Wednesday, September 23, 2009

They finally announced the topic!

So last year, I took part in Blog Action Day for the first time. My blog wasn't that old, I didn't have that many readers (I've gained one since then), but it was a subject that struck a chord with me because I've seen so much poverty myself...and could have come close in my own life. It was a great feeling to take part in something that people all. over. the. world!! are doing. Sure, I like myself a good meme from time to time, I even like those stupid time wasting quiz things that circulate through people's notes on Crackbook. But this was different. This gave us ALL a chance to say what was on our mind, for one day, for one cause. You can click HERE to read my attempt last year.

Well, I've been waiting and waiting and waiting for them to announce the subject for this year and yesterday when I opened my email, it was finally there!


We all have our opinions on this, you know we do. So, how about for this year, we see if we can top the number of registered blogs and do our best to make our voices heard. In December, world leaders will be joining together to discuss the world's position on the subject and wouldn't it be great if OUR voices were heard?

You don't have to be a well read blog with thousands of just have to use your voice (and your fingers because unless you're going to do a video for it, then you'll have to type).

So...go to the Blog Action Day website and register your blog. And then on OCTOBER 15th, make your thoughts known! Who's with me?!

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Monday, September 21, 2009

We talk some weird crap in this house

Over the past week or so, I've actually managed to be on the ball for the most part when listening to the ramblings of the people that inhabit my house. I've known for a long time that if I pay attention, I will occasionally hear something amusing from their mouths . I just rarely remember what it is when it comes to composing a blog post. Guess what I did this week? (Nuh uh...I didn't do THAT..gross!) I wrote them down!


My step sister (15) stayed with us last weekend so that mum & stepdad could go away for a much needed weekend away to just chill. She was with us for a few days and obviously needed to have a shower or three in that time. As she disappeared into the bathroom one morning I overheard the spawn discussing the matter of closed doors:

Girl Spawn: "S keeps closing doors Boy Spawn!!"

Boy Spawn: *gasp!* "What?! WHY?!"

(because apparently it's a major event if a door gets closed in this house. Actually it probably is because the spawnlets don't believe in privacy)

GS: "Cos she's getting naked!! For her shower" (like duh...)

BS: *drops to whisper* (for the first time in his life..the boy has no volume control) "So no one sees her vagina?!?!"

GS: *fit of giggles* "I guess...teeheehee"


Crappy kids shows playing in the background as the offspring jump around the room doing their best to annoy the crap out of me when suddenly a Miley Cyrus song starts. Both of them grind to a halt (wouldn't you? scary shit man!) and listen for a bit. Then....

Boy Spawn: *sigh* "She has a booooootiful voice.....ahhhhhhh"


We live across the road from my mother. Y'know, like in Everybody Loves Raymond but with my mother playing a slightly less annoying and intrusive version of Marie. She happens to possess a cat who could do with its very own psychiatrist. Chekov (yes, after the Star Trek character) is a bit nutso, but we tolerate his increasingly frequent visits over to our house. Being part Burmese, he can be rather vocal when he feels like he's not getting enough attention (a lot like children and horny husbands) ....

GS: "Ugh...he meows a LOT"

BS: (looks at sister like she's totally off her rocker) *deadpan* "Uh. Yeah. Cos he's a cat."


Recently the fruit of my loins have decided that they are both budding Cezannes and will draw on any piece of paper that isn't filed away safely. (Which really means any piece of paper at all because my filing system is..well....isn't). As they sat there the other day tracing any part of their body that was exposed, with the very firm rule that clothing stayed on, and I heard....

BS: "Argh! I can't trace your head! It's too BIG!"

GS: *shocked look, sounds of indignation and lots of huffing and puffing* "It is NOT too big. Mom! Tell him it's not too big! I do NOT have a big head"

By this point, I was too busy giggling to defend my darling girl spawn's honour because in all honesty she DOES have a big head. Just like her mother.


As with many siblings, slapping and punching, kicking and attempted murder are par for the course. I have learned to tune it all out quite effectively ...... usually. The other day as they geared up for another epic battle, I heard a slap and then....

GS: "OW!!! Moooooooommmmm, he HIT me!!!"


BS: "My hand is very naughty sometimes"

On the one hand, just thinking about that simple statement makes me giggle. On the other, I'm kind of hoping that by the time he's 15 he has better control over his naughty hand. I'm sure his girlfriend's parents will be grateful.


