What the fuck is perfect anyway?

17 Feb 2015

A man, a father heading towards the same age as my father actually, just posted this little beauty on Facebook

“Show me a body part, I’ll show you someone who’s making money by telling women that theirs looks wrong and they need to fix it. Tone it, work it out, tan it, bleach it, tattoo it, lipo it, remove all the hair, lose every bit of jiggle,” – Jennifer Weiner

Yes.  For the love of Colin. Yes. And the one that’s currently up for dissection is poor Cindy who IS or IS NOT doing the right thing on behalf of all womankind. Because even people who don’t make money out of it critiquing body parts has jumped on the bandwagon and has an opinion about what you should be doing with your own body.

All this furore about Cindy Crawford having a belly that’s not taut enough to bounce a penny off. The woman’s close to fifty for pete’s sake and if she hasn’t found better things to do with her time then do sit ups obsessively – well more fool her.

And for all you women decrying magazines for being deceitful little tarts – you’re grown women FFS. Surely you’ve worked out by now that the only person that looks exactly the same in real life as they do in magazines or on the screen is Neil Patrick Harris.  That man didn’t just find the fountain of youth, he damn well drank the lot and blocked the pipes the greedy chappie.

 Look I KNOW. I DO KNOW that there are generations of children systematically being subjected to unrealistic images about body type.  I know that we need to work on young people’s self esteem so that they are resilient enough to love the body they are in and to love the bodies of their friends just the way they are and even OH MY FREAKING GOD to love the bodies of women who are paid to have clothes draped over them when all of us freaking clothes hangers which do the same job for a fraction of the cost.

I KNOW.  But it’s not our young people freakin’ out like toddlers denied a chocolate frog.

It’s the grown ups.

I KNOW that when you wake up and are feeling ugh and you look at the front cover of a magazine you think ‘Wouldn’t it be a fine thing to be rich as Croesus and able to afford a chef, trainer, stylist, hairdresser and make-up artist to send you out in the world looking like that each morning?’. I KNOW that we need to hold industries accountable and march with our feminist principles tucked under our arm in collective rage and angst.

BUT FOR THE LOVE OF COLIN – can we accept some personal responsibility here people?

We know the magazines are photoshopped.  We know that we come in all shapes and sizes. We know that some of us count fitness and looking nice as a huge priority.  And we know that others don’t.  We know that some people eat well and that some people don’t eat so well.

We know that one person is blessed with the face of Lupita Nyong’o and the rest of us are blessed with our own faces.  We know that we can be the same height as somebody else and the same weight as somebody else and all of us look and feel incredibly different.

So why the freakin’ outpouring of indignation every single time we find out somebody is photoshopped?  Why do we congratulate people on being brave enough to be featured without photoshopping or with a face free of make-up?  Most of us do this ALL THE FUCKING TIME, me included, and nobody is lauding my extraordinary contribution to the human race.

And I’ll have you know my husband and daughters think I’m beautiful.  Even when I’m not convinced myself.  However – my face keeps my brains from falling down my dress so IT DOES THE FREAKING JOB.

So let’s step up and take some responsibility for this tsunami of outrage, the ragged screeching of mere mortals somehow found wanting by the gods who decree what is ‘perfect’ this week.

If you are consumed with rage every time you look at a magazine that has a pretty face in it – stop reading the magazines and get a grip.  If you find a ‘leaked photo’ of a celebrity on the internet – don’t see it as a calling to mob mentality but remember that it’s just one 48 year old woman in a world of 7 billion plus people and be pleased that of all the issues she could have in life, hers is definitely one you’d pick for yourself.

And in the meantime just love on yourself.  And on others.  None of us look the same.  And we’re all fucking
perfection from where I am sitting.  And from Pink’s point of view too.  And she makes a lot of sense a lot of the time.

And just one last thing about Cindy – “WE HAVE MATCHING TUMMIES – I’M A FUCKING SUPERMODEL.”

