Wednesday, bloody Wednesday

How was your day dear? Bloody, like mine? Did you get rejected for a job you really want, after getting down to the last two candidates? Did you make a gourmet dinner again, then have to whip up some tinned baked beans to get the small things to eat? Is your head thumping? Treat it to a bloody drink! It bloody deserves it.

While you’re at it, don’t get mad, get Mary. Wine is for wimps. Rum is for ruminators (the loud and bloody rowdy kind). Gin is for gimps. Get your grump into a big, hard, mean, spicy Bloody Mary.

Feeling grumpy? Have a bloody Bloody Mary then and stop your whinging.

Feeling grumpy? Have a bloody Bloody Mary then and stop your whinging.

This is how you do it, Face First style.

  • Pour vodka until somebody stops you
  • Ice is nice
  • Squeeze in a wedge of bloody lemon
  • Pepper and Salt
  • Celery bloody salt
  • A martha farking truckload of Tabasco
  • Lea and Perrins (YES fussy I am – it’s important) Woosta sauce: shake it till you should probably stop, then bloody shake it again
  • Top with tomato juice
  • When you think it’s all over, add a bit more Tabasco, just in case.

In case WHAT? I don’t bloody know! Stop asking me questions! Don’t you know I’m bad in interviews?

The good news for tomorrow is you can’t drink too many of these bloody things before you get full. Now you’ll have to move on to wine. You bloody wimp.

Tomorrow is another day. With pilates in it. Peace out, man. Yo.


Girls’ weekend

I know what you’re thinking. Ryan Gosling. Ryan Gosling’s abs. Wine, cheese, icecream, chocolate, wine, Ryan Reynolds, wine. Ryan Reynold’s abs. Can you just top up my Ryan please? Oh – you know what I mean.

Nope. This is not that weekend. It’s me and a 5yo. But it was really, really nice.

Little A and That Man were flying off to Queensland-town for the weekend, leaving Little L and me in splendid isolation. They left very, very, early Friday morning. I drove Lauren to preschool as usual, then drove halfway to Little A’s preschool before realising there was no other child in the back. To my enduring credit I did at least make this half-preschool run with adult radio on. I don’t think my pride would ever quite recover if I was singing Postman Pat to the invisible child while driving her to preschool.

Little L and I had been hatching BIIIG plans. My kitchen sink burgers, a movie, icecream, and ‘staying up late’. (This last part must be said in hushed undertones so it sounds extra naughty, and because we don’t really understand what it means).

Kitchen sink burgers? I should mention, all BUT the kitchen sink goes in to the making of these burgers.

This recipe also involves very approximate proportions.

Kitchen sink burgers

Disclaimer: No kitchen sinks were harmed in the making of these burgers

Then we got pretty toes and snuggled up with Milo and Otis.


Blue toes! Bad circulation.

Saturday we visited friends and went to see Madagascar 3, and I laughed twice as hard as Lauren did. I blame sugar rather than my puerile sense of humour. Hmmm.

And Saturday night, she had a sleepover with her grandparents while I slept and slept and slept.

I admit to being torn. Hello!? A night to myself with babysitting, with the added bonus of a Sunday sleep-in? WHY was I not strapping on my stilettos? Because. I. Was. Just. Shattered. Had to take it all the way back to first gear, and embrace some infantile patterns of eating and sleeping (with a few hot drinks thrown in) to be able to get it together again.

It’s the quietest, most peaceful weekend I can remember having. And the hug from little A when she came flying in from the airport and smashed into me was worth all the missing.

What do you do to re-boot when you hit the wall?