Pinterest

Thanks to Pinterest I -

• Have a command centre that looks totally awesome but I forget it's there and still have things written in random bits of paper on my desk;
• Admit I have burnt the ass out of 2 batches of salt dough trying to do those hand and feet print things that every other dumb ass can do but me;
• Learnt I cannot braid, plait, twist, straighten, scrunch curl or sock bun my own hair;
• Rearranged my pantry and now have 3kg of rice as I lost not one but two packs because I put them up the top and can't see up there unless I stand on a chair (joys of being short);
• Piss off Miss G often by doing her hair with the aforementioned attempts, but I can actually do them on her;
• Stabbed myself in the eye with eyeliner, several times, following make up tutorials (that being said I am like 80% blind in one eye, give me a fucking break);
• Have about 3 dozen pinned recipes with the comment "I could actually do this" or some variation of, but have attempted none;
• Have spent my entire life telling people the wrong things according to pins entitled "25/10/13 things you should/shouldn't/must/never tell your daughter/sister/mother/father/postman/doctor/neighbour";
• Cannot draw, at all, even with this simple to follow drawing guide;
• Don't efficiently utilise dinner left over’s;
• Don't bake enough as my child has store bought snacks rather than dinosaur shaped pikelets with jam made from over-ripe fruit (I'm lucky to make fucking banana bread with the black bananas at the back of the fridge and I actually love that shit!);
• Am wasting good money by not making my own hair removal cream, face wash, self tanner, tooth paste and glue;
• Oh and despite having a horde of empty formula tins stacked in the pantry, I have only used ONE pinned reuse/up-cycle pin.

And yet, I am stupidly addicted to the goddamn site! All the best intentions but let’s face it, I'm fucking lazy, I'm shocked I've kept up this half assed blog for this long. Hell I'm waiting 15 mins to publish this entry or I've done TWO in one fucking day and I can't keep up those standards! I told you not to have too much faith in this shit.

oh oh and want another blog? Sonja over at Pintester is HILARIOUS and I think I have a secret girl crush on her. Especially when she does things like stick headphones up her nose, slather her skin with homemade beauty shit, and blogs while drinking (which I say happens more than she claims, sneaking fucking bitch) - oh, so always! 



Random Bree fact #14 - as mentioned above, I'm legally blind in one eye (hence glasses) as I was pecked in the eye by a magpie (a bird, Google it) when I was 3 years old. Bastard got me twice, tore my eyeball in half. My eye is still in medical text books, first surgery of its kind in the country (we are talking 1987 here people). One more reason why I. Am. Awesome.

So tired.

ARGH. I am so tired, yet Miss O is WIDE FUCKING AWAKE ..... I tried for 2 hours to get her to settle, fail. Granted she isn't screaming or crying, rather she's talking to the ceiling with intermittent grumbling, but that's not the point, the point is I'm tired and want a shower and sleep. 

Yeah yeah I chose to be a parent; it comes with the territory, blah fucking blah. Whatever. I'm not even making sense now I'm that tired. I honest to fuck considered snorting the coffee granules this morning, especially when I went to boil the kettle and the fucker wouldn't boil and I had to heat the water in the microwave in 30 second intervals as I was terrified it would boil over, or explode, or some shit. 

I don't own a car, I'm being lent one at the moment, but you see he doesn't like rain, runs like a hairy goat that skipped its meds. Something to do with plugs, and sparking, or something ..... Of course it has been raining NON-FUCKING-STOP for days. I couldn't avoid the groceries any longer .... 1 hours sleep, no coffee, pissing rain, grumpy teething kid, thank fuck Miss G was at daycare or you'd find me in the corner in the foetal position rocking back and forth and back and forth. 

Aaaaand another blog entry with zilch purpose. Fuck me I'm good at rambling useless random shit and wasting your precious moments. Unless you're on the shitter and reading this, if so 1. fuck you for being able to shit alone let alone read while there and 2. You’re welcome. 

Ah wonderful, she just vomited on my rug. Most action my rug has had in ages :/

Fucking fuck fuck

Fuck you teething, fuck you sideways with a rusty cheese grater. Over tired grumpy in pain kid, she can't have more painkillers and I'm surprised she isn't shitting pure teething gel. 

