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.

(textbookofbacteriology.net)

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?

So let me get this straight.

(www.theguardian.com)

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.

(www.china.org.cn)

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

(www.news.com.au)

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

(www.thestringer.com.au)

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

(www.cristyli.blogspot.com)

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.

(www.therelationshipcafe.com)

Really?

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.

(www.scientopia.org)

Surround yourself with people who make you a better person.

(en.paperblog.com)

I an a reasonably anti-social creature.

I have a small group of friends that I consider myself close to.

One is from high school,

a few are from university and college;

others from work, my children's school, the internet and so on.

What do they have in common?

They are really good people.

Yes, we all have our failings

(like leaving the toilet seat up

or voting for Clive Palmer)

but the people that I consider my friends are people 

who are generally happy, supportive, honest and generous.

In recent years

I have had the unpleasant experience 

of interacting with people who essentially aren't any of these things.

They have come from immediate family, professionally,

and in my wider friendship group.

(weheartit.com)

They can be unbelievably nasty.

They are selfish

and they are narrow-minded.

They distort the truth to suit them.

They don't think or honestly don't care

about how their actions affect other people.

When I was younger,

I put up with a few so-called friends like that

even though they treated me badly.

These are the sort of people who would make me

start to question my own adequacy

or, worse still, start to act like they do.

But now I am older. 

I have more life experience 

and I have met a lot of really good people.

In the past 12 months,

I have seen people act in the worse way possible

and I have seen others help out with a generosity 

of spirit that has been overwhelming.

I know that is how life goes

but you know what? 

Life is too short.

The arseholes can just bugger off.

When you realise what good human beings are capable of,

you know that you need to surround yourself with them.

They will make you feel better about yourself and life in general.

But, more importantly, 

they make you a better person.

(www.lettermidst.com)

Let them eat cake. After beating it into submission with a rolling pin.

It has been a long time since I have done any "real" art.

The sort that you do with pencils and paper or paints.
I reckon it was 1987 the last time I did anything significant like this drawing.

It is always something that I am going to get back to when I have the time.

My creative outlet these days comes in the form of sewing, knitting

and making birthday cakes.

With the exception of the occasional purchased ice-cream cake,

each year I wear like a badge of honour 

the hours that I spend making

then decorating a themed birthday cake for each child.

This year we had a request for Pokemon

(note- well worth doing the homework to find the simplest Pokemon character in existence...)

and my daughter wanted a Dolly Varden cake

(not Dolly Parton cake, as one friend thought.

Barbie's boobies are a tad more discrete than that version)

I was secretely chuffed as I had one of these as a girl.

and you would understand that, in an accumulated 17 boy requested birthday cakes,

my sons had never asked for a pretty doll stuck in a cake.

(note- well worth investing in a doll that has legs which are disarticulatable

[possibly not a real word, that]

It is not worth the time and effort trying to reason with a 6 year old fairy princess

as to why Barbie's legs had to get sawn off
and no, no glue stick in the world would reattach them)

I am not a girly girl

but I did love the idea of re-creating a cake that my mum made for me

nearly 40 years ago.

While I take a pride in the results I achieve,

I admit that, as the year passes

and as the years pass,

I mark the passing of each set of birthdays with a celebratory booyah

as I get a break before the next round starts.

So when the last cake request for the year involved some creature that was 

pink and round and Japanese and apparently needed to be made from ice-cream,

it seemed timely that I came across a recipe for a pinata cake.

It wasn't a hard sell.

"Hey, lovey.

Wouldn't you prefer me to make you a giant choclate crackle filled with goodies

that you get to whack with a rolling pin then pig out with your mates?"

It was fun to make

and quite fast too, compared to the half day I usually spend decorating the cake.

The end was brutal and it was ugly.

But it was all over very quickly. 

I have to be honest and confess that a cake was definitely harmed in the making

of this 10 year old's birthday.

The siblings have requested their own pinata cakes for their birthdays next year

so I might get to spend a bit less time cake decorating

and maybe pick up a pencil again.

