Miss Daisy driving

I have a confession to make – I’m a backseat driver! I’m a terrible back seat driver when I’m slightly hungover and an even worse one when slightly hungover and hungry. Luckily for MOTH today I have both a hangover and I’m hungry.
Here is an account of today’s 10 minute drive

I have a confession to make – I’m a backseat driver!  I’m a terrible back seat driver when I’m slightly hungover and an even worse one when slightly hungover and hungry. Luckily for MOTH today I have both a hangover and I’m hungry.

Here is an account of today’s 10 minute drive.  All spoken words appear in “quotations”. My thoughts appear in blue italic. Excuse the language.

1 minute after leaving home

Me:  “You missed the short cut”.
MOTH:  “Oh yeah”

Less than 1.5  minutes from leaving home and MOTH misses another turn

Me: “Where are you going? You should have turned down that street” I say in a irritated voice
MOTH: “It doesn’t matter we’ll just doddle down here.”
Me thinks:  It’s f#*king Saturday, we have 1,000 things to do and you want to doddle.

Less than 2 minutes from leaving home and MOTH misses yet another turn

Me: “Go down that street so we can get back on track”.
MOTH:  “Do you want to drive? If not, shut up.”
Me thinks:  Well I should have driven, you certainly can’t drive Miss f#*king Daisy and we’re heading south when we should be heading west. Just turn sometime this year.

Less than 4 minutes from leaving home and we’re approaching an intersection and the lights are about to turn yellow at any second and we’re doddling along.

Me thinks: Move it for christ sake. The f#*king lights gonna turn yellow and you’re going to stop like you usually do just to piss me off. MOVE IT – NOW.

Less than 5 minutes from home and approaching a right turn and the lights are about to turn yellow and we’re still f#*king doddling along.

Me thinks:  OMG another f#*king green light and where not gonna make it through- FOOT DOWN – MOVE IT- GOOOOOO

As we sit at the lights MOTH sees a fish and chip shop for sale and says something about a strange place for a food shop

MOTH: “yadda yadda, blah blah…..”
Me looking towards the shop and thinks:  Boy I’m hungry, what I’d do for a greasy chico roll. 

MOTH still rambling on about the shop….

MOTH: Yadda yadda, blah blah”.
Me thinks:  You couldn’t go any slower could you?  Because I’m sure if you did- WE’D F#*KING STOP. I think I’m having an aneurysm. 

Less than 6 minutes from home and we miss yet another f#*king turn and we’re still f#*king doddling along

Me:  “You’ve missed the turn now we’re heading back home”.
MOTH: Stops and turns around…..

Me thinks:  I can’t believe this. We’ve been here hundreds of times. What the hell’s he thinking? Surely I’d get off on a sympathy vote if I strangled him?  I need to go home and lie down. 

Less than 10 minutes from leaving home, we arrive at our destination and MOTH buys me a big monitor screen so I can write loving blogs about him.

Thanks MOTH, what would I do without you?
Me thinks:  Let me count the f#*king ways!


Paranoias and phobias

Remember my blog Tics and twitches and I said I would tell you about my paranoias?  Well here it is. But promise me you won’t think I’m completely insane. After all I think I have licked some of them and manage others.

Firstly I should define the terms paranoias and phobias.  And where else will I get the best overview but from Wikipedia.

“Paranoia is a thought process believed to be heavily influenced by anxiety or fear, often to the point of irrationality and delusion.”

Phobia (from the Greek: φόβος, Phóbos, meaning “fear” or “morbid fear”) is a type of anxiety disorder, usually defined as a persistent fear of an object or situation in which the sufferer commits to great lengths in avoiding despite the fear, typically disproportional to the actual danger posed, often being recognized as irrational.”

Ok, I’ve read the definitions and it seems that I fall into both buckets – depending on the fear factor.  But I must admit after reading most of the commentary (well at least 5% skimming as it’s frigging boring) I don’t think my paranoias or phobias are anything to worry about. They just make me the person I am – a ranting raving lunatic – but a lovable one!

I guess the best place to start is when I was a little girl.  And this little girl lived in a far away country town. Well actually it’s only 2 hours from Sydney but way back then; it was a faraway place.

