I’ve been put on a Diet

A friend (Michelle) is a motivated fitness and nutrition expert wrote me a diet plan.  I need to print it out and start following it.  The issue is that the days are busy and the nights are exhausting so something as simple as printing and shopping to get started keeps falling int the too hard basket.  I’ll print it out while I am in at the office today…  I mean it this time!


MEANWHILE.  The Love of my life Phteven has informed me that we are also starting something called the 5:2 diet.


Here’s the link to the doco that got Grumpy all fired up to try this new diet for anyone who might be interested:

The basic premise has something to do with fasting twice a week to halve the amount of some nasty hormone that is released if you eat heaps of protein or something. In the coles notes version Grumpy imparted to me yesterday, he explained there’s a hormone that makes you fat, gives you cancer, causes diabetes.

According to the documentary I have not yet watched, there are little people who don’t make a lot of this bad hormone, and they live for aaaagggggeessss apparently.  Steve was explaining this all to me in the car and the kids overheard and chimed in with:  “Oh, Hobbits live for AGES!  Everyone knows that.” Cute kids.  They make me laugh, so I shall keep them a bit longer I suppose.

Okay.  Whatever.  I am in this marriage for better or worse so if he insists we do this thing I will give it a good honest varsity try.

For 5 days of the week I can eat WHATEVER I like.  However, I will be trying to stick to Michelle’s diet on these days.

On the fasting days, I am allowed no more than 500 calories.  Do you know how much food 500 calories is.  FUCK ALL.  That is the actual amount of food that you are able to eat before reaching 500 calories.

In REAL terms, fuck all food would be:  Four slices of bacon, or five bananas.  One cream cheese bagel or a frappe…


So I am currently tossing up if I should take a “before” picture today and then document the journey back to MILFdom.  Getting to be tight like a tiger is going to take some doing as I’ve successfully perfected the chubby mom-jean genie and for real frumpy thing lately.  And because I have no intention of staying this fat, I have not bought appropriate summer clothes for my current curvaceous self.

Sigh.  Okay, so here’s the “Before” shot from today.  I guess I have to wear the same outfit for the after shot and blow everyone away with my svelte self.

So that is me at 70kg.  I have no idea what it is in pounds, but for someone who is hobbit height such as myself, it is rather a lot.

So, bring on the starvation twice a week, and then hopefully some results as well.

Have a great day everyone.


I Just Don’t Fucking Know

When I was young, I knew so much.

Seriously, I was an expert on heaps of shit.  I was an expert on some music I liked and memorising lyrics and singing those songs with my friends.

I was an expert on how fucking fabulous I would be as a parent compared to my lame ass parents who kept me from being a social ninja (disclaimer:  no amount of parental intervention or lack thereof would have made me a social ninja as I was an overly emotional weirdo with social anxiety who always went WAY too far with shit).


I was definitely an expert on how I’d change the world once I won my first grammy and how fame would not change me and I would be the most gracious and caring saint of an adored celebrity.

I was an expert on how lame heaps of stuff was.  I was an expert on how fabulous some other shit was.  I probably had a functioning strategy for creating world peace, if ONLY SOMEONE WOULD FUCKING LISTEN TO ME!

So, I’m pretty old now and the strangest thing has happened.  I’ve realised, that I really, truly don’t know what the fuck is going on a good chunk of the time.

Seriously.  I have given birth to four fabulous humans.  They all seem to be simultaneously experiencing different difficult phases and in varying levels and degrees of distress and delinquency.  I read articles, actively seek advice, I enlist the help of experts to assist and support myself and the kids… All of this happens with differing degrees of success.  Occasionally, we have a major breakthrough and overcome an issue or behaviour or see confidence and resilience shine with dazzling intensity in one of the kids.  And whenever that happens, there seems to be no apparent rhyme, reason or rational to adequately offer me answers or a formula to how or what we did right by our babies.

In my working life, I will lose my mind with angst and intensity.  I will gnash my teeth, throw up my arms, heave my body and soul through the cosmos of creativity to develop a campaign or idea that I feel absolutely confident is going to change the course of humanity, and the idea ends up being a huge flop and I can’t even get budget sign off to give it wings.  In other instances, I will jot down an idea or two, make a couple of calls and then pull of an epically successful activation or event with far reaching (and reasonably accurate) social and traditional media coverage.

In personal relationships, I can have a solid stint of seven or more years with someone popping in and out of my life and us being able to celebrate our diversity and always pick up where we left of.  I am forgiven for being busy and missing important events because of work, travel and family commitments and we get to make the most of our time together and laugh and cry and carry on with a kind of beautiful and spiritual intensity that makes life worth living.  We EVEN like each others shit on Facebook and make hilarious public quips that will have any onlookers rolling in the aisles.  Then.  I get unfriended and my attempts to call or text are ignored.  (This happens VERY rarely cause most of my friends are AMAZING and patient and feel my many faults are worth hanging in there for the good times for)

So I’m just going to say it.  I often have no fucking clue what is going on.

All I do know is this:

In your heart of hearts and deep in your gut, you know when you are doing something shitty, or forgetting to do something really important.  So, Listen to your heart and your gut and use your brain to make good choices when choices must be made.

Be consistent.  Be kind.  Be authentic.  Be honest.  Take risks and totally take responsibility for the shit that you do.  Good and bad, own it.  Basically… most situations in life can be best handled by following this popular buddha meme:


All the other shit appears to be little more than a crap shoot.

I have zero magic formula for life, because we are all so different and the rules keep on changing all the time it seems.  Truth be told, I am having a bit of trouble shovelling through the shit in the big, creepy, badass barn that is my own journey, so I won’t go telling you how to feel or think or what you should or shouldn’t do.

So I am going to leave it there for tonight and go and do some work now because it is the right thing to do and the baby has just gone to sleep.

It felt fucking fabulous just to get that written down.  Feels even better when I think someone somewhere might read it and feel better for it, so, thank you for reading my disjointed thoughts…  I wish you strength, and Love, and heaps of peace and comfort if you’re in need of it.



Shit My Husband Says

Today, I shone bright like a diamond.

I was at my sweary, honest, confrontational best (or worst, depending on who you talk to, I suppose).

At one point, I was explaining to someone why I did not like them very much.  Reason being, I had done a lot of work to help them out, and been dismissed and never thanked for any of it.  And that shit pisses me off. For real pisses me off.  Gratitude is important.

I then got to go on a short but effective tirade about the fact we work closely and effectively with a wide range of wonderful people.

Perhaps, I went a bit far, when I said:

“And the thing is, this time last year, I am pretty sure a fair whack of our closest allies probably thought Steve was batshit crazy and I was just a loud bitch with some form of Tourettes because of my impressive potty mouth!”

To which.

My adoring and supportive husband replied:

“But you are a bitch”

Pregnant pause.

“…and you swear more than someone with Tourettes.”


Luckily, I was in a good mood today.  We remain married and I can’t really argue with his assertion.

And we continue to enjoy the absolute shit out of the work we do and the people we are working with.  Even the very few I do not particularly like very much.  And goodness knows there’s precious few people in that camp indeed.

Have great week everyone.