It's not just the spawn that come up with the funnies in this house. Occasionally Hotty Hubby will come up with a doozy.

Years ago, my mother had some friends in their homeschooling network that were a On one trip to the beach, she (the friend) was out in the water when her husband yelled "Show us your norks!!" She promptly flipped up her shirt and flashed her boobs at everyone. This has since become a bit of a thing to say in the Mad Woman house. Just today I looked at Hotty Hubby and asked him to show me his norks. He promptly yanked down his shorts and shook his junk at me.

HH: "I don't have norks but I've got this" (continues to shake his junk like he's going for a record in some junk swinging competition)

MW: "That's a Snork!"

HH: (without even missing a beat) "Yup, that's how I breathe if my head goes under water"

Gawd....remind me to never push him into a pool.

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Thursday, September 17, 2009

Thank you

As with last week, we are again invited to take part in the "Letter That I'll Never Send". This week the theme is "A letter to someone I'm thankful to". You have no idea how many people I could have written this letter to. It was hard to pick just one because there are many people in my life who I am thankful for (especially the bartenders who've poured me all my yummy drinks) and I can't very well write them ALL a letter can I. (Well I could but it would take me too long and quite frankly I don't have the patience or inclination. In other words, I can't be assed.) Anyway, I finally figured it out......

You've been there for almost a couple of years now, checking in on me, seeing how things are going in my usually normal, occasionally batshit crazy, life of mine. You offer words of support and tell me what you think (even if you know I probably don't want to hear it...and sometimes I really don't!), risking the Mad Woman's wrath raining down on your head. It's a gutsy move and not one that many people are willing to take. I'm sure that there are times when you're wanting to just shake your head, tell me I'm an idiot and slap me up the side of my head. Goodness knows there's been times when I've been tempted to do the same. To myself. Not you. (Ok, sometimes you, but not often I promise.)

You've come with me on adventures with neighbours and work colleagues, moving house and trials and tribulations with Hotty Hubby and the Spawnlets. There has always been your rather comforting shoulder to cry on and winning personality to giggle with over the insanities that are our lives (c'mon, admit it...we're insane!). And in between my own experiences, you've shared your own.

I've laughed with you (and at you), cried with you and considered hopping on flights all over the world to avenge you. You've allowed me into your life (ok, maybe "allowed" is a bit strong of a word....tolerated me there is maybe more accurate) and revealed things that make me quite humbled to know, given the relative newness of our relationship.

There are people out there who don't understand our friendship. There are times when I don't fully get it and I'm sure the feeling is mutual. I have often taken you for granted., (I bet if you showered me with goodies I wouldn't....I like gin!) but I will endeavour to not do so as often in the future. After all, it is you that keeps me going in this particular area of my life. You see, I would have given up on this whole writing thing a long time ago if it were not for you, my friends, my people (peeps, homies, amigos, potential pub partners). The fact that you continue to come back and read what I have left in this space, that you do not go running for the hills, screaming like a wild banshee (is there such a thing as a tame banshee?), that you leave comments to tell me how you feel about what I've all makes me do it again.

So thank you, you few readers out there who keep coming back. The ones who see me pop up on your feeder, the one who read when it links through to Facebook, the ones who just check in once in awhile. You all rock. And you all keep me writing these inane bits of crap.

(See what I did there? I thanked you and blamed you all at the same time ..... See? It's your fault that this crap is still being posted. Muahaha!)

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Friday, September 11, 2009

Let the colours fly....

**I must, at least in part, thank Moonspun and Frogdancer for some of the inspiration for this post. After reading about the colours from both of you, it really helped here. Cheers!**

As I sat here at my desk this afternoon listening to the spawn whine about how this household was turning into a third world country, how they were soon going to be starving to death because they hadn't eaten in at least 2 hours and they couldn't possibly sit quietly and watch the movie about the monsters and suicidal rabbits because the noise of their grumbling tummies was just too much to bear, I was trying to put together a deep and insightful post for my return to Free For All Fridays. Unfortunately, the thought of my children slowly wasting away to nothingness as I deprived them of nourishment was too much for me and the deepness slipped away into the cold, gray afternoon to play. So instead, I have turned to something slightly different ......

The interwebs have been invited to take part in this regular meme, and it's one that appeals to me on an "I'm an annoying citizen who takes great pleasure in writing letters of complaint and compliment both" level. This week's theme is "Letter to my favourite author".


