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Archive for the ‘Phoning It In’ Category

If I didn’t hate the word ‘ramblings’ so much when applied to writing, I’d call the following links ramblings. But I won’t. Because I’m an arsehole like that.

Here’s some stuff I said somewhere other than here:

The mighty keyboard –  Watch yourself: I’ve discovered on-line complaint forms.

What-The-Fuck-Dot-Com – A post about a photo of a woman breastfeeding dogs… and other web-based adventures.

Shitting where you eat – Sometimes revenge is a dish best served in a toilet.

Spectacular! – Choosing new glasses when you can’t wear your glasses to choose them is only the beginning…

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Push Notification

People say I’ve dropped off the face of the earth. Turns out the bowels of the earth still has a great internet connection.

Here are some of the pieces I’ve been writing elsewhere lately:

Santa’s Bitch – I don’t know about you but I’m sick of covering Santa’s arse and letting him get all the glory.

Surviving December: Five Top Tips – “Stick to white spirits… They stain less when spilt” and other sage advice for getting through the silly season.

My Five Fantasy Washing Machine Settings – I’m revolutionising laundry, one cycle setting at a time.

Melissa Who? – I always thought Melissa George was that girl from E-Street who sang ‘Read My Lips’. Apparently I was wrong.

To catch up on all NDM-flavoured pieces on ‘In The Powder Room’, click here.
To catch up on all NDM-infected pieces over at ‘JustB Australia’, click here.
And to catch up on the world of knitted facial hair, click here.

You’re welcome,

Love

The NDM

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Dear Readers,

Grief can be, for some, an extremely private process. So it is for me and my family.

I just wanted to let you know that I haven’t abandoned this blog. It’s just that I’m finding it hard to write amusing posts about arse worms or being called a Ukrainian Clown Whore at my own husband’s 40th birthday – not when people I love are suffering so much.

So please consider my silence to be an ellipsis. A pause in my speech.

In the meantime, while you’re all waiting for me to return, I’ll try make a weekly offering of either a photo for discussion or a post I’ve uncovered in the NDM vaults.

THIS WEEK’S OFFERING: “The Inadvertent Vibrator“.

Love from

The NDM.

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I woke up this Mother’s Day not to breakfast in bed nor fresh flowers on my bedside table.

No, I woke up this Mother’s Day with Tiddle McGee’s hands firmly clenched around my windpipe.

While not alarmed per se, I was mildly philosophical about it. After all, it’s part of an emerging theme.

Why, just the day beforehand, I’d been walking around with my infant nephew doing my usual thing to entertain fractious babies (which, for the record, generally involves taking their small hands and making them slap me on the forehead). I had been holding him for ten, maybe fifteen, minutes, when Tiddles McGee approached me with a look on his face not entirely unlike Jack Nicholson’s in The Shining.

“I want YOU to carry ME,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

I was so scared, I virtually dropped the baby on the spot.

And then later on Mother’s Day, he presented me with a card with this picture in it, which somewhat scarily evokes that famous ‘shower scene’ from Psycho…

Yep. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Norman Bates was definitely a third child.

_________________________

This NDM Lite™ post is a direct result of celebrating Mother’s Day with a seven-and-a-half hour journey door-to-door with my husband and three children. If you have any complaints, you should talk to the hand – namely, the hand that plans to be holding a G&T for most of today.

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Look, I’ve been trying to write a blog post called ‘It’s A Hot-Off!’ for the past hour but I just can’t get it to work. It was all about how I told my friend MM that the Prep Mums at the school this year are apparently really hot but that I refuse to go to the Prep area because I don’t want to have to enter a ‘Hot-Off’ situation with these (allegedly) Hot Mums.

(“‘Hot-Off’ sounds kinda wrong, doesn’t it?” I said to MM.
“Yes,” MM replied. “And yet so right…”)

Anyway, ‘It’s A Hot-Off’ has now been banished to my Drafts folder along with some other never-to-be-published ‘gems’ that I can’t quite bring myself to delete because maybe, just maybe, the world will one day be ready for them.

For example:

How God Almost Got Us A Late Pass

A true story. It involved Tiddles McGee claiming he saw God in the mirror, but whether or not he was actually seeing his own reflection and thinking that he, himself, was God remains unclear to this day.

I Never Said You Could Play The Egg
A post about my total lack of rhythm when it comes to playing the egg. Or rather, the egg-shaped shaker. Yes, it’s as exciting as it sounds.

In A Post-Apocalyptic World, The Man With Cable Ties Is King
This post is actually just a title. But what a title.

