An open letter to the 2014 Perth Royal Show

Dear Royal Agricultural Society of WA,

I have enjoyed going to the Royal Show for as long as I can remember. I have such amazing memories of getting up early, heading to the bank to withdraw the money we had saved all year in those Dolomite accounts, and making our way in. Before the train, we'd park in the same person's yard every year - we never knew their name and they never knew ours, but each year we'd drive in, pay our money and say hello. The first time I didn't go to the show, I was ten - it was literally the first year since I was born that I had missed it - I was in Disneyland at the time and I was DISAPPOINTED that I wasn't at the Show. Only for a minute, but still.

Show bags full of chocolate and stupid inflatable things, the baby animal nursery, fairy floss, the giant slide, the sheep dogs, the show animals, staying up sooooo far past bed time to watch the fireworks and so much more. Ah, sugar coated bliss.

But this year, I'm really disappointed in you.

You were going to have a ride this year called "Bethlem Sanatorium" that depicted an open ward with 20 actors pretending to be patients. The Bethlem Sanatorium was and is a real place - the oldest psychiatric hospital in the world (though now it goes by Bethlem Royal Hospital) and it was known for its cruel treatment of mentally ill patients in the distant past. In fact, one of the most disturbing facts was that Bethlem allowed the public to come and view the "bedlam" (which gets its name from the hospital) and the madness for themselves, making a mockery out of the suffering of the patients who were subjected to cruelty and violence on a daily basis. 

Now, keeping in mind that this is considered by many to be the most scandalous aspect of the history of this psychiatric facility, how on earth did you think it appropriate to approve it as a ride? And have it featured in the "Kids & Family" section of your website?

Have we not come anywhere between the 1400s and now? Are the mentally ill still a freak show? Roll up, roll up, come and see the crazies! Witness the insanity for yourself for just $15! Lunatics galore!

Then we can all point and laugh. Ha ha ha, isn't being sick just hilarious? How about next year you have a childrens cancer ward? We can all laugh at their bald heads! Oh I know, how about a few people with physical differences, too? Because not looking like a model is shameful and we need to make sure they know just how much we won't tolerate anything but beauty in our community.

The stigma surrounding mental illness remains extreme despite one in five Australians experiencing it. A 2006 study found that almost a quarter of people thought mental illness was caused by a personal weakness, and one in five would not tell anyone if they had depression.

The biggest killer of 15-44 year olds is suicide. Perhaps some of those deaths could be prevented if asking for help wasn't considered by some to be weak and shameful. If they didn't worry that they'd never get another job. If they didn't believe they would be ostracized by friends, family and the wider community. If it didn't make them feel like they were in a freak show.

I've been in a few psychiatric facilities in my time. My stays have ranged from a couple of days to a couple of months. I remember vividly the first time I went. I was petrified thanks to, in part, the way mental health facilities are portrayed in the movies. I expected "bedlam". I expected people walking around muttering to themselves. Screaming, crying and moaning coming from every room. Shared showers covered in grime and horrid nurses hovering over you.

But it was nothing like that. It looked more like a hotel, with my own private bedroom and bathroom. Most of the time I would be in the smokers courtyard talking to other patients. We would chain smoke, tell stories, support each other and laugh. The best therapy I ever had in those places took part in the courtyard. Being around people. People who understood you weren't feeling so great and wouldn't mind if you cried. In fact, they'd probably bring you a cuppa and offer to listen, then ten minutes later you're all smiling again.

I have met some amazing people during my times as an inpatient, and I'm still friends with quite a few of them to this day. Fabulous, hard working, interesting, smart, funny, articulate, caring, down to earth people. Who happen to have had mental health issues. Wanna drop by some time so you can point at us and laugh?

After the Bethlem Royal Hospital and other advocacy groups campaigned for you to pull the attraction you held a meeting. I left a message on your Facebook page:

I thought it was pretty respectful. Polite, even. But you hid it so only my friends could see it. You replied to the people asking about bunnies and stables but my comment was left to languish. From this I can only conclude that you couldn't care less about it. You didn't reply to my tweets either.

Then, this afternoon, when I heard that you had changed the ride I was relieved and thought you must have come to your senses. Hurrah! Common sense prevails and human decency can be relied upon once more... but then I read your statement. A classic fauxpology:

While the attraction was not designed to cause offense, "clearly some members of the public did not feel it was appropriate".

Oh please. Shifting the blame, much? Take some responsibility! You messed up by thinking charging people to walk around an attraction while actors pretended to have severe mental illnesses was just peachy.

I had been looking forward to introducing my kids to the Perth Royal Show this year, but not any more. Instead, I'll use my time to promote the messages of Mental Health Week which starts the day after the Show ends, and work to challenge the stigma.

Sincerely,

Glow

If you need help call Lifeline on 13 11 14

When did I become the least qualified person to treat my kid?

It's been a while since the Cranky Pants have been worn around here. Actually that's not true, I wear them around the house constantly, it's just I don't share it all that often.

