Pinkies Up!

Hallooo! Tea time is never tea time without pinkies and hats, and sugar cubes, too, but that’s one thing I did forget, doh!

Have you seen those rude teacups circulating online? I was tagged in those posts by friends a few times because apparently, I’m a bit rude. No offense taken. I loved the cups and thought to buy some but they were a bit pricey for me, so I did what I do and that is, I made them myself.

I found a few online tutorials for sharpie mugs and voila!

I found the oil paint sharpies online and coincidentally snagged some old cups my office was turfing. It was good to practice using the pens coz sometimes too much came out from that pressure-point tip! Anyhoo, you can wipe off any mistakes (and you should clean the cups beforehand) with alcohol wipes. If you don’t have a box of those lying around, they’re easy enough to find at a pharmacy or, I don’t know, probably a grocery store or walmart next to the double-guage shotguns or something. I made a few mistakes and then wiped them off, no sweat.

When I was happy with the final result, I lined them up, all pretty like, and forgot about them for three days and then popped them bitches in the oven for the recommended half hour or so, at 400F or so. The thing to remember is to put them in before heating up the oven, and take them out after it has cooled.

I was going to make a pretty rude menu but the fucking printer wouldn’t work because of missing printer drivers, or some other bullshit. I’ve managed to set it up again now, just in time to print 200 school valentines, but I missed the boat on the rude menu. Sad!

We had a lovely time and one of my friends swore in front of my kids, ha! Of course, those fuckers have heard it all before. Context, people! Husband also walked in during our tete e fucking tete with a well-timed “What’s up, bitches” and then we laughed and laughed and told him to fuck off. It was lovely. 10/10 fucks to give for this little party.


Trust Issues, Much?

I’m reading The Good Widow by Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke. It’s good. It’s about a woman whose husband dies in a place he wasn’t meant to be. He travels for work. Sound familiar? Yep, that’s my life, except for the dead bit. So now she’s asking herself all the trust questions and it’s terrible because she’ll never get answers. I could ask those questions, but we never really know, do we? It’s the trust issue, take it all on faith or don’t, there’s no in between. Well I guess there is, if you’re someone who goes through their spouse’s phone or computer, or pockets and wallet and junk in those spaces in the csr. I don’t. A) because I’ve got too much junk myself, but also Ive got better things to do, but perhaps that’s just because I’m on the faith side of things. Aside from vows, you trust or you don’t. If you’re a pick-pocket when they come home, are you ever really satisfied depending on what you do or don’t find?

The other day I was talking to the boys about secret lives, I cant remember why. I went with the secret agent tack, rather than the cheating spouse with a new family in every time zone angle. I used True Lies as an example. I love that movie. The boys were skeptical as I made my arguments for Husband being some sort of spy. 

Everything fits, when you look at it like that – the travelling, vague stories, phone calls from exotic locales, suitcases that have seen better days and that he doesn’t share his suitcase with us when we do travel as a family. It’s all a cover. 

Anyhoo, I’m excited to keep reading and find out how everything goes more pear-shaped. Because that’s the only way it can play out now, isn’t it?

The Canned Goods

We are all going to die in a raging inferno, in case you haven’t heard. Or it might be a tidal wave or some other terrible fate as a result of a long overdue earthquake. That’s what I’m gleaning from the news, anyway. The real take away for me, besides inevitable death, is that the water will be contaminated by battery acid and fuel since all the storage and chemical warehouses etc, will also be wracked and ruined, so my precious lifestraws won’t be of any use at all, woe! So we’ve started storing water but if the house is going to fall down on top of it all, what are we to do? I should start hoarding booze because I could probably slurp that off the ground and not care about germs etc. Not so with water, I hear.

Back in the day, read: well before children, Husband and I were in Sydney living the high life and thin, so thin! But there was a bit of terrorist stuff in the news so we started talking about our game plan. Basically it was not a plan but a small, insulated bag with a bottle of water and a couple of tins of braised steak and onions, very similar to something made by Dinty Moore except waaay tastier. 

We’ve upped our game in the last few years but we got complacent, as you do, and haven’t really cycled through it as we should, instead, just adding to it. So last night, when the kids asked about dinner and decried my suggestion of sausages, I suggested we raid the emergency food supplies, and they were on board.

