Things that made me laugh@….the bar

 

After two failed attempts at re-living my ‘Party Days’ I have decided to take off my heels, sling them over my shoulder and call it a day. (then go home and put on my grey trackpants and my husband’s socks) Those who now me may say why? You’re still young? Well after two nights out in the last few weeks, I’ve seen enough to keep me going for another few years.

 

So here they are…the things that made me laugh @………………. The bar

 

Farting, Drunk Courtesan :  My friend and I were approached on a Dodgy nightclub dance floor by a man who was so drunk he had involuntary eye closure, and a shoulder that had obviously fallen victim to his nineteenth beer and was now scraping the floor. The drunk shoulder sloping was so profound that you did even look down at his hand to see what he was holding. He then piped up with his most charming slur ‘ Waaaart are yeeeewwwww two ladies doin on ya own?’ To which we informed him our husbands were at the bar. He then released the most vicious and vile fart, staggered on the spot, then blamed us for the said fart, referred to us as ‘stinky’ then left the scene of the crime. Now I know we are no longer the ‘Belle’s of the ball, but I also don’t believe we have hit our ‘fartworthy’ years either.

 

Young 18 year old on her first night out: You’ve seen her. She’s never really been out, never even really watched Video Hits because of the partial nudity. Just started her Bachelor of Arts, borrowed her mums red frock and hasn’t quite worked out how to dress in the city. Dancing provocatively but in a ‘I’ve just escaped the cult and I’m making up for lost time’ type of way. It was so bad, but for some reason you just had to keep watching. Should we stop her? Or should we buy her another drink?

 

3. Over confident, underwhelming middle aged man who after being turned down, gets nasty and calls you a stuck up cow. Mmmm….or we just have no reason to speak with you? There are certain conversations in life that can easily be identified as pointless, meaning you can tell pretty early that you will gain nothing from the interaction so are better off putting it down quickly. A bit like a much loved family pet, it is more humane to stop the pain immediately, rather than listen to dribble for the next ten minutes only to have it all end up in tears.

 

4. Over apologetic drink spiller: Pretty self -explanatory. Spills fourteen litres of beer on your foot then spends the next 20 minutes apologizing in fear a fight will break out.

 

5. Under apologetic drink spiller: More annoying than his over apologetic counterpart because they are more upset about having to line back up at the bar again than they are about turning your top into a possible candidate for a wet t-shirt competition.

 

5. 50 year old woman who has been separated from work colleague’s but is having such a great time decides to find ‘new mates’ so she doesn’t have to go home. It doesn’t really matter who they are or how old they are but proceeds to tell them how much she loves them.

 

6. Drunk friend: The one who reveals intimate embarrassing details about their innermost feelings but who will have no memory of even eating her entrée at the dinner beforehand. Usually followed up by a regretful, early morning text which they hope will give some indication to the extent of their behaviour ‘I hope I wasn’t too bad last night?’ I ‘m sure we have all been this person.

 

I admit It was fun. I still love to get dressed up and have a dance with the girls. But now I fear my fun is had at the expense of others, when years ago…it was me spilling the drinks. I also look at my husband and feel so lucky that I no longer have to prowl the night scene looking for love, because let’s face it, most people are just out looking for that someone special and this is why they turn into vulnerable embarrassing humans, because love makes you vulnerable. This is why going out partying loses its glamour when you’ve already found him or her and they are a million times better than anyone you will meet at a bar (unless of course you did meet at a bar). I look beside me (or will when he gets home) and feel content that we have already found each other. I love him when he’s here and miss him when he’s gone. (Just in case he does read this on his way home, I’ll already be asleep….. I love him even more when he sorts the kids out in the morning and lets me sleep)

 

 

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If I could Turn Back Time…..

