Black hole Friday

Apparently, on Black Friday spiritual satisfaction can be gained through sales. This morning I woke to find that I missed the weekend to give thanks, but Black Friday frenzy can be enjoyed even on Cyber Monday. I’d love to turn Monday into Friday, but beware if you are tempted to take advantage of a late offer on the Black Friday sales, think about America. Fighting, shooting, looting, one person shot dead, sounds like a fun day out spending money we don’t have on shit we don’t need to me.
Cyber Monday has a high rating on the official Australian who gives a rat’s arse-o-metre. Don’t be tempted. it’s not your last chance. Like John Farnham comeback tour tickets, you know deep in your carb-loaded core that all this stuff will be online again. Over purchasing as a religious experience landed America a buy now, pay later president. We don’t need to copy them.

The family with an obsession with K’s will also tell you repeatedly that using a credit card is a talent. It isn’t. We don’t need new pots, we buy crap to fill the gaping hole in our feelings. Finding a bargain won’t make us happy. We need to make mindless consumerism as popular as Dolce and Gabbana in Shanghai. Supermarkets don’t have a happiness aisle selling unicorns. I’ve checked.

Getting into debt is not the way to fulfillment. When we are rich in shopping bags, we become poor in mental acuity. Like a Hillsong church, rich consumerism has only lead to poor spiritualism. Your mindless purchases may include all natural, non-toxic, free shipping. But happiness is sold separately.


Hollyweird diet

Hellbent on making a success of my spring into summer self-improvement program, this week I looked online for inspiration to kickstart my new attitude. I noticed that Hollywood stars like Mark Wahlberg are a wonderful source of realistic life goals. Marky Mark is a busy man: an actor, father of 4, restaurant owner and car dealer. He recently posted an hour by hour Insta story of his daily workout and routine:

2:30 a.m.: wake up

2:45 a.m. pray

3:15 a.m.: breakfast — “I start out with steel oats, peanut butter, blueberries and eggs for breakfast,” Wahlberg says. “Then I have a vanilla latte protein shake, three turkey burgers and five pieces of sweet potato.”

3:40 to 5:15 a.m.: work out. The actor posted videos of himself doing reverse lunges, vertical presses and overhead presses for weight training.

5:30 a.m.: post-workout meal

He goes into detail about everything he eats: “At 8 I have 10 turkey meatballs; at 10:30, a grilled chicken salad with two hard-boiled eggs, olive, avocado, cucumber, tomato, lettuce; at 1pm a New York steak with peppers; at 3:30 grilled chicken with bok choy, and att 5:30, a piece of halibut, cod or sea bass.”

After his workouts, Wahlberg has a session in a cryotherapy chamber, kept at 150 degrees below zero. Apparently the cold removes inflammation and can improve sleep.

He has family time at 11am and 5:30pm., and picks up his kids at school at 3.

The 46-year-old  says, “The only way to be the best is to keep working like you got nothing. Keep getting after it, and be more and more aggressive, more and more focused every day. I have more drive and desire now than I ever have.”

I couldn’t find the paragraph where Marky talks about washing his kids’ dirty undies. smashing the patriarchy and helping homeless people, so I’m sharing my social influencer, intensive single mother schedule to help my huge list of followers:

2.30am Lie awake and think about all the bills I need to pay

4.45am Rage about the misogynists who are still in government

5am pray I’ll have the money to pay the rent

6.36am Answer phone call from nursing home about mother’s missing pants

7.53am Realise I’ve over slept, yell at kids to get to school

8.18am Stare at cranky face in bathroom mirror

8.19am Sudden realisation that is my unrested bitch face

8.44am Accidentally throw chicken neck in the cat’s water bowl

8.47am Drive kids to school, late again

Throw lukewarm coffee and over ripe fruit in gob while at traffic lights

9.29am Get to work and make some kind of hideous flavoured tea

1.33pm Realise lunch is in fridge at home, hope blood sugar doesn’t fall too low. Pray there is cake or biscuits in the tea room

3.18pm Steal bite of colleague’s meal, one hour before finishing

3.38pm Hope kids got on their overcrowded school bus

4.28pm Slump home low in energy. Read emails from teachers about youngest child’s unfinished homework. Jump to conclusions

5.59pm Hurl dinner in oven, leaving plastic wrap on frozen pizza, wonder why kids complain about taste 