Goblins under the bed

When I was quite young, say around 7 to 9, between sunset and bedtime I was sure
there was a distinct possibility that a sinister being would somehow get into the house, crawl under my bed or in my wardrobe, lying in wait for an unsuspecting innocent child. So each night before hopping into bed I would carefully inspect all hidden regions. Once satisfied, I would jump into bed tuck all my limbs away under the blankets for fear that if exposed, would be chopped off.

Can I have some more please?

Then there is my most notorious phobia or paranoia, I’m not sure which bucket to put this one in but after watching the movie Oliver, the musical version, I would wake up every night for months in a terrible state.  I dreamt that I died and was re-born back in the early 1800s as a poor street urchin, similar to Oliver, living on the dangerous streets of London avoiding incarceration in the notorious workhouses.  Mum was so concerned she asked the head Nun of my primary school to talk to me who told me she’d get the priest to talk to me if the dreams didn’t stop. Needless to say I was cured immediately – it was a miracle!

No-dle to the needle

Not long after the Oliver phobia/paranoia, I became obsessive about dentists, especially needles. I managed to avoid the dentist needle until I was almost 30 which then I realised; what was the big deal?  Anyway, I managed to convince mum not to drag me to the Dentist for over 1 year and when I was hitting the two year mark I realised my time was up. This was going to be the year Mum wouldn’t take no for an answer.  So for 6 months I refused to eat anything sweet.  And then one fateful Xmas while holidaying in Manly, my cousins pestered me to buy ferry floss, and I knowing full well ferry floss consisted mainly of sugar, refused. However, I did agree to buy musk lollies, the soft ones. But I’d only agree to eat them while hovering over the bathroom sink so I could brush my teeth immediately after.  Luckily for me this little phobia worked, only one filling on my next visit.  Without a needle of course.

Silly walk

Another phobia was walking on footpath lines – I avoided them all together if possible. I’d walk in an uncoordinated fashion, very similar to John Cleese’s funny walk sketch in Monty Python.  I’m not sure what age I was when I first got this phobia and today I don’t avoid them. However, I avoid walking directly on the un-painted section of pedestrian crossings.

Check  one, two, three

I’m  a checkerholic, meaning I’m continually checking if I’ve forgotten anything that belongs in my bag:  keys, wallet and phone. The three essential things in any women’s bag, along with makeup, tissues, perfume, dental floss, band-aids, hair bands and combs.  If going overseas my checking phobia reaches critical point where I’ll check my bag ever 5 minutes or so from the time I leave the house to the airport, at the airport, in the plane, at the other end and continually throughout the holiday.   Now this phobia drives me mad and it drives MOTH mad too.  Having said that, I’ve never left anything behind of importance, just my mental capacity to cope.

Who’s watching my back?

Another paranoia I’ve had since a little girl is the feeling someone’s behind me, especially when I’m alone and it doesn’t matter whether it’s night or day.  It’s worse when I’m sitting at the TV and the lounge isn’t against a wall or when I’m up during the night.  Sometimes I literally run back to bed just to avoid the feeling of the impending hand on shoulder sensation.  Hold on, I think someone’s behind me now.

So there you have it, the major phobias and paranoias I’ve dealt with, and in some cases still dealing with, throughout my life.  I’m not mad – am I?  I think we all have various phobias and paranoias.  So how about you tell me yours.  I’d love to know I’m not the only mad person around here.


4 marg-a-rootas and I was rooted

This blog is a sequal to ‘5 slippery nipples please’.

It’s Saturday night and I’m on my way to the city for another night out with my girl friends (GFs) to celebrate a birthday. A few of us have booked into the Grace Hotel for the night expecting that none of us would be in a condition to get home.  Although I don’t live far from the city, I thought it was a great bonding opportunity.

Our night started at Cockle Bay for dinner at the Blackbird Cafe, and I must add the beef skewers I ordered would go down in my culinary list of best eats. I’m a very fussy meat eater having spent several years as a vegetarian and 6 months during this time as a vegan,  so I can only eat meat that melts in my mouth. This delicious meal was washed down with my first cocktail of the night. I can’t remember the name of the cocktail but it was red and yummy.

