Now that I’m all grown up I do my budgets (most of the time.) But without fail whenever I do my monthly budget I, ironically, forget to budget in my ‘monthly’.
SPOILER ALERT: For those of you who don’t like to listen, read or talk about natural bodily functions, even metaphorically, you should move away from your computers now and go back to the 1950’s where women had no functions whatsoever.
Ok, that’s done! Now where was I? Oh yes…my ‘monthly’ budget. Between my sanitary items, pain drugs, work hours lost from just staring into space waiting for the last bout of cramping to finish, extra time spent in the ladies room, extra toilet paper (agreed that one is probably a bit icky – but it’s the truth!!!!) I think my monthly bill goes up 50+ dollars a month. Now that might not seem a lot…but that’s $600 a year! I could feed a small village with that. I could put that into a savings account and watch the compound interest do its compounding thang. Add to that there is a ‘luxury’ tax on said sanitary items…the definition of luxury being SOMETHING THAT IS AN INDULGENCE RATHER THAN A NECESSITY. (although this has now been renamed GST which stands for Girls Sanitary Tax)
Ummmmm…I don’t know about the rest of you ladies (and gents) but I wouldn’t want women all over the world to declare “You know what honey…I don’t think I’ll use my sanitary items this month because after all they’re only a luxury and we could save $600 a year.” If you thought my toilet paper comment was icky… I think I’ve made my point.
OR we (ladies) could just disappear during that time, dig a hole in the ground and sit around doing our monthly thing. Except that won’t work because having 51% of the population out of service, even if it is staggered (like job sharing) would mean the world would stop working.
So I’ll just have to put away my dreams of compound interest on that $600 that’s going right up my….(insert your own lady bit word here) and maybe I can start adding to my pathetic excuse for superannuation (that’s a whole other bloggable topic) when I finally go through ‘the change’. I could argue that based on how cranky I am about the addition of my ‘monthly’ budget to my monthly budget that I am at the beginning of the end.
Well ladies if that’s the case I suppose I’ll see you there!
Ta Ta xx
So I received some interesting advertisements in my inbox this week from last century. Yes folks – last century – Gee that seems like a long time ago.
However, let me draw your attention to picture #1 ….
Mmmmm yummy in your tummy right? Wrong of course. Those of us with canine friends spend lots of money each year to prevent our little friends getting these type of worms or any worms for that matter because they’re not very good for them. And oddly enough they’re not very good for humans either. Which is why, I assume, the above creatures are no longer on our supermarket shelves. Albeit that they were sanitised which I suppose was one positive. The other positive (from a last century point of view) was not getting fat. But wait! Aside from the method of madness of the above advertisement we are still going to great lengths not to get fat in this century. Granted we’re not tucking into worms or other parasites of the intestinal kind to do so – no we’re doing it in much more healthier ways. Like, only drinking lemon and syrup drinks for 7 days straight, or having surgical procedures to nip and tuck this and that, or wearing the new spandex fat holder inny undies (which last century were called girdles).
So I’m really glad the only contact I’ve had with worms in my life is the school yard chant:
Nobody loves me, everybody hates me I’m gonna eat some worms
Long thin slimey ones, big fat ugly ones
Itsy bitsy fuzzy wuzzy worms.
Although maybe if I had eaten them I’d be a few kilos lighter without side effects or having to exercise.
Now I draw your attention to picture #2…
You know as a feminist I’m sooooo glad that this was invented, otherwise what condiment would I have had with my snags? And particularly being single I would not have had that special man in my life to open it for me. I would have been stuffed!
I am however, quite good at opening other things. Eyes, hearts, minds and doors. By myself I might add. AND I’ve actually opened doors for various gentlemen over the years when they’ve had their hands full and their elbows just weren’t doing the trick.
So we became aware through the brilliance of a bottle design that women could open sauce bottles. Brill! This century I’d like to see us recognise globally that women can also open: Ceremonies; Parliament; New economic growth opportunities; Conversations and solutions for worldwide issues (including Poverty, Immigration, War) and when required out in backyards and BBQ’s all over the globe, the sauce bottle.
