Pervy Mangoes

Published on February 7, 2010 in Nostalgia. 6 Comments

When I was 13 we moved house. We moved from the three bedroom, 1 bathroom house that my dad built with his own hands, to a 4 bedroom, 2 bathroom house on 3/4’s of an acre with a pool and garden that back onto a tributary of the Canning River. Even though this new house was only a 15 minute drive away from our old one, the small tracts of agricultural land separating them made it feel like it was forever away.

For half a year Lil Sis and I refused to change schools, getting up early to catch 2 buses and walk quite a distance. Mum even shopped at the old shopping centre we used to frequent. We were excited to be in this lovely new place but we hadn’t counted on being homesick for our old life.

We met our new next door neighbours on the day a young man lost his life. 2 weeks in the new house and we were awoken by the crash and grind of metal. Mum’s bare feet padded quickly to the phone as she called an ambulance without even venturing outside to see what had happened. Mum and dad shooed us inside and asked us to get blankets. His name was Clint and he was only 16. There wasn’t a mark upon him, even though he had been thrown a clear from the car. What mum noticed was his clean white socks, exposed after his shoes had been knocked off. Dad noticed the gurgle in his throat as he left this life.

The neighbours gathered in our driveway that November day, trying to make sense of how the cool, crisp Eucalyptus smelling morning had heralded the death of a boy. One set of neighbours included the District Superintendent of Education in our area. He was quiet and unassuming and there was his raucous red-haired wife who would yell out to him when they were gardening and pull a finger sign if she felt it necessary. The neighbour next door was an older gentlemen with white hair and bushy beard. His name was Albert. They all seemed very nice.

The new garden was very big and in it Mum discovered an almost obsessive love of gardening. One day she was watering by the wooden fence. Albert too was by the fence. Except he had a hose out of a different kind. Mum calmly walked away. Dad calmly went next door and told him if he ever did anything like that again he would kill him.

So from then on, Albert was renamed. We already called him Alby Mangoes. This was a bastardisation of the Australian adventurer Alby Mangels; he was also a film-maker and conservationist who was never short of a busty vixen in Daisy Dukes and bikini top. My sister thought his surname was Mangoes. So next door neighbour Albert ‘Alby Mangoes’ was henceforth known as Pervy Mangoes.

When my sister left school at 15 I was left to walk there by myself, and wouldn’t you know it? Pervy would walk his dog at exactly the same time. He would tell dad ‘Bee is such a lovely little school-girl’ and my skin would crawl. However as we got older he seemed to lose interest. Being innocent my sister and I didn’t even question why – we just thought it was nice to be able to go for a walk without being not-so-surreptitiously followed, or go for a swim without having to see if he was loitering at a decent vantage point in his garden.

When he died some 10 years later, dad went to his funeral and I am not sure why. Perhaps out of respect for his long- suffering wife. When I moved to the country to teach she sold me their funky retro octagonal dining table.

I adored that table.

Something Something Something Dorkside

Published on February 4, 2010 in Beloved, Married Life, Over-sharers Anonymous, Pop Culture and Queen Me. 6 Comments
Bee has been practising her Darth farts.
Her Beloved tells her:  ’Be careful or you will Sith yourself.’
She says she won’t because she doesn’t use enough Force.

In the Jungle: A Guilty ‘I need to post’ Blather on Trans-Indian Ocean Materialism

Published on February 1, 2010 in Can't be bothered categorising and Cranky/Dopey Bitch. 12 Comments

A significant proportion of my family are from Tanzania. That is in Africa. East Africa. I know many of my readers are supremely intelligent but you have no idea how many people ask dumb ass questions when I say my mum is from Tanzania.

‘Is that in South Africa?’ and ‘Oh. But you’re not black’

To say visiting there when I was 15 was a culture shock is an understatement. Not safe to pee at the airport? Huts on the side of the road?  NO McDonald’s? To quote Crissy ‘What kind of bitchery was this?’ Sometimes we couldn’t have a shower because the water pressure wasn’t strong enough to get it up the hill, and you didn’t drink the water. Want a cup of tea? Get your milk straight out of the goat.

But the culture shock wasn’t just material. My cousin was going in a swimming competition at her school. I asked her if she was putting sunscreen on, since it was so hot and sunny. She didn’t know what the hell I was on about – and then cried herself to sleep under a wet sheet that night as the blisters formed.( Slip, slop, slap people – that is all Aussies hear as soon as they are old enough to see sunlight.) The general white populace was gun toting, my family included, those guns having been used on other people to murderous effect.

In Australia we were always told about Stranger Danger and how certain things are inappropriate and what you should do if someone does something to you that they shouldn’t. But when you are in a country when people are starving and a significant proportion of the population have HIV, there are other community service priorities. So amongst the white population, notwithstanding the African population, abuse was rife.

