The c-word (PM)

If one doesn't want to say the c-word all that much, being on the other side of the world and not having to engage with constant cuntery from the country's leadercunts is a good strategy. 

You guys are on the frontline, and I'm sorry about that. But at least it led to the use of a chart on Miss Soft Crab, which is something I will never be sorry about. 

In other news, I had a dream last night that I had to email David Simon and apologise for not having gotten around to returning the DVDs of The Wire he had lent me. It seems in this dream universe, David Simon and I used to be colleagues and he had lent me all the DVDs so I could watch them and then he or I had left the workplace before I had a chance to return them. Isn't it always the way!

And isn't it typical that even in my dreams I feel guilty for not doing something? Good one, subconscious. Give a girl a break why don't you. You should know that I didn't borrow The Wire DVDs from anyone, I bought it with my own money. You should also know that David Simon wrote The Wire, and we have never been colleagues. So seriously, subconscious, put something good in my dreams or  shut up and let me rest. 

The c-word (AM)

I should warn sensitive readers that when I say 'the c word' I'm not being cute about it, like it means cabbage or something. As in "don't say the c-word or Baby won't touch his dinner, he hates cabbage". I don't mean cancer or colonoscopy or cask wine. No I mean the word that Biz can't say and instead says "see you next Tuesday", the word cunt. So if you have delicate sensibility stop reading, cause I may use the word again. Not a lot but it may come up. 

You know sometimes you'll read about how many times a politician says a certain word in a speech? Or, for example, how Tony Abbott used to say so many words a minute in opposition and now he says only so many words per minute as prime minister? Well I would be interested if someone did a similar assessment on my speech but instead of assessing my words per minute or how often I say "budget emergency" (never) or some other bullshit phrase, they would assess how often I say cunt now as opposed to when Abbott was in opposition. I'm pretty sure it's a lot more. 

There was a time when I used to say it frequently, very frequently. I've always been a swearer,  big time. Big time. But I never really said cunt until I was 18 or 19 or so and then you couldn't stop me! It was a really effective word for me at the time and I embraced it like a puppy with a bone, but time went on, I matured, my life changed. I'm a mother for fuck's sake I have to watch my language. And that was the status quo for a long time. I was just a mild user of the word. And then something changed. Government, I guess. Now I use the word all the time again. 

Here's my current estimate: Let's say I hear radio news three times a day and watch it on TV once a day. Abbot is probably on all those bulletins every second day at least saying something like "well fuck the high court I'm going to pay for the chaplaincy program anyway" (not a direct quote). And if it's not him it's Hockey or Scott Morrison. So I'd estimate 4 news items a day 3-4 days a week, I'm probably declaring "cunt"  at least 15 times a week. But I gotta tell ya, it feels like a lot more than that. So I'd like a professional assessment. Maybe a graph.

I'd also like to know how the fuck I am meant to bring up clean mouthed little boys in this political climate?! Seriously. How the fuck? 

No scrubs (PM)

My hair today, I've been kinda busy and haven't washed it since Sunday, FYI.

Let's not go crazy, my hair did not quite look awesome for my year of no scrubs, but it was pretty good. It was a pretty good time in the life of my hair. And I fully support your move mate. You are nearly through the hardest part! And that's exciting! Just a few more days, a week tops and all those natural oils will be balanced and doing what they should do. Most likely. 

Ironically (or something) I actually wash my hair more than ever these days. If I had the patience to get through the initial hard weeks of a no scrubs campaign maybe I'd run one myself, but when a lady is constantly covered in baby spew and her own breast milk and has to limit her wardrobe to sensible boob-accessible outfits and has no social life to make her bother to look nice, it's the little things like clean hair that help. And my hair looks best these days after a wash. Oh sure it'd probably look good after three weeks of no washing but in these heady times of internet and smart phones who has time for that. Kudos, mate for this slow hair movement you've embraced. 

No scrubs (AM)

Guess what I'm doing? Or NOT doing more like it? 

That's right readers. I'm not washing my hair. I've thought about it for ages and now I'm finally doing it. 