But the other night something so infuriating happened that I've been walking around with the proverbial steam coming out of my ears since. Unable to let it go. What, me? Hold a grudge? Never!

If you've been playing along at home you'd know that The Trickster is asthmatic. He doesn't get it very often, but when he does, it's quite bad. Last year he had one ambulance ride and three hospitalizations in four weeks which was a lovely baptism of fire in to what it's like to be an asthma parent.

A fortnight ago we had another ambulance ride because he went downhill insanely fast. I'm talking making it to two hours between Ventolins and then all of a sudden needing another dose after only ten minutes. That's when they send out the quick response ambulance car because it can get there four minutes faster. It's also where you absolutely should be wearing brown underwear.

On Sunday morning Tricky started showing the first signs of a cold followed really quickly by asthma. Here we go again. We're getting quite used to it all so we followed our 'Action Plan' to the letter. By early afternoon he was already struggling and requiring six puffs of Ventolin every three hours so to try and prevent a late night trip to the emergency room we called the GP locum service.

The GP got there after 7pm and examined Tricks (who had just had more Ventolin 15 minutes prior). Despite being told his history of ambulance rides, despite the raging temperature, despite the face streaming with snot and despite the fact that he was now on two hourly Ventolins he was declared "not sick enough" for Prednisone.

(If you've never had anything to do with asthma, Prednisone is a steroid and Tricky responds really well to it. He'll go from needing to be on oxygen and in hospital to discharge within 24 hours of his first dose.)

Gee thanks Dr Fuckwit. All I was asking for was a script for a readily available drug. I wasn't asking for morphine, I wasn't even asking for you to supply the drugs, merely scribble on a piece of paper with your atrocious writing so that I could then go and get some, give it to my kid and avoid the stress of another night wondering if it was time to call the ambulance yet. You know, it's YOUR JOB as a locum to get us to avoid the hospital... so WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!

I might not have a fancy framed degree hanging on the wall, but I know my own kid and I know his asthma. Hell, I've had it for 30 years so I've got a bit of experience with it, too. I know how he responds and I know what makes him better. But what would I know? I'm only the mother *grumble grumble*.

I am so tired of being treated like a moron just because I don't have a medical degree. You?

Of Boats, Booze and Barfs

Yesterday I went on a wine cruise that my mum had bought through one of those daily deals sites. We decided to make it a bit of a girls day, cruising up the Swan River on a gorgeous summer's day, wine glass in hand. Ahhh yeah.

I've been on a wine cruise before and figured it would be similar - cushy and air-conditioned with obligatory snack/wine bar and tourist commentary that you're too busy talking over to hear. Instead we were met with a dingey boat that had seen better days. It appeared that they were trying to hide the fact that the boat was ancient and could do with a really good scrub by covering it with lashings of bright turquoise paint on the inside and hear-it-coming-orange on the outside.

Kinda looked like this...
CC wdlindmeiers

About three minutes in to the cruise I was wondering why I even said yes because my stomach had already started doing flips. Not an issue, surely they'll turn on the aircon soon? Wrong. They didn't have any. On a boat where the windows didn't open and half of the roof was made of glass...

It was sweltering and despite it being a calm day I was starting to turn a lovely, and appropriately festive, shade of green. I asked Gopher Smith for a sexy spew bag. I thought he was taking the piss, the way most people mock me for intense sea sickness (I got sick on a cruise ship with 12 decks...) but no, they didn't have any. They don't stock them.

Are you fucking kidding me? What kind of public boat, particularly one that is on a WINE CRUISE serving a tonne of cheap goon to it's patrons, doesn't provide spew bags? Boats and booze, people! One of those is going to make at least one person yack.

Gopher, who looked like one of the Waugh brothers (the sexy one), gave me a shopping bag, complete with hole in the bottom. He might as well have handed me a paper cup and gone all Garth on me. "If you're gonna spew, spew in to this".

On disembarking, after having managed to not lose my lunch (if I'd had lunch - you had to pre-order food on the boat and we weren't told until we got there) I let the guys know they might want to invest in some vom pouches to which they replied "But people don't get sick on the Swan River". I'M PEOPLE, I GOT SICK! Fucker.

It got me thinking, what places have you been that have had the most obvious thing missing? Pub with no beer ala Slim Dusty? Hotel with no mini-bar bed? Tell Aunty Glow and she'll write them all strongly worded emails.

A serious case of the CBFs this Christmas

It’s nearly Christmas. I’m sure you already knew that though on account of every single shopping centre swarming with people lining up. Lining up to get in, lining up to buy things, lining up to get them wrapped, lining up to get their kid to sit on a strangers’ knee. Lots and lots of lines.

I have been in Christmas mode for a month now, part of my Operation Christmas Brainwash for the Trickster, and I’m well and truly over it. I don’t want to buy any more presents, I don’t want to go to the shops, I don’t even want to hear The Boob singing Holly Jolly Christmas any more and that is really saying something.

