When you make that decision to have your first child there is nothing that anyone can tell you that will prepare you in anyway for the new encounters ahead. In fact, you may find the majority of the advice hurled your way insulting, we are all born with the same instincts, we are all planning to be the best mothers we can, the rest is a journey that differs greatly between each traveler upon the windy road of parenthood.
Right? Well sort of, there is this one piece of advice that Id like to throw at you to try on for size and if it doesnt fit feel free to ditch it straight back at me, or to save a fight just disregard.
Get them fighting gloves on and if your of the pacifist variety then at least prepare yourself for a little healthy competition.
You see, this is what you get when a generation of las's see themselves fit to mother.. And yes Im about to generalise and possibly piss off allot of people, well a few depending on if anyone actually reads my posts anymore. A group of ladies, all successful in their own right, who's chosen careers and life paths all differ greatly from woman to woman, they catch up on the weekends with genuine interests in each others lives, from hairdressers to accountants to traveling artists to doll bludgers. They all have a story to tell, a laugh to share and as far as each other is concerned they are all following through these life choices with the upmost conviction.
This is until they decide to have kids... All of them, possibly not in the same year but lets say with a 5 year time frame, what does this mean? Well you have taken the hairdresser, the accountant, the blonde, the brunette, the skinny chick and the curvey one and you have given them all the exact same job.. Motherhood. There is bound to be competition, you cant even blame us.
What categories you be expected to be competing in?
Anything from how well your children eat to how natural and difficult the labour.
To take things all the way back to the beginning, let me give you a little heads up on the labour sitch. Apparently the less pain relief, the greater the woman. This is a funny one, I clearly failed as I had my epidural before I was even induced, I played 'words with friends' and wondered why the word 'cunt' isnt actually a word while someone else pulled a baby out of my fanny. Big No No, Freo hippies were shaking their heads for weeks. Another bizarre labour fact is "The less stitches, the greater the woman" Cant get my head around why people brag about not needing stitches...., is a big fanny something to take pride in these days?? Jees, next there will be a facebook page dedicated to small dicks, we could call it Naked Peenys. Cesarean, fail, even if the baby was breach still a fail. Induction, fail. Basically the only way your going to win on the labour front is if you push a 5 kg baby out of your huge vag in your car on the way to the 'birthing centre' and don't tear. Good luck with that.
Sleeping babies. Most of your friends will tell you that their baby sleeps through at 3 months, why? Because thats what a natural organic breastfed baby does, it sleeps though because soul mumma over here knows all the tricks, read all the books and basically looks shit hot everyday after a lazy 12 hours sleep. I like to call my failure on this topic 'musical beds' My kids are up all night swapping beds and keeping the whole house up. In fact my 4 year old was up counting the shrapnel she had stolen through the day at 3am last nigh. I tried to choke myself on one of her 5cent coins, I failed at that too.
How much TV do your kids watch? Can your little fucker speak French yet? Do you still get time to go to the Gym? In fact do you still get time to wank every night? Did you drink Coconut water and engulf yourself in Evian spring water every day while pregnant? Why not? Why the fuck not?
Why don't men have this same competitive streak? Well thats simple, a mans life still maintains some sort of regularity during the child bearing years. They still get gratification at work, getting maggot with their friends, just grabbing a short mac on your own must be so fucking gratifying compared to this shit! In fact if I only had my kids for an hour in the evenings and on the weekends then maybe I wouldn't be sitting here right now seething over the Thermoixed organic mash that my friends all made for their kids dinners while busy me (lazy) me gave my son baked beans.
I dont care, I come last with everything anyway. I love my my kids, my friends all love their kids, even the cunt who lives down the road who's angry little bastard of a 4 year old already knows his 4x tables loves her kids.
This is just a friendly warning, so if it happens to you or someone you know, laugh it off. It actually doesnt matter in the scheme of things, it will pass. Hopefully at your baby shower some funny fucker will buy you a pair of boxing gloves xxxxxx
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
a story of love....