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Valentine tips for lovers, singles and grinches

13 Feb 2015

Ah Valentine’s day.  Where people say love, think love, be loving and restaurants book their table in shifts.

I’m not a Valentine’s grinch. In this crazy world where people spend half the time hatin’ and half the time being hated on, I’m all for anything that gets us focussed on what we love about the special people in our lives.

And if Hallmark make a fortune because you are too lazy to take your guitar into town and serenade your lover at work than you need to accept responsibility and not lament that you’ve been forced into the cult of conspicuous consumption.

My dad for years left Valentine cards under the pillows of his daughters.  So there was never a year all through the ugliness that is puberty that I didn’t get a Valentine’s card.  Thank you Papa. That shit matters when you’re young.

Wondering about whether we needed to start this little tradition at our place I asked the girls recently if they knew anything about Valentine’s Day and my two year old said no, and my four year old wondered if it included cake. I think we can leave the anonymous cards for another year or two.

Though we might run with the cake thing purely to improve my parental standing. #justcallmeMamaHallmark

Anyway – here are my top five tips to acing Valentine’s Day if you’re in a relationship.

1. Tell your partner you love them by saying I love you.
2. Show your partner you love them – pour them a coffee or shag them – whatever.
3. Do not take them to see 50 Shades of Grey
4. Make them laugh
5. Buy Cheezels and share them.  Everybody loves Cheezels.

Top five tips to acing Valentine’s Day if you’re single.

1. Ring a friend and tell them you love them. You’re single, not friendless, get over yourself.
2. Do not go and see 50 Shades of Grey.
3. Buy yourself a Valentine’s card that sums up how brilliant you are. Display it.
4. Dine alone, take a book and take your time.
5. Buy Cheezels and eat the whole freaking box.

Top five tips to acing Valentine’s Day if you’re a Valentine Grinch.

1. Keep it quiet, being a miserable git reflects well on nobody
2. See first point.
3. See first point.
4. See first point.
5. See first point.

Happy Valentine’s Day beloved and very appreciated readers of mine.

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Happy Host of Digital Parents Blog Carnival

12 Feb 2015

I have always loved this quote by Steve Martin –

“Some people have a way with words, and other people…oh, uh, not have way.”

I kind of feel it sums up the blogging process.

Some days when you write, the words just flow out of you and you can almost feel the shape of the words in your mouth as you pound them out on the keyboard. Then, when they tumble onto the screen, they have a flavour which is almost visceral and the world is a good and beautiful place.

And then there are the days where an idea or a notion will not be articulated no matter the effort you put in to trying to shape it and the world is bleak and mean.

With that in mind, this month I am hosting the Digital Parents Blog Carnival which is an array of ‘Best of’ blogs from last month as chosen by the writers themselves.

It’s kind of a degustation for the mind – where you get to dip into an assortment of posts and get a taste of what is on offer.

That said, without further fuss or bother – go feast.

The Mama Minute    
Frombaby to boy        
Mourning the fact my little baby is turning into a little man. 
Follow Joy on Twitter and Facebook

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Um, Thanks Prince Phillip

10 Feb 2015

Somebody noted today that I have been very quiet about the leadership spill.  Trust me – I have had opinions.  Big, loud, profanity loaded, opinions. But part of me confesses to a bit of stupid overload and I couldn’t work out where to start writing about it all.

No. I don’t like Tony Abbott.  But whether or not he is a good ‘captain’ is almost irrelevant at the
moment because he is just one man.

The policies of the Liberal party (in my view) are deeply flawed, lacking in compassion and steaming with aspirations of power hungry politicians.  And Labour, much as it hurts me to say it, is not much better.

The only reason a change of Prime Minister would excite me is if we were about to get a leader who was actually going to be a good person, not just a good Prime Minister.

See the thing that wearies me and worries me is that as much as I rant and rave – every day Australians chose Christopher Pyne. Every day Australians chose Scott Morrison. Every day Australians chose Cory Bernardi.  Every day Australians chose Jacqui Lambie. And so on.