Rain can fuck off too, there's been more than enough in Queensland of late thanks. 

I'm grumpy, really mother fucking grumpy. And sore, tired, frustrated, disappointed, annoyed, depressed and argh.

 *insert more endless bitching, ranting and complaining here* 

Sorry if you were expecting a decent blog today, not going to happen. 



P.S - Random Bree fact #06 - pork is my favourite meat, they say its the closest thing to human flesh, nom nom nom.

Domestic fucking goddess.

It's hot and humid, (32c and 71% before 10am) I fucking hate humidity. It's like walking around in a tub of your own sweat and bodily fluids. When you're fat like me, you have rolls, the sweat just sits there and when you move you can feel the sliminess, de-fucking-licious No matter how much you smoother yourself in deodorant you still stink like fucking hobo and don't even get me started on the hair issues!
Next house I live in will have aircon, even if I have to pay for it with sexual favours, at least I'll be on my knees in a delightful 21 degrees. Booyah!

Anyway, despite the above I've done some laundry, dishes, cleaned the kitchen, updated the budget, found brown broccoli in the fridge along with a limp carrot and what I think used to be fresh parsley, put a chicken casserole in the slow cooker, resisted the urge to not strangle Miss G as she suffers cabin fever (in true ranga style she burns to a crisp within minutes of being in sunlight) and dealing with Miss O's shitty "I fucking hate humidity too" behaviour (I'm presuming both my kids will swear like a sailor, why fight the inevitable?). All before midday! Be jealous bitches.

I'm also exhausted. Neighbourhood feral family 1 had a late night screaming match with feral family 2 last night. I may swear but my potty mouth has got nothing on this lot. Threats, name calling, kids crying and screaming, banging, loud thumps, fuck knows what else. It was just pure coincidence that the police turned up ;) and by listening to the police scanner that um someone happened to have playing through my bedroom window right at that moment, I learned some interesting facts about the ferals. No wonder it only took 16 mins to respond on a Saturday night.

I suspect the neighbourhood children had something to do with our now very sad wheelie bin too. It disappeared after the last bin day. What fucking idiot would steal a damn garbage bin? Anyway, it reappeared, or at least some bin did, not our original one as ours had a number written on it this one doesn't, and it looks like someone has run over it with a truck, I'm surprised it still stands. Thanks little fuckers.

And I'm out of bread, and alcohol. Fuck it.

Um yeah

I need to piss and I’m out of wine. I know I’m going to hate myself in the morning but fuck I've enjoyed pretending I’m not a single mum and just drinking that fucking sweet nectar and chatting to friends that make me smile and don’t try to sugar coat what they think. Tell it to me straight bitches, or just don’t fucking speak to me. Seriously, I’d rather hear something bad than something that is complete bullshit. If we all agreed with and liked what someone else thinks, can you imagine how goddamn boring life would be? Besides, I’d like to know when I've fucked up rather than go about life presuming I made the right choice. Ya hear me? Tell me if I've fucked up, don’t spare my feelings ffs, don’t sugar coat it and serve it to me with fucking bows and flowers, just tell me, straight up, deliver the truth, BUT, be there to help me deal with it too. Don’t be a hit and run because those people are true c-nuts. If you’re going to dish out the meal no one really wants, at least have the decency to stick around after to clean up the mess.

Oh and look, both kids have decided to wake? Why? ….. that would be their built in “mum-fun-o-metre” … heaven forbid I be human, no no no, at their beck and call I must be.

Goodnight bitches xxoo

This Friday is Wine Day

I would like to thank my ex for two things today.
1. Coming over last night to tend to the kids while I put myself into a drug induced coma to get rid of a migraine from hell.
2. Not reminding me he took Miss G's antibiotics to daycare with her today. So of course I didn't make sure they were in her bag when I picked her up. Daycare is closed on weekends. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Aforementioned migraine resulted in me having to poke chunks of food down the drain after vomiting in the shower, falling into walls and near passing out when standing up.