Sorry to disappoint all of you die hard Cher fans, no fishnet stockings here. Today I feel pretty lousy. I know at first glance this could be blamed on tiredness but deep down I know it is more than that. (while on the topic, a big thank you to baby Sammy who loves me so much, he decided he wanted to see me every two hours last night…)  I’ve worked out  that what I am feeling is guilt and regret.

Before going to bed last night I sat down to catch up some reading for my Masters. My current course takes a closer, in depth look at Autism Spectrum Disorders. As a relatively experienced educator, I foolishly believed that just having taught children with A.S.D gave me a licence to ‘pretend’ I knew what I was doing. The more I read, the more I learn, the more I learn the more I realize that I knew nothing. I have actually come away from this work feeling like I owe a big fat apology to the children and families of the A.S.D children I had taught in the years before ‘we knew’ what we were doing.

If I could turn back time…..

I would never haver made him look me in the eye. The sheer anxiety  that we caused him would have been crippling. He was still listening.

I wouldn’t have insisted that he ‘colour his worksheet’.  It really had nothing to do with his learning, and was more to do with his teachers demonstrating their power. He was petrified of making a mistake and not being perfect in our eyes .

I would’ve realized the noises he was making weren’t because he was trying to annoy me, but because he was frightened that he didn’t understand what we were doing.

I wouldn’t have made him sit on the carpet, because to him it was like sitting on razor blades. 

I wouldn’t have arranged for other children to play with him at break times. He really just did enjoy being alone and needed that time to regroup. He was safe in his space.

I would have allowed him more time to celebrate his obsessions, because one day this would be his career.

The list could go on forever.

(Including some very ‘off topic’ regrets such as not trying to drink a bottle of  Jim Beam before a blue light disco at the age of 15 resulting in a drunken hug with the school principal and for thinking taking a job at a place called ‘Burger Hop’ was ever going to lead to fame and fortune)

 I have learnt more from reading the works of Temple Grandin, than I could have over the next twenty years in a classroom. Who better to steer us in the right direction than somebody actually living with Autism Spectrum Disorder, not some researcher who his good at collecting data and telling us what the statistics indicate would be best.

I only wish that every pre-service teacher was made to read her recommendations for classroom teachers.

Several Movies have been made of her extraordinary success, well worth looking her up, particularly’  Grandin, Temple 1995, ‘Learning style of people with autism: an autobiography’,. 

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Cancel, cancel, cancel retrieve!!!!

Firstly we now have internet…woohoo! Secondly since we’ve been away from home, I have a major case of ‘nothing to write about’, so excuse the silliness that you are about to read.

Last night while texting my husband who was in the lounge room (while I was in the bedroom,) I was being very silly and referring to a sore belly I had developed as a result of the Indian Food we had eaten earlier for dinner. For anyone who enjoys eating Indian food…you will know the feeling. Unfortunately, as you know, when speaking with family members, the choice of language differs significantly to that which you would choose when texting a work colleague or an acquaintance. So as I proceeded to inform my husband at 10:30pm about my ‘going ons’ I sleepily sent this to someone else. The sheer panic that sets in once you’ve pushed the ‘send’ button is like no other. You know the feeling, your body goes hot and tingly and for some reason you think if you frantically  push cancel 14 times that a little phone message man will hop into the phone line and get your message back for you. Please….Please get it back for me little phone message man! I didn’t mean it and if you get it back for me I promise to make sure this never happens again!

 

A minute later you then start to question whether it happened at all. You begin to rationalize…maybe it didn’t send? What am I worried about? You then relax. No news is good news. The silent sounds of ‘no reply’ seem to put you at ease. You forget about it and fall asleep. Until …the shrill sound of an early morning ‘beep, beep’. You are rudely awoken the next day by the early morning reply, ‘I think that was meant for someone else?’ Your stomach drops, the shame spiral begins. You even begin to devise plans for how you could begin living life without leaving the house and risking the embarrassing meeting, I’m sure I’ve got enough canned food to keep me going, and thank god there is a carton of long life milk in the cupboard. With the internet these days…you may never need leave your dark bedroom. If doomsday preppers can do it..why can’t I?