After dinner nine of us walked the 15 minute or so to the Bristol Arms Hotel, commonly known as the Retro. The Retro offers five levels of dancing from the Basement through to the rooftop. We were in the Pure Retro room on the ground level.  Now you can be forgiven if you think I’m the one who chooses to go to the Retro purely for 80s music but I’m not one of those middle aged people stuck in the 70s or 80s for my music enjoyment. On the contrary, I’d much prefer the music of the 90s or 2000s but my 30+ year old friends seem to love 80s music, so who am I to complain.

The Retro also caters for Hen’s nights, so there’s always a group of hens clucking around a bride-to-be all dressed in the theme of the night. This night’s theme was ‘Puss’n Boots’.  I was a bit disappointed with our party, which blew out to around 30 guests, most got the ‘boots’ bit right but clearly missed the ‘puss’ component, including me.

The music got off to a flying start with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama”, which technically isn’t an 80’s song but an old favourite none-the-less, followed by The Bangles “Walk Like and Egyptian” which was well and truly an 80s song and transported me back to “the day” when I was dancing up a storm at the local Workmans Club, commonly known as the Workies. It was the only venue in town for most of the 80s and songs like the ones mentioned were new releases.

Who would have thought many years later I’d still be dancing to the same songs.  I can only hope for future generations the likes of Lady GaGa, or as I like to call her ‘Lady all gimmick no talent’,  will be thrown in the ‘forgotten’ closet with all her freakish muso ancestors of times gone by.

Anyway, I mentioned the Retro caters for Hen’s nights and on this night there were two distinct groups of Hens. One group approximately mid 20s, all skinny and gorgeous. The bride-to-be wearing a slinky black dress barley covering her arse, with hooker heals on a very high boot. Her friends all equally as thin and pretty taking turns doing sexy little dance moves on the podiums that are scattered around the room. If it wasn’t for the short black veil worn by the bride-to-be, I would have thought they were out to impress the blokes with their skimpy attire and sexy moves.  Well I guess maybe there were!

In vast contrast the second group of Hens consisted of all little fatties fussing over an equally fat bride-to-be. Now I’m not being a bitch, this is purely an observation by a middle-age not-so-thin woman. But I must give credit to the little fatties they certainly came dressed in theme, albeit not the theme of the night.  The bride-to-be wore a black corset with a short pink tutu and long black boots. Another hen was dressed in a corset and very tight pants with long lace-up boots. Her boobs poured over her tightly worn corset which reminded me of ice-cream bludging over the sides of a waffle cone which struggled to contain the impending flow.

More to the power of these girls, I say. It certainly shows that they are comfortable in their own skin – all of it.

Speaking of skin, I have never seen so much exposed flesh in one room. The majority of the girls got into the ‘Puss n Boots’ theme – I’ve never seen so many almost exposed pussies in my life. Not that I wanted to mind you, but on this occasion I didn’t get much choice as many of the girls found their way to the nearest podium and danced like they were at a strip club. Some better than others and given the short dresses – well you use your imagination.

My observations didn’t stop at the girlies on the night. The boys gave me something to reflect on as well. Unlike ‘back in the day’ when I was night-clubbing, the boys at the Retro, after a few drinks, were also taking to the podiums, in-between the strippers – I mean girlies. One by one they would take turns showing their skills in hip hop dancing, or whatever they call it. And one several occasions I’d see a group dancing together, clearly letting their mucho act slip for the sake of the music. The blokes in my day stood around the edge perving.

On my last visit to the Retro, I was drinking slippery-nipple shots, this night I was drinking the cocktail of the night aptly named “marg-a-roota”, which by the way is how it was spelt on the waitresses badge worn next to her voluptuous boobs. I’m sure the blokes enjoyed the sight and got mileage out of asking for one. By one I mean a marg-a-roota – just in case you were confused.

Anyway, the night progressed and after four or so marg-a-rootas, I was feeling rather rooted but fought off the feeling of wanting to go home and crawl into bed by accepting the offer from my persuasive GF to get up on the podium and dance. No sooner did I hop up, she was called away. There I was left high-and-dry dancing on a podium. Oh well, I had two choices:  1. start stripping, as that seem to be working for others, or 2. Escape.  Having decided on choice 2, I made an awkward exit from the spotlight and continued dancing at ground level until it was time to go, which for us was around 1am. By this time I was wide awake and looking forward to early morning dessert at the Lindt Cafe at Cockle Bay.

