The trend I am happy to pass me by.

                          

I've got a little bit of a confession to make. You see I like to think that I am quite fashionable, up with things and bang on trend. But there is one trend that is passing me by. The whole healthy, clean, paleo, smoothie juice food diet thing. 

                           

I have never had a smoothie. I don't eat kale. I don't own a nutri bullet and I am not into protein balls. The only type of coconut oil I am interested in is the coconut oil in a Bounty Bar, and I am happy for paleo to stay back with the cave men. I don't eat seeds unless they are on top of my rolls (white not wholemeal), and the milk I drink comes from a cow- not a almond, a soy bean or a camel. Seriously camel milk is a "thing".
                             

Now I am not saying that I have a problem with people who do. You go and enjoy your health food. I am just not interested. I like gluten, I love carbs. It is my favourite food group - well behind chocolate. If I am going to treat myself it will be with a chocolate brownie. Not a cacao brownie. While I am on the topic of cacao -why is it pronounced ka-kow? If I have sugar I want sugar. Not stevia or agave or what ever is meant to be better for me. Pasta is meant to be that- pasta made with flour, not spelt, not quinoa, with FLOUR. If I have a chocolate mousse I want it to be made with cream and chocolate, not avocado and cacao, because that would be a avocado cacao mousse. Don't tell me you can't tell the difference. One is a freakin vegetable. And don't say one is a good fat. Fat is fat, my thighs don't discriminate.

     It is not a chocolate mousse- if it contains no chocolate. 

When I drink water, I will drink water. Not coconut water. Because it tastes disgusting. If I am going to watch my weight I am not going to do a juice cleansing diet, because I want to eat my calories- not drink them. And some things should not be drunk. Like spinach. And yes I know you can't taste it when you juice it with apple juice- so maybe I'll just have a spinach salad and an apple. Actually that is a big lie- I would never have a spinach salad. I want my pizza crust to be from a dough. Not made from cauliflower.

                               
Just because it looks like a pizza base- it does not mean it tastes like a pizza base.

 I have nothing against cauliflower but it does not belong on a pizza. And don't tell me you can't tell the difference. Frozen banana blended up is not banana ice cream. It is frozen banana. I think chia seeds taste weird, and that pudding thing is just gross. Like a crunchy yoghurt but not in a good way.

                           
This is a healthy energy snack. I say this is the most boring jar of food I have ever seen. 

If I want some energy I will have some jelly lollies- not a no cook health bar made with mesquite powder, because I don't even know what that is. If I have a migraine, I'm not going to make a juice with coconut water and celery. I'm going to pop a nurofen.

Now let me be very clear once again. I have no issue with people who chose to eat this way. In fact more power to you. Just don't serve me a smoothie with oats and protein powder, or a slice piece of paleo cake. Because trust me I will be able to taste the difference. If I'm going to eat cake- I want real cake. White cake with vanilla butter cream. Vanilla butter cream made with Italian meringue. With chocolate curls.

Riding Trains at 2am.

This was before our big adventure!

Wouldn't that be an awesome name for a book? Anyway last night I found myself riding the train at 2am on the Armadale Line. Which is sort of like the line to the Bronx. Apparently half the crime in Perth happens on the Armadale Line. But give me a few wines and I am very brave. Well the wines, some very sore feet and not being able to catch a bloody taxi. Here is a tip- if you are questioning whether or not to wear a pair of shoes because they will hurt- don't wear them. Otherwise you will find yourself walking barefoot through the City at 1am.

So after not being able to catch a cab, my girlfriend and I decided we had no choice but to jump on a train. We weren't very good at it and couldn't even work out how to buy a ticket (maybe read "Credit cards not working" before you spend 5 mins shoving your card in and out of the machine). Once tickets were purchased we had an argument about what train to catch. Our saviour came in the form a gorgeous young girl who could obviously tell we had no bloody idea what to do.

"Hey Ladies (we turn to look for the old dears she was talking too, but realised she was talking to us) you have to take the Armadale line because the Thornlie line is finished for the night- but don't worry I will show you what to do."

And that she did. She also told me what school she went to, that the Transit Guard asked her if she thought we were drunk (she told him "Nah- they are too old to get drunk"), that she played netball, that she went to school everyday, that she was 13. Yes you read that correctly, and that she had 8 brothers and sisters and that two of the were in jail. She also helped a very drunk guy into a seat and told the transit guard that he may have needed some help.

Our new friend told us when it was time to get off the train- and minutes before the stop the drunk guy vomited all over the floor. At this stage everyone on the carriage was fabulous friends, and we all groaned together when the smell started to permeate through the carriage. ( I don't know what he ate for dinner- but lets just say there has not been any carrots in his diet for a while.)

