One hit wonderland

Even when I mature I will never grow out of my tragic obsession with so bad it’s good music. And the hits keep on coming. Who could forget The Ferrets Don’t Fall In Love or Smokie’s Living Next Door To Alice in 1977? Samantha Sang’s Emotion and Dave Warner’s Suburban Boy were highlights of 1978. But my current fer-sure favourite from 1982 totally is:


I promised I would write about him some day

A brilliant story

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I decided I would walk back to my Hotel that day, even though I had spent all day and most of my money shopping and my shoulders were aching from the weight of the bags. Flagging down a tuk-tuk would made the trip quick and easy and with the unbearable heat rising up from the sidewalk and bouncing off the city walls and radiating down from above it is a wonder I chose to walk that day but at the time I decided that I would like to wander through the alley ways and stalls and nod my head in greeting to the people of Sukhumvit Road and thats all it was at the time. But it is only in retrospect that we see the significance of seemingly small decisions such as these. We don’t realise how our preferences, no matter how small, act as the fingers and the palms and…

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Na No what?

November 1 means that (inter) National Novel Writing Month, better known as NaNoWriMo has started. Yes, I’ve pledged to write 50,000 words of a novel in November, with kids and gigs and parties and extra work, what a sensible idea as an already over-committed single mother. Well it’s November 4 and I’m over 5,000 words along. That wasn’t so hard. Yikes. At this rate I’ll be in love with my new novel by chapter two. If my blog is a shambles in November it’s because every day I write the book.


Thou shalt not steal from thy children

Today is the Day of the Dead and All Saints’ Day.

4.15am. I am woken by a Halloween sugar hangover from hell, my tummy is about to explode and in my head I can hear the echo of my children whingeing like reality show contestants. I would run around our house screaming like a lunatic if only I had the energy. Yesterday afternoon I ate too many red ones, blue ones, green ones, pink ones, yellow ones, orange ones, brown ones, purple ones, striped, spotted, dappled, multi coloured, mottled, dusted and sugar coated ones. There is a beautiful tree-lined street one block from my house and every Halloween the residents hold a street party/sugar orgy, handing out kilos of chocolate and lollies to all the kids. Word has gotten out in my part of the world that the costumes and decorations are fabulous and the hard stuff is freely available. People come from everywhere and the local clocks switch over to beer o’clock at about 3pm. Because I am a fabulous cheapskate mother, I painted my children’s faces green and sent them out to forage for their dinner. Keeping children off the sweet stuff is hard when you are a sugar substance abuser from way back. In order to keep my kids from developing a major addiction, I selflessly rationed their sweeties before tucking them in bed, then proceeded to scoff their lolly bags like a junkie at 8.30pm. I looked in the mirror at about midnight and my face resembled a Green M+M. So very attractive. Lucky for me it is the Day of the Dead today because I look like death warmed up. Single mother commandment no: 78: Thou shalt not skip lunch and dinner for dessert just because the neighbours are paying for the meal.

 


All Hallows Eve

The veil between our realm and the spirit world is very thin tonight. So we can all dress up like ghouls and blow a kiss to our ancestors.

I think children like to be scared a little in childhood to help them learn to manage their fears and develop the strength they will need in adulthood. My youngest daughter loves cemeteries like me. We often wander through our local grave yard talking about the families buried there and how children her age frequently died 150 years ago. We’ll go trick or treating in the same street as our local cemetery. Call me crazy, but I’ll be looking out for signs from my dad tonight. I think he may drop by.


Miley, the latest version of the Virus

I’ve come to this pop culture party very late, but I want to weigh in on the debate about what is wrong with Miley Cyrus’ Wrecking Ball mini fillum. It sucks. And not because she’s writhing around licking a hammer, although that is wrong because she’s not at a hardware store. No, it’s because it’s all been done. To death. At the risk of sounding like an old ‘back in my day, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and Madonna got her boobs out for the 24th time’ fart, it’s tired. I’m from the if you’ve seen one pair of boobs you’ve seen ’em all school of feminism so I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about Miley’s naked body, but Miley’s clip is creepy.

