Just got back from a Carers function.

If I didn’t feel like slitting my wrists before, now I do.

Hobbled in the door and met up with a couple of girlfriends, H and K, laughing and giggling and ribbing me with ‘hop along’ yada yada.  Found my old case manager and had a few laughs with her and then we were all seated.

Let the whinging begin.

Freaking hell.  No wonder no one wants to hear about carers, their all a pack of sad sacks.  For an hour and a half all we heard was ‘Poor me’, ‘My life is worse than yours’, ‘Oh, if you think THAT is bad…..’, ‘I want, want WANT’ Gimme-fucking-gimme.

If these people just stopped complaining and took a breath, maybe they could get some help.

Yes, our lives are hard.  Yes, we didn’t choose to live this way.  Yes, it is not freakin’ fair.  But if you just concentrate on the negatives then yes, your life sucks.

Halfway through the chicks speech (and they held off the food till we heard about how horrible our lives were as to lose our appetite) there is an announcement.  ‘If you parked inside the yellow line out the back you need to move your car now, or you will get a $66 fine’.

Guess where I parked?

So I hobbled out there, drove around for a few minutes to park somewhere else, MILES away from the venue and practically crawled back in there.  To find a guy sitting in the seat next to me that I had my foot up on.

You know when you see a familiar face and you smile and say hello and then in that milli second you realise WHY you know that face?  And that person is probably the last person you would ever want to spend time with?  Yeah.  That was him.  I saw him when I initially hobbled in. Now my dinner buddy.

The woman droned on, the whingers droned on.  I turned to H and said ‘Do you reckon we get razor blades to go with our meal, cause I could do with one right now’


Dark look from the speaker

Speaker says ‘So after all that, how do you feel?’

H turns to me ‘Sucicidal?’


Speaker finally finishes up and the food is served.  Asshat next to me gets the chicken, I get the beef.  ‘Would you mind swapping? I don’t eat red meat.’ I sweetly request. ‘No’ he spits and then goes on to bend my ear about how horrible his life is with his child and how much his school sucks and how he keeps writing formal complaints to the Education Dept and the school hate him.  Shit, I hate him too and I barely know him!

I escape to the loo.  I make a coffee and try and walk back with it. An INSTANT coffee with full fat milk!  I am that desperate.  I turn my freaking back on him to TRY and have a less depressing conversation for a change.

He starts whispering in my ear.

I am not going to escape.  I give in and try and help him.  Every suggestion gets a condescending look and brushed off. I am going to strangle this fucking man and then who is going to pick Boo up from school while I am languishing in jail?  But I have heard they have cable TV….. hmmmm.

Then the rest of the table gets in on the act.  They hate their school, they hate their teachers, they hate hate hate.

Swap schools I suggest.  No, to inconvenient.  Speak to the teacher.  No cause when the TELL them to do things they don’t do it RIGHT.  OR they don’t even know the teachers freaking NAME!!!

Do the teachers do anything you like?  Yeah. Do you tell them, thank them?  No!  That is their job!

I stare into my sticky date pudding.  Word is out that there is a chick that will listen to your whinging and they engulf me like zombies looking for brains.

‘Help me.  Do this. Fix this. Your life couldn’t possibly be as bad as mine….’

I am drowning in a sea of negativity.

H looks at me and makes a cutting motion on her wrist.  I fall about in giggles.

One particularly pathetic specimen looks at me in disgust.  ‘Why are you so happy?’

I look her directly in the eye and say ‘Cause I don’t choose to dwell on the negative.  My life is not defined by my sons disability nor my caring role.  I choose to see my son as my child and not a child with Autism.  And I try to see the funny side in every situation.’

These people just don’t get it.  Be a horrible demanding piece of negative shit and no one will want to help you. A little bit of praise goes a long way.

Now I am totally shattered.  I need a bottle of red and a straw.  I need a shower to wash off the negativity and anger.

I need to get some good tunes going in the car while I pick up my Boo.  That kid can smell despair from a mile away.

As I was walking to my car to leave a woman stopped me, the I-hate-my-kids-teacher-but-I-don’t-know-her-name drop kick.

‘Are you going on the Shopping Tour on the weekend?’


‘Why not?  It’s a fundraiser!’ for her kids school, the one I wanted Boo to go to but he can’t.