As you all know, I pretty much hate my hair all of the time. Sure, I have the occasional day where it looks half decent, but most of the time it's a mess that I don't know what to do with. The not washing phenomenon (or 'no poo' as the Internet calls it, or 'no scrubs' as I like to call it) which J and my former hairdresser was a fan of, seems like it could be perfect for me. Apparently it lets hair reclaim it's natural waves, which I know are there beneath all the frizz. Apparently it makes hair look lighter, which if true will help me kill another bird with the same stone, that being the bird that chirps to me about dying my hair blonde. It could be the answer to my prayers. Of course if could also look really really shit, which is absolutely not one of my prayers. Early indications are not good. It's been about 10 days and as you can see from the above, hair ain't be wavin', hair be frizzin'. Here's another shot. 

Oh, I should mention that I  washing my fringe because it just looks too shit without it. But everything else is strictly no scrubs. 

Oh, and here's a walnut stuffed shortbread I ate today. Delicious. 

But back to the hair. J is really my inspiration for this. She didn't wash her hair for a year and her hair looked awesome. It filled me with awe! It looked excellent every day for a year. If I could have just a little bit of her success I would be over the moon. I plan to blog about it regularly so we can all go on this scrubleas journey together. Away we go, readers. 

London calling (PM)

I haven't been to London since I was a kid and my memory of it isn't that great. That is to say I have little memory of it, not bad memories. Basically my memories involve Indian  restaurants and delighting in the fact I was where Stefan Edberg lived. So those are two pretty positive associations right there.

I'd quite like to go there again. I hear it has excellent food and museums. But lord knows when that will happen. Europe is so far away and expensive and once you get there there are so many excellent places to visit, would I prioritise one where people speak a boring language like English? With such a grey reputation? But K loved it. And Pickle loved it. So maybe I should prioritise it!

No point worrying about that now though. I'm always promising LB that out next overseas holiday will be Indonesia so I guess I better come good on that one if these days. I hear it has excellent food. 

London Calling (AM)

I'm not sure whether it's annoying for me to constantly talk about these places I am visiting right now. I really hope it's not. I certainly don't mean to be all 'look at me, I'm in this great place'. But when you write a blog about the stuff you eat and see and think about, and all the eating and seeing and thinking about is happening in other places, pretty soon those places are going to come up. It's pretty impossible to avoid.

So here I am in London.  We arrived yesterday and will be here for a bit over a month. It's summer in London. It's kind of beautiful. 

I only came to London for the first time last year, to meet Appleheart for our first overseas trip together. I'd never made it a priority to come to London before because it's London, of course I would get there eventually. Plus, I'd heard so much about London being a bit shit. About how grey it is, how depressing it is, how rainy and dreary it is. No one was saying "London is the greatest, you've got to go to London" like they do when they come back from New York or Berlin or, you know, MONA. People's dampened (ha! cos its so rainy...) enthusiasm, and knowing I would eventually get there, meant London never rose to the top of my list of places to go. Then one day last year it did, so I came, and gee whizz did I love it. I couldn't get over how much I loved it. So many people. So much stuff. Such excellent food. Long long days and so much sun. No one ever mentioned that stuff before*. So I loved it. I really really loved it.

Of course,  I've often wondered since whether it was the greatness of London that I was responding to, or whether I was swept up by the excitement of my first overseas holiday with my squeeze. It was a very exciting time. One of the most exciting ever, truth be told.  

Now I'm here again, I guess we'll find out soon enough. But I have to say readers, the early indications are pretty good. 

*In a way that made me remember...

The confession (PM)

Damn right I wish I watched Toy Soldiers last night. I wish I was watching it right now! I goddamned love that goddamned film. I wonder whether it stands the test of time, and the test if adulthood. I saw The Goonies again a couple of years ago, another Sean Astin classic, and it really does not stand the test of adulthood. 

 Oh my god, would you have a look at that!!

But I think Toy Soldiers would be different. Was it, Mate? Was the bit you watched as awesome as ever?
You know, Appleheart met the man who wrote and directed Toy Soldiers earlier this year. True story. He went to America for work and somehow met the man who wrote Toy Soldiers. I tried to act cool when he told me, but it was hard because OMG Toy Soldiers.

Anyway. Sorry to hear your bathroom is so cold Matey. The shittiest thing about winter is the fact that you have to start thinking twice about the most basic of tasks, like going to the toilet and having your skin touch cold porcelain surfaces. Ugh. What a menace that old Jack Frost is.

And don't worry about not always having a fully formed idea to post about. Look who you're talking to! When do I have a fully formed idea about anything?!
Never, that's when.