Picked up kid 1 from daycare and the top of her head looked like this.
Instant panic, fuck fuck fuck she has knits. No, just playground bark. "Did you roll in the dirt today?" ..... "No me and Miss A (her best friend at daycare) played babies in the bath" ..... "Mmhmm and the bark was water?" ..... "*sighs at me like I'm the dumbest bitch on earth* it was shampoo". Of course.







Lifted Miss O from her bouncer this evening, "you stink" says I. Do the standard nappy check and feel the all to familiar warm, wet, squish on my fingers. I have long fingernails, think about it.

Dinner for Miss G was a kids Red Rooster meal, my dinner is this.

(I'm having a salad on the side)


Update - for $8.99 a bottle this shit is good!!! nom nom nom.

Sick, snot and shut up.

I love my kids, I do, they are the best thing I've ever done. But fuck me sideways, if I have to hear Miss G whinge and whine for one more day, I'll be be writing this blog live from Cell Block C. Then again, it's only illegal if you get caught yeah?

I understand she is sick, and tired and grumpy, but please shut up. When I'm sick all I want to do is sleep, curl up in bed smothered in Vicks, maybe read. I don't want to ride my noisy plastic pink trike up and down the hallway, up and down, up and fucking down, (which of course wakes the baby, what 7 month old needs sleep? clearly not this one), then suddenly whinge that I'm tired can you push me, I can't move, I can't do it. You were just doing it for 20 fucking minutes, you ran over my toes twice and I have scuff marks on the goddamn walls.
No I'm not carrying you to the toilet, or feeding you, no you can't have lollies because they make you better, yes I am mean for saying no, hell no you are not watching The Wiggles again, and no I will not go away, but you can, feel free.

Did you know I hate snot? I can handle vomit, shit running down the legs and smooshed up the back, I can handle blood and gaping wounds and sticking my thumb up my baby's ass to help her shit, but snot? Just no. Makes my gut churn.
You know the type I'm talking about - running out of the nose, over the lips, then into the mouth when they open it to most likely whinge more crap at you expecting you to ask how high when they say jump; it bubbles when they breathe and for some fucked up reason kids think it's an unnamed food group and lick it up like it's ice cream. *gags* kids are feral, but that's a whole other blog.
My point was - I have had 2 of these freaks for almost a week. Miss G won't take her finger out of her nose, or use a tissue (why when she has clothing, or me), and Miss O keeps rubbing her evil snot into her hair, which I then kiss when I'm reminded that she can't talk, or whinge.

I'm about to go wrestle Miss G into a shower and put her whining grumpy ass to bed. If I have to tie her scrawny ass down so be it, mum needs a fucking beer.

Go the fuck to sleep

Go the fuck to sleep. Seriously, this is bullshit.

The brilliant (and fucking delicious) Tim Minchin says it better than me.

Excuse me while I go remind myself that I love my children, I love my children, love them, yes, I do.

Awesome!!

I live in a unit block, 3 stories, 4 units on my side, 4 on the other. It's fantastic. If I get the timing right I can hear next door taking a piss while I brush my teeth. The new woman upstairs is generous enough to let us all hear her conversations; she likes to stand on the balcony while talking on the phone. I always know when she's taking a seat at her dining table; the sound of a metal chair dragging along tiles vibrates through the floor like a lullaby. Oh and her Friday night drinks with friends means free acoustic karaoke concerts, they should take the act on the road they are that good.

There are more units out the back of us, the one directly behind us has a baby too, he has a future in politics, and I can tell that by his persistence and volume at 3am. Again, it's awesome.

We're also blessed with the perfect mother living across the road in her 4 bedroom house with aircon and a large fully fenced yard courtesy of the government. Her 6 kids, under 9, are wonderfully behaved, you know because mum is always voicing her pleasure loudly at all times of the day and night. Her polite, well articulated praise of her darling children is music to my ears. They are so good that the police visit regularly, just to compliment her on her parenting skills, and the admirable lifestyle choices made by her “it’s complicated” partner. I love it when the kids remove my door bell and try to check my mail for me, a lock on the letter box is no deterrent for their random acts of kindness.