And I think to myself – if the good citizens of Australia truly believed people such as these were THE BEST on offer, what the hell was the alternative?

Why is it that we are now voting in people that are complete and utter douche bags?

What is that saying about us as individuals?

Not a lot of very nice things that is for sure.

I also dislike the way a storm of hate has been directed at Tony Abbott’s chief of staff as if she is responsible for him behaving like a cretin. Tony’s a grown man. And he’s the head of the country.  You can be fairly certain that whatever culture has been imbedded into his team comes from him, or with his full approval.

Let’s not make excuses for him. Or his party. And let’s not blame his employees for poor management.  Or Prince Phillip’s knighthood.

Let’s not excuse our dehumanisation of the sick, the poor, the refugees, the aged, the lonely, the vulnerable as good economic policy.  That’s been proven time and time again to be absolute bullshit by qualified professionals across the globe.

I don’t care what Miranda Devine said. You are only supposed to be reading that shitty paper for the sports coverage, not for the bigotry.

And don’t get me started on the LNP only starting good government yesterday.  I kind of felt sorry for those of my friends and family who have been defending the Liberal party, it’s members and it’s policies for the last 17 odd months.  When the Prime Minister comes out himself and says ‘Good government starts today’ you know that things are pretty fucked up in the house under the hill.

I do feel weary.  I do feel disenchanted. I do feel like banging on about things like marriage equality, human rights, refugees, women’s rights, climate change, education, recognition of our first people and the myriad of other things, becomes really depressing. But then I tell myself to smarten the fuck right up.

If I’m feeling weary, disenchanted and blue banging on about it – think how perfectly wretched the people living with these issues every day feel as the government and the media seek to perpetuate lies, mistruths and other fibs as the basis for policies which hurt our most vulnerable and benefit the most wealthy.

So I’m still here.  Still making noise.  Still thankful for the relative inanity of my own problems. And still believing that we absolutely can do better.  A lot lot better.

And when the days are darkest I think how we were wrong about Prince Phillip doing nothing for
Australia.  If he hadn’t been knighted nothing would have changed, there would have been no spill, and we sure as hell wouldn’t have had Rupert using electronic graffiti to tell Tony he’s a numpty.

So thanks Sir Phillip.  Much appreciated.

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The agony of 33

9 Feb 2015

Luckily or unluckily depending on your point of view, I have never been bothered by age.  I don’t have magical numbers by which certain things should be ticked off a life list.  I spend my life in a state of angst and bewilderment which kicked in at 17 and has never really gone away.

I have never felt the siren call of my biological clock or the marching boots of an ideal marriage age. I feel no impetuous to pay off a house so I can retire young and don’t really see a life where retirement features so have no burning desire to get to 65 or 150 depending on who is Treasurer.  Of course I wanted to turn 18 so I could fully immerse myself in adulthood which loosely translates as buy my own booze as it does for most.

The only other year which loomed large was 33.

Perhaps it’s my Catholic upbringing which started me thinking. Who knows.  But there is plenty written about how Jesus had gone and saved the world AND got himself not one but three public holidays before he turned 34.

The year I turned 33 I finished up a belated student year, discovered I was allergic to penicillin, moved back to Australia and spent at least six weeks living in a house with no furniture.  The signs were not good for me making my mark before I turned 34.

Things haven’t changed much since then except for the furniture.

Scarlett in Four weddings and a Funeral

John Belushi, Eva Braun, Van Gough, Wolfgang von Trips, Big Moe, Big Mello, Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, Roland Ratzenberger, Eva Cassidy, Charlotte Coleman, Bon Scott, Karen Carpenter, Stephen Gately, William Kingdon Clifford, Chris Farley.  The 33 years might not have been pretty but they were memorable – sometimes history making.