The confession (AM)

"Billy, this is your homework."

I have to tell you something. I love Miss Soft Crab, I love reading it, I love writing it, but sometimes I'm distracted or uninspired and it's hard, you know? I have some half formed ideas that may or may not work as a whole post. Sometimes I got nothing. That's just the bad weeks or the busy ones. This week I had so many half formed ideas and so much distracting me from them I forgot them all. 

Last night I was watching perhaps the most boring tv show in history. It's just this guy walking around parts of the English coast learning about the events of WWII in those parts. There were some interesting bits, of course, but really it's just a guy going for a walk. Anyways, there I was watching a boring show and thinking about how I really needed to go to the toilet and how boring that was. I guess I was feeling tired and our bathroom is cold and I just felt annoyed that one has to regularly perform this bodily function that requires one to get off the couch and go to such a cold room. May I also add that I don't sit on the couch all day. Mostly I'm up doing stuff and yet I never get around to weeing when I'm up either. All those distractions.  So there I was thinking about things I had to do that I didn't want to do: go to the toilet; clean my bedroom; and then, that's when I remembered I had to write a blog post, a wee reminded me. 

And then do you know what happened next? The movie Toy Soldiers came on TV. Now this is a movie that K and I used to watch all the time. Turns out I can still pretty much quote it all, presumably in its entirety, I didn't watch it all so I can't confirm that. Point is you thought it was hard for me to go to the toilet and write a blog post when I was watching an Englishman go for a walk, what hope was there once a teenage Wil Wheaton hit the screen!? So here we all are, me feeling bad I was distracted by a movie from writing a decent post and you wishing you watched Toy Soldiers last night. 

In praise of Sundays (PM)

My god,  J's post has totally made me go all misty for Sundays.  She makes them sound like the most awesome of days.
I guess I have to admit to myself and the MSC community that I am still a bit stuck in the mindset of younger J, wondering what the fuck The Bangles were on about calling Sunday a funday. I think I have  to admit that I have a habit of  always scanning the horizon for my next obligation, and on Sunday that shit goes into overdrive.
But I'm actually writing this during a very lovely Sunday afternoon, so I'm going to take a leaf out of J's book and enjoy it.
I've spent the morning at a cafe where the coffee is so fine it could take all cares away. I'm sitting at the kitchen table with the balcony door open, and a warm Irish breeze wafting through as I read about the triumph of the Dees over the Dons yesterday. A game of Hurling is on TV in the background (Cork vs. Clare, a 2013 grand final rematch. Go Cork!!)

Scores are level at 8 points all at the moment.

Shit, I just realised that one of the things that make Sundays pretty great is going to the MCG to see the game. What a joy it is. And maybe one of the reasons that Sunday makes me a little blue is that watching a game, when your colours are red and blue, means watching a loss.
Until this glorious year, of course.
But that's a conversation for another day.
When this game's over, I'm going to suggest to Appleheart that we have a Sundowner. He doesn't know it yet, but I'm going to suggest it. We're the only kids in this outfit, so drinking on a Sunday afternoon remains a delight.
Who am I kidding? Sunday is the best.

In praise of Sundays (AM)

As a kid I didn't really go in for Sundays. Who wanted to go to school on Monday?  That's all Sunday meant to me.  When I'd hear the song 'Manic Monday' (which I heard a lot as a kid) and the Bangles would sing "I wish it was Sunday, that's my fun day," I just thought it was a bunch of total fucking nonsense.  Whose fun day is Sunday? But that was when I was a kid and I think one of the things that characterises  that time is that you're always thinking about the future. Childhood, although it feels like it goes on forever at the time, seems so temporary. You know you're going to grow up, that things change all the time, I think that's why it's so hard to live in the moment, you're always thinking about what's next. And that's why Sundays used to suck so hard, you knew Monday was so effing close. 

But now  I'm a grown up, with a grown up's desire to avoid thinking about the future too much and the daily aging and edging towards old age. And that, I think, is how I learned to love Sundays. 

In fact I remember the moment my feelings changed. I was having a beer at a pub on a Sunday afternoon, maybe 6 or 8 years ago and I realised how nice it was to be at the pub on a Sunday afternoon. It means that your boring shit for the weekend is done. Or it's not and you've decided not to care. It means that you're really using the weekend to its full advantage, wringing all the fun out of it till the last moment. What a joy! Of course I don't get that joy out of Sundays at the pub now. I mean it's nice, but with kids afternoon drinking just is not the same. I still love Sundays though. 