Lovers, you fall in love with each other, he electrocutes you with his every touch, he motivates you to spend your rent money on new clothes, to call in sick from work just to spend more quality time in bed together, you think about each other during those 30 minute gaps that your not together, you ditch your mates to hang out with his, his morning breath doesnt repulse you and big dick or small dick, generous lover or selfish he is the best fuck you've ever had. You kiss him, you fuck him, you fall asleep, dream about kissing him wake up and fuck him.
Enjoying your life this much, having your every vein injected with him is of course a slow acting poison, unsustainable happiness if you continue this way your world will come crashing down.
The fire becomes tiring, nobody has the energy for the constant state of passion. The fire becomes smoke, nobody grieves, we all know that where there is smoke there is fire, resting fire.
Your boyfriend becomes your best friend, he watches the road while you text walk, he picks you up from the pub when your smashed and listens to you bitch about your friend and what a cunt her new boyfriend is, you decide on bathroom colour schemes while he is taking a crap, you send each other photos of what your cooking for dinner.
Life is as it should be, you found each other. You forget where he ends and you begin.
Time goes by, complacency rears its unwelcome head.
He has a bad day at work and takes it out on you, you cant speak to him without it turning in to a fight, he starts to go out with his friends more, you less, he laughs with his mates the way that he used to laugh with you. You stop giving him blow jobs. Your worried that he might pick up another woman, look after another woman, buy her drinks, memorise her ticklish spots, save her the wings on his roast chicken. You hate his mum. Sometimes when he snores instead of putting in ear plugs you kick him really hard. You want to stop him from going out and enjoying himself and you don't know why. He gave up hassling you for sex. He thinks the food you cook is shit and doesn't bother saying thanks anymore. You stop wanting him to come home and start preying that he doesn't. He stinks. You don't care if he picks up another woman. He gets stingy with his money. He thinks your using him, draining him. He finds you ugly.
He moves out, your sad. So is he.
You bump in to things while your text walking and your bed is cold. He looks around at the emptiness that going out every nights bringing him and starts to ask himself allot of questions. Your cooking wasnt really that bad. Your actually quite pretty.
He tries to pick up another girl but she doesnt make him laugh or have freckles on her nose, you cant think of another man, you miss his smell.
You fuck each other again. Its amazing.
He moves back in, you call in sick from work.
You kiss him, you fuck him, you fall asleep and dream about kissing him, you wake up and fuck him.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
The Mechanics Institute..
The holy fuck wits Institute..
Picture the scene, its Northbridge Western Australia, Saturday night. My black and white mind divides the crowd into 2 categories, the cashed up bogans and the hipsters. Enter us, a group of mums who's freedom is limited to the big decisions like Corn Flakes or Toast..
After a lovely dinner we walk over to the Mechanics Institute, one of Perth 'hotspots' admittedly I have heard it being describes as "a bar with a real Melbourne feel" that makes it cool right?
I like the lay out of the bar, it has a casual almost grungy feel to it immersed in recycled brick being tucked away behind buildings down an alley way yet still manages to be predominantly out doors works for Perths extended and unbearable summers. I felt my street cred enhance slightly just by being there.
The first thing that made my eye ball twitch a little was the music. It was commercial music from the 90's, I get it the 90's are back in a big way and I love 90's I grew up in them music but Brian Adams? Sinead Oconner? the list went on. The tunes triggered an epiphany... Its finally happened.. Indi music, underground noncommercial music has finally become so wide spread that that its now mainstream, no longer cool. In fact to maintain ones hipster, 2 steps ahead 'different from the norm' status one must now be mainstream... But not today mainstream, the 90's mainstream as the 90's are todays trend so the hipsters haven't completely abandoned fashion. A simple formula, I should have seen it coming.
I can the deal with 90's commercial music, the bar staff were however another story.
Todays in look for the hipster male is channeling a strong Ned Kelly inspiration, the fashion beard has been rocked for quite some time and doesn't look like its going anywhere.