We got to our station- said goodbye to our new friends and I think she may have told me that it wasn't very classy to be walking the street at 2am with no shoes. I told her that that was easy to say when she was wearing trainers and I was wearing heels. I also told her to keep going to school and that she was a good girl. But she should be home in bed.

As my friend and I walked along the platform and we hear a ruckus. It was the drunk vomit guy. Stumbling all over the platform, staggering towards to tracks. We ran and grabbed him. Carefully without trying to catch him because he was covered in vomit. He then stumbled, we dragged him - as well as two women in their 40's who have consumed two many vodkas and not enough food. (Because we went tapas. Well to a tapas and pizza restaurant. THAT HAD RUN OUT OF PIZZA, but don't start me on share food). We sat our drunk friend down while the guy who was on the platform as well watched us struggle with him said- " Oh well- I'm off." Yeah you go and leave two women alone with a paralytic boy in the middle of the night.

We then got our drunk friends phone and asked him who we could call. He said no one because no one cared. Awww the ramblings of a drunk person. He then got up, staggered,fell and banged his head on the ground. Thank god he was drunk, because that would have really hurt. We ran through his last messages (nothing juicy unfortunately), rang the last  person he had messaged who said they had been looking for him, and then she asked us if we could walk him home. UMMMMM how about a NO to that? She then said she would try and call someone to come and get him. Well his brother came and got him after 20 minutes. Yep me and my friend spent 20 minutes on a train platform at 2am on one of the most dangerous train stations in Perth. With an 18 year old boy who was paralytically drunk, covered in vomit who kept trying to run- well stagger away and who kept telling us that he had done a really stupid thing. (Don't worry I did reassure him that I had done many a stupid thing and I was still kicking on.)

His brother finally arrived and grabbed him, and almost as an after thought turned around and said " Oh yeah- Thanks. Do you need a lift home."
We both laughed- "with that much vomit?" There was no blisters big enough to make me even contemplate that.

Good Samaritan deed done, we walked the streets to our houses me in bare feet, Nic complaining about her sore feet, contemplating our night. And also doing some clogging. If you don't know what clogging is it is a form of dancing they do in Georgia in Southern America.

                   You will thank me after watching this.


I messaged Nic this morning and asked her how she thought our new friend was. I hope who ever he is that he is ok, and that someone will have bought him some Macca's and nurofen.

It's official- I have cabin fever.

Well actually I have a respiratory infection, but it has seen me take to my bed and 4 days later I am still here waiting for the anti biotics to kick in. I always fancy the idea of a few days in bed, and it is enjoyable, but I think the 4th day is pushing it. I also can't sleep, because as soon as I swallow I wake up. So I have had not much to do beside watch a lot of daytime television, and surfing the net (do people still say that?).  I have also booked a camping holiday, and tried to stop the dogs eating my pens, cough lollies, and drinking my red cordial. The red stained fur was a give away.

I love television, and the only thing I love more than television is crap television. My channels of choice have been the You and the Food Channels, and man do they have some crap on those. I have watched Embarrassing Bodies ( you see some stuff that can't be unseen on that), Secret Eaters (What?? Alcohol has calories I had no idea???)

Embarrassing Bodies-Do not watch this with your kids unless you want to do some seriously explaining- or scare the bejesus out of them.

Although my favourite part of this was when the two ladies who could't work out why they were getting fat, rolled up at the final segment with a bag from Macca's with a sneaky cheeseburger and fries inside. Don't tell the Bride has also been a favourite (why would the Bride get upset that there was no money left for a wedding dress?) as has One Born Every Minute. Yesterday a lady who had a brain injury had a baby and she was worried they would take her baby away. I cried.

I have also been watching Paul Hollywoods Pies and Puds- I am an expert on making butter frosting with an Italian Meringue base, and Come Dine with Me Couples has taught me that every relationship has a loud person and a quiet person, and one who can cook and one who can't. Oh and also never tell your wife that you wish she would have a boob job. That didn't go down well especially when you are on a show with knives.

What happened to SuperNanny?

Wife Swap has also been watched (there was a very white man who is a Rastafarian- which I still thing is just as way of validating your decision to live a life of smoking weed and not working), and Super Nanny (what happened to her?). Super Nanny amazes me because lets face it, is it that hard to work out how to use the Naughty corner/stair/room? I did get a good chuckle about the mum who needed help with her kids, especially because in her former working life she was a child behaviouralist!!!