What did they eat first? Canned sausage, fuckers. Most of the canned stuff was not gf and 7yo got a but whiny, so he’ll probably die first in the event of an actual disaster scenario. 10yo has always been a but picky, so he’ll come a close second. 9yo was a bit more adventurous and tried a can of spagetti-os and some shitty mac and cheese. Now he realises that all the good food we eat is very good, and the canned stuff is not. “But Mom, why would we eat this stuff?” started the conversation about out of commission roads and empty shops and lunatics with guns. I ate a can of that Dinty Moore and bring me back the braised steak and onions, I say! That stuff was dog food. I also ate ate some scalloped potatoes, and after living to tell the tale, I do not recommend.

Of course, everyone does what’s right for their family but the box I ate last night was a) expired, b) too much and c) tasted like detergent. But sure, in the event of catastrophe, I might just be hungry enough to eat it again.

There were no horrendous, psychadelic turds this morning, that I heard about, so life goes on and we’ll try and make tastier choices when we next go shopping, I guess?


Time On My Hands

Yesterday I got an early mark from work. Remember those? In school? Well, in primary/elementary school, anyway. It was always so exciting to get out 5 or 10 or even a whopping 15 minutes early. So much opportunity when we weren’t picking glue paste off our hands or packing away the math tiles etc at the end of the day. Well, yesterday I finished a whole hour GASP right?! I know, a whole hour earlier since I started earlier. Hmm, whatevs, it doesnt sound as exciting when I say that. Anyhoo. I got an early mark, and the question on my mind that whopping 15 minutes before the imaginary bell went off for home-time was just what was I going to do with myself?

There’s always things that need doing – laundry, groceries, picking the kids up and starting homework – but there’s also the things I want to do – grab a drink at the bar, get something from the candy store, maybe jasmine tea and a scone at a cafe, browse a bookstore, etc etc etc etc etc. Should I cram in all the things I need to do and then rush around for the other things, or do what needs doing and then relax? Of course, I often find that doing all the things leaves no interest in doing my things afterwards, which is why my house is a pigsty – I care more about the fun stuff than the other stuff because there’s always more of the unfun stuff and it can piss off or take a number while I’m taking care of the good stuff. Yesterday, however, I made a more sensible decision.

So I dodged the bar and went straight to the candy store, didn’t make eye contact with the window-sitters in the cafe and headed to the book store.

let’s pretend that’s the only treat I ate

And then I did groceries and picked up the kids. Of course, being picked up early from the 2.5hrs of aftercare at school that they supposedly hate when Husband is out of town went down like a ton of bricks… “Omg you’re too early” etc. Sheesh! I made it up to them by telling them we could eat expired food from cans for dinner, but that’s another story.

So the moral of this story is live free or die; or, there’s always groceries and laundry so eat chocolate and go to the bookstore first.


100 Miles with One Step, etc

Okay, so here I am at the gym, having got up 1.5 hours earlier than I normally would on a school morning. Actually, I woke naturally and in alarm a further 12 minutes before the alarm so that’s, 1.6 hours, I guess. Anyhoo, it’s fucking early and I’m here. 

I had high hopes of finishing a movie from my Keanu-athon but the kids (or, let’s face it, Husband,) put my ipad spmewhere and I couldn’t find it before I left. I managed to scrounge his earphones since I left mine in the bedroom, and I finally made it out the door. Gah, I’m tired.

I played Golden Girls Monopoly with friends last night, 10 out of 10 highly recommend, would definitely play again. Had the obligatory cheesecake and managed not to eat the remaining half of the cake before bed, or after Husband had gone to bed. I googled the calorie count (why? WHY?) and it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. I managed to cut the slices thinner than I would normally do, but it’s a new year and new me, right?! But I had two, so. I think the two slices equal more than one serving, so by using that same equation, 1 serving = 500cals, ÷3, × 2, still equals too much whipped cream but I’m here bright and early, ergo, pretty sure I’m breaking even so far.

