Thursday, March 6, 2014

Hairy bits.


Please believe me when I say that when I got up this morning,
I had no thought to write a blog post 
that was going to mention pubic hair.

Pubic hair in soap no less.

But wandering the supermarket aisles this morning,
my mind wandered,
and the posts about how I miss blogging,
about how sad I am at the passing of Phillip Seymour Hoffman,
about how grumpy/sad/ I am that John Barrowman is coming to Australia
but not to Adelaide,
and the one asking how many other people drive and walk around
and imagine what their neighbourhood would be like post-zombie apocalypse
just evaporated when I started to think about hair.

I have spend the last two years freaking out about the amount of hair
migrating to life in the drain every time I wash my hair.

Mr Boozle has been lamenting his every increasing male pattern baldness for years
but, at the end of the (not-as-much-gender-equality-that-we-would-like) day,
just like grey hair,
it is easier for a man to carry off the thinning hair look than a woman.

Ah, the cycle of life...

We are born, hair on our limbs but maybe no, or little, hair on our heads.

We grow, get hair on our heads.

We get hormonal and there comes the fuzz in our armpits and in our nether regions.

We enjoy a full body of hair for a while,
albeit apparently shaving/ripping off/dyeing a good amount of it 
for the sake of fashion/comfort/heck knows why else.

(My GP friend says that by the time our girls are teens,
they will be fashionably hair-free in the you-know-where.
Hands up if you haven't had a Brazillian?
I am not into pain and I am not into looking like a 
pre-pubescent kid so I haven't been there
and have no interest.

I am not too worried about my pink bits being out and proud 
for necessity of health and in the privacy of a doctor's room.
After 3 pregnancies and natural childbirths, I've lost count of how many people
have eyeballed the area and I are comfy with the idea.
However, someone standing there with hot wax
and no necessity towards my health and life prospects
does not make me want to ask my va-jay-jay to be out and proud)

Anyhow, I digress.

Then we start to lose our head hair.
Well, actually it relocates to the face for older women
and the ear canals and nostrils for older men.

The word hirsute no longer means a hairy chest or back.

Any hair left at this point turns grey and starts to grow at awkward angles.

So through our lives we pluck, we shave,
we wax, we dye...

Human beings are weird, really.
I am not really into makeup
and can often head into summer without breaking open the fake tan lotion
but I don't like hairy armpits.

Parental influence? Teenage peers? Comfort?
The media? Partner's preference?

When do we make that decision
to shave that bit or dye that bit?

My folks are pretty laid back when it comes to most things when I was growing up
but my mum was an oppressive fascist tyrant when it came to her teenage daughter's beauty regime.

(OK, maybe she wasn't quite that bad but I was a teenager at the time
and that's how I remember it)

I was not allowed to get my ears pierced till I was 16.
That I could take with good grace.

Nor tweeze my eyebrows.
Taken with not such good grace
but accepted as I didn't (quite) have a monobrow.

But I wasn't allowed to shave my legs either.

When I was growing up, my mum bought into a lot of those old wives' tales...
sucking lemons will dry up your blood...
break a pin off in your splinter dig and it will go into your bloodstream and kill you...
shaving your legs will make the hair grow back faster and thicker...


So picture me,
the slightly dumpy, bespectacled, academic brunette nerd,
who may have also had a haircut resembling a mullet,
bleaching her leg hair through high school.

It wasn't enough for me to be dumpy, nerdy and wearing glasses.
I had to give the bullies a bit more fodder.

The only consolation was that my mother insisted on me wearing my school dress
at a hideous, longer length 
so that less of the bleached leg hair was showing.

That and the fact that the girl with the shortest dress in school 
had orange legs from fake tan 
so that diverted some of the attention,
more than the short dress alone attracted.

So I look at my 6 year old daughter
who has daddy's colouring so isn't a brunette
but has hairy legs all the same
and I think about the big decisions...

When will we give her the sex ed talk?
When will her boyfriend be able to sleep over?
When can she shave her legs and tweeze her brows?
When do we discuss pubic hair etiquette?