Bingle is preggers.

The Internet has been a source of information. I have learnt that Mother Teresa was not so saintly after all (honestly- really? that little old lady? Surely not).

Apparently this is the image of evil. No not Diana, the other one.

A girl in Sydney ran away because she fought with her dad over a chocolate bar (totally understand that, I get really, really, really mad when someone eats the last Moro bar out of the box of Favourites). 

Don't steal my Moro bar, even if they are a poor mans Mars Bar.

Apparently women in their 40's are the new sexy (well durr!!!), Lara Bingle is definitely pregnant, well according to the photos and the fact that she went shopping for baby clothes in Dior, but I am not sure if she photoshopped her legs or not (and I don't really care about that and she has also released a tanning and bronzing range) Although I do think that Britney has gone over board with the photoshop, and somehow has turned into Jessica Simpson.

This is Britney Spears. Honestly.Well a photoshopped version. 

So that is what I have been doing for the last 4 days. I have to go now because "Undercover Doctor- Cure Me I'm Gay" is on, at the moment the man is getting rid of the hosts' pink shirts and loafers, because they are "gay" as is Mozart apparently (the man who performed this "therapy" now lives with his male partner mmm) and apparently you become gay because you have s childhood trauma. And also because  there is this ad for something called Dragons Blood moisturiser is on. It makes you look younger- and you get a free gift!!

Cast members of The Bachelor... your 15 minutes is officially up

I never thought these words would ever cross my lips, but I am officially sick of The Bachelor. Yep, I have said it out loud. I no longer want to hear anymore. Or read it. EVERYWHERE.

So let me get you up to speed.

Blake picked Sam, Blake proposed to Sam, she said yes, Blake broke up with Sam, Sam didn't know why. Rumours started that Lisa was pregnant with Blakes' baby. Lisa denied this. Blake came out and said he was in love with Osher. Jokes, he came out and say he had made a big mistake, was told to pick Sam and also to propose to her by the Producers when really he was in love with Louise....  the whole damn time.

Blake and Louise fled to Phuket, sold their story to Womens' Day, and then had to do an interview with The Project or else they would be sued by Shine Productions. Sam and Lisa also did an interview with The Project, refuting everything that Blake and Louise said, and also inferred that Louise was a little bit... umm how do I put this....dumb and also only wanted to be a wife. That is their words not mine. There is nothing dumb about wanting to be a wife. Or partner. Or whatever takes your fancy. No judgement here.

                     

Lisa then said that Blake had contacted her and asked her if she wanted to get her groove on with him. Then an Instgram war broke out with all parties trying to out fun each other like all mature adults would do. Sam also did the "you may have Blake but  all the other girls are hanging out with me" manoeuvre.

Look how much fun Blake and I are having! 

Look how much fun all the other girls except for you and I are having!

I also need to add that Sam's has had a boyfriend before even though she said she had not. He also happened to be the guy that used to be on Home and Away. 

Sam and her previous boyfie- the guy that used to be on Home and Away.

The final stage in this saga is that Blake has come out and said in this weeks Womens Day - he obviously has sign a 3 story deal- that Lisa actually tried to contact him first and asked about getting HER groove on with him and that she may not be as honest as we all thought (except of course those of us who knew that she lied about the house she lived in during the home visits, so maybe she was a liar all along.). 

I also need to say that Amber is in the news because she is sick of people saying she is fat and she used to have an eating disorder, Zoe is in love with someone that used to be on The Voice (or X Factor- whatever), and Lisa is judging Fashion on the Fields at the Races.

So I think we can sum it up with this. Maybe people who go on a television show looking for love with a complete stranger and sharing him with 25 others maybe are looking for a Media career and not love after all. Who knew.

Now lets never speak of them ever again.

I'm outraged

I don't get outraged by much and when I do it is usually over important things, like not being able to buy Urban Decay makeup in Perth or George Clooney marrying some fancy schmancy Human Rights lawyer who not only got Clooney but also a pretty fine wardrobe for her wedding weekend, but right now I AM OUTRAGED.

Damn her, and her and her good looking husband and Stella McCartney outfit.


Let me start at the beginning. I am generally not a crazy feminist and I am happy with some gender roles- like boys take out the rubbish, remove the dead mice that the cat has caught  and lift heavy stuff, and girls do stuff like cook and have more outfit choices than just shorts and trousers I also believe that anyone can go a job no matter what their sex. In fact I think I am not a feminist, but rather and Equalitist (I made that word up, but it works- doesn't it?)  but today I discovered something that made me OUTRAGED.

