Why I don't watch daytime television...

I don't watch daytime television because...

It might distract me from important housebitch chores.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA Okay, I'll start this again.

I don't watch daytime television because...

It tells me constantly that I am going to die in a tragic accident or of some hideous disease any day now and my family will be screwed because I don't have a funeral plan.

It leads me to having nightmares about my Daughter appearing on the next commercial for Good Riddance Funeral Homes saying "Mum spent all her money on shoes and didn't put any aside for her funeral. I had to pawn my iPod to pay for her casket. Hope the bitch rots in cardboard hell."

All sorts of doctors on several channels seem to confirm the hideous disease aspect of my not-too-distant future. And why do they wear scrubs and white coats when hosting a TV show? Do they think they're going to do emergency surgery on an audience member?

Furthermore, I learned 1 in 3 women aged over 45 will develop osteoporosis. My two BFFs who are older than me don't have it yet, so I guess I'm it. I didn't want to know that I'm going to get shorter than I already am. I need to buy more high-heeled shoes. At least my casket will be smaller.

I am led to believe I am a bad housebitch because I did not start paying for a Christmas Hamper last January.

I have seen every episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent so I already know whodunnit. And Goren gets kinda fat.

Speaking of which, I already eat too much food, I don't need to be taught how to cook even more to get fatter, and then sit through commercials about weight loss aids which tell me if I drink nothing but TastesLikeShit slimming shakes, I will lose 57 kilos in 8 days. Probably from vomiting and dehydration.

That Elizabeth woman on The View makes drowning in TastesLikeShit shakes a preferable option to listening to her whiney voice.

I keep getting told that the energy companies are ripping us off. All of them. I already know this, but until someone can work out how to turn my Dog's farts into electricity, I have to use one of them.

And they tell me to save energy, I have to turn off the beer fridge. This will never happen. It also contains my wine and vodka.

Judge Judy scares me.

I have no desire to watch replays of the crappy shows I refused to watch the night before.

I am pounded with promises that every insurance company wants to put my needs first. This I know to be bullshit. Do not bullshit me. Please. Just tell us you are out to bleed us dry and dispute any claims. This I will believe.

I don't need to see what 12 years of foot neglect looks like while I'm eating lunch.

Maury Povich and Jerry Springer. Enough said.

I feel pressured that in order to be really cool, live an exciting lifestyle and traverse dry creek beds, we need to upgrade our car. Even though we've only had it 6 months. And there are no dry creek beds in our suburb. And I don't even drive.

According to a bunch of really attractive actors, I shouldn't have married the Husband 24 years ago, but should have waited to find my perfect match online. Because he's out there, waiting to talk to me right now, y'know.

Channel 7 midday movies. I have seen that teenage boy dive off Clausen's Pier and become a quadriplegic approximately six times already. And Lindsay Wagner seems to have gone from the Bionic Woman to the Hallmark Corny Telemovie Woman.

Screaming American audiences. Seriously, do the producers hand out Ecstasy and Red Bull to them as they line up outside the studios? Besides, I can watch Ellen at 10pm when I've had a few wines and am more likely to find the screaming hilarious.

Yumi Stynes. I'm sure she's lovely, but Robbie Williams gave her an almighty pash when she was working on Channel V many years ago and I've never forgiven her for it.

I get overwhelmed by the inventiveness of the names chosen for TV shows in the morning, like... The Morning Show.

Charlie Sheen is no funnier at 9am than he is at 8pm. Which is not at all.

Sesame Street is often the most intelligent show I can find.

It tells me I need to spend hundreds of dollars on makeup so I can get the 'natural' look. And if I'm one of the first 100 callers I can get bonus gifts of another layer of makeup to look even more natural. Apparently their idea of 'natural' differs a whole fucking lot to mine.

According to shampoo commercials, I should risk permanent neck and brain damage by swishing my hair back and forth more often, or I'm some sort of haircare loser.

I'm tired of hearing that there's something special for everyone in every single store this Christmas. There isn't. Some people just want cash. Show me the money.

Infomercials. I curse the day some American TV executive came up with the format. As Stephen King says in his book On Writing... "I don't want to speak too disparagingly of my generation... actually I do, we had a chance to change the world and opted for the Home Shopping Network instead."