Why does nobody warn you about 33?  It kind of creeps up on you, whispers ‘excuse me’ and when you turn to say hi, it punches you in the throat.

And yet – despite the ferocity of anxiety and that vague foreboding feeling that I was not Carpe Diem-ing with the appropriate vigour, I did nothing to make my mark on the world stage.

I had no ill fated romances with genocidal dictators or hard drugs.  I didn’t invent anything or crack a mathematical code. I didn’t discover a previously dormant talent for singing or declare myself head of a doomsday cult.

It was an ordinary year with some wonderful highlights such as becoming engaged to my beautiful man, a new niece and a new job. 34 ticked over and I was still not famous and most definitely not dead.

And just like that the feeling that life was getting away from me had gone. It’s strange on reflection that 33 loomed large when Fauja Singh didn’t get off his arse to make the history books until he was in his 90s.
My husband turned 33 on the weekend and he seems to have entered it without any of the appropriate angst.  No worry line burnt into his forehead overnight, no hunched shoulders or waxen pallor indicating an inner turmoil around what he is going to achieve before he turns 34.

But it’s okay, I’m comforted by the fact that 40 is going to burn for him.

Like really burn. Right?

What year loomed large for you?

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Don’t demonise the doers

5 Feb 2015

Without exaggeration, about 100 billion percent of articles that talk about ‘slowing down’ or ‘de-stressing’ advise you to stop doing things.

Don’t be the one that stays late at the office.

Don’t be the one that does the grocery shopping.

Don’t be the one that buys the birthday presents.

Don’t be the one who goes to the gym five days.

Don’t be the one that cleans the bathroom.

Don’t be the one who calls the aunt nobody likes.

Don’t be the one to volunteer at your school.

Don’t be the one to cut the oranges for sports day.

Don’t be the one to mentor the graduate.

Don’t be the one to organise team lunches.

Because apparently, if you don’t do it, somebody else will.

And then you aren’t stressed anymore and your life is slower because you’re not knocking yourself out doing stuff and you give people opportunities to step up and be part of it all. And it eliminates resentment and everybody is happy.

Which anybody that does stuff knows is absolutely codswallop.  Total bullshit. On every single level.

The simple fact is that about 100 billion percent of the time plus one, if you stop doing stuff, nobody does it.

People don’t step up.

If they were going to clean the bathroom, cut the oranges, go to the gym five days, volunteer, mentor, organise, stay late, buy the groceries or grab the birthday present – they would have already done it.

If doers stop doing stuff, it doesn’t get done.

The world is divided into two different types of people.  People that do and people that don’t.

People that do are not going to feel like life is better if they stop doing things.  They just end up surrounded by chaos which everybody knows is contrary to the whole point of slowing down and de-stressing.

I know that it’s a vicious cycle.  If you do something people develop expectations that things are going to get done and so to stop doing them reflects poorly on you.

This is particularly vicious at work where people work way harder than they are paid to do but would be marked down if they failed to perform at that level for ever.

And sitting over there in the corner is a person that doesn’t do things getting paid the same and the expectations stay lower.

So the myriad of articles and courses telling people to not do things is, at best, patronising bollocks and worst, a whole lot of profanity.

I’m not glorifying busy.  But shit has to get done and somebody has to do it.

But why is being a doer all of a sudden a bad thing.  Why such an industry around it?

The funny thing is, people that do will probably try the courses and read the books, to work out how to do less, to slow down, to de-stress.

But I see nobody peddling books and courses to people that don’t saying ‘get a move on ladies and gentlemen and step up’ do you?  Because people that don’t, don’t.

So own it people that do.

Pat yourself on the back and say “Those oranges were simply magnificently cut if I do say so myself”.

And then go home and burn all the stupid books and articles.  Because you are perfect, just the way you.

Crazily overcommitted, stupidly stressed, definitely way too busy – but absolutely perfect in every single way.

And thanks for the oranges.  Because sure as sure thing nobody else was going to do it.

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