laughing is so unattractive and passe. Your mouth is wide open, you can see your tonsils, you may even snort or slap your thigh. Lolling is the way forward.

No one ever peed their pants lolling.

Pissing myself lolling......(need to work on my trout pout)

Pissing myself lolling……(need to work on my trout pout)


8. My bad

‘Shit, dude, my bad’

This one is a lame arse apology.

Instead of saying sorry, and meaning it, like a normal person, this is to be used when you want to sound flippant and like you don’t really give a flying…… now, in my opinion, if you’re in a position where you should be apologising, and you’re all blasé about it, someone is totes within their rights to punch you in the face.

'Did you just say MY BAD?????'

‘Did you just say MY BAD?????’

9. Rack

A rack is boobs. How someone came up with that, I’ll never know but I guess it has something to do with the top rack.
I don’t really use rack, as I’m not a boob spotter, but I do use rig for the entire kit.

‘Check out his rig’


10. Shizz or shizzle

These two can have totally different meanings.

You have ‘fo’ shizzle, my nizzle’ means for sure. WTF a nizzle is, I have no damned idea and can not find anything on the net……however, when I googled shizzle I found this, which is way funnier than anything I could ever come up with -

A word most often abused horribly by inexperienced suburban white douche-bags who wish to give themselves some falsified counterfeit form of street-cred.

Pure ghetto gold.

That said, I often also use shizzle for its other meaning. A polite form of shit i.e. I talk a lot of shizzle.
I feel like it’s code so my Nana won’t know I’ve got a mouth like a trucker.

Now I know I have a mouth like a suburban white douche-bag trucker.

My favorite kind.

11. Chillax
‘You need to chillax, homes’
Brilliant. An amalgamation of two of my favorite things. Chilling and relaxing.
Obviously, amalgamating can’t be done willy-nilly as you’ll sound like a twat and no one will know what you’re talking about.
12. Whatevs
‘It’s your turn to change the baby’s nappy’ ‘Whatevs’
My personal favourite. We all know that ‘whatevering’ someone is the ultimate dismissal, but an abbreviated whatever is about a million times ruder.
Use wisely though, if said in an argument, your argue-ee is well within their rights to bust your grill. Twice.

13. YOLO

‘You Only Live Once’

Personally I think anyone who says this is actually probably increasing their chances of being killed in a street fight so by the mere utterance of the wankism they may be contradicting the very sentiment….. by hey, I’m cynical arsehole.

14. FOMO

‘Fear Of Missing Out’

GUILTY. If my chronic Facebook over usage is anything to go by, I have this Gen Y affliction in spades.

15. Cray Cray

You’d have to flippin’cray cray to use this crappy one. Crazy. CRAZY!!

How fucking hard is it to say CRAZY? Still two syllables, and one has a Z which everyone knows is the coolest letter in the alphabet after the X.

This makes me feel a tad cray cray. For realsies.

If you dig this totes amazeballs post, you should like my Facebook page immediately, or subscribe via email, to be sure you always keep up with the Holsbys.

Hooking up with totes rad EssentiallyJess cos it’s Tuesday.

Fugly Birthday Cake….how low can we go?

12 Mar hmmmmmmm?

happy birthday cakeOn the 23rd March, we will be celebrating a birthday.

Not D Man’s, although he’s turning 3 soon, nor is it Kiki’s first birthday, although that is looming also.

On the 23rd of March, 2012, I posted my first blog, after two of my dear friends cajoled me into starting a project one morning at the park.
I had been complaining of feeling like I was dying creatively, and in danger of disappearing into a waft of insignificance.

At their suggestion my initial thought was -

 ‘What on Earth do I have to say?’

- And wouldn’t you know it, it would appear I have a whole lot to say.

I’m no longer dying or in fear of disappearing, and I can’t believe how fast this first year has gone. I think we could fairly safely say I’ve embraced all things blog.

I’ve made new cyber friends, had amazing exchanges of thoughts and the support I’ve received upon the interwebs has been wonderful and now I feel like it’s time to give something back.

Birthdays are great for many reasons, but none more than CAKE.

Happy Birthday,'re not a total twerp, you're just misunderstood.

Happy Birthday, Justin……you’re not a total twerp, you’re just misunderstood.

I’ve decided that I’m going to make Keeping Up With The Holsbys a birthday cake…..but it will not be like any old cake ordinaire, oh no. It won’t.

Where’s the fun in that?

I recently posted really freaky-looking cakes and meatloaves shaped like babies (don’t google Meatloaf baby, you can never un-see that) on my Facebook page, and it made me decide I was ready for a cake challenge.

Say it with a heart cake.

Say it with a heart cake.

We know I’m a croissant-making, smarty-pants, over-achiever, so let’s try a challenge of a different kind -

An inappropriate, or fugly, cake challenge.

Is a uterus cake ever appropriate?

Is a uterus cake ever appropriate?

That’s right, folks, I’m going to try my hand at cake decorating for your viewing pleasure, and you’re going to decide what I make.

I wonder if Grandma was at the baby shower?

I wonder if Grandma was at the baby shower?

There is no suggestion to weird, too gross, or too inappropriate, and the one that I deem the most hilarious, I will attempt to make, eat and blog.

I could never kill Hoot, but Hootabelle?

I could never kill Hoot, but Hootabelle?

For a little inspiration I’ve found some truly awful, and strangely awesome, baked delights.

I would serve this one in a cake potty, of course.

I would serve this one in a cake potty, of course.

Drop your suggestion on my Facebook page or in the comments, and let’s get baking!

If I find it too hard to choose I may be forced to put it to a vote, cos we’ll all democratic and shit over here in Holsbyville…..

50 shades of wrong.

50 shades of wrong.

I’m hooking up with EssentiallyJess and the ibots today…..cos it’s Tuesday and that’s how we roll.


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