However, my hopes were dashed by the 30+ year olds who clearly had enough and wanted to hit the sack. So here I was, the old broad of the group, walking down Sussex St Sydney aiding the birthday girl who could hardly walk because she had worn new boots for the occasion and they were killing her. Her sister was also struggling to walk in her second pair of boots for the night as the first brand new pair broke and she ended up in her sister’s slightly smaller pair.  To top it off the bloke of the group was also the walking wounded in his new shoes. All complaining about the freezing cold.

Goodness gracious me, times have changed.  I don’t think the youngens of today are as tough as we were ‘in the day’.  When we left the Workies at midnight, because that’s when it closed, it was so cold you could see the steam emanating from our mouths when breathing out. We’d wear skimpy clothes, high heels and barely a jacket between us. We’d head off to the pizza joint which opened until 3am then try and muzzle in on any parties to extent the early morning into mid morning.  Now that was Friday night’s entertainment. We’d back it all up on the Saturday night.

Ahh the kids of today – they just can’t handle it!

Don’t piss me off

I was in a very bad mood on Tuesday morning and the first to cop the first ‘piss off don’t bother me’ chant was the MOTH (man of the house). You see I had a long weekend, it wasn’t planned but I was struggling with an almost cold and needed a recoup day, or as I call it – a sanity day.

Firstly you might ask “What is an almost cold?” Let me explain…

An almost cold is when you feel like you’re coming down with a cold, you’re a little sniffily, maybe you have a dull headache and possibly a little hot and cold.  You wait for the full bout to descent but it doesn’t. That’s an almost cold.

Anyway, back to my bad mood.  The bad mood usually derives from not feeling terrible excited about my life at that moment and especially not happy to do something I’m not in the mood for, like going to work.

Yes I can hear you all say – “we all have to work so suck it up princess”.  And I agree, but this is my blog and I have the floor so I’ll whinge if I want too.

Anyway, on these days I’d join the gym – again, write a more interesting blog, meditate, do yoga, read a book, anything but go to work. Hense my bad mood.

I guess we all have these days and I wonder what the world would be like if we were all doing what we really wanted to do.  I can’t imagine anyone wanting to sit in front of a computer all day, or dig holes to make roads or buildings, or make luxury cars for others to drive.  I’m not sure anyone would survive watching footy all the time, although I have my doubts about some blokes.  I can’t imagine a world without restaurants; after all they provide 50% of my weekly meals.  I guess we’d have to catch, kill, skin and cook our own meals, live in self built accommodation, walk everywhere and make our own clothes from animal skins or weave from various grasses and plants.

Essentially we’d be spending our days surviving from one day to the next leaving no time to do the things we really want to do.

On that note, I guess I’ll just have to go to work.  But be warned, when I’m in a bad mood, I mean a very bad mood – don’t piss me off.

I can’t wait until….

We all find ourselves saying at some stage, “I can’t wait until…..”. This something you can’t wait for maybe simple as “I can’t wait until the weekend”, or “I can’t wait till I go away next year”. Or it maybe you “can’t wait until you’ve paid off the house”.  It wasn’t until I heard my daughter utter the words “I can’t wait until Matilda says her first word” or “I can’t wait until Charlie gets out of nappies” that I remembered back in the day when my daughter was a baby followed by her two brothers I was constantly saying “I can’t wait until the next stage of the babies development” – whatever the next stage was.  Then when you have three kids at home you can’t help but say “I can’t wait until they go to school” followed a few years later with “I can’t wait until they’re old enough to drive themselves to soccer”.

I told my daughter that what she’s doing now doesn’t get any better so enjoy “the now”.  The best years of my life was being a stay at home Mum with 3 kids.  But I too uttered the very words my daughter does and I continue to this day utter “I can’t wait until….”!

When I look back at my life it seems to me that I’ve lived from one can’t wait moment to the next.  Does this mean I’ve never lived for ‘the now’? Have I never reached a stage in my life when I’ve reached the “can’t wait” moment and felt a sense of achievement?

It’s obvious to me that I’ve never lived for the now, so what should I do about it? Maybe I should have thought about that years ago when I started to dream about the life I couldn’t wait to achieve.