The ridiculous smiles on the faces of the morons demonstrating the Ab-Circle Pro Version 2.0. Nobody smiles while they exercise. Nobody normal anyway. Haven't they watched Biggest Loser? People sweat and vomit while they exercise. I want to see that.

Our TV shows get all their Hollywood gossip from gay men  in Hollywood  (stereotyping much? I'd rather see them host) who wear more 'natural' makeup and hair products than I do. I bet they swish more too.

Lack of loyalty. Rumour has it, Kerri-Anne Kennerley is being pushed aside. Who will we make fun of for stunts like this?...




Disclosure: I had to watch daytime television for two days to research this post and remind myself why I don't watch daytime television. My IQ and general wellbeing are going to take a month to recover. I hope you're happy.

Eight Weeks

When I look back over the course of this year, my life seems to have been divided up into cycles lasting approximately eight weeks. (if only my other cycle was eight weeks and I could be an emotional, clumsy, stabby person for half the days I am now, tsk). Eight weeks can be a long time, or it can go fast. It's 16 days less than Kim Kardashian was married. But probably 5 weeks longer than she spent choosing her husband. It's way longer than Ben Elton's last attempt at a TV career. And 7 weeks, 6 days and 19 hours longer than Lindsay Lohan's latest jailtime.

The first eight weeks of the year were all about holidays, saying goodbye to long-standing comfort zones, and preparing for new beginnings. The Husband got a promotion to travel around the country and left his old job after working with the same core group of people for over ten years; the Son said goodbye to his High School friends over the holidays and prepared for a new life as a Call of Duty expert... err, sorry, I mean Uni student; the Daughter turned 16 and apparently grew up (and OUT... quite a few bra sizes bigger now) overnight as she prepared to enter her final, and most important, two years of gossiping... sorry, I mean school; and I prepared to say goodbye to not only sleepless nights caused by the Husband's snores and bed-hogging, but to having somebody around Monday-Friday to answer the phone when his Mother rang, change light globes, take the rubbish bins out and... well... do other stuff.

The second eight week period revolved around adjustment. The Husband adjusting to new faces and new places, business class plane travel, living out of a suitcase, fancy motel rooms, stealing soaps and shampoos, restaurant meals every night and zero responsibility outside work hours. Hmmm. The Son adjusting to an almost non-existent schedule of Uni contact hours, sleeping more than I thought humanly possible, and working out his mates' schedules so they could all be online playing Call of Duty at the same time. Hmmm. The Daughter adjusting to doing even less homework than she did last year, thereby allowing more time for socialising with friends. Hmmm. And me? Okay, so adjusting to the lack of snoring and bed-hogging was the upside. The downside was adjusting to not having anyone to thump at 3am and grunt at to let the cat in/out. Another upside was adjusting to the lower food bill from buying smaller portions of food, and having to cook smaller meals to feed only three, or sometimes even two, of us. But somehow I am still managing to cook enough rice to feed seventeen people. I did adjust to the extra 'ME' time very quickly, including free rein on Twitter, complete control of the TV remote, and days of shopping where I didn't have to hide my purchases as soon as I got home. This 'No Husband' caper was seeming easy. Downside... an average of two light globes blew every friggin week and the rubbish bins are so bloody heavy. And his Mother kept ringing to see how I was coping without a man.

The next eight or so weeks were about us all finding our own place in our new routines and settling comfortably. Well, I think so anyway. I have no idea what anybody else was up to for the next eight to nine weeks, as I decided to commit myself to finally writing that long-awaited manuscript which had been burning a creative spark in the centre of my soul for oh, about three days. Seriously, three days. I had several people tell me within a short space of time "You should write a book." I had occasionally, on a whim, thought this myself, but just as quickly dismissed it. I can't even commit to getting out of bed every day, let alone writing every day. Ideas had floated around in my head, but nothing had stuck. But when the umpteenth person said "You're funny, you really should write a book, I'd buy it " to me on a Sunday, I was convinced to take the plunge. Yes, the promise of one sale was all it took in the end. I was busy on the Monday and Tuesday, so I said "Fuck it. I'm going to write a book. I'll start on Wednesday." Eight or nine weeks, and about 95,000 words later, it was done. And I like it. It's better (in my humble opinion, ahem) than at least four books I have paid good money for this year alone. But am I doing anything with it? That's where my lack of commitment rears it's lazy arse again. Three submissions, three silences, a shrug of the shoulders and I'm ready to move on to something else...