I’ve got other advertisements I’d like to show you but after all that talk about sausages I’m starving. Dinner calls.
xx
So have been pretty flat chat over the last month or so with work in the retail sector – what with Christmas and all that.
So imagine my shock when the few grey hairs I knew I had were actually a fewer more than I thought. Kind of everywhere.
This is a very clear external sign that things are going on in my body, or rather not going on, that indicate the getting of wisdom – or more succinctly – the getting of age.
Now here’s the question – do I deny the ripening of my years (because to be honest for me that’s what it is) or do I embrace it head on? (Pun intended)
I think this point of greying up is like that awkward time when you decide to grow you hair out from a shorter cut. There’s always those few weeks/months where it just looks a little wrong.
Some may say I should dye, dye, dye! But why? I don’t like the packet ones because they never come out the same colour that’s on the packet. Also I don’t end up looking like the woman on the front either!
I could have a standing 6 week hairdressers appointment – but my credit card says NO.
If I don’t go the dye route will I look like I simply don’t care about my appearance. And if I do look like that and people think that about me, doesn’t that say more about how we view the external ageing process. And then when do I stop dying? When I die?
Big questions my friends. No answer as of yet. But when ‘teen girl’ looked at my hair yesterday she did a little grimace…perhaps she was just matching mine.
x
The sound of birds chirping, the next door neighbours sprinkler system, some crickets (I think…I hope) are some of my first sounds of 2013. Admittedly ‘teen girl’ (my teenage daughter) and her friend have The Hunger Games going on inside which I can vaguely hear. I suppose I should be telling her to get outside in the 2013 sun – but I figure it’s chill out time. Later maybe.
2013 what have you got in store? Is that up to me? Or is it up to something/somebody else or a combination of the above? I’m going for the latter – too much responsibility if it’s just little ‘ol me!
Well let’s break it down:
* Amazing year ahead for ‘teen girl’ in senior school now – Yikes!
* Lots of creative things in the pipeline that are awesome fun.
* Wonderful family and fantastic friends.
* Work…TBA
* Cute puppy (see pic)
* Roof overhead and food in belly.
My big desire this year is to practice gratitude for the things I have and not get bogged down in thinking about the things I don’t (like a waist).
My other big desire is to do more blogging. So we’ll see how that goes…
Now onto the crossword.
xx
THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS
T’was the day after Christmas when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse.
The turkey was eaten the wine and the ales
And everyone was down at the Boxing Day Sales.
A book for twelve bucks, some earrings for three.
A sign that says “Bargain!” they think it means free.
Some things they need, but most things they don’t
Like a haute couture handbag for the price of a tote.
But a sale, is a sale let’s not forget
A Christmas tradition – the great public debt
Visa, wait Amex oh wait make that cash
But without all these sales our economy would crash.
So lock up your kids in their strollers and prams
And run store to store just as fast as you can.
To DJ’s, to Myer, to Target as well
To Kmart and with wrapping no-one will tell.
The day is now over it’s a quarter past nine
They’re safe in their cars in the traffic jam line
The parcels and kids are all tucked in the back
Like a four-wheeled non-reindeer SUV Santa sack.
Twelve months to go ‘til the next sales assault
Until then the credit cards will be locked safe in a vault.
As their head hits the pillow, their feet tired and numb,
They think to themselves…Christ what have I done?
So I’m realising that perhaps the 40’s is a time for Starting Over.
Starting Over with a new career, a new home, a new relationship with someone else but ultimately a new relationship with yourself. I am tempted to put my relationship status on facebook as “it’s complicated.”
And more often than not it is not something that you’ve not necessarily chosen for yourself but it is thrust upon you. Anyone will tell you that these are great opportunities for learning and growing. And I am old enough and ugly enough and have had many changes in my life to know that this is true. And that The Universe is giving me this ‘opportunity’ because I need it. However…and here it comes! I don’t really want to Start Over. I know that’s just my inner child having a tantrum and that this feeling of “What just happened?” and “See…you really are just a fraud and you’ve been found out” and so on and so forth will disappear eventually. One can only hope!