The fashion beard, i case any of you haven't stepped foot in Fremantle for the last 2 years is a fully grown almost biker style beard, its unshaped entirely (goes without saying as rule number 1 to being a hipster is that you must look like you don't give a fuck about your 1 most important asset, your look)
Bar staff number 1, a middle eastern looking guy with the best fashion beard there... He was hipster royalty, the other mere mortal bar staff looked at him as though the probability that he was about to lay 3 fresh dragon eggs was high. I felt drawn in by him, his dance moves were captivating. I was however served by bar staff number 2..Who must have seen a hint of disappointment on my face as before asking me what Im drinking he found a way to slip in that he had only just cut off his beard and that it used to be just as "good" as that guys. Slightly confused, I asked him for 6 Jagamiester shots (as I said, we don't go out much) His reply of "sorry we don't serve shit alcohol, only good alcohol" pissed me off a little, back when I was doing the hipster Bar attendant thing in Melbourne all those years ago Jaga wasn't that bad, its not like I asked for a cock sucking cowboy or anything, cock sucker. So when I replied with "Well one might find the shit music misleading then?" Bar guy 2 needed back up... "She said we have shit music!" He almost yelled the words. I wasn't bothered by the Hipster glares, I wasn't there to make friends, I was there to get drunk.
The clientele was my last gripe and then I promise I will shut the fuck up. As waiting for a drink I was approached, off guard a hipster who leaned across in an almost whisper, extremely laid back tone that totally lacked charisma the words "Billie Violet Arlo Love" Obviously someone can read as I have my two childrens names tattoo'd on my arm Billie-Violet and Arlo Love. I turned and was instantly confronted by the mother of all hipsters, this guy is so hip that he's literally become a looser again. We are talking the under cut head shave with the pony on top, reading glass's (clear lensed Im sure) and some weird fucking straight jacked that tied up at the back. His follow up line was, "Who are the?"
I replied politely, "My children" He looked disgusted, "You have four children?" This guys clever!! "Nope I have two" then little hipster was still unimpressed, "How old are you?" He asked, "29" I replied, wait for it, I loved this part... He shook his pointy head and said "wow honey, thats no good, your young, you should be out having fun" Shocked by this guys stupidity I looked around, saw a drink in my hand, some of my best friends drunken dancing next to me and said "Um..... I thought that was what Im doing?" Hipster showed his true colours and came back with "Yeah but babe..... where are your children right now?" Visibly insulted I was left speechless by this 20 year old cock head thankfully the bestie was behind me following the conversation and she piped in with "Oh their at home.. using heroine"
The details of our departure of the Mechanics Institute are not relevant, yes they may have included a smashed glass, a shoulder ride a skateboard and an escorted exit that reminded me of a scene out of a tragic sitcom called 'Mums Gone Wild' the words of my dear departed nanna rang loudly, "Ive been kicked out of better places for worse behaviour"
So back on the streets of Northbridge, this time well and truly smashed I looked up at another pub on the total other end of the spectrum, The Brass Monkey 2 or 3 levels of drunk cashed up bogans and as I watched the Fly in Fly out workers making no effort to contain the excitement of ones week off, spilling on top of each other and off the balcony. I was left sort of appreciating the hipsters, for even if they do believe that working in a bar with a line out the front completely counter acts the fact that they only earn $23 an hour working Sunday mornings until 2 am, and the fact that they have a fuck off beard teamed with stone wash jeans and a vest not only excuses the fact that they still wash glass's for a living at the age of 27 but also makes them better then anybody that doesn't live inside that bubble called The Mechanics Institute. 2.5 stars.
Picture the scene, its Northbridge Western Australia, Saturday night. My black and white mind divides the crowd into 2 categories, the cashed up bogans and the hipsters. Enter us, a group of mums who's freedom is limited to the big decisions like Corn Flakes or Toast..
After a lovely dinner we walk over to the Mechanics Institute, one of Perth 'hotspots' admittedly I have heard it being describes as "a bar with a real Melbourne feel" that makes it cool right?
I like the lay out of the bar, it has a casual almost grungy feel to it immersed in recycled brick being tucked away behind buildings down an alley way yet still manages to be predominantly out doors works for Perths extended and unbearable summers. I felt my street cred enhance slightly just by being there.
