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Archive for November, 2008

At mothers’ group the other day, one of the mums showed us her breasts no less than four times. I don’t know why, but I chose to share this with my husband, which is exactly the kind of thing that makes him perk up a little and say “I should come to mothers’ group a bit more often”. But then, this is the man who always hopes the Girls Nights Outs I go on involve my friends and I romping around in our underwear hitting each other with pillows. Which is almost what happens, except it’s more like Bollywood-themed parties where we get drunk and dance a lot and where usually mild-mannered lawyers say things like “Man, my sari keeps getting in the way of my air guitar”.

Anyway, I quickly added that this exhibition of breasts at mothers’ group was strictly a one-off. You see, one of our ranks (MW) has surgically upgraded her A-Cup Peanuts to C-Cup Hooters and she’s very excited. And for very good reason: they look spectacular and they make her feel All Woman (with just a dash of silicon thrown in for good measure). 

Not surprisingly enough, my husband asked if anyone had touched them, though he hastened to add that this question was the result of an Inquiring Mind and not of a Perverted One. I sighed: No, no-one had touched them. However, I was hoping that, at the upcoming Christmas party, we might all get drunk enough to cop a feel, perhaps as part of a blind-fold test where we put her C cups next to another set of C cups to see if we could feel the difference. Except – of course – gravity would give the game away: one set would be up where we’d all like breasts to be and the other set would be more at waist level. Unless we did the test with both participants wearing the same type of bra, maybe with a little lace edging to enhance the whole “cop a feel” experience…

I suddenly realised I was thinking all this out loud and that my husband was hanging off my every word (for a change). “I think I’d better get [local dad] Matt-Guitar-Murphy in on this.” he said, somewhat dazed. “We can sit in the corner with a few bottles of his Home Brew and Just Watch. You won’t even know that we’re there.”

I think I then tried to change the whole topic of breasts, but he came back to it from another angle a while later. “What should I say when I see [MW]?” he asked. My advice was to keep quiet, unless she herself brought them up (no pun intended). And then, it was probably not a good idea for him to do what I did when I first saw them, which was to exclaim “Hello, boys!!!”.

We then workshopped some possible comments he might make, thinking he could give his remarks a financial slant since that’s his (albeit accidental) current area of expertise and that would keep them purely professional. For example, “I heard you’ve boosted your assets portfolio”. Or  “I hope your husband is getting a good return on his investment”. Or “That’s one investment which will guarantee a happy ending these-a-days”. Or…er…

And finally, we (rather sensibly) decided it was probably best for him to avoid her until the novelty wears off completely for everybody –  say in about twenty years. And in the meantime, if he thinks that I’m going to tell him the location of our Christmas Party, he’s very much mistaken. My lips and shirt buttons are completely and utterly sealed.

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Dear Readers,

I am writing to inform you that I am not going to write a post today. You see I’ve come down with a bad case of blog-fatigue. I was going to get my mum to write me a note to excuse me from today’s post, but then I thought I should probably do it myself. You know, what with me (supposedly) being a writer and all. 

So yes, there’s no post today. But before you start your bitchin’, Regular Readers should remember that you’ve been served five home-baked beauties this week. Remember “An Assembly To Remember“? Yep, one of mine. Remember “It’s All In Who You Tell It To“? Nope, didn’t think you would. Not many of you read it and, if you did, you certainly didn’t comment. Except MM, of course, but then he’s pathological when it comes to commenting (thank the lord). 

As for you Weekend Readers, we all know that you’re just here today to catch up on what you missed during the week. And don’t think I didn’t notice you weren’t reading during the week. Because I did and it hurt me real bad. Many a night I sobbed myself to sleep wondering where you’d got to. No, don’t say a word. Not. A. Word. I’m not interested in hearing your excuses, especially if it involves you having some kind of life. In any case, my lack of post today will have you thanking me for having one less NDM rant to catch up with now. See I’m nice like that. 

And then there are my Accidental Readers to whom I say Welcome! Grab a pew and feel free to stay a while, even if your hostess is nowhere to be seen. Why, there’s 77 other posts on the menu for you to choose from. But if you’ve come here looking for “lactating asian babes”, then I heartily apologise for wasting your time with my irresponsible tagging and offer you this link. And yes, they are quite the mama-jugs aren’t they. 

So, after 13 straight weeks of writing six days a week, it’s official: I’m downshifting. It’s just sooooo the Hip Thing To Do – just look at Joaquin Phoenix and the Global Economy! (They’re two separate examples, by the way. I’m not by any means suggesting JP’s “Bye! Good” to acting had anything to do with the world’s financial downturn. At least not directly.)