‘Poverty’ I call over my shoulder as I limp to my car

She turns to her friend. ‘Yeah, sure.  I have seen the shoes she wears…. she aint poor’

I smile to myself.  It’s all about appearances baby.

Freaking telemarketers. They are really doing my head in lately.

I know they are just doing their job. DH did a little telemarketing years ago to supplement our income, so I know how hard it is. But some of them are just total arseholes and deserve my disdain.

Ring Ring, trills the phone interrupting my blogging fun.

‘Hello Mrs XXX how are you today?’ singsongs a heavy accented man,

‘Fine’ I cagily reply while bill due dates fly through my mind.

‘Well Mrs XXX’ he continues, getting my name terribly wrong and my mother-in-law spins in her grave, ‘My name is Steve and I am calling from……..’

My mind wanders, his voice gets more excited. Steve from some middle eastern call centre thinks he has got himself a winner.  Something about my winning a holiday or a mobile phone or somesuch.

‘Look Steve, I am really busy right now so sorry I am not interested.’

‘Oh but Mrs abortion-of-my-last-name-sending-the-old-girl-spinning, you get a yada yada yada…… I’m not listening again…

(DH always said he wanted a woman with a short attention span, well it came with something else but I won’t divulge that lest getting all the women reading jealous….)

‘Steve, I am not interested, thanks for your time’


I hate doing that.  But sometimes they won’t get the message.

Ring Ring…


‘Hello Mrs abortion-of-my oh you remember the rest’

‘Why hello STEVE!  Didn’t I just hang up on you?’


And I have a short attention span?

But my absolute favourite of all time:

Ring Ring as I am running out the door to pick up Boo from school.  I HAVE to be standing out the front of his classroom at 3.25 exactly when he comes out to get his bag.  Otherwise *shudder* you don’t want to know.

‘Hello Mrs last-name-wrong-old-lady-gyrating’ coos a sweet grandmotherly voice.

‘Hello’ I reply getting sucked in by her sweet Nanna voice

‘How are you today’ she coos down the phone line, shit this woman is good

‘Fabulous thanks!  I am just running out the door to pick up my son’

‘Oh, well I will only take a minute of your time.  I am calling today to ask for your help, kids with (insert condition here, I don’t want to name it) need your help and support. Today all I am asking is for you to take a book of raffle tickets at $20 a ticket…….’

‘Look, I am totally supportive of your cause but I have a child with Autism and I am raising funds for that, so I am sorry I can’t help you today.  Good luck though’ I say, thinking wish we had someone like her for our fundraising.

Her voice is noticeably cooler ‘Well that is all fine and dandy, but you don’t understand.  This is much much worse than Autism!’

I stop midair, coat half on.  This particular condition is mild compared with what I deal with everyday.

‘Are you a doctor?’

‘No’ coolness is escalating to ice-cubes-down-your-undies cold

‘So you must be a psychologist then?’

‘No, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.  You need to support these parents as you are lucky that your child is healthy.  What would you do if your child got sick?’ retorts the Ice Queen

Fuck me dead.  This woman is unbeliveable.

‘Well I would do what I am doing now.  Would you care to purchase  a book of my raffle tickets’


Biatch hung up on ME!

And then I was late picking up Boo.  And all hell broke loose.

I saw this last night.

I have no words.

I feel sick

Read this from Freak Parade. I emailed Mel and asked her if I could link to her cause she says it much better than me.

My post would be full of expletives.

And death threats.

Stupid bint at work sent one of these freaking things to the WHOLE OFFICE.

The worst part about this particular one is that it was a picture of the Virgin Mary. Apparently some president of some country didn’t send it on and his son died 2 days later. Redneck Dickwad sent it on to 20 of his closest Klan mates and won the lottery the next day.

Apparently the Virgin Mary will protect me if I send her on. She was bloody lucky that none of us took religious objection to it. Everyone just deleted it, but not me, no siree.

These things piss me off because someone is wishing me harm. They don’t want bad luck so they pass it on to me. Nice. If you send me one of these then you are not my friend. I have had enough drama in my life without you passing more on thankyouverymuch.

So when I saw this email I took action. So biatch, you want me to send this on to 20 people to prevent my hemorrhoids growing whiskers? Well you, my dear, are technically ‘people’.

So I sent it back to her 20 times.