John Cusack Says “John Cusack Wants Table Five And A Food Tent!”
The title pretty much sums the post up. It attempted to start the rumour that John Cusack always talks about himself in the third person and insists on having his own personal food tent to protect his meals in restaurants. No, I don’t understand why either, but while I was trying to write this post, I actually also tried googling John Cusack’s legal counsel so I knew who I’d be dealing with.

2012: The Year Of Marrying David Bowie
The story of how, in 1985, a Ouija board predicted I would one day marry David Bowie and how I, myself, have predicted that this will happen next year. Like, for real.

The Iron Latte
A post about how my husband always travels with an electric iron which he uses as a make-shift stove for his espresso pot. Again: true story. Why would I make up this shit?

Don’t Trust Anything With Eyes On The Side Of Its Head
This started off about my aversion to birds and fish but then ended up being about being about the fear of potatoes and how there is a word for the fear of potato PRODUCTS (potnonomicaphobia) but not for fear of potatoes themselves and how the lack of a formal label for this phobia probably makes people who are genuinely afraid of potatoes feel unrecognised by the medical profession and how there are probably people out there with a genuine fear of developing a phobia that doesn’t have a label and that, ironically, that fear probably doesn’t have a label either. Yes, this post was a winner.

So there you go. If you ever feel that my blog is strange or mundane, there’s the proof – THE PROOF – that it could be whole lot stranger and/or mundaner. Oh, it could also include more made-up words like mundaner. Whatevs. Just thank your lucky stars that I don’t publish everything…

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“How do you do it, NDM?” people often ask me. “How do you effortlessly come up with hil-a-rious blog topics week after week, month after month?”

“Gee, thanks for asking this question so that I could use it in the opening paragraph of this post.” I say to the people. “I mean, anyone might think that I just made this whole conversation up just so I’d have something to blog about!”

Indeed, only yesterday, I woke to find I couldn’t think of anything to write about. Absolutely nothing.

In a mild panic, I turned to twitter, as I often do when I have an important question such as “Soy yoghurt… What fresh hell is this?” and “How many black hairs do you need to have growing out of your chin before it can be classified as a beard?”.

I tweeted:

“Anyone care to suggest a topic for tomorrow’s NDM post? My mind is as blank as the cheque I will pay you with.”

Of course, I didn’t mention that the blank cheque would be so incredibly blank that it would actually just be a piece of paper and any demands to honour the promise of payment for topic ideas would be met with an even blanker look on my face. Anyway, turns out that my question drew the biggest blank of all because the only reply I had was from my friend SpiltMilk, who said:

“Julia Gillard’s hair and marital status. Not enough people are writing about these crucial issues!”

She was right. Not nearly enough. Because if enough people DID write about Julia’s hair and de facto relationship, we could totally pretend that the environment, the economy, immigration, public health and education and almost anything else that actually matters didn’t exist at all.

For those of you who don’t live in Australia, we’re three weeks into a federal election campaign. On one side, we have Tony Abbott, the embarrassing – and slightly creepy – uncle you’re worried is going to express his opinions on gay marriage in front of your cool friends. And on the other side, we have Julia Gillard, the Catch Phrase Queen, whose “Moving Australia Forward” response to any question is just like the Daleks’ “Exterminate!”, except from all reports Gillard can climb stairs, unlike the Daleks who don’t even have great hair to recommend them.

But there I am, blogging about Julia Gillard’s hair like everyone else. This is what this election is doing to me. The elections ruins lives, people! Yes, ruins lives!

The election means my husband has to work seven days a week for the entire campaign and is seen stroking his Electronic Mistress even when he’s not working. The election made my husband bail out of a christening on the way to it, leaving me to wrestle the three kids in a cold church on my own, while he went into his office in the city. At one point, McGee and Pixie both sat on my lap and began moving around so much that we began to resemble a writhing pit of snakes. At another point, Mr Justice, who’d been gazing at the crucifix, exclaimed loudly “When you told me about Jesus and the cross, you didn’t tell me it was like that!”. And, to secure my place in hell, I found myself texting my husband the following message: “The service has just finished. The kids are possessed by the devil. YOU. FUCKING. OWE. ME” See? The election made me swear via SMS in a church. IN A CHURCH.

And now the election has made my mind completely blank. BLANK. I think it might be because if I try too hard to think about things, all I can see is this. Yes, that’s why my mind is blank. And I think I’ll keep it that way for the time being, if you don’t mind.

What’s that? Oh, it’s the people saying that they don’t mind at all. In fact, they’re telling me to sit back and relax and to open another bottle of wine…

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