Mr Boozle and I,
like most partners, I am sure, 
follow the unspoken rule that head hair left on the soap is fine
but pubic hair is not.

Soon we will have 3 teenagers sharing one bathroom,
one shower
and quite possibly one cake of soap.

It does my head in now when the word "mum" is turned into 3 syllables...

"Mu-uuu-ummmmm, I can't find my hat"...
"Mu-uuu-ummmmm, he hit me again"...

But I should enjoy it.
I suspect that I will find that preferable to hearing it turned into 4...

"Mu-uuu-ummmmm, someone left a pube on the soap again.
I'm not touching it.
Can you come and get it off please?
Muuu-uuuuu-uuummmmmmm? "

Of course, if my GP friend is correct,
we might not have to worry about it.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

"I'm melting. Melting! Oh, what a world! What a world!"


The Wicked Witch of the West 
couldn't have said it better if she'd tried.

The UN announced that little old Adelaide, South Australia, Australia 
would today be the hottest city in the world.

In. The. Whole. Wide. World.

We didn't reach our expected high of 46 degrees Celsius.
(that's114.8 degrees Farenheit
if you are reading this in America, Belize or Jamaica)

We "only" made it to about 44.2
so I am not sure if we ended up being the hottest or not.

(Let's be honest, anything over 40 is just bloody hot,
so what's a few degrees amongst heat-stroked friends?)


Tomorrow will be our 5th consecutive day over 40 degrees.

We South Australians aren't suffering alone. 
A lot of areas of Australia are fighting this heat
and the associated fallout.

I have been in Adelaide for 20 years now but
I grew up in Tasmania.
During my childhood, high 20s was a scorcher
and air conditioners were unheard of.
Last year they recorded nearly 42 degrees.

If it isn't global warming,
the predictions that our heatwaves will be hotter and longer
certainly make it feel that way.


Stay cool, everyone.
This (heatwave) too shall pass.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Parents would earn more badges than the best Scout in the world.


Imagine if, when you left the hospital with your first newly-born child,
precious little parcel in one arm,
amongst the nappy and baby shampoo samples, 59 teddy bears and bub's umbilical cord clip in your bag
was a shirt.

A really nice, brand new shirt, in your favourite colour,
a blank canvas front and back.

Imagine if, each time between that time
and the moment when that child,
as an independent-yet-still-living-at-home-just-turned-eighteen year old,
grabbed the car keys at 8pm on a Saturday night and said 
"See ya when I see ya",
you received a badge for each achievement as a parent.

Eighteen years after leaving hospital as a first time parent,
that shirt, along with some very old, curdled milk marks on the shoulder
is covered, 
limp under the weight of those badges.
(Eat your hearts out, you Scouts.
You can't compete with a parent)

The front and back are covered in them.

All the milestones of a parent.

You got your teething badge.
Your toilet training badge.
Your sleeping-through-the-night badge.
Your survived-the-first-day-of-school badge.
Your birthday cake decorating badge.
Your treat-the-whole-family-for-head-lice-more-than-once badge.
Your getting weed on badge.
Your tooth fairy and Santa training badges.

No wearing of curdled milk stains like a badge of honour.
You have a curdled milk stain badge of honour.

And, on each sleeve, the ooh-aah special ones.
Those badges you get because, as a parent,
you have done that extra little bit for your child
or have had to deal with particularly difficult circumstances.

I know that the time that I had to deal with toddler's poo in aisle three
of the local hardware store
would have been much easier to bear had I known that I was going to get a badge for it.

(OK That's a lie. It was messy and hideous and possibly mortifying at the time
and no bloody badge would have made it anything but unpleasant)

That third bout of mastitis would have been so much less excruciating
if I had just had a badge to look forward to.

(OK That's also a lie. It was foul and excruciating
and I'd much rather have the antibiotics than a friggin' badge)

We are currently working on our " Unswallowing" badge
(OK...yeah....the cleaning up your kids' vomit badge)

Obviously as parents with 25 years of "children time" under our belt,
we are not new to vomiting.

