I really want to try to do Music Monday more often because I like music and it’s fun to share good songs with people. So, in attempt to motivate myself to keep this blog going, I’m setting myself a challenge. I need to do a Music Monday for every Monday of this month because November is AusMusic Month on TripleJ* and I thought it would be fun to get into the spirit of it.

This week I chose Children Collide. They’re a three piece out of Melbourne and they are soooooooo 90’s … which is probably why I like them. 🙂 I try not to think about the fact that, while I was buying my first flannel shirts and chained wallet, these boys were probably barely out of nappies. It is an alarming aspect of growing old when you start to realize that many of the bands you dig weren’t even alive when you were going through puberty.

Anyway, here’s my current favourite Children Collide song: My Eagle. Turn it up loud and enjoy the hilariously retro 90’s video. I told you they were so 90’s! (Can these kids even *remember* the 90’s … or see through that hair?)





*  TripleJ is the national youth radio station here in Australia. It is sort of like NPR in the US only with less boring talk shows and more really good music. I should do a post about how awesome TripleJ is sometime. I will do that. One day.

I just got my tongue pierced. Why? I don’t know. Because I wanted to? Because getting pierced makes me feel alive? Because I like the endorphins? Because I like the way it looks? All of the above, probably. I’ve been thinking on and off about doing it for years now. I have a few piercings but I wouldn’t say that I’m overly pierced. I have three earlobe piercings, one rook (crease of the ear) piercing, a nostril stud and I used to have a belly button ring and and upper ear cartilage piercing that have been retired for different reasons. Now I have a tongue piercing.

So what if I’m 31 years old, married, mother of two, living in the ‘burbs? It doesn’t mean I don’t like piercings and weird coloured hair. It doesn’t mean I have to wear Dockers and shop at The Gap (or Australian equivalent). It doesn’t mean I can’t wear awesome hats with kitty ears on them. It doesn’t mean I’m dead.

The following song (a line from which is the title of this post) has been running through my head for a few days:

For the record, it does hurt … just not as bad as you might think. Also, it doesn’t feel fine. It feels really fucking weird.

PS I feel the need to publicly apologize to a friend who got his tongue pierced back in high school. He ate applesauce for lunch for over a week & couldn’t talk properly for that whole time. Myself and another friend teased him about how he said “applesauce” daily. Sorry, Justin … if I could, I’d call you and say “applesauce” so you could laugh at me now. 🙂

Quite Right, Too!

Oh, hai thar! So, it’s been something like three months since I blogged last. Um, sorry? Things have been Happening, Writers Block has been had, Time has been Occupied, Dreads have been Shaved, etc. I’d promise to be better about blogging more regularly but … well, I probably wouldn’t keep that promise. We’ll see, hey?

Anyway, I don’t want to ramble on about how I haven’t been blogging for a while. I want to blog about what I wanted to blog about! Which is my awesome costume for the Bug’s school’s quiz night a bit over a month ago. We only just got around to uploading the pictures so I figured now’s the time to show off. 🙂 Warning: The post contains Extreme Dorkiness (in case you hadn’t picked up on the reference in the title).

The school held a fund raising Rock Quiz night. I had planned to go and then thought we couldn’t go due to lack of a babysitter. As it turned out, friends had already bought tickets for us to make up a whole table. I felt bad so The Geek and I decided that I should go while he stayed home with the kids. This worked out because he’s not social and I am. I’d get an evening out and he wouldn’t have to put up with a quiz night. Win win. Then a friend reminded me TWO DAYS before the damn quiz that it was fancy dress! The theme was Rock Star or Super Hero. I panicked and the first thing that came to my extremely dorky mind was the following:

I was the twelfth regeneration of the Doctor! He regenerated as a woman. This is how I see it: The Doctor  is a super hero. I had two days to come up with a costume. I had nada and not a big budget with which to go renting costumes. The twelfth regeneration of the Doctor hasn’t happened yet. Therefore, I could have free reign to create my own costume! Easy! Also FUN!