7.21pm Nag teenagers about bedroom floor-drobe, junk food wrapper rubbish removal, overuse of Snapchat

8.17pm Eat whole block of cooking chocolate while trying to manage 417 emails

9.03pm Drown anxiety with flat leftover wine from fridge

10.47pm Shout, “turn the music down, you’ll wake the neighbours,” repeatedly at five minute intervals. Chug down cold tea

11.25pm Reheat mashed potato and eat too fast

Midnight wake up freezing with no covers on, youngest child and cat have stolen all blankets

12.08am Unpack mouldy lunchbox. Deeply regret eating mash

12.19am Wonder why Trump is still in the White House

1am Promise myself I will be more focused and hardworking tomorrow, walk to work, write lists of gratitude, achievements, life goals, brainstorm ways to monetise our appealing life with sponsored Instagram posts, plan kitchen cupboards, write thank you cards, drink organic kale smoothies, start Xmas shopping months too early, achieve my potential, push kids like a tiger mother, monitor internet usage, start a Facebook page for our cat and hope followers will pay vet bills, write crowdfunding appeal to get car back on the road, develop impulse control and do Pilates three times a day

1.18pm wake up dribbling on list, decide to rewrite one day


Dogstagram

This week a friend who is not a fan of social media asked me: Why do cute pooches and pussy cats have more social media followers than most humans?

Why? Because we love them. Pooches believe in unconditional love. Aspirational humans do not. Cats have attitude and don’t give a shit. I love dogs of Instagram because dogs are pretty. Dogs on insta don’t have bad plastic surgery, fake boobs and plastic nails. They’re not going to take cheesy selfies with trout pouts at monasteries and mosques. Dogs don’t take photos of themselves doing cartwheels at sacred sites. Dogs don’t pretend to be social media experts, they’re not trying to improve our lives, help us reach unattainable goals, sell us products or help their owners train to be ultra fit marathon runners and brag about it. Dogs just are. I love dogs.

Cats aren’t trying to mary football players, flog baby clothes or inspire us to upgrade to a better lifestyle. Cats hiss and bite when they’re pissed off. Cats are cool.

But I do wish dog owners would post more photos of mutts with fleas, mange and weeping eyes. Cat owners could oblige by sharing their scratch and sniff cat pee in the corner of the living room snaps more often too.

I’ll keep this rant short, I must dash, my cat needs to meet up with her personal trainer.


Instagrammar

Dear selfie kings and queens,
Here’s a revolutionary idea for you when posting to your millions of followers on Instagram: Your posts can be edited.

Call me old fashioned but if you profess to be an expert in your field, perhaps you could proudly display that you can grasp the basic idea of stringing a sentence together?

Maybe proclaiming that youre / your / ur a thought leader then displaying a smorgasbord of unedited grammar and spelling mistakes is not ideal for your brand. If you’re claiming to help people get millions of followers perhaps it would help if you were mildly literate.

It’s bad enough when Insta ‘celebratiez’ post photos of their ugly children, but recently, on her Insta feed, well-known personal trainer MB posted the words,
All be it

I think the word she was looking for was albeit. Really. I’m going to start a heartfelt crowdfunding campaign for the poor lady, she obviously can’t afford to pay someone to proofread her life-changing posts.

Pert ladies and buff gents, you know that tweets can’t be edited (looking at you idiot President number 45) but all your other brilliant revolutionary thoughts on other social media channels can. How about you learn to use the delete button and maybe send a text to a friend who can spell so they can read your genius ideas before you pay to boost your inspo post?

I really love that your /ur / youre a lifestyle guru and new media-savvy social influencer. Honestly I do. But if you want to be a disruptor (gag) then maybe read your ‘next ‘level’ post before you hit the share button…


Food for thought

People tell me I’m full of it. I think they mean good advice, so in the coming weeks I’m going to dish out advice for my friends who are feeling a little self-helpless. This week’s post is about healthy food for your kids. Actually it’s not, it’s about my gluttony because feeding children year after year is as dull as Donald Trump. I’m going to help you get a summer-ready body. Just joking, as if I care what your body looks like, I’m too busy feeding my face.

