Me

Today I didn't feel ugly.

I have always felt ugly, I look in the mirror and see a troll staring back. I've never had any skill when it comes to fashion, I am useless at applying make-up and I always get the same recurring pimples. Let's also not forget that I have had one disasterous hair cut after the other and the various hair colours I have picked out have never suited.

But today I didn't feel ugly. I wonder why that is? Nothing has changed except I didn't see a troll looking back, so I smiled.

I can't smile, every photo depicts a grimace and my mouth naturally frowns. But I have a pure smile that usually only my husband sees, but today I got to see it to.

And now I am laughing at the stupidity of it all and suddenly I realise I am content. I have never felt content before, I've always been on edge about one thing or another, unable to relax.

Today I was happy.

My Ma

My Ma is a strange bird, but for all her quirks I love her tremedously.

So Ma decides to buy my hubby dearest a birthday present (as you do) and picks out a novel called Crash while at the boutique book store. She quickly reads the blurb then passes it to me to get my thoughts,

"Do you think your hubby would like this" she asks.

I skim the blurb and respond "Yes, looks like it may be along the same lines as Phillip K. Dick's books which hubby likes."

So hubby gets birthday present and settles down for what turned out to be more a disturbing read rather than an interesting one. Turns out Ma and I didn't really read the blurb as thoroughly as we should have!

Hubby gets to page 12 and decides that the book just isn't for him saying "I don't know why your Ma thought I would like this! It's about a guy who crashes cars and then has sex with the dead bodies."

Poor Ma would have a stroke if she knew THAT was the kind of book she had purchased.

And here is the blurb:

"In this hallucinatory novel, the car provides the hellish tableau in which Vaughan, a 'TV Scientist' experiments with erotic atrocities among crash victims, each more sinister than the last: Ultimately, he craves a union of blood, semen and engine coolant in a head-on collision with Elizabeth Taylor."

Now how did Ma and I not pick up on what this book was about?

Lazy Sundays

Sunday is "Big Breakfast" at a quaint little cafe called Everest. So on this particular Sunday (the one just gone) I am enjoying waffles (in the style of Donkey from Shrek) when an older hippy dude walks past and spies a chikko roll wrapper. He looks at it as if pondering what to do and then arduously drags it along the pavement with his foot over towards a bin. Well imagine my surprise when he doesn't bend down and deposit rubbish in bin, instead he goes for a home run and shoves the wrapper into the street! What the?!

Strange but true.

So very tired. . .

The last few days have been hell and to top it all off, last night I dreamt about being pregnant, which scared the absolute shit out of me (as it always does). Why am I so tired you ask, well I have been [attempting] training newbies at my work for the past three days and they are driving me bonkers, as well as giving me sore feet.

I never understood until now how frustrating it can be to try and impart skills to those that haven't got a clue. I feel guilty for being so harsh but I just can't help it, how hard is it to use your brain cells. Obviously really hard if after day 3 you still just don't get it.

Tomorrow, I go through it all again and now I just want to cry. I am banging a very frustrated head against a very hard brick wall wondering if it is even worth continuing on.

If only I had the nerve to call in sick.

Today is the first day that I have not liked my job.

If I had a $1,000,000

I was standing in my kitchen this evening making a banana smoothie and eyeballing my dishes. I hate dishes, and I couldn't help but question why I always live in houses that have no dishwasher. Dishwasher's should be mandatory and then I wouldn't have to wash the dishes!

My eyes then averted to my once more flooded laundry room. I am incapable of doing any type of washing without the room flooding, apparently it is a pipe issue and has something to with tree roots. The easy answer would be to go to a laundromat but why do that when I have a washing machine, so I eyeball the pool of water once more.

Then the Barenaked Ladies enter my head as I start humming 'If I had a $1,000,000', now if I had written that song I would have been singing about getting a maid and driver rather than buying a monkey and a green dress.

If I had a $1,000,000 I would ensure that I never had to clean again and that I always had a lift home to my comfy bed when drunk. Some would argue that is what taxi's are for but quite frankly I don't trust them.

And now I look at my carpet and think, I really have to vacuum.