Sex Ed. Or why 249 million sperm have to die.

(www.healthewomb.co.uk)

My mother is not a great communicator,

especially when it comes to emotional issues.

I remember calling her from University, distressed that a friend had died,

and her response was "Well, that's not very good, is it?"

When I had reached puberty, she handed me a book.

That was how I learnt about menstruation and other rather significant changes 

that were happening to my body.

In grade 9, if our parents had ticked the appropriate box

and signed the appropriate form,

we were herded off,

girls to Mrs Smith in this room,

boys to Mr Brown in that room,

where Mrs Smith and Mr Brown somewhat uncomfortably

enlightened us on the nitty gritty of the birds and the bees

and how not to have baby birds.

Grade 9.

I can't imagine most kids these days getting to grade 9

without teaching their parents a thing or two about the topic.

Last week, I took my 3 off to the "Where did I come from?" session at school.

I nearly bailed when, in the car ride there, my 9 year old son was explaining to his little sister

that you can't have babies unless you kiss someone or get really close to them

and you have to be married.

Did I really want to ruin that innocence with one graphic sentence

in the school hall?

The seminar had a nice turn out of 5 to 9 year olds

and their parents

and the lady in charge was obviously well practiced

in saying words like "penis" and "sex" to a hall of kids
without showing any evidence of weakness to the pack.

There was a universal "ewwwwww" (from the kids)

when it was explained that the actual way that those sperm cells from daddy 

get to the egg in mummy

is by daddy putting his penis into mummy's vagina.

(My, my. What a difference 10 years will make to that reaction)

Friends had taken their children to a similar seminar

and this got explained as a"special hug" between mummy and daddy

but you know what?

The little kids accepted this new fact about life and went with the flow.

There was a universal titter (from the adults)

when kids were yelling out their household's pet names for female pink bits

and some little one yelled out "trapdoor".

At the end of the evening,

the message that hit home to me was that the kids

took the facts on board, 

processed them and moved on.

We as adults can choose to be embarrassed or vague or deflective

when we get asked those uncomfortable questions that are going to come.

I don't want to hand my kids a book and tell them to read it.

I know that a book should at least be giving the correct information

and I might read that book with them

but I need to be there

to make sure that they are coping OK.

It is important stuff and, heck knows, at times it will be emotional stuff,

especially when they reach the next seminar,

"What is happening to me?"

There are a number of disturbing things about the "Gangnam Style" song

(OK, yes, it is catchy)

but the one that is the top of my list

is seeing 5 and 6 year old children

doing the dance and singing "se-xy la-dy".

We have explained to our kids that sexy is not an appropriate word for them to use 

at their age.

After this talk, they do now have a little understanding about the can of worms

that words like "sex" and "sexy" are opening.

My oldest was a tad non-plussed about the fact

that both sperm and wee came out of the same place in a willy

but was super excited that sperm looked like tadpoles.

My youngest loved the cute pictures of the babies
and took in the information that made sense to her.

Only my 8 year old,

my beloved, sensitive boy,

seemed scarred by the whole evening.

He had already decided that he didn't want to be a woman
because he didn't want to go through the birthing process.

But he was devastated to learn that only 1 of the 250 million sperm

racing for that egg would make it 

and that the other 249 million plus sperm would curl up their toes.

Oh, boy.

I think that puberty and hormones with him is going to be a roller-coaster ride.

House keeping

 I need to dust off my blog a bit 

and give it a spring clean.

In the process, I should also let you know

that, with the imminent demise of google reader,

you can start following me over at Bloglovin'...

Just click on that button over there,

yes, up there in the top left corner;

yes, that's the one.

Or click here:

http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5290819/little-boozle

Wally is so excited, he can't get over there fast enough.
...
Well, he'll be there when he wakes up, for sure.

I really hope that blogging is like riding a bicycle.

I've been more or less missing in (real life's) action
for the past 6 months.

I reckon that I have thought about blogging daily.
I have written long and- I swear- hysterically entertaining or thought provoking posts in my head
as I got on with life.