I recall my father having his own little tantrum years ago, saying that he wished that life would just stop going up and down and that for just a little while it go along on a smooth, straight line. His wife, wisely, responded…”So if you were in a hospital and you were on a heart monitor and that monitor showed a smooth, straight line on it, what does that mean? It means you’re dead.” Truth. The metaphor is not lost on me. Neither is the irony…that when you feel like you’re drowning it means that you are well and truly alive.
Well I’m alive that’s for sure. And maybe I’m not really starting over…just having to reevaluate and moving a little bit to my left. In a few years I’ll look back on this time and know that it made me a stronger, wiser person.
Stay tuned for wisdom!
I’ve had enough! I’ve had enough of hearing about what’s perfect. How we, as women, are supposed to look. For if we, the role models for our children are constantly struggling, then so will they.
I have a beautiful 13 year old (soon to be 14) daughter. I have taken it upon myself to demonstrate to her as much as possible, my own completeness and contentment with my body and who I am as a woman. It has taken me a long time to get here mind you. In particular I had issues with my breasts – a love hate relationship you might say. An early bloomer I was constantly teased about my ‘girls’ – and not just by the boys.
Over the years I’ve watched with dismay our culture’s increasing obsession with perfection. Seeing my daughter growing up in this environment was troubling. She, we, needed an antidote so I wrote I show about it. Busting Out! http://busting-out.com/
My background is as a comedy performer. This show is therefore a comedy. But at it’s core it is a show about being who you are and being happy with it. It is a two hander and at certain points in the show myself and my bosom buddy are topless. I know this sounds a bit crazy – but we are women in our forties and we are ‘showing not telling’. We are showing the audience that we aren’t ashamed of our normal shape and that there is nothing to hide. My daughter has seen the show numerous times and completely understands what it is all about. She has been in the foyer after the show and heard women from the audience tell me that the show has made them feel liberated and that they are proud to be a woman. She was there when a woman approached me with tears in her eyes…she said to me that she had not looked in the mirror for three years (she was in her forties). She said that I had the same body shape as her and that the next day she would look at herself in the mirror…remember the show and laugh instead of cry. We had a woman bring her 14yr old son to show him what a real woman looked like. We had two middle aged men bring their 16yr old daughters because they wanted them to have better role models. The list goes on.
It is my hope that my daughter will take this liberation and positive self image with her as she becomes an adult so she has a strong framework with which to combat any cultural pressures to be ‘perfect’…because she already is!
And a huge nod to http://theshapeofamother.com/save-our-daughters/ for inspiring me to share this.
Happy New Year!!!! Well this is my first Blog of the decade, of the century, of my life actually. And as you will notice if you keep reading I have a slight penchant for !!!!!! – these little thingies…I like them. So !!!!!!!
I say “Forty and Fatigued…” because today I am a bit. I’m on holidays at the moment. At home. And can’t quite seem to get my act together. My Mojo motivated, so on and so forth. And I’m putting it down to being in my 40’s and you can’t tell me otherwise. They say the 40’s are the new black and it’s the best time of your life. And by jingos it most certainly is. Every now and again. Just not now. Too tired. Although having said that I have started a blog so I suppose there is some form of motivation to do stuff I suppose. It’s also I think that there is a lot to think about over this holiday period what with Christmas, New Year etc etc etc. Brings out the good stuff and the bad I reckon. Memories. And when you’re in your 40’s there are soooo many more memories to retrace and the odds between the good and the bad are pretty much 50/50. Don’t get me wrong this blog is going to be a lighthearted refreshing look at the ups and downs of being in your 40’s. I should mention as a woman. Sorry guys but I can’t speak on your behalf…although throughout the time I’m here I may try a few insights and please correct me if I’m wrong.
So lighthearted I say, probably with a cynical twist. Unavoidable I’m afraid as that’s who I am. Not sure if lighthearted and cynical go together but what the hell!! It’s a braver new world than any of us during our Atari days would ever have imagined. I find myself doing what my Grandfather used to do and complaining about the price of things, or “The young people of today…” blah blah blah. So Fortysomething here I come. Going to sign off now though because you guessed it…I’m tired and need to go to sleep.
Til next time.