But we want to go for the advanced vomiting badge.

Want isn't the right word.
No choice in going for this badge.

We are 11 days in to a bout of gastroenteritis that has repeatedly affected everyone
 in the house apart from me
(I am claiming that I developed immunity to anything involving
my stomach or intestines last year.)

Now cleaning up someone else's vomit is one of those things
that is hard to stomach 
(Oh, that pun was oh, so, so intended)

There should be no expectation in life for anyone other than a parent of a child under the age of
?16 years to have to deal
with another person's upchuck.

Close friends and partners may chose to do so
(which I am thankful for after the way my hens' night ended.
But that's another story involving too much alcohol and very windy roads)
but only parents really have to do so.

(The Parenting with Unconditional Love manual
says so under Point 27: Bodily fluids.)

And, like poo, just because it comes from your offspring, 
doesn't make it any less repulsive a task.

In fact, I would argue that vomitus is more repulsive than poo
but that is only my personal opinion
and I am sure that you have your own.

One of my earlier memories as a young child was of the easy job I had (which was lying in bed
and vomiting all over the carpet)
and the hideous task my parents had (which was cleaning the carpet)


I was interested to see that we, as parents, have passed on the carrot gland to our children.
That is right up there with the evolutionary benefits of wisdom teeth and appendixes
as far as I can tell.

One of the children of the house has an impeccable track record,
having never missed the bucket or the toilet.

Unlike the cats, she does not seem to have a substrate preference for carpets and hallway runners.

One child, however, couldn't get it into a contained space if you put him on the edge of an empty
Olympic sized swimming pool, leant him over and directed him to vomit
in the empty space stretching out before him.

He thinks, after the event, that his knack of spewing
360 degrees is really quite amusing.

So, while we don't have a badge-covered shirt to dangle in his face when his first child arrives,
and an advanced "Vomit cleaning" merit to point to,
we have told him in no uncertain terms that we will be laughing 
when it is his turn to earn his Unswallowing badge.

I am pretty sure that there isn't a Scout badge to prepare him for that day.

Friday, January 10, 2014

A new year? Ditch the Brasso.


Approaching midnight on 31st December,
the year is looking a fair bit tarnished and dusty.
I know that for most of us
there are glimpses of beauty and the brilliance that were there at 12:01 am 
on the previous 1st January.

But instead of reaching for the dusters and the bicarb
to try and clean it up a bit as we have done through the year,
we get to gently push the jaded, fading year to one side.
We can look back when we want to,
pick it up, inspect the end product,
but meanwhile focus on the shiny, brand new year,
dust-free and full of potential.

2013 had a lot of positives for us
but some of the lows were very low.
Mostly first world problems
(probably the most [over] used catch phrase in 2013 for this family)
but significant all the same.

Aside from severe food poisoning for me
and the effects on the family of a prolongued and very ugly business break-up,
the kids seemed to take the worst of it.

A broken arm, Queen Bees, negligent teachers,
bullies, unresolved emotional issues,...
probably to be expected with 3 kids over the course of a year.

You take it on the chin 
and hope/resolve/pray that the new year 
will bring an easier year for the young ones.

But when middle child lost a tooth on Christmas Eve,
 presenting it to a worn-out parent (that would be me) at the end of a year limping towards its use-by date,
my knee-jerk reaction was to announce 
that the Tooth Fairy took Christmas Eve (and Good Friday-
a pre-emptive strike seemed like a good idea at the time) as  a day off.
Obviously, I reasoned with said child,
 the risk of getting trampled by the big guy or his reindeer was just too great.

(My brain was pounding along...
seriously-the tooth fairy?-on Christmas Eve?- as well?-
hard enough to get those stockings onto the ends of their beds with their jangly bells-
yes, seemed like a good idea to sew them on at the time-
but we aren't home-where is the food colouring in this place?-
why does our tooth fairy magically change the colour of the water in the glass?-
reckon that idea was started at the start of a year, not the end-
if I tread on Lego in the dark, it'll be ugly-
tired, so tired- surely the Tooth Fairy can catch up tomorrow...)

