I am writing this blog through tears.

Tears of happysadsurprisejoy.  I’m just so touched.

As you have probably gathered by now, I live a fair bit of my life in my own head, and by extension, on the internet.  Being a blog subscriber, twitter follower, instagram poster and facebook friend suits someone like me.  I like to have opinions, and then force gently express those ideas to others.  So commenting on posts, and then eventually writing a blog is a natural fit for me.  I can rant and rave, wail and keen, judge and laugh, and then press “publish”.  Much cheaper than therapy, and easier than alienating everyone I know IRL with my nonsense.

So you probably heard my mate died four weeks ago.  Those weeks are a bit of a blur.  I know I carried on a fair bit, on this, my little home on the interwebs, and probably a lot more on the other Soc’s.

Three weeks ago, a wonderful chick I follow, BabyMacBeth posted a pic on Insta of a teapot, with the caption “KirstiMelville this is for you x”.   It was the day of Hayley’s funeral.

Hayley loved teapots and, as she would say, “cutesy” things.  Hayley also loved BabyMac.  We would often talk about  BabyMac’s recipes, and her warm and comfy blog, where it’s all: sit down, put up your feet, pour yourself a cuppa and lets have a chat.  We loved BabyMac’s blog, and we thought that maybe we would do some blogging together, Hayls and I.  She could do the recipes and the food styling, and I could write some stuff.  I dunno what, being a culinary bogan and all, but I thought I could knock something together.

So when Beth posted the pic, of a teapot that is a bit similar to a teapot I once bought Hayls, I got right on and hijacked the photo that was meant for Kirsti.  I said “My friend Hayley who loved you Beth and collected teapots would have adored that pic.  It’s her funeral today.  I’m looking at that with tears and thinking of all the cuppas we shared, and all the ones we now won’t.”

Beth and Kirsti and FauxFushsia were gracious and caring and said they would raise their teacups to Hayls that day.  I’m a bit embarrassed that I did that now, butted in and put my own grief onto a post that was meant for someone else.  To be honest I hardly even remember doing it, such was the cottonwool of my brain that day.

Then today something unexpected arrived in the post for me.

I can hardly believe it.

If I was BabyMac, I would say: Have you EVER?

A teapot.  With a cosy.   And a touching note from Beth.  A person I have never met, in real life.  My heart doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and my eyes are saying, “do both, do both”.  My brain is overcome with the happy-sadness of a lost friend and the kindness of a stranger.  Someone who doesn’t know me, but who I feel I know.

This teapot is a teapot for one.  I will drink from it tonight, and think of my one.  The one that I could say my things to, plan my bits with, think out loud with, and laugh until I feared I might let out a little bit of wee with.  I miss you Hayls.  And BabyMac?  Words just can’t explain.  That teapot has broken and mended my heart.

So cutesy.

Bored shitless, and trying to avoid Twitter (Yes, that Mia Freedman victim-shaming-rant fallout is still going on) so we decided to watch Dancing With The “Stars”.

Oh Holy Mary, Mother of God what the Hell is going on here?

Firstly, there’s a new host.  Where is Sonja?  And why does this new chick look suspiciously like her?  Is Channel 7 having a “single white female” moment?  And why did she just say “cock-a-roaches” instead of cockroaches?  If she says “aks” instead of asks, I’m ringing the switchboard.

Secondly, some dude just did metal fingers because he got a “rock” song for his poncy dance.  But he didn’t really do metal fingers, with the index and little finger like pointy debbil-horns.  No, he did the two-fingered “up yours” fingers from 1974.  But he meant them to be horns.  What a tool.  Plus: not a metal song.

I’m cringing so much I can hardly watch.

Cut to the audience, and by the looks on their faces, I think some of them are experiencing the searing pain, of images burning, burning, their retinas.  The rest are sitting quietly, zombiod*, reflecting on how they may best re-arrange the soft furnishings in their lounge-rooms tomorrow.

Thirdly, who are these stars?