To put it bluntly, I have a serious case of the Can’t-Be-Fuckeds.

The advent calendar I made Tricks, with a different activity every day, is being neglected now that I have the all-important child-with-strange-old-man photo sitting pride of place on my TV cabinet (what people who aren’t rich have instead of display cases and mantles).

We have baked, sung, baked again, watched Christmas cartoons, got crafy, decorated trees, baked some more, went hunting for Christmas lights, and did I mention we baked?

I’m done. I’m over it. There will be no more bloody Christmas activities that involve doing anything more than sitting on my fat arse because I just can’t be fucked. Advent boxes are going unopened and we haven’t even gotten to the gingerbread yet. There will be no more trips to the shops to get something small for so-and-so on the off chance they buy us something because I'm not prepared for another tantrum and I just can’t be fucked. There will be no last minute buying of gorgeous decorations because I just can’t be fucked… and because I have nowhere to put them come January.

I’ve reached my Christmas saturation point and I’m calling it. No more Christmas things.

That is until it’s Christmas eve and I change my mind, get out the Reindeer food and letter to Santa and make some shortbread... ahh fuck it, who am I kidding? We all know I'll do it.

Are you over Christmas already? Got a serious case of the CBFs?

5 Reasons Twitter is like that shitty show Passions

Do you remember Passions? It was on Australian TV in the late 90s and the first half of the naughties when I was in late high school. I know, I didn't realize it had run for that long either.

With people having Princess Diana as a guardian angel, a bizarre never-fucking-ending love triangle, amnesia, witches, a weird doll that came alive, the live-in nurse that was an orangutan (WTF?! BamBam, who played 'Precious' was even nominated for an Emmy), some rich folk who meddled in other people's lives and numerous doubtful paternaties. And sometimes all of that in just one episode.

I watched about a dozen episodes. At one point in school it became cool to watch it just so you could take the piss out of it the next day. It was verging on being so bad it was good but didn't quite make it, landing squarely in the poke-eyes-out-rather-that-watch-this-shit basket. 

In my current I-don't-like-Twitter-anymore phase (which sure as shit will be over the next time I'm on a train and need rescuing from my boredom and hate for being alone), I've decided that Twitter and Passions have a bit in common:

5 Reasons Twitter is like Passions

1. You can go away for a month, come back and still see the same arguments being rehashed. FFS! How many times does that whiney little bitch have to go on about the boy not liking her, even after she is the one who cheated on him... right now I could be talking about EITHER. Substitute the topic for monetization or ethics in blogging (or being tired of Twitter) and lather, rinse, repeat.

2. There are lots of fucking weirdos. Twitter is full of them, hence why I am there. Harmony, the thankfully fictional town in Passions was also full of them. Don't just go straight to Tabitha the witch, the whole fucking town was loopy, there are too many to even mention. 

3. There are heaps of whiney bitches. That chick Theresa? OMG I wanted to slap her upside the head every time she spoke or did that lip quivery thing. Same goes with people who continuously whinge on Twitter like me. No, it's true, one of the things I hate most about Twitter is my own tweets - shut up already, woman!

4. There are a couple of hot and awesome people who don't know you even exist. Like that one hot awesome guy who never got cast again because OMG YOU'RE THE GUY FROM PASSIONS. I don't know what his name was, but his career has not gone from strength to strength. Twitter is the same - a few hot people that are getting their 15 minutes of fame who don't even know you exist. It's fucking depressing, why am I even there?

5. It sucks you in, even when it's shit. Like that one week I watched Passions to find out if Whiney McWhinerson would marry the hot brooding guy. It was a train wreck, I couldn't look away. A whole week I watched only to find out that a viewing week was a Passions minute and shit just draaaaags. That's a week I'll never get back. Twitter drags you in too - especially the shit fights and hilarious hashtags. One minutes it's all "I'll just have a quick look" and the next it's "I forgot to feed the dog and it's 1am".

For a serious "ummm WTF?" moment, check out this clip. Now I'm all for not being politically correct all the time but everyone in a psychiatric hospital playing with dolls? Yeah, nice.



Do you have a love/hate relationship with Twitter? Did you watch Passions?

An open letter to building companies

Dear Builders,

My husband and I (ooh I sound regal) are looking in to building a home or renovating our current one. We're doing this for a number of reasons:

1. We currently live in an oversized cupboard but with a big enough yard for a Shetland Pony
2. I'd like to have another sprog and don't particularly want to put them in the shed (although I suppose I could get a baby monitor)
3. I'm a whiney middle class white chick who doesn't realize how good she has it (What's that? You want TWO toilets full of clean water to wash your shit away?)

We've been to countless display homes these past few weeks and the vast majority of the time the first words to pop in to my head are not "Oh my, I simply must have this house!" but rather, "What the ever loving fuck?"

