Posts Tagged ‘breaking up is hard to do’

Dear 2010,

And so it comes time for us to part ways. I do hope we can be remain the best of friends, even though I’m planning on leaping into the arms of another, hopefully even better year.

Still, I won’t pretend it hurts to leave you. After all, we’ve had some pretty good times together.

I won an international blogging award and made my own JPEG as my prize. I was briefly wooed and then unceremoniously dumped by an internationally-renowned literary agent. And I then went on to write a series of open letters to my cat, Gisele Bundchen, my hangover and my  husband’s hangover.

Back at home, Mr Justice turned eight and I was finally able to write about his birth, subsequently popularising the ‘pubic mullet’. Mr Justice, in turn, led a one-boy campaign in preventing a plastic doll from being legally declared his ‘sister’.

The Pixie started school,  joined the ranks of the Girls Who Wear Glasses and gave me the best night of my life at the school disco.

Tiddles McGee finally got to have his mummy all to himself and  bid farewell to nappies, bringing a long era of nappy bags and arse-wiping to an end.

And my husband grew a beard and (allegedly) went on a twelve-day Asian sex tour with the local rugby club.

I also got to interview an inflatable Brad Pitt, befriend a whole gaggle of Hugh Jackmans on facebook and inadvertently give my friend a vibrator for her birthday. I went on to threaten a major Australian advertising agency with my splatter-crapping cat and have a midlife crisis whilst sitting with a king-sized doona cover on my head.

I then turned 40 in the best way possible and managed to persuade everyone that I really was sohotrightnow just through sheer force of personality.

Yep, a lot of good times, 2010. Good times. Classic hits.

Man, you’re going to be a hard act to follow…



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Dear 2009,

There’s no way to put this gently: it’s over between us.

Look, it’s not you, it’s me. I’ve moved on. To another year – 2010 is his name. He’s promised me a brand new decade, two kids at school, the occasional sleep-in and the perfect pair of red shoes to turn 40 in. Oh, and (somewhat inexplicably) a sequel to ‘Wall Street’ in which Michael Douglas will look eerily younger than he did in the 1987 original.  Still, that’s more than you ever gave me.

Sure, we’ve had a lot of good times, a lot of laughs. For one thing, you were the year in which I introduced the world to concepts such as Welfington (City of Dreams), The Ninja Administrator and The NDM Children’s Vomit Scale, as well as the term Faux-a-constricta for grass snakes which think they’re much harder than they really are. Oh, and a car game which requires children to shout “BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!” and sing a ‘Dead or Alive’ song Every. Five. Minutes.

You also saw me imagine a dance-off with an opposing gang of kindergarten mums in the Presbyterian Church carpark, flash my tits at a group of mothers at the local dance school, make a tit of myself at a school fundraiser and come up with my own range of NDM merchandise (mostly to cover my tits).

But we had some bad times, too. Let’s face it, this year I raged endlessly against the school’s late pass system, almost got myself incarcerated because of an illiterate cat, and found myself shamelessly harassing Flight CentreAustralian Cosmopolitan and Mia Freedman before finally selling out all together by pimping my children to a current affairs program of ill-repute.

You also saw me bid farewell to my years of childbearing by posting photos of my maternity bras on the internet and get diagnosed with osteoarthritis while my son did the chicken dance in the background. And you made my children vomit a lot – like a lot a lot. Anyone care to remember “Go Vomit On The Mountain“? Didn’t think so.

Is it any wonder I’ve had enough of you?

Anyway, 2010 calls me. I go to him.

Yours no longer,


PS. Happy New Year, everyone.

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