There are just far too many of you for me to pick just one author to whom I should address my letter. Since I was a child I have been curling up in corners and escaping to new worlds and new lives as I devoured the words that you so painstakingly put to paper. I have been a princess (and occasionally a prince because, y'know, equally opportunities and all that crap), an explorer, a centaur (that was a new experience!), a child suffering abuse at the hands of a loved one but still coming through ok on the other side (as ok as you can be), a superhero's girlfriend, a high flying journalist (only my dream job currently!) and up next I'm going to be playing the part of parenthetical outlaw apparently.

As you sit and set out your words for the rest of us to read, do you dream about the worlds you are describing? Do you consider the way in which the rest of us are interacting with those worlds? I think of it rather like Alice in Wonderland with the falling down the rabbit hole. As you wrote about the boys fighting with each other and mounting the pig's head on the stick, I could almost smell the coppery scent of the blood and hear the flies buzzing. When the kids came through the wardrobe and into the woods, it was if you had pushed me through with them to take part in their adventures and make friends with the lion - witches be damned.

Now that I'm older and find myself being drawn into the world of vampires and werewolves, dragons and dwarves, I wonder if I'm getting too old for you. Is there an age limit on your works? Should I now be moving on to other fictional pieces? Perhaps, as like many women my age, I should be reading those Harlequin Romance books where the authors can't even use their big girl words. (Seriously, "she ran her hand up and down his pulsating shaft"?! Like we don't all know what you mean...c'mon) Or should I be exercising my brain while reading non-fiction about woodworking or biographies? It's a conundrum I face every time I set foot in the library. You all make it so difficult for me to choose one genre of book, so I apologize that I am not loyal to any one set, yet it keeps me and my incredibly patient (and hot, did I mention hot?) husband amused as I sit and chuckle while reading excerpts of your books.

I have recently read two things that have made me realise I'm not nearly as much of a freak as I had thought (well, maybe I am, but it's in a good way at least). The first was about a child who sees colours when he hears music. The entire time I was reading about him, I was nodding my head (Black Eyed Peas were playing...they get a good beat going) and thinking that I knew sort of how he felt. Then this morning I read that the lovely Moonspun sees the days of the week and the calendar in her brain as colours. Again, I was nodding along (no music this time, just a bit of a tic I get when I'm when my eye starts going and everyone thinks I'm having a stroke but I'm really not, I'm just weird).

You see, when I read, the words create more than just fictional worlds I can live in and characters I can befriend. When I read, I see your words in colour. Your words, which you have so painstakingly set out on paper and flogged to every publisher who would listen, pop off the page in the many colours of the rainbow. It's like the book morphs into a veritable kaleidoscope of beauty right before my eyes. Even in the darkest stories with danger and destruction, the blacks are not black but tinged with a hint of blue.

For me, reading has always been a wonderful experience. When those colours come off the page with the words, it becomes so much more. And more and more often I find myself getting small sparks of colour (like if you were to stick a fork in a socket...but less electrifying and death causing) popping up when I write my own words.

Thank you, all my favourite authors, for making it so difficult to choose just one (actually I probably could choose but I don't like to hurt your feelings, you might stop writing. Because, well, we all know my opinion is the most important and influential when it comes to you writing).

Here's to many more years of words and colours.

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Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Young Hooker On Fast Track

The title of this post? Yeah..up there..."Young Hooker on Fast Track". What did YOU think when you read it? I'd be willing to bet that I'm not the only one here whose brain functions on a gutter level. I'm also sure that I'm not alone when I say that when *I* read that line, I was thinking "Erm...isn't a hooker permanently on a fast track? That's why they're a hooker right? They're fast?" And then I thought "Wow! Hookers get promoted?! Awesome! Someone just went from $100 an hour to $150".

C' know you were thinking something dirty.

And like me, you were wrong. I haven't yet decided if it's because I have a dirty mind that closely resembles a man's (thinks of sex every 30 seconds) or if I just haven't adjust culturally to the way things are done and said here in this new country o'mine. I'm banking on the former.

That young hooker is actually a rugby player. "Hooker" is a position in the national sport of NZ. And I guess, according to our local paper, he's on a fast track in his rugby career. But it just goes to show how much I have to learn. Maybe I just need to change careers? Get into hooking? Fast track and all that jazz!

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