Now I'm pretty sure that wasn't what you were aiming for or you would have named your house "The Gob Smacker" not "The Retreat" or whatever you called it that was supposed to convey the idea that I'd be living in a resort despite the fact that I would have to clean it and there is a severe lack of room service.

Most of my problems with your designs are the bathrooms. Do I really need an ensuite which is three times the size of the main bathroom? The ensuite, by rights, is designed for a maximum of two people yet most are rivaling the size of my garage.

Also, I don't know about you, but I'm generally not an exhibitionist (said the girl with a blog). It's blatantly obvious that your designers are though! Do people really want windows from their shower cubicle in to the back yard? Or worse, from the shower cubicle in to the master bedroom? Now I'm as in to getting creative in the bedroom as the next person but my own peep show isn't high on the agenda. A gal needs a little privacy at times.

If possible, can you please push the budget to spare a door for that monstrous ensuite? As well as the whole I'm-not-a-stripper thing and the not wanting to be woken when my husband showers at 6am, I'd like to avoid my clothes becoming mildewy. Since you have to walk through a room-sized wardrobe to get to the shower in most of your designs, that's exactly what is going to happen. Maybe you could take the money you save by removing your "one sink per every person ever born" policy?

While I'm on the subject of doors, toilets need them. They also need to be made of materials that are not translucent. I can get over the fact that my kid walked straight in to the glass door and bumped his noggin, but I can't get over the fact that it's just plain gross and much more suited to a fetish film. Not only do I not want anyone to see me while I'm answering a call of nature, but I most definitely do not want to see anyone else answering said call. I deal with enough shit as it is, you know!

If you could clear up some of these issues and make me a nice, simple home with doors, storage and a bit of space for my kid to run around in without us all tripping over him, it would be much appreciated.

Yours sincerely,

Glow x

Been in to a display home lately? What did you think?

The Weekend Whine - Episode 8

Props to YouTube for always making my screen shots make me look like I'm either sneezing, possessed or insanely drunk.


What's annoyed you this week?

An open letter to my tear ducts

Dear tear ducts,

For thirty years now you've done a prime job of keeping my eyes lubricated and nourished. And moist. I realize it's the same as lubricated but I just wanted to use the word moist in a blog post.

You were a tad over sensitive when I starting shoving giant mascara wands your way, but you learned quickly that I wasn't going to hurt you, and chilled out nicely.

You've been a real champ and have even gone above and beyond, putting up with me poking contact lenses around and keeping them hydrated too. Kudos to you.

But there's something about you that I'm just not happy with, and I would have thought after so many years of practice that you would have figured it out.

What the ever loving fuck is with the angry tears? I mean really?

I find myself having a heated argument with someone and you spring in to action and make me look like a dickhead who needs a Prozac Bex and a lie down, or worse still, a fucking cuddle.

How am I mean to look professional when I'm in a business meeting if the second I get a bit angry my eyes start leaking, my nose gets snotty and red, I choke on my words, partially convulse and did I mention ALL THE FUCKING SNOT?!

Your issue has led to people labeling me with the "emotional woman" tag as they hand me a tissue with a condescending look in their tearless eyes. The only upside to this is that I'm less likely to stab someone lest I drop that tiny little scrunched up wad of snot and tears. Because who wants snot and tissue debris on the floor? It's a bitch to pick up.

I blame you for all of this. I could be banging on about the limbic system and my hypothalamus but I figure the buck stops with you, buddy.

Now I'm not sure if you're cranky at me for that time I took medication that dried you up to almost nothing for the best part of a year and are now just finding a way to make me pay by overreacting, or if you're just a bit of a pussy and like a good cry. But here's a bit of a newsflash for you, I DON'T CARE! Just stop it!

Toughen up, Princess, lift your game and reserve the tears for sad things. Unless of course I'm menstruating in which case you can bring on the tears when I watch the talcum powder commercials with the cute babies.

Yours sincerely,

Hack Job

There is no doubt that Tricky is a shaggy headed boy.

When I visited my grandmother recently the first words out of her mouth were "He needs a haircut". Closely followed by "What's his name again?" She certainly has her priorities.

But she was right. As much a fan as I am of the shag, he was in need of a trim having slipped from shaggy to scruffy in recent weeks.

Shaggy-headed, sushi-eating Tricky, 5 minutes before his hair cut

As usual, the kid sat there unmoving, shooting daggers at her through the mirror and pouting. Most hairdressers say he's well behaved and I tend to just let them think that rather than point out if looks could kill they'd be long gone by now.

Just a trim, so it's out of his eyes, I said.

She started to cut.

She noticed his scars and I said that they were one reason I liked it long. The shaggy look covers a lot of the lumps and bumps caused by his surgeries. She started chatting about the resilience of kids and all the while her scissor-happy hands flew around his poor head.

On leaving the hairdresser I couldn't see how bad it was because it was still wet. All I could tell was it that was much shorter than I'd asked... then it dried. And I cried.

Turns out, when she said "I'll put in a few layers" she meant "I'll wildly hack at your kid's head and make him look stupid".