Other parent, high on the prospect of a new, self-improvement project,
quietly announced after the kids had gone to bed 
that there was enough magic for both Santa and the Tooth Fairy 
to come on the same night.

One mummy duly chastised.

OK, so I'm not going to get that "Parenting of the Year" award anytime soon.

But I am going to try my best to keep this new year absolutely luminescent
for as long as I can.
Keep it dusted frequently and with enthusiasm.
Even sprinkle it with fairy dust every now and then.

That is, once I have gotten rid of the head lice and the gastro that partied in this shiny new year
with us.


Thursday, December 12, 2013

Some people know that Christmas is approaching...


...when all the stores are playing (hideous- repetitive-elevator-music-versions of) Christmas Carols
and everywhere you look there are hundreds red and green candy canes...

...when their kids count down the days till Santa arrives...every day...all day...

..when they have already wasted a good few hours looking for that perfect egg nog recipe that
they used last Christmas Eve...


I know Christmas is approaching when the cat's poo is more tinsel than poo.

At least the chore of changing the cats' litter tray
is buoyed with a touch of Christmas cheer.

The only thing my cats like better than trying to decimate the tree itself

is to chew their way through the tinsel.

Disclaimer- this cute. innocent, harmless creature is not one of my cats.
My cats are much more cynical and devious and likely to eat Santa if he isn't careful.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Birds don't believe in gravity.

Does anyone else love a good conspiracy theory?


Mr Boozle and I watched a documentary this week.
It was called "JFK- The Smoking Gun"
and I am here to tell you right now that
 the bullet that killed JFK was accidentally fired
by a Secret Service Agent.
After watching it, I have absolutely no doubt at all.

Well, that is until I watch a documentary 
-let's give it a working title of "If you think anyone apart from Oswald killed JFK, 
you are a bloody idiot"-
and I will change my mind all over again.


I don't think that I am gullible person,
not more so that anyone else.
I am not stupid...
Well, not really stupid anyhow.

I wont believe you if you try to tell me that Pamela Anderson's boobs are real.

I have never believed in drop bears.


Don't try to convince me that low calorie ice-cream tastes as good as
that creamy, dreamy, full fat double choc chip Baileys butterscotch ice-cream with fudge topping that will begin to harden your arteries
as soon as you take the lid off the container.

But I am open to suggestions
and give me "evidence" and I am all yours.

I remember watching a documentary about the Apollo moon landing.
I finished watching, knowing that without a doubt that the whole thing was staged.
(Who could argue with the evidence of the inconsistent shadows, people?)


A documentary on the likely scientific truth behind the Bermuda Triangle 
was extremely interesting- and somewhat of a relief
that it could be explained by science 
rather than the supernatural.

Perusing webpages, 
I even had a few seconds when I believed that the September 11th attacks
could certainly have been a cover-up of the actions of the US Government.

Of course, the merit of anything you read on the web is questionable.
It is a platform for any delusional, imaginative, obsessive, extremist or 
childish personality to get an immediate and worldwide audience
and the associated gratification.

But regardless of how malleable/vulnerable/gullible I might be,
some of these theories are fascinating,
if not just entertaining.

Who hasn't wondered if Lady Di's death was orchestrated rather than accidental?

What did crash land at Roswell in 1947?

Where exactly is Elvis?

Is fluoride in our water an unwanted mass medication?

Could Pro Wrestling actually be real?

Did Marilyn Monroe really commit suicide?


Are chemitrails really forcing us to buy more Maccas junk food through mind control
or just being used for population control?

Who knew what was built below Denver International Airport?
(And what is with the murals?)

Start surfing the net for conspiracy theories 
and you find that there is no shortage of them.

But temper the entertaining and thought-provoking ideas
with the ridiculous and the offensive ones.