When I see my daughter being a full-time Mum, taking the kids to swimming lessons, dance classes, playgroup, play-dates in the park on a beautiful sunny day, I remember how simple life was for me doing the same things years ago, how important my role was in bringing up my kids. Of course the pay sucked but I ran my own little business, ran a tight timetable with many enjoyable events thrown in. Everything I did mattered, at least to my kids. Maybe what I should have been saying is “I can wait” because what I’m doing now is great and when my life moved to the next stage, again I should have said “I can wait”!

Now life’s ticking away and I’m still saying “I can’t wait”…but I can wait, I have no choice because what I’m doing now is what I’ve been saying I can’t wait for all along.  I guess the old saying is so very true – be careful what you wish for.

Finding Mr 50%

I had dinner the other night with two girlfriends (GFs), both in their 30s and single.  One has been on a dating site, eHarmony, for a while and the other GF has just signed up for the same site after an unsuccessful five minute membership with RSVP – apparently she got numerous emails from blokes using handles such as flavourisious and fullysicbro and thought that maybe she wouldn’t find the “one” on this site unless she was really looking for a fully sic bro who thought he was flavourisious.

It became apparent from a discussion about tick boxes that I realised my GFs were really narrowing their selection criteria.  For instance one GF would disregard any man who selected from a list of “things you can’t live without” the option of “can’t live without sex”.  Ok, that would narrow the list down to 15%, maybe less. Her reasoning behind this was that they were only looking for a f-buddy, if you get my drift.  The same GF also disregarded any man who didn’t select the option “enjoyed reading books”, narrowing the list down to about 3.5%.

For the 3.5% of men who got through this tough selection process and went as far as emailing or chatting online, they would get the boot for spelling mistakes or crappy grammar.  There’s not a man I know that can live without sex, loves to read and who could win a spell-a-thon.

The other GF is looking for an Aussie bloke, preferably tall, professional and a good sense of humour. She’s had a couple of unsuccessful relationships with non-Aussie background blokes, one who is tied at the hip to his mamma and the other whose family wouldn’t eat at her house because she ate pork.  In a multi-cultural city like Sydney, finding an Aussie bloke is becoming a tall order.

This discussion got me to think about about all the discussions I’ve been in with single women and how they all want the same thing, to find “Mr Right to spend the rest of their life with”.  Their idea of Mr Right usually sounds like this:  tall, handsome, romantic, someone to share long walks on the beach with, intelligent, someone who listens to what ‘you’ have to say.

Faced with that criteria and the ones set out by my GFs, no man on earth qualifies.

You might get your tall and handsome man who may even be romantic and they may even like long walks on the beach but his man will be more interested in his looks, his romantic gestures will be a ploy to get laid by other women, and the long walks on the beach will be to see what other hot women perv on him.  He’ll be dumb as dog shit and couldn’t give a damn about your woes. And let’s face it, this man is looking for his Pammy big titty Anderson – so needless to say this relationship won’t be a lasting one.

Then there’s the intelligent guys. These men usually don’t have a sense of humour; their idea of romance is to take you to a Star Wars convention (I’ve been on a date like this once). They won’t listen to you because they’ll have their headphones on while playing Star Ship wars with someone in Russia. They are usually short and stubby or very tall and skinny with no arse – yuck!

Meet Mr 50%

So faced with these limitations, I think all single women should aim for a “Mr 50%”. However, when selecting the 50% they need to remember there are validations they need to pass to achieve this 50%. Let me explain….

You can’t have tall, handsome and intelligent; or tall, handsome and funny; or tall, handsome, intelligent and funny.  You can’t have short, handsome and intelligent; or short, handsome and funny.

You can have tall, funny and ugly; or tall, intelligent and ugly; or short, ugly and intelligent; you can also have tall, handsome and dumb as dog shit. If you get my drift? Unfortunately girls, men don’t come any other way.

And as for their next criteria: “to spend the rest of their life with”.  Given the limitations I described above, does any woman see themselves with these guys longer than, let’s say, 10 years?

However, on the other hand, given that finding Mr Right is like finding the pot of gold on the end of a rainbow, you may as well stick it out because the grass isn’t greener on the other side – all you’ll find is another Mr 50%.

Tics and twitches

My eyes have been a little troublesome lately and I have recently developed a tendency to blink.  Along with the blink I now flex my neck muscles so tight that they feel like they’ve been through a boot camp session.   Now this habit is not new to me as I use to do it oh so long ago, when I was a little girl.