Namely, Bella. I think the next eight weeks are more like eight dog years. One Sunday morning (apparently Sunday is the day I make all the big crazy decisions, so if you ever want to ask me to invest in your health spa and holiday resort built on a former nuclear dumping ground, Sunday's the day to do it) the Husband and I had a conversation that started with us agreeing that whilst we missed having a dog, we also really enjoyed the freedom of not having a dog for the first time in 22 years. No feeding, grooming, vet bills, or pooper-scooping. We agreed we didn't want to get another dog. Somehow, two hours later, the Husband was on the phone to a dog rescue place enquiring about the availability of a cute canine, and the following Sunday (there it is again) we were the new owners of a purebred beagle with 'issues'. At first we couldn't understand why somebody would hand her in to a doggy home, why on earth in only 13 months of life we would be her third owners. She was lovely. One laptop, one jacket, one tube of glue, two toilet brushes, two pairs of bras, three wallets, three boxes of tissues, four scented tealight candles, eleven toilet paper rolls, thirteen pairs of shoes and a bag of potatoes later... I may have a clue.

And then came the Girl's Night In fundraiser for the Cancer Council. I had a thought (probably on a Sunday), just a twinkling of an idea, and it grew and grew until I was lost in a virtual sea of emails which eventually turned into a real sea of donations, all surrounded by a wall of pink. I ran the gamut of emotions; from loving the quick responses, to despairing at no response (party supply places of Adelaide, I'm looking at you), feeling heartwarmed by the generosity, to feeling slighted by the rudeness (a certain Adelaide Hills winery, I'm looking at you), but thankfully, overall, just pleasure and gratitude along with a sense of achievement for a worthy cause. It dominated my thoughts, my inbox and my family room for at least eight weeks. And busting the twenty pink balloons dominated Bella's thoughts for about eight minutes the next day. A good time had by all.

As we are now well into the final eight week period of the year, I look ahead at what's coming. Exams and study times for both the kids (ugh), four birthdays - two of which are 50ths (I love hanging with 50 year olds, I feel so young), a few dinners, a couple of barbecues, an engagement party, two concerts, a dance performance, several basketball games, a trip to New Zealand for the Husband, a trip or five to the shopping mall for me, Christmas preparations, and finally, holidays.

I have no idea what next year will bring... maybe more eight week cycles, or maybe day-to-day living. Maybe I'll dust off the manuscript and spend eight weeks trying to get it out there in print... or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll go on one of the overseas trips with the Husband, or maybe I'll stay home to write a new manuscript. Maybe I'll host another Girl's Night In next October.

Whatever I do, I'm pretty sure I'll decide on a Sunday.

Time For A Girly Winner....

Today I have continued sorting through my makeup and coming to terms with my Estee Lauder addiction...



... and painted my nails pink...



... and started tidying up my jewellery drawer (old ice cube trays are so handy, aren't they?)...



... in between stepping over the Dog sleeping in her beanbag...



... glancing at my grandmothers' antique brooch & hatpin collection and noticing the dust...



... admiring my new thongs...



... and hanging out some washing...



All typical girly stuff, huh.
So, to continue the theme, I'm going to draw a winner of all the Girly Stuff from my Girl's Night In as I am typing this and waiting for my second coat on the nails to dry.
As a reminder, this is what you'll get...




And the winner is, thanks to random.org... (trying to not smoosh my nailpolish)


Ashlee.

And now I am pissing myself laughing, as Ashlee could not attend my Girl's Night In and was suffering from Flushable Wipe Envy, a rare and debilitating disease many have contracted since that night, so I told her to enter in the hope of winning and therefore receiving the miracle cure. Too funny.

Thanks again to all involved in my Girl's Night In. And now I feel the need to do something really NOT girly...

*burps*

Girl's Night In and a Girly Giveaway

A perfect, still night after a fine sunny day. I couldn't have asked for better weather for the Girl's Night In fundraiser I hosted for the Cancer Council. As for preparation, spending the night before in a hospital emergency ward hooked up to a heart monitor wasn't really in my plans (that's another whole blogpost), but I guess one person can't get all the luck.

