Easter Hat and other abnormalities

So it is that time of year when previously friendly teachers and carers show that they truly do despise us and put on an Easter hat parade. I had forgotten/repressed the fact that the Nazgul was having one today until yesterday. After frantically gathering supplies after the racks at the craft shop had been decimated by more organised and interested parents, the Nazgul and I picked up Rainman and headed home to face the inevitable.

I have a pintrest account which, along with making me marvel at what Americans eat and the previously discussed revolting fitness quotes, made me think I could and SHOULD use a hot glue gun. It may surprised you that I have a hot glue gun, it shocked the shit out of me too. I actually got it one school holiday to make Rainman some wizarding shit from this book he has but then he was an utter crap pony and it never eventuated. I had between 10 and 13 mins to make the damn hat and it dawned on me I was without the muse (known in some circles as wine). I could have called My First Husband to grab some on the way home but he bandies about the term "functional alcoholic" too much for my liking. Actually now I think about it, he may just mean I am dysfunctional sober and thinks I should drink more.

Anyway, within 5 mins of starting the venture fuelled only by dissatisfaction and disco I had not glued anything to the hat but I HAD glued an Aldi catalogue to the table. Within 7 mins I still had not glued anything to the hat but had burned my finger. It transpires that a $4.99 hot glue gun doesn't actually heat glue but if you touch the metal nozzle you discover that is hot. By this time I also had so much glitter over me I looked as if a fairy with explosive diarrhoea had staged some sort of dirty protest on my person. So I reverted to the 3 most useful things in my life: staples, sticky tape and blu-tack. Not long after this the Nazgul who although insane is the most competent in the family, politely suggested that I could go and leave her to stick some jewels on it by herself because I was ruining it.

My First Husband returned from work as I was attempting to hide the fact there was glitter on the steak, looked at my efforts which amounted to some felt eggs stapled on (for the record I WAS going to cover the staples on the inside so she didn't get stabbed in the head) and a dozen particularly special needs looking chicks with blu-tack and tape on their feet kind of dribbling down the side. He diplomatically suggested (generally when I am swearing at raw meat he knows to be diplomatic and to refrain from sudden movement) that perhaps he might attach to chicks to the hat later. Like many males he was more concerned with completing the task at hand than the overall aesthetic and compressed the chicks so they now appear to have spinal defects along with severe damage to the frontal lobes. The result is pure Nazgul and she is delighted.

Ignore the picture quality, I couldn't be arsed wiping the lens on the phone.

Cocoon: A True Story

To all my friends who love the gym, running or any form of intentional exercise that doesn't involve propping up a bar - You are a pack of lying, filthy whores "Ohhh if you exercise in the morning you are on a high for the rest of the day". NO, if you have a Tom Collins in the morning you are on a high for the rest of the day...or until you sober up at least. I'd slap each one of you if you weren't physically superior and capable of beating my flabby arse to a pulp.

I don't think it will come as a shock to any of you that I don't approve of intentional exercise. I find it a waste of perfectly good breath that could be better spent swearing.  I have pointed out to several of my friends who run marathons, the only reason to run is if a wolf is chasing you and even then it is preferable to lay down and pretend to be a log. The closest I come to exercise is trying to find the grossest inspirational quotes on Pintrest. So far this one is winning. No matter how many times I see it, it still makes me feel sick. It's important to have a hobby.

So what will come as a shock to my nearest and dearest is that after years of Drs and physios insisting I exercise I have finally caved in and it SUCKS. Before you write me off as a traitor to the cause there is a reason that I have started following medical advice as opposed to just pointing and laughing; I have a hilarious genetic condition called Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. I have the hypermobilty sub-type which means I regularly dislocate limbs and digits (8 times in my right shoulder, 9 times in my left mainly while I was sleeping). Currently I am held together by chronically unstable joints,  poorly recruited muscles, and if My First Husband is to be believed, venom. As you might imagine this is more than a tad uncomfortable but also has the unfortunate side effect of my hips being so unstable that I walk like Jessica Rabbit. This tends to send rather the wrong message particularly on public transport.

So this is how at 8am this morning I found myself in the pool surrounded by hyperactive 80 years olds. I knew it was going to be bad but not even my unorthodox imagination prepared me for the true horror. As soon as I walked out of the change room all the geriatric heads swivelled towards me. Now I watch a lot of sci-fi so I knew what the glint in their eyes meant...they saw me as fresh meat, they were going to drain my (relative) youth and leave only a dried husk behind a skip somewhere. As if exercise didn't scare me enough doing it in the equivalent of my underwear in front of a glass wall of a cafe (full of 19 year old students sipping their smoothies and looking duly horrified at what gravity can do to the human body) was terrifying. Now I had to contend with the unexpected variable that the rest of the class obviously plotting to drain my soul. I was pretty consumed with this until I realised that not only had I picked up Rainman's swimming towel but it also reeked. I should have taken this as an omen and fled.

In addition to my lovely genetic condition which as you can imagine makes me less than graceful and coordinated I was also sadly born without a sense of rhythm. I mean absolutely none at all to the point I function as a rhythm vortex I actually suck the rhythm and talent out of people I stand too close to. I am not legally allowed to stand within 2 metres of a professional musician. It is hard to pinpoint the lowest point of the class but I think it was when  the woman who came in with a walking stick who was far more coordinated and agile than me also began giving me pitying smiles. In fact the entire class (including the token disinhibited old man and a woman in her 70s who must have just done a mountain of speed) was FAR FAR FAR more able than me. The psychotically chirpy instructor obviously identified me as the special needs child of the group as the cafe owner* and waiter behind the glass were performing a mocking imitation of us. The cocoon crew found this hilarious. I didn't. In fact it may be one of the 5 things in my entire life that I didn't find funny. I think my final thread of dignity evacuated as one of the exceptionally capable women I used to work with finished swimming her 200 perfect laps, got out of the pool and clearly recognised me.

At least on Saturday I have The Nazgul's mum & tots ballet class. I completely kick those 2.5 - 3.5 year olds arses when it comes to fairy runs.

*who I have asked several times to install a bar and written it on various surveys when I am taking the kids to swimming

Ambition and Goal setting

 I am so sick of everyone saying "You have no ambition or goals. All you want to do is drink, swear and tell long winded stories that end up involving Brian Blessed*".

So I have worked and pondered and come up with a goal...I am going to punch every person I encounter who says anything about "Having your cake and eating it too".  Do these people not understand the concept of cake as a foodstuff? Were they cruelly subjected to styrofoam faux-cakes as children? Or are they just really fucking stupid? I am the first to admit that I have, on occasion, produced cakes no one WANTED to attempt to eat (because they were weak, unadventurous...and 7) but the point is they could have (if they weren't ungrateful little turds who just wouldn't eat something because they couldn't identify what it was).



* Did you know Brian Blessed does a voice in Peppa Pig? Life just doesn't get better than that.