...things like buying Australian products,

the indignation that John Barrowman didn't get a call up
 for the Dr Who 50th Anniversary special,
 sex ed.,
palm oil,
why some blood isn't thicker than water,
why my child waits until I leave the state to need the emergency room,
 human nature at its very, very best and its very, very worst...

But things just happened.

Things like broken bones
(yes, that would be plural...bones*)
 5 year old Queen Bees,
an overseas visitor,
an education crisis which almost caused me to consider home schooling
(and if you know me, you know that "home schooling" is not a phrase that is compatible
with my temperament.
There is a reason that I became a vet and not a teacher)
four birthdays,
a fiftieth wedding anniversary,
family stress,
seemingly never-ending, non-resolvable business stress,

a trip to Fiji,
a trip to Kangaroo Island
 and the Barossa Valley,

 my annual interstate sewing weekend,
and then a general and ongoing apathy when it came to just sitting down and writing a post.

How can I want to do something so badly
but just can't be bothered?



I have managed to sew and knit
to let off creative steam.

So really it has just been...life.



I am hopeful that the next six months will be a little less hectic
with no broken bones
and a lot less apathy
and that I will start blogging again.
Surely it is just like riding a bicycle.

(*My toe, which lost the fight with a door frame, has healed now
but my son's arm, which lost the bout with his bed frame,
is still healing.
I think falling over in your bedroom and managing to fracture your arm
in a nasty manner is somewhat freaky
and yet somewhat expected from a kid.
Luckily their healing capacity is also somewhat freaky
in a fabulous way)

Jesus Christ. You superstar.

The last (and only) time I saw a production of Jesus Christ Superstar was in 1992.

The cast covered a good whack of the Who's Who of Australian music at that time.

...John Farnham, Kate Ceberano, Jon Stevens, Angry Anderson...

I was 23 at the time and I was a Uni student.

And, to be honest, I don't remember what I felt about it

(either due to the passage of time

or the fact that there are great big blocks of time at University

that I don't remember)

but I do know that I didn't feel what I felt when I saw the 2013 version last week.

I hadn't listened to the soundtrack for years

and JCSS has not been on my list of favourite musicals.

But I am a Tim Minchin fan

and yes, OK, I did want to see what Andrew O'Keefe was going to do.

If I had to own up to having a favourite Spice Girl,

it would be Mel C.
(The one who could actually sing)

Plus I was interested to see if Ben Forster lived up to the hype around his portrayal of Jesus.

(www.cooltry.com.au)

And wow.

Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow.Wow. Wow.

By the time Jesus was getting his hot forehead anointed with myrrh by Mary Magdalene,

the production of Wicked that I saw last year has dropped from first place to runner-up

in my list of best. ever. musical productions.

It is set in modern times

(think reality shows, text voting, graffiti and hashtags for Jesus and his supporters,

CCTV cameras and mobile phones)

and is very clever.

It reminded me of Baz Luhrmann's interpretation of  Romeo and Juliet.

(www.perthnow.com.au)

We "only" had Forster's understudy, Rory Taylor,

who was "only" just brilliant.

Tim Minchin may not be the world's best singer 

but his voice was fantastic in this role

and the passion and emotion of Judas was breath-taking.

(Added to that he can carry off heavy eye makeup like no other man I know)

(And for anyone who is interested,

Andrew O'Keefe's role involved a single song

and a crushed velvet red suit.

Brilliant.)

(And for anyone who is interested,
Jon Stevens is ageing well. Very, very well)

I would go and see it again in a heartbeat.

And again.

And again.

(www.smh.com.au)

I haven't stopped playing the soundtrack since I saw it.

To think that Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd-Webber wrote this 

when they were under 25...the mind boggles.

I am not quite sure why I didn't appreciate how bloody good it was before.

Maybe a long-haired John Farnham just didn't engage me.

In the past week, I have thought more about the story of Jesus and Judas

than I have since I completed my First Holy Communion in my teens.