 

What we consume in summer is not that important. What we eat in winter is of great consequence. At the moment eating is my favourite hobby after sleeping and inhaling chocolate. After a cold northern summer sojourn, where I ate croissants every day and drank some kind of alcoholic beverage every night, I’m fading away to a shadow on the waif diet, too much coffee and not enough cake. I must eat more bacon and egg rolls now I’m back home living with my vegan children. Luckily my youngest is still a carnivore, thank the Lord (whoever she is). Last week my two eldest kids were out when I got some groceries home delivered, and I discovered that the supplier had given me a package of extra fatty porky goodness to sample. Spying it, my baby girl said,

“Mum can we eat some bacon because my sisters aren’t home?”

“HELL YES,” I squealed because no matter what they say, Facon or Veg-acon or whatever they call it is not the same. All those products labelled vegetarian sausages or burgers or tofu or whatever other flavourless stuff that gets churned out in a factory is called tastes like cardboard shavings.

 

My girls have made me watch some harrowing films lately and I hate what the meat industry does to innocent animals. And I really am very sorry little piggies, you are cute, and the way you are farmed is wrong, I just wish you didn’t taste so good.

How Much Is That Doggie In The Window – Patti Page


Fresh hell on a Sunday

Last weekend was a doozy.  On Saturday night I went to my oldest friend’s champagne-fuelled party, then on Sunday I took my youngest to a birthday party at an indoor trampoline park so she could go feral and scream with about a million other children. We walked into swarms of kids, mood killer fluorescent lighting, over zealous helicopter mothers, loads of grumpy under-caffeinated dads and a sonic nightmare. The birthday girl was in heaven and her mother and I were certain we’d died and gone to hell.

My friend paid $130 for three kids to jump and climb for two hours. Fork! What happened to jumping off the garage roof?

An assortment of families gathered, made up mainly of these key players:

Mothers who didn’t want their over-sugared kids touching other children or any unsanitary surfaces

Bewildered grandmothers who didn’t  understand why they were not just opening a pass the parcel and blowing the candles off a home made cake in the backyard

Toddlers too young to be there being run over by sugar fuelled 12-year-olds on a mission to escape their parents

Dazed grandpas who parked the car, did what they were told, then pretended to be deaf

I was the hungover mother dribbling on the plastic table, absentmindedly dunking my lukewarm chips into my friend’s coffee

Then my girl and her little friends decided they wanted to climb the walls.

There’s nothing I like more on a Sunday than to be greeted by pumping techno music and too cool for school teenage staff who don’t like to explain the workings of the safety harness more than once. In my decrepit state I watched as competitive dads scaled the walls, pushing their kids out of the way. The kind of dads who have their own Instagram inspo-fitness accounts. I closed my eyes as my gal climbed to the ceiling then abseiled down the wall again and again. 

One of the day’s highlights was being told off for bringing fresh fruit into the ‘party zone’ by a spotty assistant manager. 


As a former children’s party entertainer I despair that our kids are growing up thinking the only place to have fun is a climate-controlled, germ-filled noisy concrete bunker. We could simplify our celebrations and bring back egg and spoon races at daggy parties with our neighbours, a few marshmallows and a homemade cake, in the glorious seasons of Mother Nature, but instead we’re working to pay for experiences our kids don’t really need. 

“Going so soon? I wouldn’t hear of it. Why my little party’s just beginning.”

Wicked Witch of the West – The Wizard of Oz


Beastie Boys – Fight For Your Right




Aiming for my personal best

One month from today on Sunday August 10 I will be walking 14 kilometres from the city of Sydney to Bondi beach in my best Calvin Clown tracksuit to raise money for Clown Doctors Australia. The Clown Doctors treat sick children in hospital with smiles, fun and laughter when they need it most. We touch the lives of over 155,000 people a year, and ‘operate’ in partnership with 21 hospitals around Australia. The entire hospital community benefits – patients, family and staff. The Humour Foundation provides this service free of charge to hospitals. The work of the Clown Doctors is extremely important and the healing power of humour has been recognised in many studies. Everyone knows that “Laughter is the best medicine,” and research has found physiological and psychological benefits to patients. The outcome of making a child smile at a very difficult time is instant, but one that can have a long lasting effect for both the child and their family. Having an intervention which is able to provide humour and improve health can often be a strong coping technique for a sick kid. I love my job and I love talking and walking so I’d better start bulking up on my carbs (do donuts count?), I need to be ‘match fit’ in one month.

You can donate here: https://city2surf2014.everydayhero.com/au/drquack