Where I live if you want your child to go to a ridiculously overpriced Private school, you have to enrol them at conception. I actually don't have an issue with Government schools because I work in one, but it is all relative to where you live and the schools around you. My youngest daughter is at the moment enrolled at four Private schools. Needless to say we are hedging out bets. Did I also mention the non refundable deposit?? No wonder those schools have such lovely lawn.

So as the year that she will begin at one of these schools gets closer, we are getting letters and school magazines, lots and lots of magazines confirming our details. We got one such letters on Thursday. Tonight I got it out of the envelope and checked our details. I discovered that even though my husband and I both do the same job- Teachers- it would appear that my husband is an ACADEMIC. I on the other hand am an EDUCATOR.

Seriously WTF? This from a girls school where I am hoping they are educating the young ladies to become anything they can be (as we do in the State system) they are making a distinction between sexes?  Why are we both not Educators? You will note that I did not say Academics, because I am not an Academic, I am an educator and pleased to be one- I am proud that my job involves educating young people and arming them with some skills to get through life, even if at times that skill is how to guess who the killer is in a movie in the first 15minutes, or the difference between a stereotype and a subculture (because that is very important. sort of) And also if I am completely honest it is a bit of a push to put Academic and me in the same sentence.

                             

So while I am not sufficiently outraged enough to rip up the application, I am outraged enough to tell my daughter that she is just as smart as any boy and can be anything she wants. Except a Collingwood supporter, because no one wants one of those in the family.

Looking for a new job?

I have been job hunting. Not for me (I am far to comfortable where I am and I am just getting too old to be making new work friends, people are starting to bug me for no reason- thats a sign of old age isn't it?). I have been job searching for my son. Now I know he should be doing this himself, but as he wants to work as much as I like marking kids work,  I am taking action.

I have been going where apparently all job hunters go these days which is Seek. com .They don't do jobs in the paper anymore. Who knew? It would seem that job hunters don't read papers anymore, so the only jobs that appear in the paper are presumably ones that no ones wants. Like a stylist at Suzanne Grae.

So onto Seek I went to find some jobs. And then I realised something. There were so many jobs that I didn't understand. Well I did understand but they all had different names. A coffee maker is now called a Barista, and sales assistant is now called Customer relations advisor - or is the case of Lulu Lemon- an educator. A beautician is now called a beauty therapist- which I guess considering what they must have to listen to they do offer some therapy. When you go to a hairdresser you get a Colourist, not just a stylist.

The nightfall person at the shops is called a Stock Recoverer, and person who works at a clothes shop is a stylist, a barman is called a "mixologist" (which is very cool) and although it was ages ago they changed the name of an Air Hostess to a flight attendant. I actually think though that Hostess is way cooler than Attendant. Like they are hosting a party that you have paid lots of money to go to where they serve really bad food,  monitor your drinks, and the toilets are really dodgy (never go bare foot or wear your socks to the toilet on a plane. I repeat NEVER.) Sort of like any School Ball you have ever been to really. A mum is not even a mum anymore- they are domestic engineers.

So apart from my job confusion, I noticed that there was a new kind of job genre. A coach. Not like a footy coach, but coaches for all kind of things. You can amongst others things get a Life Coach,  a Fitness Coach and my two personal favourites a Bridal Coach and a Diet Coach. Yep you read those last two correctly.

                       
              I think this is what a diet coach would say.

A diet coach works like a sponsor for AA. When you feel a cupcake (or iced doughnut yummmm) calling you give them a call and they talk you down. I assume they don't say things like "Put the cupcake down, Fatty" but rather- "Do you really need that cupcake?" I would imagine your response would depend on just how hungry you are, because when I want a cupcake, I want a friggin cupcake. Although it must be white cake with lots of butter icing. No chocolate mud cakes for me.  Now as I see it there is a major flaw with this system- YOU have to call them when you want to cheat. As a sneaky eater, I can tell you that the key is in the name- "sneaky", that is, you don't tell anyone because you are being...sneaky.

                 
Now this would be a much more effective way of diet coaching.

Once when I was listening to the radio that they were talking about school mums who have a "sneaky cheesy".  I had no idea what this was, but assumed it was when they went to the school they got a cheesy from the canteen, which for the record was the absolute best part about school, except for Jupiter Bars and Nut Chews obviously. 

Jupiter Bars- remember them? well if you went to school in the 80's.