I immediately started brainstorming via Twitter because that’s where all the other Doctor Who dorks that I know and love hang out. It didn’t take long for The Awesomest Couple In the Universe* offered to loan me the coolest purple trench coat ever** plus a sonic screwdriver and psychic paper.***

An important aspect of the costume, of course, is the stripey socks. This is because stripey socks are cool.**** Another important aspect of the costume is the contents of the pockets because I may be a dork but at least I attend to the details when crafting a Doctor costume. In the pockets of the awesome purple trench coat were: one sonic screwdriver (in case I needed to, you know, resonate concrete or something), one psychic paper, and one TARDIS key. I stopped short of bringing a banana***** with me because that probably would be going a little too far.

In the end, no one asked what I was and probably no one even knew I was in costume. BUT THAT DOESN’T MATTER! What matters is that *I* knew I was the Doctor and I made sure I was well prepared to save the world that night if need be … perhaps even pick up a clingy blond or short skirted ginger companion along the way … Or perhaps even a 51st century flirt with a thing for guns. Yeah, that would have been brilliant!

You are probably saying that you think I am a hopeless geeky dork right now. To that I really can only say “Quite right, too!”

*       Possibly more than one universe.

**    Because the Doctor always has a distinctive coat. And, by “distinctive,” I mean anywhere from who cares about the coat, that scarf is made of WIN! *cough* Four *cough* to utterly omgwhatwereyouthinking hideous *cough* Six *cough* to cool with awesome sauce *cough* Nine *cough* to a little bit Janis Joplin *cough* Ten *cough.* Did I *cough* too many times there? *cough* Perhaps *cough.*

***  Because the Doctor is someone who looks at a screwdriver and thinks “That could be a little more sonic.”

**** Cooler, even, than bow ties or fezzes.

***** Thus breaking the Doctor’s own rule to always bring a banana to a party.

Edited to fix my failure to give credit where credit is due. The original idea of the twelfth regeneration of the Doctor being female was shamelessly stolen from the female half of the Awesomest Couple in the Universe. Read the first installment of her amusing and as yet unfinished (FINISH IT, SHINY!) fanfic here. I, of course, took my own liberties with the original idea to make it my own.

This week is World Breastfeeding Week. Most years, the Family Nurturing Centre in Mosman Park does something special to commemorate it. I did pregnancy yoga through both pregnancies at the Family Nurturing Centre and mother/baby yoga with Bug. Once Cub arrived, Bug was just old enough to wreak too much havoc in the centre so I didn’t really get to go to the mother/baby sessions with him. Anyway, I’m part of the community and usually go to the WBW events that they plan.

This year, they planned a train ride from Mosman Park to the city where we would convene for a friendly lunch. They called the media and the West Australian photographer planned to meet us at the city station. Despite the fact that Cub rarely feeds while we are out and about, I decided to go. When I got there, I was a little unsure as to whether I was in the mood for something so social. I did not know most of the people there and felt a little out of place. It got better, though, and soon I was enjoying myself. At the Mosman Park Train Station, Cub surprised me by asking for “moke.” So, ironically, the kid who tends not to feed in public anymore was the first to get on the boob wagon, so to speak, for the day. Of course, our picture got taken a gazillion times as everyone (but me, it seems) brought their camera. 🙂 Cub fed again on the train and more pictures were taken (namely, the one I used in this post). We got to the city and met the newspaper photographer who had us walk towards him while he laid on the floor to shoot from below. It was odd, he had us do it many times … I still don’t know if the picture made the paper.

While we were at the cafe for lunch, there was a television news camera and someone taking statements … I still don’t know if any of this made the news as I never watch television news and no one’s told me if they saw it. Apparently this whole thing was very timely as a legislation spelling out the rights of a woman to breastfeed in public is experiencing difficulties in government at the moment. Apparently the legislation is all but passed but the Liberals (Australia’s conservatives … they don’t seem to understand the meaning of the word “liberal”) are holding it up at the last minute.

Admittedly, I am not as passionate about all of this as I once was. Hell, I’m finding it difficult to be passionate about much these days but that is a different story. Now that Cub is nearly two, my breastfeeding journey is nearing it’s end. I don’t anticipate him feeding for much more than a year longer, give or take a bit. My parenting attentions are moving on to the next steps. My focus is expanding from being a full time carer of my small people to including a life outside the home and beyond breastfeeding and cloth nappies.