A few people suggested that it looked like he'd got the scissors out himself. Or that I'd been embracing my frugal side and giving home haircuts. 

After I'd finished crying about it I started crying over the fact that I'd been crying over hair. Hair that grows back. Hair that doesn't matter in the big picture.

Then I looked at him, he gave me the biggest, cheesiest smile, and that gorgeous face juxtaposed with that horrid hair meant I cried some more. He didn't give a shit what his hair looked like, all he cared about was if I was going to play cars with him or not. So I played cars and tried not to cry. I'm extremely hormonal right now, can you tell? GIVE ME SOME CHOCOLATE AND I WILL STOP CRYING.

I did complain to the manager and she attempted to fix it despite me almost having convulsions when she came at his head with scissors, so it's even shorter now and a little bowl-esque. But it will grow.

And all of a sudden I have a boy and not a baby.

Have you/your kid had a bad haircut? Did you cry/complain/eat copious amounts of chocolate?

The Weekend Whine - Episode 7

Oh hai! It's the weekend, there is wine (or this instance, bourbon), therefore there is whine!

Excuse the crappy quality... you'll find out why I'm filming on my phone in a few seconds.


What's made you whine this week?

Where is your Olympic Spirit?

If there is one thing that has struck me in the first few days of the London 2012 Olympics, it's the way the Australian media is crucifying athletes who don't "perform".

This snippet of a piece on James Magnussen being the favourite for his next race, by staff writers at News Limited, is just one example:

"But that is all under doubt now after he and his teammates bombed in the final of the 4 x 100m relay, finishing a disappointing fourth despite heading into the race as hot favourites."

Sorry, what? When did training hard for years, making the Australian team, qualifying through the heats to make the OLYMPIC FUCKING FINAL and coming fourth constitute bombing out?

These people are the best our country has to offer and yet we're being told they are not good enough. I'm not suggesting they all get participation medals like a school sports carnival where no one is allowed to lose lest our kiddies get upset, I'm suggesting a little credit where credit is due.

And now I'm going to pull the what-is-this-teaching-our-kids card because surely that's what a Mummy Blogger should do. What type of example is this to all the kids watching the Olympics? If you win at the highest level you will be held up as the golden girl/boy of Australia... and if you come second or heaven forbid don't even make the podium, you're "disappointing".

How is promoting the "If you're not first, you're last" and "Second place is the first loser" mentality ever a good thing? 

From these types of statements, which are all over the media right now and being made by the commentary team, am I meant to conclude that anyone who didn't make the final is a loser? That anyone who didn't make the Australian Olympic team is pathetic?

No wonder they're all breaking down this year! They're being told that unless they're perfect, breaking records, weighing the right amount and winning gold IT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH. Give them a break already, last time I checked they were human.

And yet, only a few hours earlier though, the exact same media outlet slammed a US comedian for joking on Twitter that the female Australian swimmers had "amazing cocks". So it's not OK for a comedian to make a joke about our Olympians but it's just fine and dandy for a journalist to crucify them? Double standard, much?

What ever happened to the Olympic Spirit?

Do you find it "disappointing" when someone tries their hardest and doesn't win? Or are you just in awe at the amazing talent of these people?

Is that a spade or a short handled digging instrument?

I don't normally wade in to the murky waters that are online debates about mummy bloggers for a few reasons:

• Getting my opinion across in 140 characters or a small comment box is bloody hard
• I loathe conversations that go in circles
• I'm happy to disagree with people and have them do their thing while I do mine
• I don't really give enough of a shit to waste valuable time on it

But can someone, for the love of Google, please tell me how an opinion writer who has a column in a newspaper and writes about a comped weekend experience; a tech website owner who is paid to write about the features of the brand new iPhone she just got given; and a TV show reviewing games they have been sent, are any different to each other? Are any different to me? REALLY. Because I just don't get it.
 
They were paid for their time, their skill and their ability to draw readers/viewers with their opinions. How is that different, really, to what Bloggers who choose to walk the monetisation path do?

They all received product with the expectation it would be reviewed. They all received payment or compensation in one form or another. No one is jumping up and down saying they have been bought, that they've sold out, are immoral and unethical or that they are being untruthful in their review. You can call it sponsorship, a small fee from the parent company, an admin fee, hell, you can even call it Shazza's Shoe Fund. I'm gonna call it a fucking a spade. Money is changing hands for opinion, be it positive or negative, no matter what the platform.

You can argue to the cows come home that old media is governed by laws, and that I am not. The fact that I am abiding by those laws, because I feel it is the right thing to do, is seemingly dismissed because I'm new  media and my platform is mine alone and therefore anything I write must be intrinsically biased, unbalanced and easily bought. My words here are not influenced by whether or not my palm was lined with cash or a box of fucking washing powder came my way, and it even says so on my media kit so that companies who wish to engage with me know straight up that I can't be bought.