You can make your own cheesy's when you grate the cheese, mix it with a bit of water so it is a paste, smooth it on half one of those really sweet hamburger buns and bake it in the oven. Never, ever grill. But no- apparently it is a "thing". Mums drive through Maccas on the way to do school pick up and grab a cheeseburger. Hence the "sneaky cheesy". Genius because if you go when you have the kids they always want something. And if that kid is a 17 year old boy they always want a Mighty Angus burger. With fries. AND upsized.

                                
This is a Bridal Coach, but not the sort of Bridal coach I am talking about.

Bridal Coach was one I really didn't understand, and I had to Google it to find out what a Bridal Coach actually was. It would appear that a Bridal Coach is a very clever women (because I could actually only find one) who has worked out that Brides to be are completely void of any sense of reason when they are caught in the love blur. You hire your Bridal Coach and have a 2 hour meeting where they tell you what you need to do to plan your wedding. And that is it. Yep, they will charge you a ridiculous amount of money to tell you every thing that your mum/sister/friend/ aunty/ Bride-to-Be magazine will tell you for free, except that because it came from you Bridal Coach it is obviously hold more authority.

I must admit I was a bit disappointed because I imagined someone in a tracksuit, sort of like Sue Sylvester from Glee, blowing her whistle and yelling at you through a megaphone coaching you how to be a Bride and have the appropriate hissy fits, panic attacks, calling off the wedding because you can't find the right lipstick, losing all sense of reason and deciding that $10 000 is perfectly reasonable for a cake, and cracking it if you don't get everything on your Bridal registry. Because you really do need a $500 matching salt and pepper shaker.

Sue Sylvester could be a Bridal AND Diet coach in one.

Road Rage. Some days it is totally understandable.

I have a 30 minute drive to work that is timed to perfection. I know exactly what time I need to leave home (7:46), what time I have to leave Before School Care by at the latest (7:58) in order to make it to work in time to turn on my computer, check my pigeon hole, make a cup of tea and have a quick chat to some work buddies all before the bell goes. Actually my whole mornings are timed to perfection down to the time I need to leave to go and exercise(5:15), how long I can spend in the shower (10minutes), how long I have to do my hair and makeup (10 minutes),how many times I have to tell Indi to put her shoes on (3) and brush her teeth (2). Breakfast is eaten in the car, although the toast is put in the toaster between the final "put on your shoes" and the first "brush your teeth"

                      


So you can understand why some mornings I can totally understand how road rage happens. Let me talk you through my drive to work today.

1. Driving down my street. The car coming the other way has cars parked in front of them, so in theory they should wait for me. Of course they don't, they speed up. And then they don't have the decency to do a courtesy wave. So I did a wave in the hope it would make them feel guilty. Don't think it worked.

                                   


2. At the lights the car behind me decided they don't want to merge and MUST get in front of me. Dude it is a 40km sped limit AND there is a bus. You aint getting that much of an advantage.

                                            


3. There are two lanes. The right lane has a red light, the left lane has a green arrow. I am turning left, there are no cars in the left lane. Until the idiot in the right lane decided to pull into the left lane. AND DOESN'T TURN LEFT.

4. Pull up at the lights. In the right lane. Check the car in front is not turning right. They aren't. Until the light turns GREEN, and then decided to indicate. Seriously it is called a indicator for a reason. TO INDICATE WHAT YOU ARE DOING.

                         


5. The speed limit is 70. Two cars are driving side by side. Doing 60. All the way down Orrong Road.( for roughly 15 minutes for those of you who are not locals)
                             

6. They then see the light is turning amber. They both speed up so they get through the green light. I don't.

7. The lady in front of me changes lanes. Without looking in the rear vision mirror. I think trick is also in the name. REAR VISION MIRROR. Not  the "check out your pimple mirror", or "put your makeup on mirror".

8. Driving up Lesmurdie Hill. Two cars are driving side by side. Doing 60. The speed limit is 80. And then when I can eventually pass they are not looking when I give them a dirty look. So unsatisfying.

                                                     

9. Reach the 40km school zone. To the lady in the white car- when you see that sign that says " End of School Zone" it generally means you can do the speed limit again.

10. Reach Kalamunda. Land of the slowest drivers in the world. It seems that the formula for the speed you drive is your age (Once you hit 60) minus 20, going up in increments of 10 with each decade you reach. So if you are 60 you drive 40, 70 you drive 30, 80 you drive 20 and so on. And as the average age of people in Kalamunda is 80 you can imagine the nightmare.

Lucky for everyone involved I am an awesome driver, who never does anything wrong. Never had an accident that was my fault. And Justin if you are reading this- the scrape, I repeat the SCRAPE on the Mercedes was not my fault. It was the fault of the dumb arse council who didn't remove the whole bit of concrete.