Even though the ending is...well, let's say somewhat predictable,

whether you have religious beliefs or not,

the story of frailty and betrayal and the desperation

of the characters will move you.

So do you like your vulva?

(recision.wordpress.com)

I don't know about you but I find that one thing suddenly might start
cropping up all over the place in my life.

Last year, for example, it was zombies.

Telly shows, movie, books, dinner conversations, kids' video games...

It seemed that every time I turned around,

there was the walking dead.

This year, for a complete change of pace,

it is labiaplasty.

Yes, you heard right.

Labiaplasty.

L a b i a p l a s t y .

Besides being one of those words that looks more weird the more time you write it,
it is a word sure to make a girl shudder and cross her legs in the same protective way

that blokes do if you mention a body blow to their goollies.

A friend recently chose to have the elective procedure done

while under anaesthetic for another necessary surgery.

Then, a few weeks back,

Mr Boozle and I watched a British documentary called "The Perfect Vagina".

(Yes, technically it should have been called The Perfect Vulva)

Now, even after I had started writing this post,
an article has arrived in my in-box.

Let me state right from the outset quite clearly that this is a procedure 

most definitely not on my bucket list.

In fact, it is probably on the Top Ten Things that I Don't Want to Do before I die list.
Somewhere between jumping out of a plane and eating a bowl of pea soup.

I am not willing to consider anyone approaching my va-jay-jay with hot wax on a blunt stick,

let alone a sharp scalpel blade.

Apparently it is a procedure that is becomingly increasingly common.
In Australia the surgery may covered by Medicare
and has been performed on girls as young as 14.
(and remember that this would require parental consent)

I do understand that some women have abnormal labias.
Abnormal to the point of them wanting surgery
and believing that this will improve their quality of life.

But this is a surgery that can result in complications
such as infection, decreased sensation and scarring.

What I don't get is a young girl thinking that she needs surgery down there.
What is that about?
Who are girls comparing themselves to?
(Or who are their partners comparing them to?)
Naked women on the internet?
Porn?
Women in the porn industry would have more "attractive" vulvas
in the same way that their breasts are going to, no doubt, have to meet a certain "porn standard"
Obviously they are not going to represent the normal population of women's bodies.

As a heterosexual woman who is not  involved in a profession that exposes me to women's genitals,
I can say that I don't have a lot of experience with women's vulvas.
The documentary surprised both Mr Boozle and myself
with the range of "normal".
There is a huge amount of variation out there.

And as far as wanting your vulva to be "perfect"...
I don't even really know what that entails.

While I am preparing myself for talks with my daughter
about peer pressure, smoking, birth control, hairy legs
and maybe tattoos,
I can't say that the idea of needing to discuss her self-esteem in the same conversation
as her genitals ever occurred to me.

Yes, the human body is beautiful and should be loved.
But I've got to be honest.

I don't think any pink bits are pretty.
I am not going to call a penis handsome
and I don't think a vulva is what you'd call classically beautiful either.
But it doesn't mean that there is anything wrong with them.

But seriously, our society is going off the rails
if our young girls are wanting artificial boobs and shaved off labias in order to feel good about themselves.

And even worse, if parents are agreeing with it.

Out of the mouths of (growing-up-oh-so-quickly) babes

(www.wordsfromwillow.blogspot.com)

My oldest child is nearly 10.

A really awkward age when he (mostly) knows how to throw an insult out there
but often doesn't know how bad it is
or even what it means.

In the past 2 days alone,
thanks to assorted friends and books,
he has managed to offend practicing Christians ("for the love of Jesus Christ"),
elderly people (his grandparents are"fossils")
and pretty much anyone in between.

His best to date, however,
was to tell his little brother that he had a big dick.

A teasing fail firstly because his younger brother didn't even know what the word "dick" meant.

And secondly...well, for obvious reasons.

It proved very difficult during the parent-child talk about not using adult words
to restrain myself from explaining why this wasn't actually an insult
and why, one day, he might be praying desperately that someone might say it to him.