I get that there are some unethical bloggers out there willing to say anything for a buck, but they are in the minority here. Painting all mummy bloggers who monetise with the one "cash-for-comment" brush, and singling us out as the only writing niche who have some bad eggs amongst us is a narrow viewpoint indeed.

10 Reasons why I'm deleting your email

Oh look! My Cranky Pants are back!!

I get a lot of emails. Usually a few hundred a day, over three accounts. There's the handful from friends, library notifications, some writing briefs and some PR stuff. Only about 30 emails of the few hundred are worth reading - the rest, well, they're all crap... and most of them I delete without more than a glance.

So I've put together this list so that you know why I never replied to your email. You're welcome.

10 Reasons Why I'm Deleting Your Email

1. You say you've just finished reading a particular post and thoroughly enjoyed it and would like to place paid links in it... really? It was about domestic violence and the murder of twin babies. Enjoy isn't really a word I'd associate with reading that kind of material. 
2. Your opening line is how much you love my blog and you mention your favourite post by name. If you'd looked closer, and not just selected a random title, then you'd realize that was a guest post that I DIDN'T WRITE. What makes it worse is that maybe that is your favourite post on my site... gee, way to dent my ego, asshole.
3. You have sent me a press release asking me to write about your massive multi national company, with multi million dollar advertising budget and when I reply with my ad fees you say you have no budget for blogs.
4. You address your email "Hi there" "Dear Where's" "Dear Mrs My Glow?" or, my personal favourite "Dear Jackie". I have a pseudonym, use it. I also have a name that is now on the public record and really not that hard to find - when you use that you REALLY get my attention.
5. You're trying to get me to buy something, usually a penis enlarger or Viagra, but for some reason you think that by spelling it V1agra and Pen1s to circumvent my spam filter, that I won't actually realize and click through. I may not have completed my degree but I'm not that dumb.
6. You have asked me to promote your dating website for disabled lesbian Mongolian figure skaters living in Uruguay. Last time I checked, my readership in Uruguay wasn't too high so I'm going to pass on that, thanks all the same.
7. You're kindly letting me know I have inherited $3.2 million after a long lost relative I don't know of has died and to access it will only cost $3000. Now that I'm over the shock of learning my seventh cousin has suddenly passed away, lemme think... errr, no. 
8. You start your email "Dear lovely new friend" and go on to tell me you like the look of my photo on the blog, would like to move to Australia and marry me, then sign it from Susie. Thanks for looking at my photo and thinking I'm a bloke... unless you're gay in which case I hate to inform you the politicians still haven't gotten off their bigoted asses to make it legal yet.
9. Your from name is "PerfectlyLegal". If that doesn't ring alarm bells I don't know what does.
10. I forgot all about it, took too long to respond so just deleted it. At this moment my brain closely resembles mushy peas (though I will guess slightly less green) and I have a to-do list as long as a really long armed person's my arm. For some reason I would prefer to be seen as a rude bitch than a scatterbrain... though I suppose the secret is out now, huh?

Aaaaand special bonus number 11: If it's a chain email. No, I will not forward it on to five friends to prevent the apocalypse!

Why do you delete emails?

5 things not to say to a parent (and by parent I actually mean me)

The pants are out again! Can I get a woot woot?

When my parenting skills are called in to question I can go from zero to Cranky in 1.39 seconds. A quick glance at the news will show you children who aren't being cared for properly and you're going to tut tut at me based on the fact that there is some dried weetbix spot welded to the side of my kid's face? Priorities, people!

Prepare for rant in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1....

Five things not to say to a parent

(and by a parent I quite obviously mean me)

1. You made your son a toy kitchen? But he's a boy...
Really? You're that narrow minded that you're going to feel awkward when my son pretends to cook? A dude can't enjoy cooking? Are you afraid I'm going to feminize him, is that it? Geez, you're gonna totally flip when I show you his Jemima doll and pink teddy. Take your archaic views and fuck off.

2. Oh you're still breastfeeding? Umm, errr, that's, ummm, great... you're gonna stop soon though, right? I mean, it's not beneficial anymore.
Not beneficial? Tricky's needed medication for a cold ONCE in almost two years. Plus I can comfort him instantly when he's hurt, and manage an extra hour of precious sleep every morning thanks to continuing. Besides that, what's it to you? Pretty sure the decision to wean my child has absolutely nothing to do with you. If I want to feed him until he graduates highschool, I will.

3. You don't let your kid eat chips, yet you eat them in front of him? You're so cruel!
Is it also cruel that I drive a car in front of him and don't allow him to take the wheel? That I cook and bake with sharp knives and a hot oven yet don't let him near them? No. I'm the adult, he's the child, he doesn't have to do everything I do. Therefore your reasoning is bullshit and I'm not listening to you.

4. He doesn't talk much... he's lazy.
Lazy? LAZY? Toddler and lazy do not belong in the same sentence. We have gone from a deformity that has the potential to cause developmental delays to a kid hitting milestones just fine and 'normal'. I can't even begin to tell you how awesome that is. Just because he isn't doing the exact same thing at the exact same time as you/your kid/his dad/his second fucking cousin doesn't mean anything. Kids do things when they're ready.