Good luck finding 20 people to wish harm to you twat (thanks Robin for reminding me of this particularly fabulous insult)……..

20 times!

Bwaaaa haaaa haaaaa!

Oh and by the way, I didn’t like her to begin with. Don’t like the colour of her nose, since it is stuck up the General Managers arse most of the day.

Okay people, you need to calm down.

Steve is not dead. And if your kid is reading my blog and was disturbed by my mention of an urban legend (which is NOT TRUE) you have got a heck of a lot worse things to worry about, cause this blog aint no place for a child. And I will tell my mate Santa what you have been exposing your child to……

And while I am on the subject, the person that felt the need to email me privately and complain that I am being discriminatory against DWARFS (or is it DWARVES), grow some balls and do it in the comments for everyone to see, K? I was talking about a real technical like term used by big clever scientists and stuff, not ‘little people’ and then I sorta got carried away…….

I had lots of coffee yesterday.

You should have seen the size of the coffee this chick at work bought me! It was like a LITRE of coffee. And drank it before it got cold……..and yes, people buy me coffee. I am not that pleasant without it, so it is a self serving gesture.

And then I got on my blog and posted 3 times (make sure you read ’em all OK?) and then started another blog – details soon.

That musta been some bad assed coffee.

I had another today *snicker* after I finished the thermos full that DH the wonder barista made me to take to work.

My eye is twitching……..

Have a look at the button on my sidebar over there.

Tomorrow is the Great mofo Delurk. Do me a favour and post a comment? I know that there are hundreds of you lurking there in the dark shadows. Pop out for just one day to say Hi! OK?

Unless it is just Erin! checking my blog every couple of minutes…….

(yeah I know 3rd post today, what can I say I am full of ’em tonight)

From the brilliant minds that brought you:

Drinking songs Volume 8


Songs to bury your neighbours cat that you accidentally ran over with your lawn mower to

we present you with

Songs to wipe your sons arse to Volume 1

Mummy sings Name the Planets from Blues Clues…

The sun is a hot star

And Mercury’s hot too

Venus is the brightest Planet

Earth, home to me and you……..

Boo sings

‘We have to take our clothes off to have a good time


Do you think Mummy might be behind the times? And someone needs to contact Joe (cause Steve is dead doncha know?) and tell him to rewrite that song cause Pluto is no longer technically a planet, it is now a ‘dwarf planet’. This has got the PC crowd up in arms cause ‘dwarf’ is a derogatory term. So from hence forth it will be known as a moderately smaller than the others not-that-there-is-anything-wrong-with-that planet. With it’s own support group, plastic wristbands and telethon.

My girlfriend sent me this. Apparently they are called Bikini jeans and they are big in China….

I have no words.


I have one question though….

boots or kitten heels?

Sheesh! With all this time on my hands to just sit, cause my family are waiting on me and letting me rest so I can get better *gaffaw*, and blog surf, I have come across many a ‘Mommy Blog’.

While I rapidly watch my house go from showhome relatively tidy, to rack and ruin, I am reading about all these perfect women that manage to run a business from home, raise 4,000 toddlers all in cloth nappies/diapers, growing their own organic produce and baking everything from scratch, homeschooling teenagers *shudder* while being a top blogger with 8 million adoring fans.

These women manage menu plan, coupon clip (how I wish we had them here! Apparently if you do it right and go to 8 different stores making sure that you go through 6 different tellers at each store, you can get stuff for FREE!) and can their own produce while making their own designer clothes and selling them through their massively popular blog.

They are perfect soccer mums/moms with their SUV, running little precious from soccer to piano to extra lessons (cause precious is a GENIUS!) and while they wait for the practice to finish they knit blankets for the needy.

In their spare time they volunteer at church, go to bible study and completely remodel their bathrooms. When their equally perfect hubs *shudder* gets home from his high paying but deeply satisfying job she is an animal in the bedroom. With details the next day on the blog.

I am feeling deeply inadequate. I would link to these blogs but I don’t want to risk these perfect women reading my blog and pitying me. Or worse giving me advice.

I need some reality. I need to read about someone who doubts herself. Who believes that maybe, just maybe she made the wrong decision and is beating herself up about it. Someone who can’t be bothered cooking tonight so everyone had hotdogs….. or Macca’s. Some one who just wants to punch her husband in the head right now cause he is being an arsehole. And then blogs about it so we can laugh about it tomorrow.