The first thing that made my eye ball twitch a little was the music. It was commercial music from the 90's, I get it the 90's are back in a big way and I love 90's I grew up in them music but Brian Adams? Sinead Oconner? the list went on. The tunes triggered an epiphany... Its finally happened.. Indi music, underground noncommercial music has finally become so wide spread that that its now mainstream, no longer cool. In fact to maintain ones hipster, 2 steps ahead 'different from the norm' status one must now be mainstream... But not today mainstream, the 90's mainstream as the 90's are todays trend so the hipsters haven't completely abandoned fashion. A simple formula, I should have seen it coming.
I can the deal with 90's commercial music, the bar staff were however another story.
Todays in look for the hipster male is channeling a strong Ned Kelly inspiration, the fashion beard has been rocked for quite some time and doesn't look like its going anywhere.
The fashion beard, i case any of you haven't stepped foot in Fremantle for the last 2 years is a fully grown almost biker style beard, its unshaped entirely (goes without saying as rule number 1 to being a hipster is that you must look like you don't give a fuck about your 1 most important asset, your look)
Bar staff number 1, a middle eastern looking guy with the best fashion beard there... He was hipster royalty, the other mere mortal bar staff looked at him as though the probability that he was about to lay 3 fresh dragon eggs was high. I felt drawn in by him, his dance moves were captivating. I was however served by bar staff number 2..Who must have seen a hint of disappointment on my face as before asking me what Im drinking he found a way to slip in that he had only just cut off his beard and that it used to be just as "good" as that guys. Slightly confused, I asked him for 6 Jagamiester shots (as I said, we don't go out much) His reply of "sorry we don't serve shit alcohol, only good alcohol" pissed me off a little, back when I was doing the hipster Bar attendant thing in Melbourne all those years ago Jaga wasn't that bad, its not like I asked for a cock sucking cowboy or anything, cock sucker. So when I replied with "Well one might find the shit music misleading then?" Bar guy 2 needed back up... "She said we have shit music!" He almost yelled the words. I wasn't bothered by the Hipster glares, I wasn't there to make friends, I was there to get drunk.
The clientele was my last gripe and then I promise I will shut the fuck up. As waiting for a drink I was approached, off guard a hipster who leaned across in an almost whisper, extremely laid back tone that totally lacked charisma the words "Billie Violet Arlo Love" Obviously someone can read as I have my two childrens names tattoo'd on my arm Billie-Violet and Arlo Love. I turned and was instantly confronted by the mother of all hipsters, this guy is so hip that he's literally become a looser again. We are talking the under cut head shave with the pony on top, reading glass's (clear lensed Im sure) and some weird fucking straight jacked that tied up at the back. His follow up line was, "Who are the?"
I replied politely, "My children" He looked disgusted, "You have four children?" This guys clever!! "Nope I have two" then little hipster was still unimpressed, "How old are you?" He asked, "29" I replied, wait for it, I loved this part... He shook his pointy head and said "wow honey, thats no good, your young, you should be out having fun" Shocked by this guys stupidity I looked around, saw a drink in my hand, some of my best friends drunken dancing next to me and said "Um..... I thought that was what Im doing?" Hipster showed his true colours and came back with "Yeah but babe..... where are your children right now?" Visibly insulted I was left speechless by this 20 year old cock head thankfully the bestie was behind me following the conversation and she piped in with "Oh their at home.. using heroine"
The details of our departure of the Mechanics Institute are not relevant, yes they may have included a smashed glass, a shoulder ride a skateboard and an escorted exit that reminded me of a scene out of a tragic sitcom called 'Mums Gone Wild' the words of my dear departed nanna rang loudly, "Ive been kicked out of better places for worse behaviour"
So back on the streets of Northbridge, this time well and truly smashed I looked up at another pub on the total other end of the spectrum, The Brass Monkey 2 or 3 levels of drunk cashed up bogans and as I watched the Fly in Fly out workers making no effort to contain the excitement of ones week off, spilling on top of each other and off the balcony. I was left sort of appreciating the hipsters, for even if they do believe that working in a bar with a line out the front completely counter acts the fact that they only earn $23 an hour working Sunday mornings until 2 am, and the fact that they have a fuck off beard teamed with stone wash jeans and a vest not only excuses the fact that they still wash glass's for a living at the age of 27 but also makes them better then anybody that doesn't live inside that bubble called The Mechanics Institute. 2.5 stars.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
To Let Go
There is a discussion, a discussion that I've had over and over again. It's between my dad and I, its a discussion that never happened a discussion of love from a position of regret. A discussion about the one thing that I have not mastered, the ability to let go.