One of my Uncles went back home to Tanzania recently after visiting for my cousin’s wedding. He bemoaned the materialism in Australia. I would have had a go at him, but  he is right. I keenly feel, but don’t do anything about, our consumerism. But on the other hand he hates how he can’t drink and drive here, he has to wear a seatbelt, he can’t smoke anywhere and that women are seen and heard.  He has his materialism, employing Africans at a wage that takes them years to buy a bicycle.  Just because it happens in a beautiful, undeveloped country doesn’t make it any less insidious.

Getting Preggo

Published on January 27, 2010 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Lazy Bitch, Married Life, Over-sharers Anonymous and Queen Me. 24 Comments

We spend most of our adult life with the fear of getting pregnant, so what happens when you actually want it to happen?

Well, for me, I somehow expect  that because I am not trying not to get pregnant it should just happen. When using the contraceptive pill I thought that if wasn’t for that tiny little dose of hormones my super fruitful womb and his Olympic champion swimmers would be getting together and wreaking havoc.

So gone is the 6am rustle, pop and dry swallow of that non-baby making pill; 3 months now. I think my body is still trying to figure out what to do with itself after nearly 16 years of scheduled programming.  

Either way I think it is time to make more of a concerted effort. Beloved will be pleased.

Giving Up

Published on January 25, 2010 in Cranky/Dopey Bitch. 8 Comments

You didn’t come to Lil Sister’s 29th birthday dinner.

You didn’t come to my 30th birthday dinner. Nor did you call me. You sent a friend over with my present.

You are divorced and amicable, but you didn’t come to Dad’s 60th birthday party. Nor did you invite the people dad asked you to, you being the one with all the addresses.

You didn’t show up to Lil Sister’s Hen’s Night. She called you and begged you to come, which you eventually did. You came to mine, albeit so medicated you could hardly speak.

This weekend you really stuffed up.

It is one thing to abuse your own immediate family this way.

But no matter how depressed you are, you know the difference between right and wrong, and not showing up to your nephew’s wedding was wrong. Dad asked if you wanted a lift. You told him you had made other arrangements.  As usual, with your brothers in the country, there has been niggling and politics, to which I am not party to. However NONE of that matters when it comes to a loved one’s wedding. He was so disappointed.

I don’t know what to say or do in the face of this selfishness. I can’t defend it, use your mental illness as an excuse, because there is a point where I give up.

And this is it.

Beloved Wants a Post About his Awesomeness

Published on January 22, 2010 in Beloved, Books n Stuff, Married Life and Queen Me. 13 Comments

What is your life-long dream? Have you achieved it yet? What do you think you would do, once you had?

I had a life-long dream, to write a novel. I had an inkling, through school and university that I was an okay writer. I just believed I had a lack of imagination. Beloved introduced me to the fantasy genre about 9 years ago, thinking that it might help me. And it did. I started with The Belgariad  series by David Eddings and continued with Ian Irvine’s The View from the Mirror series. I must say, I love Aussie sci-fi and fantasy – it is really refreshing.

For many years I harboured a yearning to write a novel. Without actually getting off my arse to do anything about it. I became a teacher, so that I would have all these holidays to write in. And I did start, in my first year, to write that novel. I got up to page 80.

If I had to say something about trying to write a novel is that it is simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing to do. When I actually got writing, it would write itself, as if the characters were already people living inside my head (schizophrenia anyone?) and sometimes it was the most daunting, mountain moving task ever.

By mid 2009 I had decided enough was enough. How much would it suck to have a dream and not achieve it? I would hate to die and not do the one thing I truly wanted to do. In the October school holidays I told myself I would write 10 pages everyday. While I didn’t exactly write that much, I still wrote. My next goal was to actually finish the novel by the end of the Summer holidays. Very rough first draft of course.

And as of Wednesday the 2oth of January, at approximately 5pm I did it. I am not sure if I can describe the feeling. It was pretty freaking amazing. As soon as I wrote those last words, I hit save and print…and I still haven’t even read the last 5 or so pages. I am a little bit scared to. I posted the news on facebook and then went a bought a bottle of Pol Roger Champagne and watched Aliens in the Attic (cute, funny, brainless) while waiting for Beloved to come home, so I wouldn’t have to drink alone. (I seriously considered not buying the champagne because of the health kick I am on and then I was like are you serious? I am sorry, how many first novels are you planning to finish?)

So – how do I feel? Excited, happy, scared, elated, relieved. I said my dream was to write a novel. I didn’t say it had to be a good one. But nonetheless I am going to edit the shit out of it, let a select few cast their discerning eye over it, and see where it takes me, even if it is the rejection pile. And then I will start my next.

The next day Beloved proclaimed he had a present for me. Now, I am all geared for deciding when I ‘deserve‘ presents, but it didn’t even cross my mind that this would be one occasion. This of course made Beloved even happier, because as I have mentioned before, he likes to do things without me ‘opening my whinge hole’. So sufficed to say I was delightedly gob-smacked when the little blue bag appeared and nestled within was a gorgeous platinum and diamond Fleur de Lis Key charm necklace. Spoilt bitch!

Awesome husband and achieving my dreams? Feel free to do a little hating.

Piles of Fun!