One of the contestants was so uncoordinated, the choreography was designed to prevent him from, well, dancing.  The Annoying Judge said, “You just might win Non-Dancing with the Stars”.  What?  What stars?  Doesn’t he mean “Dancing with the Non-Stars”?  WE DON’T KNOW WHO ANY OF THEM ARE.

So we have invented a game**.  The rules are as follows:

1. Turn down the audio and avert eyes whilst the intro and mini-montage of the “journey” part is on
2. Watch the dancing bit
3. Try to guess which one is the dancer and which is the “star”
4. If you get it wrong: scull.
5. If you get it right: also scull (otherwise the show really is unbearable)

That is the end of the game.  Brilliant in it’s simplicity, no?  It seems the show is getting better each time we follow steps 1 through 5.  I am considering adding in some new rules.  Like: every time someone mentions how they hope they aren’t going home this week: scull, every time someone mentions how much they’ve grown: scull, every time Daniel McPherson says “That might just be the dance of the night”: scull.

I’m changing my mind, this show, really is pretty good.

OH BLOODY HELL, NO, THE RUDE AND ANNOYING CHICK FROM THAT HOME COOKING SHOW JUST CAME ON, HOW ON EARTH IS SHE A STAR? SHE DIDN’T EVEN WIN: Scull.

Okay, I take it aaalllll back. This show bites: scull.

*Possibly a made-up word.

**We didn’t invent it, and it’s not a game.  It’s just called getting pissed I think.  But with added yelling at the telly.

Do you watch DWTS?

Have you invented any excellent games I must know of?

My favourite animal is the sloth.  Always has been.  Even before the internet allowed us to see baby sloths eating flowers and yawning.

Sloths are happy and kind and peaceful, smiling benignly and slothing about.  Sloths make me feel good.  I don’t have to feel inferior and lazy when I think of what I don’t get done in a day.  I did more than a sloth.  Winning.

My favourite thing is to sit in the sun and read all day.  And in doing that, I prefer to use economy of movement.  So if I absolutely have to move, I like to plan out all the steps of the task, in order, so that I do the minimum possible.  Just like a sloth would.

A friend of my Mum’s has a theory that he calls the Heartbeat Theory.  He believes each of us have a predetermined number of heart beats, and so we shouldn’t use them all up doing silly things like exercises, which would hasten our demise.  I first heard this idea when I was about thirteen.  Stopped me in my tracks.  And I’m loth to test the theory even now.

My problem is: children.  They encroach on my slothful ways because they need things, like food and, stuff.  Lately, even worse, they have become indolent.  In fact, they are so lazy that they can’t even be bothered to find their own deadly sin to live by, they’ve just copied mine.

Today was a pupil free day.  A perfect chance for family bonding and fun activity, yes?

It started well: dippy eggs for breakfast, in the sunshine.

But we couldn’t go our into the sunshine because it was: 1. Too hot.  2. Too sunny and 3. Too hard to carry our plates outside.

So we sat inside.

Then The Weird One sniffed his spoon.  I don’t know why either, but he did, and apparently he then couldn’t use that spoon because, “It smells like Coco”.  Which is a bad thing.  Renders spoons unusable.   He couldn’t walk the three steps to get a fresh spoon.  Unfortunately, neither could I.  Coco said she would but: smell, so he had to turn the spoon upside-down and use the handle to get the egg out.  The sloths would be proud.

After breakfast I suggested some options, all of which involved some minimal effort like: getting out of pyjamas, going outside (and shockingly) walking the 150m or so to the beach.

So we stayed inside.

And we would have remained so, had I not had a brilliant idea after lunch.  Liam wanted to use his computer.  I had been expertly ignoring his pleas, so I made a bargain: if he had a swim, he could play Minecraft for half an hour.  He wanted all the details: how long did the swim have to be, did he have to go under, could he wear a wetsuit?  So he could make “an informed choice based on the costs and benefits”.  This was testing my lethargic ways, so I pushed him in.

And made him stay in until he was suitably bluish.

I let them have a shower afterwards to get that job out of the way warm up.  I asked them if they wanted to get dressed again or put their pyjamas on, and they both chose pjs.  Otherwise they “would just have to get changed again later”.  It was 1.30pm.