The day I was born my dad was there, as every dad does he looked at his daughter in wonder of her pure perfections. Every goodbye broke a little piece of our hearts and inside my mine I begged him to stay.
There is something very special about a father and his daughter. My dad was my humble teacher, my subtle persuader, with lessons that neither he, not I ever saw coming. Lessons of freedom and originality, lessons of love and above all else acceptance.
I could tell my dad anything, we spoke of my fears from STDs to broken hearts and he never failed to reassure me. We spoke of his loves from life painting in Irish pubs to beating his brothers in crosswords. And we spoke of the woman that I wished I was knowing that by his accord I was already her.
When I was old enough I handed him my daughter, those same endless and unconditional blue eyes looked down at her immediately reflecting the flawless girl he saw before him, that same flawless reflection that skipped in front of him his slow walk all those years ago.
The day he died I was there, holding his hand, flooding his pillow with tears whispering my acceptance of his departure, ensuring him that I'll take care of my sister who lay by his side in her own world of grief. I spoke encouraging words of his transition. All the while inside my heart I once again begged him to stay.
Now my daughter asks me where that gentile man has gone, and Im left not only mending my own heart but finding the strength to teach her heart the one most important lesson we are put here to master, the ability to let go.
In this discussion I use all my powers as his daughter to convince him to stay, I beg him to love me enough and forgive me enough for not recognising his pain, just enough to stay.
In this discussion he looks at me as if Im that new born baby again, his big blue eyes fall on me, engulfing me with the simple kindness that is my dad. He tells me to let go baby, you have your own baby now. Your a humble teacher, a subtle persuader, you cant even see it coming.
And then I realise that this is my dad and his parting gift of the one most important lesson he will ever teach me and I will ever learn, the ability to let go.
The day I was born my dad was there, as every dad does he looked at his daughter in wonder of her pure perfections. Every goodbye broke a little piece of our hearts and inside my mine I begged him to stay.
There is something very special about a father and his daughter. My dad was my humble teacher, my subtle persuader, with lessons that neither he, not I ever saw coming. Lessons of freedom and originality, lessons of love and above all else acceptance.
I could tell my dad anything, we spoke of my fears from STDs to broken hearts and he never failed to reassure me. We spoke of his loves from life painting in Irish pubs to beating his brothers in crosswords. And we spoke of the woman that I wished I was knowing that by his accord I was already her.
When I was old enough I handed him my daughter, those same endless and unconditional blue eyes looked down at her immediately reflecting the flawless girl he saw before him, that same flawless reflection that skipped in front of him his slow walk all those years ago.
The day he died I was there, holding his hand, flooding his pillow with tears whispering my acceptance of his departure, ensuring him that I'll take care of my sister who lay by his side in her own world of grief. I spoke encouraging words of his transition. All the while inside my heart I once again begged him to stay.
Now my daughter asks me where that gentile man has gone, and Im left not only mending my own heart but finding the strength to teach her heart the one most important lesson we are put here to master, the ability to let go.
In this discussion I use all my powers as his daughter to convince him to stay, I beg him to love me enough and forgive me enough for not recognising his pain, just enough to stay.
In this discussion he looks at me as if Im that new born baby again, his big blue eyes fall on me, engulfing me with the simple kindness that is my dad. He tells me to let go baby, you have your own baby now. Your a humble teacher, a subtle persuader, you cant even see it coming.
And then I realise that this is my dad and his parting gift of the one most important lesson he will ever teach me and I will ever learn, the ability to let go.
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