Some people honestly believe that the Holocaust did not happen,
that the Boston Marathon was a Government set up 
or that the victims were actors,
that the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting was a hoax,
that the Pentagon was hit by a Government missile in 9/11
that AIDs is the result of a man-made virus spread deliberately via vaccinations
to decrease the population of Africa.

Weird and educational and thought-provoking and funny is all OK
but sadly there can be, at the very least, unpleasant,
and, at worst, immoral and hurtful.

Luckily, most rational people can recognise the difference.

Something I came across listed as a "Conspiracy Theory"
but sounding a lot more like a Zaphod Beeblebox quote
from "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy":

The only way we can defy gravity is to stop believing in it.
That is why birds can fly.
Birds don't believe in gravity.

I guess penguins believe in gravity then.


Tuesday, November 12, 2013

There are some things that you can live without knowing.

Some scientists in the world are trying to find a solution for world poverty and famine.
Others are assessing the problem of global warming.
Countless dedicated people are trying to find a cure for cancer.

While others spend 2 years of their lives swabbing belly buttons
to study naval biodiversity.


Today I found out that belly button fluff (or lint, whatever your preference)
harbours over 2000 different type of bacteria.

And about 1500 of them haven't been found anywhere else.

Can you imagine exactly what is in those jars that people have full of their collected naval lint?


I can never un-know that now.

I wont be playfully disgusted by Mr Boozle's belly button fluff anymore.
I will be truly repulsed.


At this point in time,
I am too scared to ask why it is always blue.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

The aftermath (Or "There is nothing worse than a reformed coffee addict")


It was 6 weeks ago today that such a tiny organism
created such a huge amount of disruption to my life and my health.

In the past fortnight,
finally, my energy levels and sleep patterns have returned to normal
and the still occasional abdominal cramping (because I ate something that obviously wasn't rice) has stopped.

But my body (or my mindset) is still in a weird place.
Weird good.
But still weird.

My carbohydrate addiction has been stifled.
I still love the little buggers but don't feel the inclination to stuff them in my mouth 
as my preferred food group.

I am craving vegetables.
Which is not something that the pre-Salmonella-run-in me would do.
My cravings usually cover coffee or salt or sugar or spicy or fat or fake flavourings...
Pretty much anything but healthy food.

I am specifically lusting after salad vegetables.

More specifically tomatoes and asparagus.

Fine now but I am screwed at the end of asparagus season in March.

I have gone from consuming 4 to 5 cups of coffee each day
to a total daily consumtion of a big, fat zero cups.
I am totally apathetic about that bean that I once cherished and worshipped.
I have had 1 and 1/2 coffees in the past 6 weeks
(the half being one that I couldn't finish)

The only consumption that I have considered 
is an iced coffee made with
(forgive me now and please don't let me be smited down by the coffee bean gods)
instant coffee.

Mr Boozle believes that the shakes and chills
on those first 3 days were purely caffeine withdrawal
and in no way related to acute food poisoning.

Now I must be clear here- I am not the reformed coffee addict.

I still wake up every morning pining for my love of coffee to return,
feeling like I have lost one of my best friends.

I watch my husband with envy every morning as he stumbles out to the kitchen
and doesn't truly wake up till that first espresso hits the lining of his stomach.

No, the reformed coffee addict of the title would be the perky, chatty, late teen check-out girl
who decided that 44 year old me obviously didn't appreciate that I have been saved
from the evils of coffee (...amen...)
and needed to be reminded of the perils of caffeine consumption
sleeplessness, diuretic leading to dehydration...

Now, there were more on the list but
I forget what else the lecture involved.

Ironically I reckon if I had 5 coffees under my belt,
I might have been awake enough to have heard the rest of the sermon.

(Or run off in the middle for an urgent pee)

I have resorted to buying some green tea,
usually kept for my lunches at the local sushi restaurant,
and some chai tea.
I even considered peppermint or camomile tea there for a minute.
(this from a person who doesn't understand why anyone would want to imbibe their flower garden.)


I am lost, searching for my new vice
while really knowing that nothing can replace my beloved cafe late.