No wonder I love sloths.  They are my children.

What’s your favourite animal?  Do you live by a deadly sin?

www.cutestuff.co

I just heard some shocking news.

Brace yourselves.

Apparently there is some world wide shortage of cacao beans or whatever the hell bean it is that makes chocolate.

That’s right: World wide. Shortage. Chocolate.

Sorry everyone, but I don’t give a shit about you lot, I’m stockpiling.

I just checked the pantry, and I’ve found some cooking-chocolate chips: hidden.

I snuck into Liam’s room and found his remaining Easter Eggs (They might be going a bit white-ish, but they’ll do): hidden.

I’m not bothering with Coco’s room, she won’t have any.

Tomorrow I’m going to the shops, so look out Coles and Woolies and Aldi, you aren’t gonna know what hit you.

Remember when you have some left and I don’t, who worded you up.

You’re welcome.

So I guess now I’m a food blogger.  (Recipe book coming soon.)

I used to work with a bloke whose sister, Kim Farrant is a film-maker, and I met her about nine years ago when she was making a doco called Naked on the Inside.  We met because my friend Ricki was one of the people featured in the film, and I was filmed for a bit of it.  Unfortunately I ended up on the cutting room floor.  So there goes that Oscar.  Sooo close.

Kim has made another film, and from the little bits I can bear to watch, it seems like it is her life’s work.  You see, Kim was molested by her Father for most of what should have been her childhood.  She has made the film ‘Between Me’ which is about three adults, showing the ramifications childhood sexual abuse has on them.

In order for the film to go to the next level, she requires funds to complete the package (final edit, musical score etc).  For a few more days you can donate on pozible to get this important film over the line.  If you can, go have a look at the site.

I believe this is a film that will start a discussion that needs to be had, about guilt and shame, and hopefully also, survival and strength.

If you are able to donate, there are some perks, including tix to the premiere.  It will be a chance to rub shoulders with someone who will soon be an even greater force in the movie world: Kim has just gotten the green light to make her film Strangerland, starring Nicole Kidman, Guy Pierce and Hugo Weaving.

Kim, you are one tough cookie, and I am amazed at your resilience and your courage and your bravery.  You are a shining star, and I hope that the healing you have gone through will inspire others that they too can move through terrible experiences, and move ahead with their lives.

All the love to you, you gutsy chick.

This is not a sponsored post, I just reckon this is an important project. The stats on child abuse are truly shocking.  

(Even if I am still a bit cut about being cut out of the last one)

HIts of the week:

1.  Blood donors. “Bloody” legends.  And lifesavers.  Our life is completely different this end of the week, with Coco all topped up with the claret.  Can’t thank all those anonymous donors enough.  Call 13 14 95 to find your nearest donation spot.

2.  The music therapy lady at Nambour Hospital.  I’ve got be honest, although my face was saying “Oh yes, music therapy whilst my screaming child gets treated like a pincushion, what an smashing idea”, my head was saying, “FFS you crazy bloody hippy, piss off and leave us to our misery and our work you friggin’ lunatic.”   Turns out, she was right and (gulp) I was wrong.  The music did help.  Go figure.

3.  Oh hello coffee delivery, yes please.

4.  And to go with said coffee, check out this mug.  I have no idea what or why this was invented, but who wouldn’t want one?

For the person who gives you the shits?

5.  These new shoes.  I know, I know, they’re bloody ugly, but in my other life I have a real job (No I’m not a highly successful and award winning author- who knew?) where I spend the whole day on my feet.  This week I finally chucked my old pair, and got these babies.  Just like going home.  Thanks Get Set Footwear on Gympie Terrace… (Tell ’em I sent you, they’ll give you a good deal.)

And a late entry… After my anti-bird rant, this popped up in my Instagram feed. Oh Jamie, I already love you, and then you wear this.  Not sure if its a turkey or a giant penis, but I like that you don’t look impressed. #birdssuck

What are you loving this week?

And what do you think of Hitwave Alison?  Should I also be including my top 5 shits?