5. He's very skinny... what are you feeding him?
A range of nutritious, home prepared meals, thanks for insinuating asking. This child is eating us out of house and home before the age of two, I dare not think of how it will be when he is a teenager, but it's likely we'll have to take out a second mortgage. He is a clone of his string bean father, blame his long, lean frame on genetics not the fact that he doesn't get junk food. Does he look healthy? Is he running around constantly? He's fine.

What is the one thing someone can say about you/your parenting that instantly makes your blood boil?

Five reasons I don't like the #KONY2012 campaign

If there is one thing I hate, it's ill informed decisions. 

If you haven't heard of the Kony2012 campaign you are either living under a proverbial rock or something has gone wrong with your internet access. Never before have I seen a hashtag, a concept or a video go viral so fast.

But you will not find me supporting the Kony2012 campaign. Shock, horror! No, it doesn't mean I support Kony or condone his actions - on the contrary, I'm pretty sure he is the embodiment of evil and needs to be stopped.

Was the video by Invisible Children compelling? Oh hell yes - I bawled my eyes out hearing the young Ugandan boy, Jacob, saying he thought it would be better to be murdered by this evil man rather than live in a constant state of fear. As soon as I saw it I wanted to do something, to know more, to find out why the hell I hadn't heard of this monster Kony before.

So I did. And I didn't like what I found. The actual Kony2012 campaign by Invisible Children and what it represents? Well it's left rather a bad taste in my mouth...

1. I have a problem with a dubious company making a shed load of money and only using approximately 30% of it on the issue they're spruiking - the details of which are on the public record since they are registered as a not-for-profit organization.
2. I'm disappointed that so many people are willing to jump on a bandwagon before finding out more about it, just because everyone else is doing it, they feel like they're "supposed" to or made to feel guilty for not supporting it. I'm not talking about anyone in particular here so you can all calm down and stop thinking I'm bitching about my friends.
3. I loathe that we live in a culture (and support a culture) where violence is condemned but vigilante violence is celebrated - why is it OK to hurt anyone? How many crimes does it take before someone "deserves" violence against them? Where is that line and who gets to draw it? Does a certain number of hits on your page mean you're right? Does over a million video views mean someone deserves to die?
4. I have serious questions about people who grab torches and pitchforks, demanding the death of someone for their crimes - fight for justice, the death penalty is a cop out. I cannot celebrate the death of anyone, no matter how horrid they are...  renowned political and ideological leader, Ghandi said "an eye for an eye turns the whole world blind" and it's true
5. Most of all I'm disappointed that it takes a video with a white guy and a cute little blond kid to get our attention about such atrocities happening in the world.

If you're going to jump on the bandwagon, do it.. but be informed and know what you're doing. If you've already jumped on, it shows that you are a good, kind person who saw suffering and wants to help - you don't deserve to be vilified for supporting it... it's your choice, just as this is my choice not to support it. If we all thought the same thing, the world would be boring.

"Is awareness good? Yes. But these problems are highly complex, not one-dimensional and, frankly, aren’t of the nature that can be solved by postering, film-making and changing your Facebook profile picture, as hard as that is to swallow. Giving your money and public support to Invisible Children so they can spend it on supporting ill-advised violent intervention and movie #12 isn’t helping. Do I have a better answer? No, I don’t, but that doesn’t mean that you should support KONY 2012 just because it’s something. Something isn’t always better than nothing." - Grant Oyston of Visible Children. 

Are you on the Kony2012 bandwagon? Did you look in to it before you jumped on? 

EDIT: I haven't said that Invisible Children are calling for the death penalty, I'm speaking about the whole campaign and therefore those that have jumped on it - search the hashtag on Twitter and you will find thousands of people calling for his death. When this man is caught, depending on where he is tried (his own country, the ICC, a neighbouring country where he is also abducting and killing kids) will depend on whether he gets a life sentence or the death penalty.

10 Reasons Why I'm Not Having Sex With You Tonight

Oh look at you clicking over here to check out my sex life, you pervert!

I figured it was about time to get my Cranky Pants on about someone trying to get my Cranky Pants off, so if you're in any way related to myself or Map Guy, you might wanna click away now. Alternatively, feel free to just give me awkward looks the next time we see each other, OK? Great, let's get to it: 

10 Reasons Why I'm Not Having Sex With You Tonight

1. I know how you treated the last girl you slept with as another notch on your belt. It shits me off that you're labeled a Casanova for behaving like an animal whereas if I did the same I'd be branded a slut. Assholes annoy me but double standards piss me off even more.

2. Because I don't actually know who you are. We may have had a few drinks, a lot of laughs and danced the night away together, hell, I may have even professed my undying love to you... but I'm not stupid enough to actually go home with a complete stranger.