I asked Husband about the event in September that has the 40m bike ride, and he said 2 hours, I think, for him to ride it. He’s “a cyclist” so I need to add at least another hour to the cycling section of my exercise regime, [side note: is it a regime if it’s only 3 days in?], which gives me a total of exactly 1 hour in my cycling regime [side note: if the answer can be ‘yes’, then I can be strict enough with myself to do it]. I am 20 minutes into that aspect of the regime and I must say, my will to live is flagging.

. . .

I finished, I survived, I will exercise another day. Keep on fighting (one of the) good fight(s).


Red Wine & Sweat Pants

It’s hard to stay focused on one thing when amazing other things are right in center field. Take not getting soft and flabby, or softer and flabbier, for instance. 

 My NYE resolution is to make more time for exercise, which means eating right, as well. I eat pretty well, but it’s been easy to eat not well this past year coz every other week, it’s someone’s birthday at work or there’s a faux holiday to celebrate with delicious snacky treats in the break room which I don’t say no to, plus halloween, thanksgiving and christmas which have their own themed snacks to go right along. My willpower got hammered and then just laid down and died. So that’s what I’m trying to reverse this year. I know it’s all about routine but getting into the routine can be the tough part for me. 

To kick the year off the right way, the boys’ NYE resolution is to adventure more and whine less, 

On track with the miles

and their goal is to ride 1000 miles in 2018. Sounds like a lot but we ride quite a bit, so we just need to be consistent. A few longer rides thrown in throughout the year will help, too. Inching the 5 miler up to 8 or 10 will do no one any harm, especially me.

On the flip side of all that sense is my sensibility, wanting to dally and play, read:  eat. 

Specifically, tomorrow I’m hosting Golden Girls Monopoly hour with cheesecake and white wine, it’s nothing but win Win WIN! provided I get my slop-pay ass back into the routine the very next day. 

But then there is afternoon tea two weeks after that, and two weeks after that, and two weeks after that! 
But there is something on the horizon for me to keep it all in perspective and it’s not what you might think [self-loathing], it’s yet another opportunity to seriously hurt myself or even – you guessed it – die [of shame]. River 2 Ridge.


Its not the Warrior Dash, it’s worse! Run a mile, kayak a bunch of miles, ride 40 miles, run 8 miles. Fuck. But I’m in it to come last, not hurt myself and have a good time. Husband and a friend did it last year and while drinking red and watching the kids run around in the rain, it seemed a fun thing to sign up for. Now my friend is having second thoughts but I decided to go ahead, anyway, and sign up for the whole thing. Relay is an option and good for you, but you shouldn’t get to come through to the winner’s circle and share the limelight with people who did the whole thing if you only did it piecemeal, imo. So that’s why I couldn’t do the relay, I wouldn’t respect myself in the morning. 

So while I sit here drinking red and ordering men’s size sweat pants for myself, I dream of tomorrow, And not only the literal tomorrow where I’m consuming good food as well as good times, but the figurative, where I run and paddle and pedal as though my life depends on it. 

Good times.



Well, friends and countrymen, I did something radical and I may or may not be pressed for a secret password to prove that I am, in fact, really and truly me. I bought an electric cord for the elliptical that has been a clothes rack in the bedroom for the past 4 or so years, and it is a full-time coat hanger no more! Merely part-time, from now on. That’s the plan, anyway.

Amazon. Problem solved. They might be screwing bookstores but they are the kings of random cords which may or may not melt the display of your old and going-out-of-business exercise machine from before you joined a gym and forgot that you had your own gym machine. Rejoice!

I got my gear on this morning, only to find, though, that there was nothing to rest the ipad on. No little shelf or hooks or anything at all to keep me occupied and forget that I’m burning food that I shouldn’t have eaten. 


I was ready to pack it in before I even goT started but I cast my eye around for something. I even climbed aboard the boring thing while I wracked my brain. And I found something!

And it worked! Huzzah!

I sweated for over half an hour while reading steamy sex scenes. 36 minutes to be exact! So that just about accounted for the tiny cheesecake I ate at work yesterday, but not the cinnamon scrolls for breakfast, nor the peanut brittle, countless cookies and other chocolatey treats that I haven’t been able to leave alone in the breakroom at work. Doh! But it’s a start. It’s one small elliptical step for me, and one giant stride when the reading gets steamy. Phew!