I love that they feel like a free day. Anything you do on a Sunday feels like a bonus. And usually I have time to cook a nice meal. And usually that meal is fish and roast potatoes and salad but I love that meal so who cares if I eat it most Sundays. I love how if you get some of your business done you feel so on top of things. Last night I went to the supermarket after dinner AND I sent some freelance work back to the client, so now I feel like my my work is all done. The house isn't even that messy. And because it was all on Sunday everything just felt better than on any other day. Oh sure, if I'd had a shitty day yesterday I may not be singing the praises of Sunday. Let's face it if you don't get shit done on Sunday and everything is all out of wack, Sundays suck it. But that's the thing about highs right? They're nothing without lows. 

I might have thought about the future a lot as a kid but I never would have thought that growing up would make me understand The Bangles. 

Miss Soft Crab Assorted: Irish selection (PM)

Ok first, of course I wish there was a soundtrack to Miss Soft Crab posts. (Business idea: release Miss Soft Crab soundtrack.) But, you know, I wish there was a soundtrack to pretty much everything in my life. Like maybe sometimes I could strut down the street while Aretha sings "Think", when I'm feeling sassy. Or other cool shit. I'd certainly have a more inspired soundtrack coordinator than I currently have. The other day I was in a cafe and Portishead's Dummy was playing as if it was 1997. Sure I loved it but, come on soundtrack guy.  And when it's not 90s classics I basically have a constant soundtrack of 774 ABC radio. Or RRR.

But that's by the by. 

Second shit, Mate, if I worried about all the potatoes I ate I would need some serious therapy. You know, if this was America and people got therapy at the drop of a hat. 

But Ireland, that place is great. It's been a long, long, long time since I was there but my memories are very fond. It is so green and beautiful and there are ruins everywhere which seem totally romantic and lovely. 

When I was 13 I lived in Ireland for a few months with my family. We lived just outside Galway in a tiny house behind a B&B. Russeth and I walked to school with my mum past blackberry bushes we'd snack on. Some of our teachers were nuns. We were also a short walk from the beach, a walk that took us past more blackberries and an adorable donkey. I know I don't seem like the kind of girl that had nuns and donkeys in my past but it's true, you guys. 

And the people! So friendly. For a long time I had a penpal from my school in Ireland. She had the most beautiful red hair. Eventually  we drifted apart,  it didn't help that she sent me a poem about abortion written from the viewpoint if the foetus. But the people are so friendly. 

And the chips and curry Mate, please don't miss them! Maybe it's the palate of a 13-year-old talking but I really think you should try it. You can just work out extra hard or get some therapy afterwards. 

Miss Soft Crab Assorted: Irish selection

I wish our posts could have a soundtrack. Sometimes it would be a song that would evoke the kind of mood we're trying to create, like when we're talking about Damon Albarn we could play Marvin Gaye or something. Other times it would be a song we heard that first put the idea of writing a particuar post in our heads. Like right now. The Proclaimers is playing, and I really want to convey how wonderful it is to be listening to The Proclaimers in a cafe in Dublin, and all the great things about Ireland in general, and so I'm writing this post. But I'd love it if you guys were listening to I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) while you read it.

Just humour me, guys.

OK, back to Ireland, and how great it is. 
It's really quite great here. 
Beautiful. Relaxed. Casually friendly. Just how I like my women! Ha. But seriously, those are great qualities in a person and also a place. 
Dublin feels both like a big european city and also a small town. On our first night night here, we got talking to the girl at the bar who was pouring our drinks. She was really nice and invited us to her music recital. A few days after that, I joined a gym so I can eat all the potatoes I want and not worry about it. The girl who signed me up was really nice. A few days later, I saw her walking down the main drag and she said "Hi K" as I walked past. So nice. 

I also met the deputy leader of Sinn Fein and she was very nice and I saw Gerry Adams from across the room and he seemed nice. 