Given my newly developed, or should I say re-developed habit, I decided to google the phrase “why do I blink a lot?” and the first search results page took me to phychcentral.com/ask-the-therapist where she informed the enquirer of the same question that she may have a ‘tic’ disorder and should see a Doctor.

My next google search ‘tic disorder’ displayed a list of pages which when selected all seem to tell the same story – I have a tic disorder. The symptoms being: excessive blinking,  grimaces of the face, quick movements of the arms, legs or other areas and contractions of the abdomen.

Holy shit, I do it all!

I’m just grateful my tic disorder is defined as a motor tic – involuntary movement involving discrete muscle groups. The other tic disorder is vocal such as Tourette syndrome and given that I’m famous amongst my friends for saying how it is – well I wouldn’t be able to take my mouth out of a confined room – I shudder to think.

I decided that my little tics and twitches were not involuntary, meaning that I could control them, therefore I wasn’t a sufferer of a tic disorder.  So I stopped blinking, flexing my neck and another habit  (not mentioned earlier) where I pull my shoulders back so my blades greet each other for a short embrace.

Ok, I’m doing well,  30 seconds,  60 seconds – I have this thing licked – 90 seconds, ok, I’m not doing so well, 2 minutes, I’m caving in to the desire.  O.M.G  2min and 20 seconds – I couldn’t do it. Now I’m blinking, flexing and pulling to make up for all the missed ones – I do have a problem.

O.M.G – I’m a frigging fruit cake!  Who would have thought?

This self discovery session reminded me of my other traits or should I say “paranoias”, but I think I need a good lie down before I tell you about those. *blink* *blink* neck flex, shoulder squeeze!

Nufin like a posh wedin

Initially I was blasé about the Royal Wedding but once you start watching, it’s like an all day sucker, you just can stop sucking it up.  And didn’t Kate look gorgeous.  And let’s not forget she’s a commoner. It seems like it’s up to the commoners to keep the Royal band wagon afloat. Just look what our Mary’s doing for the Danes.

Prince William isn’t too bad either. However, was it my imagination or is he getting a bit think around the waist-line?  And that goes for Harry’s waist-line too – the sexy bugger.  There’s nothing like a bloke in a uniform, the more medals they have the less you worry about the other things that can bring a bloke down – like a bald spot for instance or ‘small hands’ and possibly even a stutter  – no, not a stutter I’m afraid.

I can’t help but wonder if they all think the whole pomp and ceremony is as boring as bat shit.  But on the other hand, I’m sure I would enjoy being adored by all and sundry. Let’s face it, we should all experience life as a princess or prince (whichever way you slant) every now and again – or then again maybe not.  Best not know what we’re missing because I’m sure I’d neck myself rather than to take a step backwards from Royal living to the day to day drudgery of what I have to endure now (poor me).  On the other hand, I’m sure I’d think about necking myself if I had to sit for hours on end listening to the words of damnation sprouted by the preachers – that’s enough to do one’s head in – little wonder I’m an atheist.

However, it appears that the heads of the Church of England can go against the rubbish printed in the Bible and invite Sir Elton John and his partner, what’s-his-name.  Just goes to show even they (the great Heads) consider it (the bible) a great work of fiction too.

While watching the telecast in the church, I can’t help but wonder what’s said between the Queen and Prince Philip on the couple of occasions the camera showed them having a little chat while the choir boys were singing.  Maybe something like, “I’m dying to go to the loo”. After all we all know how women suffer from weak bladders, especially an 85 year old woman. Or maybe she asked where the hell she was.  And I wonder what Camilla said to Charles?  Or, Princess Anne to her husband?  I guess we’ll just have to imagine or make it all up – I know what I’ll do.  I think the Royal party should wear microphones – that would put an interesting slant on the occasion.

And what’s with the two Nuns sitting at the alter next to Will and Kate? The ones dressed in Gray.  Ready to hit Will or Kate over the head if they speak out of turn – just like they use to when I was at school (good old Sister Una).

And one can’t help but love all the Royal horses; they do look rather grand on these occasions and also make me feel like calling up the local Pony Club and heading on down to get riding lessons.  But who’s going to clean up the Royal Horse shit all over the streets?  Probably the Royal Shit Picker-uppers – I don’t fancy that job but I guess someone’s gotta do it.