Old, balding tosser dribbles over young girl and tells her the storyline for her clip is provocative, original and daring. My flesh crawled when I googled the man’s name. He is 48 and a know pervert according to Doctor Wikipedia. Women 40 + are used to this kind of boring; male directors who don’t think they have to push their female star to actually act or perform or take us on an emotional journey because she is pretty, this style of ‘directing’ has been around as long as film (watch Rose Byrne in Two Hands or Angelina Jolie in most of her movies if you don’t believe me). No Miley, as cute as you are, flashing flesh is not enough, I want a storyline too. Copying Sinead O’Connor’s Nothing Compares To You video and faking the tears shames you as an actor, and the fact that a director’s cut exists says it all. I think you’ve been manipulated by a wanker who thinks he’s an artist. And that is very sad.


10 Single Mother Truths

1. You hear the words ‘insufficient funds’ on a daily basis and it doesn’t freak you out; and the words ‘transaction approved’ make you jump for joy

2. The word you use most when talking to your girlfriends is ‘overwhelmed’

3. Parenting is all about selling options to your child. Single parenting is begging for the sale for your sanity

4. After wondering why your shopping seems a bit cheaper than usual, your day is made when you get home and discover the checkout person hasn’t swiped five of your most expensive grocery items

5. You lie awake at 3am wondering if you should go back to the shop so you don’t get charged with shoplifting. The thought that your children only have one parent weighs heavily on your mind

6. If your children go to their father’s every second weekend, your house is clean 26 times per year

7. Your children develop a sudden fondness for whichever fruit costs $28 per kilo (because it has to be airlifted from Belize) and be invited to four different children’s dress up parties around the time that your hours at work get cut back

8. Disneyland Dad suddenly has money for fancy restaurants with his new girlfriend while you struggle to find ‘imaginative’ recipes in the ‘700 Ways With Baked Beans cook book for dinner every night

9. The words tax refund cause you the same excitement as the words ‘Saturday night and it’s time to partay, get your disco boots on’ did a few short years ago

10. You have to be physically restrained from strangling your 20 something male stoner neighbour when he tells you he’s exhausted because he woke up early to get a surf in before he took his girlfriend out for a late brunch


One Hit Wonders Part Two

I forgot so much fabulous music in my original post I could’t live with myself if I didn’t highlight other neglected 70s classics like Pussyfoot’s 1976 hit The Way That You Do It, Noosha Fox’s S-S-S-Single Bed and Lene Lovich’s Lucky Number. Or what about Patrick Hernandez’ Born To Be Alive or Player’s Baby Come Back from the golden age of smooth disco? My current favourite is Divine’s 80s hit You Think You’re A Man? My list of wonder hits is so very, very long if I read it out loud the accompanying soundtrack would be the Bee Gees’ song Tragedy (except they were no one hit wonders). What are your favourite 70s and 80s tragic tunes? Or 50s, 60s, 90s or current one hit wonders?


Count your blessings

If your kids are healthy, hug them and hold them tight. You have won the lottery as a parent.


Ooooh Jasmine

This week I went to the movies to see Blue Jasmine with a fellow gay divorcee, and I think this Woody Allen film should come with a trigger warning. If you’ve ever been in a long term relationship which turned out to be a total lie, Jasmine may freak with your head. Every time Jasmine’s anxiety made her pop a Xanax, I kept looking at the audience before I could decide whether to laugh, cry or yell out, ‘Yes! This is what a relationship with a narcissist will do to you.’ Cate Blanchett is brilliant as Jasmine but I didn’t laugh much as it was so close to home. I was reminded of my own hospitalisations and escape four years ago. I left the theatre feeling very anxious and I’m glad my friend and I had a chance to ‘debrief’ afterwards. When she remarked, “That was just like our relationships, except on a grander scale,” I finally felt like I could laugh.