The road here is a playground, a soccer oval, cricket pitch and a skate park. It’s a pretty busy suburban street and naturally all the drivers are cautious and considerate of the unmonitored 4 year olds playing in their path.

Ah fuck it, this is too hard. I fucking hate my street. The occupants are either feral, grumpy, old, paranoid or all of the above. They are inconsiderate, loud and just plain fucked in the head. We have ONE good neighbour but she’s moving soon, wonder why?

You know what else is awesome? Hearing a mother tell her kids to “fuck off you pathetic fucking c*nt, how many fucking times do I have to tell you I don’t care?”. I love it, I know the police link phone number off by heart and grin like a Cheshire fucking cat when that police car pulls up out the front of her house.

Can’t wait until I meet that rich 80 year old love of my life so I can move into his 16 bedroom mansion in the country and can look down my fat button nose at “those” people.

(note – I don’t have to explain that I’m not always serious when making statements like the above do I? In hindsight a 95 year old man would be better, he won’t last as long.)

Yup, hello.

"I might write a blog" I say, "give me something to do" I say. Problem is I have no idea what the fuck to write. Seriously, who wants to hear the insane ramblings of a single mum of 2 girls, a woman who suffers from depression and anxiety and who's last real holiday was their honeymoon almost 3 years ago? Oh and that marriage is over, so yeah, says a lot hey?

Ah well, ramblings it shall be.

As said, I'm a single mum of 2 girls, Miss G who is 3.5 years old and Miss O who is 7 months old. They are the most adorable, funny, intelligent and perfect children in the history of the universe. In reality they are just like their mum - stubborn, impatient, hilarious, sly, perceptive and just plain fucking awesome. Miss G is a redhead (ok technically strawberry blonde but personality wise she's a ranga) and tiny - the later she most definitely did not get from me.  Miss O is 7 months old, apart from liking the sound of her own baby blabbering and eating close to her own weight in food each day, there's not much to her, but give her time people, give her time.

Friends, if I were you I wouldn't hold high expectations of this blog. It will be random, it will be insanely fucking stupid, it will contain far too much swearing, blunt opinions and probably boring stories of funny shit my kids did or that I was too lazy to get off my large ass to get dental floss so used a strand of my own hair to remove the chicken caught in my back teeth. (What? Oh come on like I'm not the only one that has done it, seriously). I sometimes struggle to define that line between socially acceptable and too much information, anything goes folks.

Apparently I have a wicked sense of humour and people dig that shit (slight paraphrasing there, but one friend said it so must be true right?). I'm a bit of a geek, my mind lives in the gutter and I swear too much (if you can't already tell). I am loyal and can be stubborn as hell. I love good food, cold beer, good friends, music, reading, making people laugh, people watching, and learning new things. I love documentaries, sci-fi, zombies, I have a thing for English police/detective shows and period dramas. I suck donkey testicles when it comes to creative things like cake decorating, painting, drawing or making animals out of play dough.

I'm a curvy woman, and by that I mean I'm not a size 14, I mean my thighs rub together, my ass wobbles when I walk and I won't blow away in a strong wind. I've always been bigger, always been the fat chick. Some days I'm all like "yeah I'm fat, get over it, I'm awesome and don't need to conform to what society thinks a woman should be", girl power and all that shit; other days I hate myself, my body and the fact that I have zilch staying power when it comes to healthy eating and exercise. At the end of the day though, my dress size is one of the least important aspects of me as a person, friend and mum. I have people that love me despite it and perhaps even because of it, not to mention the fact that this body carried 2 kids, it created life and that's more than some people can say.

Now, I know that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones and all that, but my thought process doesn't understand this, it will and often does, criticise people for doing the exact same thing it does itself. The exact. same. fucking. thing. So yeah you'll probably read some of it here, but you'll also read me admitting to the same stuff, after all it would be awfully hypocritical of me to point out these things in others yet not myself right? Mmmhmm exactly. 

It is here I leave you, mainly because I was sick of writing about me after the second paragraph, but also because I have to pretty up this blog and make it visually appealing and all that jazz. 

Ciao bitches. 

x