I used to have unbitten fingernails…..

My inlaws arrive today. For five days.

Let the tongue biting, hand sitting and teeth grinding commence.

Channeling Erma Bombeck

I’ve hit critical slump moment. I sit here, trying to pretend there aren’t cocopops on the floor that require vaccuming, that the washing needs to be hung out and the garden needs watering.  I need to make a dash to the store to get some Lemsip for the spouse who is losing his voice via a combination of being ill and shouting at recruits from sparrow fart to just left of midnight.

I am distracting myself from the fact that I still need to get in at least 30 minutes of vigorous excercise and think up something for dinner whilst trying to convine my children that the sao’s they ate at 11am where lunch so that I don’t have to make them something now….(now that it’s 3pm this afternoon)

Couple that with an exhausting week ahead,  and I am tired and hurt just thinking about it. Not to mention I haven’t written a single word today….as I wasted my writing hours on facebook writing smutty insults on my sisters wall. (Way to use my talents)

At least last nights quiche worked and tasted pretty darn good.

I curse the catholic church and it’s sacraments today, as the daughter’s confirmation nears (which is why my in-laws are coming, I am not confirmed so I cannot act as sponsor and the spouse is busy with work and my daughter feels a need to be confirmed, insists on it really so she asked her Nanna to be her sponsor, and I need to contemplate discussing the baptism of a five year old boy with Father Peter which I am sure when they pour the holy water on his little blonde head that he will melt like the devil spawn he is and I will need to prepare myself for that very likely event.. ) It’s my fault for marrying a catholic. (And that my mother concieved me with one hence the baptism and holy communioin but lack of confirmation…my mother is a pagan she left that choice to me and I had two names already that I didn’t like and couldn’t figure out why on earth I would want to add a third)

So concludes my weekly whine. I promise, well not sunshine and lollipops, but  no more needless whining about things not really worth whining about.

I better put my shoes on and go to the shops….I think I’ll buy the $15 roast chicken dinner at the takeout. It may not be figure friendly, but it’s badmum friendly.

The Book of Revelation (incomplete thoughts)

 The husband and I  sat down to watch The Book Of Revelation.  Now TBOR is an Australian film. It was directed by Ana Kokkinos and honestly I hate agreeing with the husband on this note the movie quite frankly sucked.  It had so much promise. (Well it could have….had it been written better, directed better. )

One word….Ballet! Now, I am not a ballet going type. I hired the movie on the premise that it would deconstruct the idea of stereotyped gender rolls, make me rethink the male as victim and woman as aggressor, when really all it did was suck the life out of you for 119minutes.  But oh the dance scenes….it was like having my fingernails pulled. It was slow and torturous and if not for my husbands pithy comments and pained expression that made me laugh out loud I probably would have fallen asleep before Greta Sacchi even uttered I want you to dance without ego.

It did nothing to address man as victim save for a few small moments when Daniel goes to the police station to report that his “friend” had been abducted by three women and he was promptly laughed at.

The dialogue was stilted and awkward and though I am sure it was meant to be, to protray the stilted and awkwardness of the material, it really didn’t work for the film on any level.

So Daniel (our hero of the film) is abducted by three women. Three hooded women who also wear masks. They chain him up and for 12 days they use him as their sexual play thing. (My husband meanwhile is sitting there wondering why this is a bad thing)  The point is meant to be that men can be victims too. That being seduced by three women is very different to being chained to the ground and made to perform for three women. (Something that is lost entirely on a man like mine) That sexual consent is sexual consent regaurdless of gender. And none was forthcoming.

But the film didn’t handle this very well. The only thing that seemed to victimise Daniel at all was a few small moments, one were he pisses himself because they won’t unchain him(they do however give him a somehwat slightly erotic sponge bath and change his clothes) and the other when they release the chains from his wrists and ankles and chain him instead by his balls.

Even his downward spiral in his quest to seek out his abusers was poorly done. Although in my husbands words…”I gotta commend his method of fucking as many women as he can till he finds the right ones.”

Collin Friels as a cop who specialises in sexual abuse  and who was the ex husband of the choreographer of Daniels dance company was the only saving grace in this film. His scenes were steeped with feeling, they were more fluid, less inhibited, which is kind of ridiculous given that the world of the dancers is so stilted, so robotic and unfeeling, since dance is supposedly all about emotion.  (There is one dance scene that seemed powerful to me, Daniel on his own, dancing his story, his abuse.  but it is short lived.)

I felt incredibly let down by Australian Film. I have always been moved by its ability to shock, to dissect human failings at the very core, to really challenge the way we think by persuing taboo. (Think Bad Boy Bubby)

I wanted to like this movie.  It’s a sad state of affairs when I would rather watch The Marine.

The Book of Revelations, time that would have been better spent doing the ironing. Perhaps when I have given the movie more time to sink in, to really think about what it was that rubbed me the wrong way about this film, then I can construct a more articulate criticism, but really, I just can’t form the words I really want. It really was that awful.

And I know it will be a cold day in Hell before my husband watches an Australian Film with me again.  

They name is Snark

This morning I was awoken by the rise of the uterine monster that gnashes and gnaws and makes me anything but sunshiney happy. Woe betide anyone dare to step on my toes today, I am all bitey and snappy and I hate that I have to go out into the big bad today and actually talk to people.

But one child has football training this afternoon which means I have to go pick him up after school. I hope no one, like, talks to me, or even breathes in my general direction. (My kingdom for a hysterectomy)

Our new puppy (Cooper) has eaten the bedding so there is white fluff all over the back yard. Stupid dogs. (The older dog- Amos, taught her this nifty little trick) It is cold here at night, not just cold but if I had balls they’d be sitting inside my chest if I had to sleep outside like the dogs (and the man who is currently away and sleeping outside, I hope his balls are warm and not up under his ribs.)
I am not buying those stupid dogs a new bed.

And according to music max, my stars this morning are just so keeping in line with the theme of the day, “today someone critques you and frankly you don’t deserve it….pot, kettle anyone?”
Oh just let them try. My ovaries are dying to bitch slap someone good.

Oh ick, I better go tie up the garbage bag for the girl to take out before the garbage truck empties the bin.

Lets just call this Pirra and the no good horrible terrible very bad day.