So I was tired, dehydrated and somewhat dishevelled, but the party went on. Or went off. It was a great night; family, old friends and loads of new friends, the only disappointment being the eleven or twelve (not good with numbers) ladies who missed out due to weddings, family functions, illness, double-bookings and last-minute disasters like overdue Uni assignments.

Those eleven or twelve missed the general fun and pinkness of the evening, as well as karaoke performances by, among others, Blink 182, a feminine-sounding Billy Ray Cyrus, the Spice Girls and the B52s. Not the whole B52s, it was just me and all the voices in my head singing all the parts. (I have some video footage of the night, but luckily for us all I am having trouble uploading it. Damn. Ahem.)

They also missed out on door prizes, some fantastic raffle prizes, homemade cookies, delicious cupcakes, crab dip, scented candles, gift bags full of glorious smelling things, electric pink Vodka Cruisers and of course, flushable wipes.

Everyone and everything looked, tasted and smelled wonderful. Wait, that sounds wrong. I didn't taste my guests. But they did smell good.

I will not be telling too many stories, as what happens on Girl's Night In, stays on Girl's Night In. If you really want to know, you will just have to make an effort to come along to the next one(?) to find out. There may have even been some pink trenchcoat flashing, or did I imagine that? I was delirious.

I know there were some valiant attempts from an old friend and I to sing a duet, which ended in hapless giggles and resulted in me taking both the roles of Elton John and Kiki Dee. Talk about multiple personality disorder. The entire evening FED mine.

I'm pretty sure everyone had a great time, got a few laughs (my 'many voices' Love Shack rendition, including body movements where I *may* have shimmied up and down the microphone stand, is still being discussed and chuckled about amongst the family) and did so for a worthy cause.

And did I mention the Kung Fu dancing...



More importantly, with online and cash donations tallied, we raised $1450 which will go straight to fighting Women's Cancers and helping those affected. Well done everybody, you made my heart full (if not a little racy).





Of course I must again thank all those who donated prizes, whether goods or vouchers; everybody who attended was amazed and thrilled by the generosity. And I have a few leftovers, as you do.
And I'm GIVING THEM AWAY TO ONE LUCKY BLOG READER. SO YOU HAVE THE CHANCE OF FEELING LIKE JUST MAYBE YOU ATTENDED MY GIRL'S NIGHT IN, WITHOUT THE HANGOVER. WOO HOO.

I have ...
From Uandi Natural, the most divine body moisturiser I may have ever sampled (valued at $35). These lovely people donated some products for the raffle, and asked that I hold back one product to give away on my blog too. Awesome. I received some samples to try, and their products look, smell and feel wonderful, and I know there was one very happy winner of a cleanser and exfoliator on the Girl's Night (and it wasn't me, no matter how hard I tried to rig it).

Also, from Karmabelles, a $50
gift voucher. They have such lovely silver jewellery, real statement pieces, like this bracelet they sent me to wear at the party... (which only got dunked in the crab dip once)... along with some haircare samples from Organix, and a handcream sample from Crabtree & Evelyn.

And of course, no Girl's Night In-related prize would be complete without....DA DA.... Flushable Wipes!! (as many as I can fit in the box) thanks to Kleenex Mums.



This is open to Australian residents only (sorry) and here's what I want you to do to enter...
1. Obviously you're following my blog (I hope) and you need to give this post a plug on either Facebook or Twitter or both.
2. I would also like you to take the time to give my Girl's Night In major donors a follow on Twitter and a like on Facebook.
Belle Bijoux on Twitter and Facebook.
Uandi Natural on Twitter and Facebook.
Karmabelles on Twitter and Facebook.
Leoni & Vonk on Twitter and Facebook.
Kleenex Mums on Twitter and Facebook.
3. Leave a comment below about your idea of a great Girl's Night In, making sure I have a way of contacting you (either a twitter username or an email address if I don't already have it)

This will be open until MIDDAY NEXT MONDAY, NOVEMBER 7TH. I will do a random draw and notify the winner, hopefully Monday afternoon. Good luck!