Here’s the deal: I’m cutting my blogging to five days a week and then, when the Festival of Consumerism starts to get on top of me (say, this time next week?), I might just start writing whenever the muse touches me. But hey, if that muse looks anything like Daniel Craig in the latest Bond film, that muse can touch me as much as he wants, whenever he wants, wherever he wants. No, really.

Thanks for reading. See you on Monday. You know you want to… 

Best wishes, etc

The NDM

Perhaps, like ET, he meant "Be Good"? Drew Barrymore, take note.

Perhaps, like ET, he meant "Be Good"? Drew Barrymore, take note.

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Yesterday morning I discovered that I had left the Love Bus unlocked for 19 hours with my handbag on the front seat. I think my wallet poking out the top of the bag was visible from outer space and yet, the bag remained there on the seat all night, untouched. Take that “Friendliest Street in Blahblahshire!”, I thought.

Of course it isn’t always that way round these parts. Earlier in the year we skipped off to an Australia Day BBQ at the home of a newly-Aussiefied MM and his chronically Australian wife KC and came home to find somebody had skipped off with all our worldly possessions. And by somebody, I mean “stupid junkies” did it – or rather, those were my words at the time. Although they weren’t exactly stupid because they were mindful enough to find and take all the chargers for the equipment they took, all without leaving a a single fingerprint. Stupid smart junkies. Interestingly enough, the backpack they also stole to stash their booty had a copy of Spinoza’s “Ethics” tucked away in one of the zippered compartments. And since it is *entirely likely* that they would have since taken time to read it, they’re probably feeling really bad about what they did to us. Really really bad. 

In any case, we got off reasonably lightly. Some other friends in our area got done over in a much more insidious way – they were robbed during the night while they were actually sleeping in the house. RR got up at one point to attend to one of their sons and came back to shake his wife M awake with the words “What have you done with our television?”.  Which is kind of worrying as RR is a Man in Uniform. You’d think with all the years of training he’d had, he might not have slept through a robbery in his own house. Or that he might have been able to recognise a crime scene when he saw one (albeit through the blurred eyes of someone with perpetually-broken sleep). And perhaps he’d hopefully not have gone on to accuse an innocent person without sufficient evidence. Hmmm. Some more cynical types might say that pretty much describes many Men in Uniform all the world over… But listen up, cynics: RR is truly a Good Man (in uniform or not), and I like to think that, had he not been tucked up in beddy-bye-byes with his jimmy-jams on, he would have come over all Jason Bourne and totally shown those thieves. Totally. Although his wife M says she’s glad he didn’t, what with the small sleeping children near by and all – and I have to admit she’s totally right. Anyhoo, the worst thing about all this is that poor RR and M got done over again three days later in broad daylight, and then a few days after that, had their car window smashed and broken into. Which truly sucked. 

But the thing that really sucks about these robberies is not the expensive equipment that was stolen or the property that was damaged – those things can (after a lot of paperwork) be replaced or fixed (in our case, gaffer tape did the trick on the window). It’s the irreplaceable stuff such as the photos on the memory stick or the emails on the computer or the tape in the video camera that gets me. None of which has any value to the thieves whatsoever but are all priceless to their owners. I no longer have any video footage of my precious Tiddles McGee as a baby thanks to our Australia Day visitors. RR and M lost all the baby photos of both their boys and M’s grandmother’s engagement ring. And, arguably, my husband might have benefited from reading Spinoza’s “Ethics” in its entirety (see “In Camera Hearing” for evidence of this). But thankfully, in a “Family Ties” group hug kind of way, we all still have each other (cue: awwwwwwwww!) and from where I’m sitting in my middle class tower, it seems the people who have wronged us are in a far darker place than I care to imagine or want to go myself. 

You know, one of the many reasons I’m in a luckier place is that my drugs of choice are cheap fizz and Beroccas and they’re both widely available for a handful of change over the counter. However, I hasten to add that I never mix them – that would be Totally Irresponsible. Although, now that I think about it, the über-fizz the two could potentially create together could give me quite the Big Buzz… But then, the vast consumption of this heady cocktail might prove to be my ultimate undoing, sending me spiraling down, down, down to a life of petty crime, bad teeth and bad fashion sense (though it must be said I’ve got the teeth and the fashion sense already covered). And, now I *really* think about it, I’d be thin. Thin, I tells ya! Quick! Someone! Anyone! Bring me a glass!

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