The men in my life.

You've already heard about my father, he hasn't changed a dot. There was a good one (when I say 'good' I mean awkward) last night from him - there I was, sitting at the kitchen table tracing plans for my sister, earphones in, singing aloud to Toto, "Gorgy Porgy pudding pie, kissed the girls and made them cry, yeah!" as you do, when he calls out from the lounge room:

"Kissed the girls and made them cry?? Come on, girls never cried when I kissed them!"

"ew dad, as if!"

"I don't remember that happening... they were always pleased.. don't know what planet those blokes look like they're from"

Please dad, you wannabe stud muffin, keep it to yourself.

Just found out too (via fb) that this man, this balding, 61 year old man has just dyed his hair. Number one, I mean, what hair? Number two, your 61, you're allowed to be grey and number three, he's always been anti dying hair (he's been grey since his mid 30s) so why why why whyyyyyyyyy now?? Quote: "people progress. they're views change after a while" - yes well, OBVIOUSLY. Who is this man?!

Oh but I haven't told you about my little brother, have I? This boy, genius that he is, is quite the comedian/politically incorrect-at-times-shallow type person.

This is him during the walk from the car into the house in the rain:

"ew! I hate frogs! They have no purpose. They could at least get plastic surgery so they can look at least half decent!"

and this:

"When my toast pops up, butter and nigga (vegemite) it up. Thanks darl"

"N" word alert. One day he's going to get bashed.

light in dark :)

Whilst insomnia haunted me last week (and this week still), rather than lay in bed cursing the active voice in my head but fatigued body I decided to have a midnight snoop around my house. Lo and behold, what do I find but a set of top secret government (ASIO) documents and fake passports... no, not really, not at all. I found a journal my parents wrote in when we were little with a bunch of loose documents sitting adhoc in its pages. It was fascinating reading stories about the start of the family and I felt a little affectionate swell as I read about their descriptions/comments about each of us children. So tender.

Things I learned:

1. My parents were always waaaaaaaaaaay spiritual.
2. Papa took me to see Luciano Pavarotti in concert when I was 3.
3. Papa used to do a bit of local radio work.
4. Mama bear insisted on finishing baking bread after her water broke before she went to the hospital to have me.
5. My older sibs did love me once... jokes. they never did. jokes again.

oh and I found this amongst various pictures and notes us kiddies drew/wrote to our parents over the young years :)

That mother of mine is secretly getting botox or something, I swear.

Dads.

We all know dads only exist to embarrass their children and wives. Everybody knows. It's a fact. But I mean, really, there's no need for the constant reminder.

Last night, for example, was one outing - to a primary school Christmas concert, so no real biggie, but at least four times, FOUR TIMES, I wanted to crawl inside a hole and stay there internally groaning the rest of my existence away.

First off, the combination of brown moccasins, grey holden track suit pants, navy blue grandpa cardi, army cap and popped collar, large reading glasses and a balding white head do not mesh. Like, at all. I don't know who let him out of the house... My father is the type of man who always claps the loudest and longest, and in the primary school court yard where there's decent echo and acoustics its like clapping next to a megaphone.

"No, he's not with me".

He's the type of man who feels the need to give a running commentary on how the person next to us is consuming their hot dog or how they should consume their hot dog, not troubling to lower his voice, play downball with a bunch of preppies with the same enthusiasm you'd expect whilst watching the footy and oh, get this, force me into social annihilation in the space of five minutes.

Some background info for that last one: My 6 year old niece, Tyra, wants to hook me up with her sports teacher - Mr Briggs.

Need I say any more? Of course not, but I will just so you can live this pain with me.

Dad, the old codger, took it seriously when I joked to Tyra about only going to the concert to see Mr Briggs (who, I have to say, I had never seen before - and is quite fit actually). So dad, in his tactless and wannabe-cupid-way, goes off after the concert to go and speak to one of the teachers. Me, wanting to leave asap (I was hungry ok? I hadn't had dinner), went on a search for the car keys. So I find him, chatting away as he does, and as I approach I hear him say "Here she is, this is the one I was talking about". All that was going through my head was "Nooooooooo!".

"This is the one that likes Mr Briggs". Just like that.

As I scramble to save face, "What?! I don't like Mr Briggs!"

"Yes you do, you said so in the car"

"I was joking! Tyra is the one who wanted to set us up, I've never even seen Mr Briggs!"

"OHHH, TYYYYRA", as he nudges Mr Briggs' co-worker.

"Well, that's Mr Briggs over there, he was a very promising football player until he did his hip", smirked Mr Briggs' co-worker.

"Yes he looks like a decent football player. Handsome young fellow"

"Dad I need the keys"

"Why don't you go over and say hello, this fellow here is just filling in for him"

"Dad, seriously I'm not interested!"

"Of course you are, he's strapping young lad"

"Daaaaaaaad"

"Come on, I'll go over with you"

"DAD! GIVE ME THE KEYS!!!"

Dad and Mr Briggs' co-worker: chuckle, chuckle, chortle, chortle.

1. Dad, don't ever try to help in that department.
2. DAD, DON'T EVER TRY TO HELP IN THAT DEPARTMENT.

Cringe.