Meanwhile, I am feeling healthier and have not only kept the weight off that I lost during my illness
but have slowly lost more weight.
Not a bad thing.
So I can live with weird for now.

 I guess you could say that 
every dose of Salmonella does come with a silver stomach lining.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

How to lose up to 5 kilograms in 10 days. But I do strongly recommend that you read the fine print.

I am here to tell you about a little weight loss secret.

Forget the Atkins diet and the cabbage soup.
Forget the CSIRO diet and protein shakes.
Forget about Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig.
Forget about eating a tapeworm or those pills that stop you from digesting fat.

If you want to lose weight, fast, cheaply
I strongly recommend a good dose of Salmonella.
It works wonders.

That is all.


The fine print...

Oh, you are still reading.

You want to know more?

Ah, yes.
Completely understandable.

Well, yes, it is a tad more unpleasant than counting calories and spending an hour exercising each day.

Well, yes, OK, it is a lot more unpleasant.

You could well go from feeling completely normal to rocking back and forth
on the bathroom floor with chills, uncontrollable shaking and nausea and cramps within an hour.

You might well spend the next two days in bed
unable to even watch television,
tossing and groaning, alternating between chills and fevers,
with a constant headache and gastrointestinal cramps.

Your partner may well move into the spare room for a week,
running away from the germs and the tossing and groaning.

The cat may follow him.

You could find that you don't sleep or eat for the best part of a week.
That your brain wont shut down and you feel like you are going through some LSD experience 
at a 1960s party every time that you close your eyes.

You might tell your husband that you are not having any more children,
no argument,
which would appear perfectly logical to you in the middle of a toxic episode
even if not to him.
(think along the lines of "Oh crap. This is so awful.
Will I ever remember how bad this was after the event?
It's like child birth.
Now I remember how awful that was.
I am not having any more children,
even if I am already too old and hubby has had the snip.
No more children. You hear me? 
You hear me?")

You might write a letter to John Barrowman in your head,
apologising to him that you were not having lustful thoughts about him at the moment
but that he shouldn't take offense because you also weren't lusting after your husband or chocolate
at the moment either.

You might even feel so bad that you remember thinking that you wouldn't wish this on
the deceitful, malevolent individual who has made your life a misery in the past year.

You will definitely wish,
even more desperately that the whole thing was over and done with,
that no-one else in the family gets it 
because the thought of your children or husband going through the same hell
is unimaginable.

Then you will get over the worse of it
but wonder at how long it takes you to recover.

That 14 days later, you still lack appetite (and still don't want coffee)

That you never appreciate your good health enough when you have it.

Still, considering that people willingly inject toxins into their skin to get rid of wrinkles
or consume tablets that stops them digesting fat so that it literally leaks out their back end
or still go to solariums for a tan even knowing of an increased risk of skin cancer,
there could be a market for this, couldn't there?

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

So let me get this straight.


The 350 native Alaskans who populate the town of Newtok
(plus about 180 other town populations in Alaska)
are being forced to relocate as erosion resulting from global warming effects
is causing their town to sink.
Their town could be underwater as early as 2017 but
finding funding to rebuild such villages for climate change refugees
is a new and challenging task.


There could be as few as 3200 tigers remaining in the wild.


Thousands of people have attempted to reach Australia
on nearly 200 refugee boats
in the first 6 months of this year.


Australian Bureau of Stastitics Census figures indicate that
over 18 000 Australian children under the age of 12 are homeless.


An estimated 125 million women and girls
are living with the consequences of female genital mutilation.

Yet, when 2 human beings who love each other want to get married
but just happen to both have a penis or both have a vagina,
people are fighting as hard as they can to stop gay marriage.



Isn't there something else you can spend your time and energy fighting for?
Something actually worthwhile and for the greater good of our planet?

Preventing the extinction of a species maybe?

Fighting just one of the many human atrocities or injustices
that are occurring in our world at the moment?

In this day and age,
I can't understand why this is even an issue.