Published on January 20, 2010 in Over-sharers Anonymous and Queen Me. 12 Comments

Who knew my mediocrely adventurous adventures in the bedroom in my early 20s would stand me in good stead when I lay in the docs office today, butt-cheeks akimbo?

I am glad I am not as innocent as I look because when the doc got the back passage version of a speculum out,   woah – it was enough to make the most seasoned bum bandit clench up. How naive am I thinking, doc would make just gently lift a butt cheek, possibly holding a torch and say ‘hmmmm, looks okay you ain’t gonna die’?  Oh no. I got the pooper pap smear. If you have not had any sorta  such of anything near that area I feel bad for you because if, God forbid, you ever get haemorrhoids you are in for one nasty shock.

Next was the manual grope. I couldn’t see what the doc was doing; besides the fact I can’t see my own ass, I had my eyes shut tightly and even if I didn’t I am sure the heat from my blush would have fogged up my eyeballs. But from my point of view, as it were, it was if she was cleaning out a particularly stubborn champagne flute.

 I left there being told I am not going to die, walking a bit funny and for the maybe third time in my life, knowing I am not going to poop straight for a week.

So. If  your grown-up cuddle partner ever suggests a bit of back door action, why not? Better to get the shock out of the way in a hopefully gentle and loving environment, rather than with a 1000watt lightglobe, cold lube, rubber gloves, a perfect stranger and a $60 bill.

Why Don’t You Just Call it Operation Ass-cream, You Ass.

Published on January 18, 2010 in Can't be bothered categorising, Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Queen Me. 10 Comments

You know what makes me grumpy? Haemorrhoids.

And there you have it, the tone for this post. You have been warned.

I thought that haemorrhoids were for old or pregnant people. Turns out I was wrong. Although I should have known I was a prime candidate, having signs of future varicose veins on my calves. It is just the same thing for your pooper. Awesome.

When I first noticed something was awry I wasn’t sure what it was. If I had been recently involved in a gut -busting (or is that butt-gusting?) log I mighta cottoned on straight away. Wasn’t painful. Just felt like I had a weird sort of a wedgie. So out comes the trusty hand mirror (Lord, there is an image right there no-one on this planet needs) But it turns out I need glasses…or a torch to go with the mirror.

The whole point of me bringing up this delightful, yet common predicament is to let you know about the acute and searing embarrassment I felt at discovering this newly acquired situation. Me? Haemorrhoids? Oh the shame! But, seriously – what a ridiculous reaction – it is not as if I can help whether the veins inside my bott bott want to be innies or outties, is it?

When I told Beloved he found it highly amusing, especially the bit where I blushed. In between guffaws and off-colour references he told me I better go to the doctor to get it checked out. I NEVER go to the doctor but this is one of those times that putting something off can really make it worse. Sigh. Though I suppose she will be too busy looking at my ass to see me blushing.

Shut Up With the Books Lady!

Published on January 15, 2010 in Books n Stuff. 10 Comments

I know that by the lack of response I get you guys couldn’t give a crap when I bang on about books. No matter. But I  just read a super awesome book and I want to tell you about it. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. It was engaging, fast-paced, action-packed, scintillating with a little bit of romance and nary a vampire in sight. Couldn’t put it down. It is a young adult novel (I read them for ‘research’ – and I am up to page 271 of my own book, yay!)  but don’t let that stop you reading this gem. A brief rundown for you- it is the future, Katniss Everdeen lives in what used to be called America in District 12. Every year 2 teenagers from each district are picked to go into the Hunger Games – a mega huge reality TV spectacle in which the teens fight  each-other to the death, while trying to survive in the wilderness of the arena. And that is all I am going to say. Read it. Awesome. Loved it.

Next blog? We are going to talk about haemorrhoids. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

PS: How bout the new look hey? I am loving it!

A Day in the Life of an Email Exchange with Grumpy and Beloved

Published on January 13, 2010 in Beloved, Can't be bothered categorising, Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Married Life. 2 Comments

Morning Bogan Husband,

1) We have new lawnmower man named Greg. I met him whilst I helped him move stuff in the garage, in my pjs with the dog on a leash.
2) He will be by tomorrow to collect $38 out of the metre box.
3) Would it kill ya to wash a dish/rinse out a coke bottle?
4) Is there a way to move my favourites from Internet Explorer into Mozilla…..or do I have to do that the hard way?

Morning Daggy Wife,

1) Ok. Thank you.

2) Ok I will bring more money home.

3) Maybe … let’s not risk it.

4) Yes I’ll show you when I get home

5) Love it

Yes, well  – I would hate to lose you in a terrible dish washing incident. And it would be horrible to tell everyone you were involved in the great bottle washing tragedy of ’10.

Love it too ;p

That would be terrible ….

Some explanations: I call my husband a bogan because of the THIRD tattoo he got yesterday. And we call each other ‘it’. For example ‘What is it doing?’ It is something my dad started years ago. Romantic huh? I was feeling pissy cos he was supposed to clear a path for the lawn-mower man to get through the garage to the back. I am still in my pyjamas.