Anyway, that’s my take on the whole event, now back to www.ancestry.com.  I’m sure I come from Royal stock and I’ll dig around until I find the link – then watch out – the world will have to deal with me and my Royal family.

Idle chit chat

Do you ever wish you would be great at idle chit chat?  I’m sure you have. 

There’s not a week goes by that I’m not faced by a situation where idle chit chat is required. Idle chit chat is a form of communication between acquaintances, work colleagues you barely know,  people you don’t like,  or in-laws you only see at weddings or funerals.   However, for idle chit chat to be performed, there has to be a specific location where you can’t escape, such as:

  • Lifts – this is the more confronting place to be when you’re stuck in a lift with someone you barely know or like.  Those first couple of seconds, or worse still – minutes, when you’re reaching back into your mind searching for something to say. Your minds goes blank and out of your mouth you inevitably say “can you believe the weather we’re having?”.
  • Shopping isles– you see them approaching, them with their trolley, you with yours, on a direct collision course.  Have they noticed you yet?  Maybe you can pretend to be studying the baked bean jar for fat content and hope they don’t recognise you and pass by. But usually not, you both see each other, swear under your breath and try and figure out what the hell you’re going to say.
  • Churches – as mentioned above, weddings and funerals are another idle chit chat battle field. If your unlucky to be the in-law of the newly married or deceased person,  then you’re in for a long night.  You’ll be depending on idle chit chat to get you though.  However, for these occasions idle chit chat topics are fairly easy as you can rely on the occasion itself to come to your aid. For example, at a wedding you’ve go the opening sentence “nice wedding isn’t it?” or the good old favourite “doesn’t the bride look lovely?”. At funerals you can fall back on the opening line “he/she was a good person” and “they’re going to be missed”.
  • Medical centre – funny I should include this because I just returned from an x-ray,  where stripped down to a paper cape, I was alone in the x-ray room with a strange man who was going to take internal piccies of my stomach.  An intimate moment I don’t get with many people, yet alone strange men. Lucky for me he started the idle chit chat with a story about a faulty watch his brother got him from Thailand.  He make it sound like I was the first one to hear this story today.  I take my had off to an idle chit chat master.

Why do we feel the need for idle chit chat? Can’t we just be honest and ignore those we dont’ really want to talk to! 

No wonder so many of us are in theropy!

Don’t ya just hate it?

Don’t ya just hate waking up after a weird dream, your heart is racing and you feel like something bad’s just happened or is about to happen?  I certainly do.

The dream I had tonight was set in a stone castle. Not in any particular location but the castle represented something to me rather than the others who were with me. I can’t be specific about who was with me but I think one one of them was my friend Karen.

Throughout the dream I felt like the castle was haunted but not by a bodily spirit,  just by the presence of an eerie feeling. As typical in real life, I was up early and the rest of my dream cast were asleep upstairs.  However, the eerie feeling grew intense and I felt unnerved by it so I started to make my way back upstairs to wake the others, however, at the bottom of the stone stairwell I was confronted by an archway that once framed the staircase but was now only inches high.  I wasn’t going up and no on was coming down.  At that moment I felt relieved that I wasn’t upstairs but worried what the castle had in store for me and for my trapped friends.

Although the height of the archway would have been impossible to squeeze through, I lent down to see if there was a way of getting through and of course there wasn’t. While I was surveying the situation, I heard someone on the other side of the archway making their way down the stairs. It may have been Karen. She didn’t seem fazed by the blocked stairway so proceeded to try and get through, which was ridiculous because she barely got her foot through the tiny gap. It was at this stage I panicked and decided to run outside before the castle locked me in. I thought that I would be of better help to the others but only if I got out.

Unfortunately, I didn’t make it out but not because I was blocked, it was at that time I woke up. 

I guess I’ll never know what the ending is and try as I might to get back to sleep, I’m sure I wouldn’t finish this dream but instead have another bizare dream. So at 4.30am in the morning I got up and made my way downstairs, less the one inch archway. However, as I made my way down the stairs in total darkness, I had that feeling again, the one where you feel there is someone behind you and you’re not sure if they are protecting you or want to push you down the stairs.