On the weekend, we went to Galway, and got talking to a guy who was fishing for salmon in the river. He told us that the day before, he caught a salmon so big it broke his net and swam off. 
Appleheart said "Let me get this straight. You're telling me about the very big fish you caught, that due to faulty equipment, got away."
Irish Fisherman: "That's it". 
Ha!
These encounters made me affection for Ireland and its people grow, but it really cranked up when I read something in a report for work. 
Here in Ireland, Police Officers have the authority to dismiss a speeding ticket or other kind of fine under a category called 'exceptional circumstances'.  Here are some of the documented exceptional circumstances that have been accepted:
- being late for  swimming lesson
- needing to attend to some urgent domestic issue
- hurrying back to the farm, because bees were attacking livestock.

This is a great country guys. 

What babies want (PM)

I think this morning's post is the cutest post Miss Soft Crab has ever written.
I am sure babies' hands blow their minds. I'm sure they love you as much as you love them, Mate.
And I feel confident that they enjoy being in a footed onesie and being swaddled. Remember that time we were at Meredith or Golden Plains and we swaddled ourselves in our sleeping bags and it was really great? We were definitely wearing socks at the same time. So I think babies would like it.

Meanwhile, sorry about the late post you guys. This internet situation is dire. I know Ireland suffered a lot post GFC but gee you guys, get a decent internet connection, why don't you.

What babies want (AM)

I guess until they invent a machine that can read minds we'll never know what babies think. (Hi scientists, please don't invent that machine - so destructive and unnecessary.) 

But if I could ask babies questions and hear their answers that would be great. I would ask this of babies:

Do you get annoyed wearing onesies with feet all the time? I love the idea of being able to wear onesies all the time but I think I'd hate sleeping in a footed onesie and when you add the swaddle, ugh! So hot. I hope babies like it, do you?

You know how sometimes you look at your arm and hand moving and you look like your mind is totally blown, like you are thinking 'Whoa, am I making that thing move? Is that the thing that other people around me seem to have? Whoa am I really making that move?! How?!?!" Is that what you are thinking? Does your hand blow your mind?

Are you really as hungry as you seem to be? Sometimes you seem to want to eat all the time, do you eat because you are bored? (Don't be embarrassed about it, I do it all the time.)

Why don't you just go to sleep if you're so tired, seriously?!

Do you love me as much as I love you?*

Mainly I want to know that onesie thing. I mean, seriously my feet have got to be able to breathe!

*Mainly this is applicable to my babies. 

Safari Magic (PM)

NO INTERNET AT APARTMENT IN DUBLIN STOP
SAFARI BOOK TRULY MINDBLOWING STOP
BETTER THAN AN IPAD WITH NO INTERNET HANDS DOWN STOP
BETTER THAN BOOK PENNY HAD IN INSPECTER GADGET BUT ONLY JUST STOP

Safari magic (AM)

When I was little my mum had these two eyeshadows. They were in little clay pots the shape of a Winnie the Poo honey pot and inside were the most shimmery metallic eyeshadows I'd ever seen. One blue and one green. On the one hand I knew they were just my mum's eyeshadow and on the other hand they seemed so magical. Like so magical I felt it in my chest. So even though I knew they were my mum's eyeshadow I kind I felt like they had a secret life as magical fairy dust and playing with them would take me away to a special place. Being a kid is awesome in that respect, you know the difference between reality and fantasy but you can feel that fantasy world, feel that maybe somewhere it does exist. I guess that's what being religious is like.

As you know my mind gets blown all the time but I can't get that magic feeling back and I guess because of that it is hard for me to know what seems magic or mind-blowing to kids. It was Baby's birthday on the weekend and I found this book, a totally mind-blowing book. Now I'm not saying it made me believe in  magic but I loved it so much I couldn't stop swearing in amazement at the shopgirl. In the toy shop. I felt like maybe if I'd seen it as a kid I would have got that special feeling. This is it:*

We also gave Baby a remote control car and little toy skeletons so I guess he was distracted. But...um...did you notice that the book looks like a TELEVISION IN A BOOK! Or like a book from Harry Potter. Ok so Baby is not versed in the world of HP but he is well versed in the real world of books and television and how never the twain shall meet! And yet he just wanted to play with his $2 shop skeletons. Well who am I to judge. I loved to play with magic eyeshadow. 

I guess I jut want it on the record that of I was my own mother I would be a kickass present giver!**

*Sorry about the crappy video. It's been a rough weekend. Also it seems I can't see it on my iPhone so check out someone else's video here on YouTube if you want your mind BENT.

**Not that there is anything wrong with my mother's present-giving skills. She buys me excellent presents once I've told her what to get.