In the next six weeks three of my daughters will be heading overseas for around six months each. It’s a nerve-wracking time for a parent and so far I’ve only had one major piece of advice to give them. Don’t be a drug mule.
My neck got old. I don’t know how it happened but it seems to have aged. Possibly in dog years. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t remember abusing my neck. Not in the way I’ve abused my liver, my arse or my face.
Today Ivy asked me what Botox is. She’s eight. She’d found a humorous card on my bookshelf that depicts a 1950s mother and daughter with the caption ‘You’re never too young for Botox!’. She wanted to know (a) what is Botox and (b) should she be having it?
I hate Mothers Day. I hate the picture of motherhood that shows a nice neat mum smiling beatifically on worming medication or holding hands with her family while wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and running on the beach. I don’t do that. I don’t know any mums who do that shit.
Albert Einstein once said, ‘The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over and expecting different results’.
I’m imagining the song from Frozen where Elsa sings ‘Do you want to build a snow man’. Except in my mind, it’s not the snow, but she’s playing in one of those play parks but the climbing frame isn’t a climbing frame, it’s your DNA.
Good-looking people get away with more than ugly people. It’s a fact. The only people who wouldn’t agree with this are beautiful people. But that’s because they’ve been batting their long lashes and getting away with murder for years.
I did the washing. The four words you don’t want to hear from your husband. I was only gone one day. Why would he do that? After eight years of zero masculine activity in the laundry, why would my husband... Read More →
No-one likes talking about dying. Once you start talking about dying you think, shit, I’m going to die now. It’s not just superstition. You will die. Not because you tempted fate by scandalously talking of death. Because everyone dies. It’s the only guarantee we have in life.
I have 132 odd socks. Each week the count goes up. I gather them in a basket in my laundry in the hope that one day they will be re-united with their lost sock mates. The basket of lost socks... Read More →
Remember that scene in James Bond movies? 007 is in a small room filling up with water. His time is running out. The water keeps rising. The tension is unbearable. Bond is running out of options. That’s what I think... Read More →
Have you ever stood at a busy intersection waiting for the light to go green and been unable to cross? ‘Damn, it’s a man crossing. And I’m a lady.’ If only there were road crossings for women.
A pair of scissors could save the world. Well, not normal scissors. Gene scissors. Of course these aren’t actual scissors, you can’t Steiner your way through a felt collage with these, these are for scientists into bio-craft. These are CRISPR... Read More →
Last week the Fair Work Commission ruled that Sunday and public-holiday penalty rates will be reduced for full-time and part-time workers in hospitality, retail and the fast-food industry. Well it’s about time! We already know these people are what have been dragging our country down.
Surely we have reached Peak Boho. Surely this trend that kicked off in 2002 is on its last faded cheesecloth-covered legs. If I see any more pseudo-gypsies in flowing dresses attempting to typify the lifestyle of free spirits and hippies in the 1960s and 70s by dressing up as someone who looks like a free spirit, I’ll scream.
Last week lots of my lovely friends on Facebook asked me to share a heart on my wall. Some sort of hold-your-finger-down, share-with-your-gal-pals etc to raise awareness for breast cancer. It’s hard to check your breasts when you’re sharing your... Read More →
Having a vagina is hard work. It’s also poorly paid. If you have a vagina, and you work full time, the median wage gap compared to people without vaginas is 21.4 per cent. Vaginas earn less. Clearly we vagina bearers are not only still cleaning the glass ceiling, we’re stuck to the floor.
If Dr Seuss were alive today he’d be writing the product claims for hair products. Clearly, where science fails, fiction takes its place. Like Seuss, the creative departments at the hair companies seem to have a peculiar talent for making... Read More →
Authorities are concerned that the shark netting of some north coast beaches has created a bigger environmental threat than they initially expected. With the netting of sharks, the area has experienced huge numbers of tourists. Some are even saying that... Read More →
Every time I speak to a baby I use that stupid high-pitched voice. I don’t know why. I can’t stop it. I see a baby and I start talking like a lunatic. I make my words long and drawn out like helloooooooooo baybeeee. It just looks at me. I think it likes me. I think it likes the baby-talk, so I keep going.
You can’t live here without having a favourite beach. I love The Pass. I love the way the shore is fringed by pandanus. The rock that we used to climb as a lookout that now has an official staircase and platform because too many dickheads were making the scramble.
Nothing makes you feel older than going to a music festival. Earlier this week I immersed myself in a sea of side boob, front boob and under boob at Byron’s Falls Festival. In fact I think they should consider rebranding... Read More →
When I was a kid trampolines didn’t have nets. And somehow we survived. In order to sustain a summer without broken bones you had to make sure you didn’t backflip onto the lawn and onto your head. When you poured... Read More →
It’s official. The world has gone mad. According to a recent media report Australian men are flocking to get a new wrinkle-reducing procedure. Scrotox. Like Botox, the idea is to reduce wrinkles. But not in the face, in your balls.
Once upon a time people had this thing called a ‘moral compass’. Once commonplace, in these modern times it has become a relic of the past. Something you’d find on the $2 table at Vinnies. Or free on Byron Swap and Sell.