Having said that, though, attending this event reminded me *why* I attend these things and why I should continue to do so. When the photo at the top of this post was uploaded onto Facebook, I set it as my profile picture. I like the photo. I don’t look as horrible in it as I normally tend to in photos. Cub looks cute. It’s a nice photo … it just happens to include breastfeeding. The response I got for this photo is what really hit me. I had several people praising me for the very act of using it as my profile photo. I had forgotten how controversal a mere picture of a breastfeeding mother and child could be. Then a friend who I have not seen since before she had children (her twins are now 8 or 9) told me of the discrimination she endured as a breastfeeding mother in Alaska. She was sent to breastfeed the twins on the floor of the public toilet in Wal-Mart!

I am privileged. I have never experienced discrimination for breastfeeding my children in public. And I have done it a lot, all over Perth, on public transport and often feeding a toddler who looks “too old to breastfeed” by current uninformed mainstream attitudes. It’s stories like the one my friend told of her experience that make me do what I do. It’s why I have made it a point never to hide when my children want a breastfeed (except on the rare occasion that only a quiet room will help him focus on what he’s doing). Not that I am an exhibitionist and make a big deal of it. Quite the opposite. I simply do what I need to do for my children regardless of where we are. I try not to let the mainstream attitude get to me. I believe strongly that the more people see women breastfeeding their children, the less of an issue it will be. I won’t hide, I won’t stand for breastfeeding discrimination and I will continue to attend events like the one I did on Sunday.

In case you haven’t noticed: I haven’t blogged in a while. There are many reasons for that. School holidays (chaos at home), more illness, writers block, personal dramas all contributed to that. At least school is back and the illness is mostly cured now. The personal dramas … well.

This parenting gig is tough. I feel like I’ve lost myself. Did I ever really know who I was in the first place? I don’t know. How do I go about finding said self? I haven’t the foggiest. Direction? What’s that and how do I get it? I had more written but then I realized that it was just whinging. The interwebz cares not for my confused complaining. Been there, done that, got burned something awful. I’ll shut it on the woe is me crap now.

Apparently, according to my blog stats, people are still popping in here and reading occasionally. Lots the day before yesterday for some reason … So, I ask you: What should I blog about? What do you want to listen (read) to me ramble about? Give me a hand out of this writer’s block, will ya?

Ich bin ein NERD!

Created by rengeek on Live Journal

I think it’s already been established that I am a geek, nerd, dork, etc. Hopelessly so. My last three Facebook profile pictures alone will attest to that (the most recent of which is featured above). If you need further proof, allow me to share with you a common conversation between myself or The Geek and Bug after reading his octopus book to him:

Me: How many hearts does The Doctor have?

Bug: TWO! (holds up two fingers)

Me: How many hearts does an octopus have?

Bug: THREE! (holds up three fingers)

To be fair, The Geek taught him that one, not me. And The Geek doesn’t even like Doctor Who! Of course there is also the proud tear of happiness I always shed when Bug says he wants to dance with John Barrowman.  And, do I have to mention my TARDIS ringtone or the fact that Ten announces “Allons-y” to me every time I get a text message (Why yes, that is David Tennant in my handbag!)?

Anyway, you get the point about me being hopeless. You think it can’t get much worse, right? Wrong. Yesterday, I both crossed The Dork Line and brought Arwyn over with me. Many of you who know us on Twitter are probably thinking that that happened a loooooong time ago. But no, I’m telling you, it got worse. I convinced her to actually write a drabble of fanfic (previously we both have read FAR TOO MUCH fanfic but have never been dorky enough to actually write any) and she, in turn enabled me into CREATING A MACRO OF MY OWN.

Exhibit A: The drabble
Exhibit B: The macro

So, there you have it, people. A mutually enabling relationship + Doctor Who = insufferable dorkiness. I thought it would never go this far … yet it has. And I’m ok with that. 🙂

This is dedicated to that tiny little wanker of a crossing guard at Bug’s school. His job is to help kids cross the road. However, he thinks that traffic directing is part of that job description. It is not. He’s an arrogant little turd with a superiority complex and I’d prefer he quit walking into the road to tap on my window and tell me how to drive. His “instruction” is both unhelpful and dangerous. It’s been a long time since I’ve been subjected to such a blatant display of metaphorical dick waiving. You shit me to tears, little man, for fuck’s sake!

PS I know this is not quite Monday but shit happens.