 

There is no way to rectify the ‘accidental text’. Once it has been read you have been judged and no amount of furious back peddling and sucking up will fix it for you.

 

At least this time it wasn’t my boss who received a drunken 2am text message, it was just my mum!

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Ten days in… Time to whinge

Ten days into our month away from home and I am already about to have a big fat whinge!!!
 
Firstly there is no Internet access at the house we are in..I’m sorry but have we returned to 1990’s? If this is the case you won’t mind me listening to a wet wet wet album, watch four weddings and a funeral and wear a hair scrunchie. I am forced to post a blog from my phone and my fingers are too fat for the keys… I started writing this 4 years ago and am still going! Apparently the tapping noise that the keys make when I’m typing is also very annoying to my husband. Really sorry about that… I would hate to interrupt your viewing of tonight’s episode of ‘Great Australian Bakeoff’. 
 
Life without the Internet is tough, how will I confirm that I am still in electronic existence? #firstworldproblem
 
Yesterday we noticed a sign on a pub window saying $9 schnitzels. My Husband showed more delight towards this deal than was exhibited on our wedding day. How could I deny him of this culinary treat. So off we went to cash in on our super schnitzel special. Expectations were high. After ordering it turned out that to get the special you had to sit in the front bar…(1 metre to our right) I had already sat back in my seat like a coward after paying full price . A quick discussion was had ( through gritted teeth, tutting and aggressive whispering ) and it was decided that I would have to do the walk of Shame back to the counter to ask for a refund… Yes me!!! It was also agreed that we should move the metre to get the discount. Was so embarrassed, and then spent the next half hour avoiding eye contact with all staff members. My husband said this was the best schnitzel he’d ever eaten. What a pity, as we won’t be going back!
 P.s – why do they put the schnitzel on top of the chips!Image
 
Would whinge some more… But my thumb is sore. Will be back when we have acquired some wifi… If all else fails I guess there is McDonalds.
 
 
 
 

Men: The simple creatures

Tomorrow the boys and I will fly down to Adelaide for the week. Of course we are all really excited. But there is one person in particular who is trying ridiculously hard to conceal his excitement about our impending trip. My beautiful husband. Not because he is going but because he is staying, well at least for a few days.

I have noticed a distinct ‘fakeness’ to his sorrow about us being away for 4 days before he can get down to meet us mid week. His words say ‘I’ll miss you’ but his beady little eyes are really lighting up with thoughts of ‘ I can’t wait to have the couch to myself on Saturday night, and to sleep for 15 hours without being woken up by the creepy man from ‘Lazy Town’ on ABCkids, at a very unsociable hour.

I’m sitting here all sad about how I’ll miss him, and he’s trying his best to reciprocate while secretly rubbing his hands together under the dinner table with wonderful thoughts about his upcoming freedom. 

Why is it that men get all excited about being a dirty bachelor for a few days and we sit there pining like pathetic idiots? 

(silly question, really shouldn’t have asked)

His freedom will involve the following in no particular order:

sitting in underwear 

Baked Beans on toast

Woodstocks (bourbon and coke premix)

David Attenborough

Anything on Fox Sports

Coffee

Pizza

As much phone time as possible (as no one there to whinge that he’s been on looking at twitter too long)

Running

Sleeping

Sleeping 

Greg Inglis or any thing involving thick necked rugby players

Sleeping

Farting

Men are such simple little people….And here I was still trying to figure them out. They haven’t really progressed too much from the days of the cave.

Eat, sleep and be entertained.

I’m not complaining……because every now and then you do need time away to remember how much you miss each other……..or how much you love Woodstocks in your underwear while watching the great migration of the Polar Bears.

To my lovely husband, I Love you and will miss you lots… (at least wait until I’ve gone before you start organising your fun…yeah I can see you…tapping away on your phone…tap tap tap) see you on Wednesday

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