Monday, 7 July 2008


I had one of those mornings today…Monday…seems par for the course to wake up and feel blech. This continued as I stumbled into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Yikes! Who the hell was that looking back at me? The bride of Frankenstein? Is that ratty hair mine? Those bags under my eyes cannot possibly belong to me - and I had this long mark down my face where I must have slept weird or something. Very frigging attractive package to look at in the early morning. I made the sign of the cross to ward off evil and I moved on to the kitchen for coffee and stopped when I saw them. Oh god…anything but that. Could I? Should I? Yep – the scales. How game am I to weigh myself on a Monday? I winced as I looked at the dial as it spun around. Well fuck. Way to depress yourself on a Monday.

I was into a full blown ugly day. What is that? Well I think it’s a necessary day you need to have to make you pull your head in and think about who the hell you are. Now, I don’t believe anyone is ugly too look at. Many people have ugly thoughts and souls but I’m not talking about them. I talking about looking at yourself every so often and thinking can I be better? The answer is always yes but with the rider of do I want to be? That is the question Horatio…

I stepped on the scales once more to make sure I was not hallucinating - and groaned. I lifted one foot and thought ‘that’s better.’ Nothing like fooling yourself. I have been through a period of eating crap for various reasons. Nothing I plan to talk about other than to say I have some not so invincible moments – usually between 2:02pm – 3:48pm on a Wednesday. So an ugly day to me in necessary to re-adjust my attitude and snap out of whatever mood I am in. Do you have those days? Nah, you’re probably all too rational but I like irrational…it seems to work for me. Viva La Ugly Day!

I was offered a groodle today. I said unless it's chocolate, I'm on a diet and if it's drugs no thanks - reality is a big enough trip for me. No - apparently a groodle is a dog. Well, why not just call it that? I turns out it's a greyhound crossed with a poodle. Why would I want with a skinny arsed dog with a bad hair cut? 'Company' - was the answer. I pointed out I was fascinated with my own company and unless a groodle can wash and clean, I'm okay as I was. I was told I was hopeless…probably. I think pets are great for some people. However after Marlene the gold fish - had her for nearly 8 years - no other pet can really compete for me. I’m a one pet woman.

I was talking to some writers about the idea that you could insure body parts. The discussion came up when Jennifer Lopez's name was mentioned. Gossip has it that she had her arse is insured for a gazillion dollars. I went on line at various places to see how one went about insuring body parts like Jennifer did. See here. Seems the Jennifer thing was a furphy. What’s a furphy?

furphy noun:- a rumour. Derived from the battle fields of World War I where rumours seems to follow the water carts which were manufactured in Australia by the Furphy company.
See? You learn some amazing bit of knowledge you can dazzle your friends with when you click on my blog. Anyway….there does not seem to be a policy you can click on and buy. How annoying…how can I make sure my hail damaged thighs are insured against cellulite loss or that my lips will not suddenly straighten? And like Jennifer, I can’t get my arse insured…most disappointing.

But you know I was thinking, how pretensions would you be to think any body part you owned was so 'precious' that it had to be insured. How superficial is that? It just adds more weight behind the ridiculous push for people to look a certain way to fit in. I say let’s not fit in. I have made it my life long goal and I have never looked back from the outer of the non-fitter-in-ers. You want insurance? Look at those who love you and be assured they’re not sticking around because you are flawless.

Okay – a moment for a rant…I got a stupid email from someone today purporting to be a US solider…Sgt someone-or-other flogging something. Here’s the thing - spam email to me is stupid and forgettable. However when you start pretending to be a solider in an overseas posting like Iraq then that sucks. I admire people in the defence forces. I was an army brat. I know what they go through. To pretend to be one of them to elicit sympathy and dollars suck and the sender is a sad-arsed wanker who is an ugly person. Would I correspond with a real solider? Sure. Would I correspond with a wannabe using a pretend rank to get something from me? No – I don’t deal with wankers and rank has to be earned and pretend soldiers need to go back to the toy box. Leave the defence forces alone.

That’s it…short and sweet – like me – no really…can you insure such sweetness?
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?


barbara huffert said...

For some reason I'm amazed that you own a scale.

That dog is going to appear in one of my nightmares, I can feel it.

Amarinda Jones said...

Hmmm...why wouldn't I own a scale? I have been battling weight all my life

Sandra Cox said...

OMG. That is the scariest looking dog I've ever seen.
And never, ever get on the scales on a Monday.

Anny Cook said...

A groodle, hmmmm. Well, it takes all kinds.

I too am having a hard time trying to convince people that I really don't want another pet. I'm not sure what it is, but folks... the last pet wasn't really mine to begin with. I'm not a pet person. Sigh.

I hate spam mail period. I also hate the spam mail from pretend churches looking for money.Ugh.

Mona Risk said...

I have a scale in my bathroom. I step on it every morning before eating anything...then I go eat something to improve my mood. All the pets I owned in my life were given to me. I'm not a pet person either, but I ended loving each one of them dearly, especially my last one, Wendy, an adorable cat.

Anika Hamilton said...

This is my third attempt at trying to read this blog post but that fish keeps freaking me out. I'll try again later.

barbara huffert said...

Because a scale is a method of judgement. The numbers don't matter as long as you're happy with yourself. And if you're not happy the numbers will only make you feel worse. I've battled my whole life too but, oter than too much, I honestly can't tell you what my weights been over the past 15 years.

Regina Carlysle said...

I quit getting on a scale a loooong time ago. I have nothing to prove to anyone and frankly, scales are too damn depressing and for a person who depresses easily they are my enemy.

That groodle is scary. Lord, those teeth. He probably has a very sweet heart though. See? We should judge people and DOGS by what's INSIDE.

Ashley Ladd said...

That was low of the email sender.

I got another spam email with a sob story today, too. Eek!