Are there really that many perfect women in the world or are they all confined to the blogosphere? Are these women just trying to outdo each other in the perfection stakes and telling some porky pies on their blogs?

Well I might not be the perfect housewife, my house is often strewn with stuff, sometimes I even go to bed with my makeup still on, but,

I know what each of my kids favourite colours are – and Boo’s can change daily,

Who their friends are and their phone numbers,

Their friends seek me out to chat and so do my kids (no mean feat with teenagers),

I can count on a hug or even a kiss from any family member whenever and wherever I want,

My children know that they are truly loved even though I can’t give them everything they want,

My house is clean, it may not be tidy all the time but it is clean,

I have true friends that are just like me,

And I have fabulous taste in shoes.

And that is much better than being the perfect housewife.

I have mentioned before about my neighbours. Here is a little highlight of the ones that acknowledge me. The others never seem to be home….. or they are hiding.

Next door right: Wave hello as driving away. He likes to rev up hotted up cars at all hours of the day or night. They got married recently and the wedding car was a ute. Noice.

Oh and I accidentally called the wife a ‘biatch’ really really loudly. See this post for the full details.

Across the road: Set up lawn chairs in their driveway whenever we have a kids party or sleepover. Lawn chairs and a table when we moved in. Always seem to need to check their letterbox, weed the garden, pick up a twig/leaf from the lawn when we are greeting or saying goodbye to visitors. Yes we have a lot of visitors. But they stay waaaaaay too long for this to be a crack house.

Next door left: Weeded his garden for 2 straight days while we were moving in. Haven’t seen him since. Heart attack while watching cable? The mail isn’t piling up so probably just scared of us. I would be.

Dear neighbours,

I feel that we haven’t had the chance to get to know each other. If this was suburban America a la every-freaking-sitcom-drama-we-see someone would have baked some muffins for us by now. We have been here for a year, you don’t have to grow the wheat and stone grind it yourself, a packet mix will suffice.

We are a noisy family. Not as noisy as SOME, but we produce our fair share. Most of the noise is screaming from our son. You know him. The kid that did all those nudie runs before we plugged the hole in the fence? Oh and the kid that laid spread eagled in your driveway, Mr Revhead, wearing nothing but a tshirt and a vacant smile. Spongebob Squarepants was the song of choice that day, in case you were wondering. Well he has Autism and that is just part and parcel of who he is. He is almost 9 so his voice should break in a couple of years so the squeal won’t be so high pitched and frighten the dogs. Something to look forward to huh?

We have some weird and wonderful equipment in our backyard. There is no need to fret about our property backing on to a childcare centre, the equipment is actually doctor approved therapy equipment for the Sponge bob singing, dirt angel in the driveway making, nudist you met earlier. Not anything to do with S&M. Honest. Oh and sorry to the kid that was playing on the platform swing when we weren’t home and left their polly pocket on the ground. It kinda slipped out of my hand and I accidentally smashed it to pieces and then it fell in the garbage bin. I am amazed how you managed to scale the kid proof fence or actually OPEN THE CHILD LOCK. Pure child genius. Tell mummy and daddy to get you tested for Mensa.

We do have quite a few visitors. Actually you are lucky we didn’t live here when our youngest was still in intensive one on one therapy! Wow, we had a shit load of visitors then! I just want to ease your worry and let you know that we don’t sell crack or wacky tobakky or GOD FORBID, Amway……

Mr Stand-in-your-driveway-smoking-all-the-day-and-night,

My daughter is a pretty girl. So are her friends. YOU are a man in his forties living with his parents. Stop. Oh and while we are on the subject, I don’t need an audience – yes I can see you behind the bushes – while I am weeding the garden. It is getting quite feral out there, so here is your warning, I will be out there again soon. You need to be somewhere else, capisce?

We are good people. A mum, dad, 2 teenage girls and a highly individual boy.

You would like us if you gave us half a chance. Lots of people do, hence the many cars coming in and out of our driveway. How about we have a BBQ some time. No pressure. Just a simple Hello Kelley when I pass you next will be affirmation enough for me.

Kindest regards,

Kelley at number X

On second thoughts I might just start with a Christmas Card in Decemeber.

Whatcha think?