3. It's midnight, I've been up since 4am dealing with a velcro toddler who is sick/tantruming/just bloody annoying and I'm completely knackered. If you were interested could you have not hinted at it before 9pm when you were playing video games? The only way you're allowed to touch me right now is if you're massaging my aching shoulders (and no, it will most definitely not lead to anything after the day I've had!).

4. I'm surfing the crimson wave / having a visit from Aunt Flo / have the painters in / it's that time of the month / experiencing code red / riding the injured mouse / have my rags / have my period and I really can't be bothered with towels or showers.

5. The sheets are clean. I love the feeling of a clean body on clean sheets - just give me one night to luxuriate in that silky goodness. P.S. The couch is available, let's go there. P.P.S. The kitchen bench is fine, let's go there too.

6. The toddler is awake and calling for me. There is nothing that kills a mood quicker than your child calling out your name when you're ten minutes in to the deed - the only person calling out my name at that time should be you. Time to shut up shop and hang a "Sorry, we're closed" sign on the front of my knickers.

7. You're not my husband.

8. You are my husband.

 

9. My/your parents are in the next room. I realize they all know we've had sex, we have a child to prove it - but do they really have to hear it? It's kinda hard to feel aroused when you can hear your inlaws breathing, plus, I'm not exactly known for *ahem* being quiet.

10. We have run out of condoms and the last time I even held your hand I got pregnant. The whole two year age gap is overrated, I'm not ready to be up the duff again and I'm not chancing it, buster! Put it back in your pants.

Why aren't you having sex tonight? Don't tell me you have a headache, that excuse doesn't cut it

10 Reasons Why I Don't Trust You

Trust. It's a strange thing, really, because if I trust you to take care of my house while I'm away it doesn't mean I trust you to borrow a treasured possession; if I trust you to look after my dog, it doesn't mean I'd trust you to look after my kid; If I trust you to look after my kid it doesn't mean I'd trust you enough to be a confidante. Trust in one area doesn't automatically generate trust in another, just as lack of trust in one doesn't necessarily mean lack of trust in others. That's getting a little too philosophical, so let's just get on with the rant.

I'd like to preface this post with a little note: These are all from personal experience so if you think I'm talking about you... I probably am. Best you know though, right?

1. You drink/take drugs and drive. I could care less what you do in your own time, but the second you get in a car when you're under the influence, I have lost all respect for you. If you're planning a road trip and promise me you won't drive stoned while my loved ones are in the car with you, and then blaze up at the first truck stop... well, there's not much you can do to redeem yourself from that.

2. All conversations are a way for you to bitch about someone behind their back. I'm not stupid you know, if you bitch about everyone else then it's pretty much guaranteed you're bitching about me too. So I won't tell you anything of consequence because I know you'll twist it and before the week is done the woman down the road's step-son's cousin knows.

3. You blatantly lie to your fiance in front of me about something so huge that affects both of your lives, then give me that look that says "shhh, don't tell". You've just brought me in to your lie, you schmuck. If you want to screw up your own future, do it, but don't make me the bad guy who either did or didn't keep your secret.

4. Your emails/tweets/blog posts are full of simple spelling mistakes but then you pull out words like "crwth" and "tsktsks" on Words with Friends to beat me. YOU CHEAT! No more Words with Friends for you!

5. You suggest the perfect wedding gift for Map Guy would be for you to sleep with him because he had a crush on you a few years before he met me. I'm sorry, what fucking planet are you from? Are kitchen appliances too passe these days that we have to give sexual favours?

6. You've barely spoken to me for more than five minutes over four and a half years while you swan around, flying business class back and forth around the world, then pop up asking to borrow a large sum of money. You can't just decide to be friends when you want something.

7. I loaned you my most amazing, most expensive reference book that I paid a shed load of money for... and you left the country. Do they not have a postal service in the UK so you could send it back? I miss my beautiful book and it's making me a sad panda.

8. You tell me bum doesn't look big in these pants when it's blatantly obvious I look like a whale in spandex. 

9. You sleep with your mate's wife. This is particularly scummy if it's done approximately one week after having a giant, albeit slightly drunken, conversation with myself and said mate about the importance of fidelity. It reaches the height of douchedom (is too a word) when you do it in the next room while your mate sleeps. Not cool. Not cool at all.

10. You sleep with your husband's mate. See above for further info.

Why don't you trust someone?

10 Reasons Why I Don't Like Your Outfit

I'm donning the sexy Cranky Pants for another rant. This time, I'm gonna aim my venom at fashion.

I'll preface this by saying in the last 15 years I have gone from a size 10 up to a size 18, and now I'm pretty much a 14 (unless you count the three things I own that are a 12 which are probably just mislabeled) and in that time I have committed many fashion sins. Such as *ahem* this. But it just wouldn't be a rant if there wasn't an air of hypocrisy now would there?

10 Reasons Why I Don't Like Your Outfit

1. Your shorts are so short your bum cheeks are not covered. Now I really cannot stress this enough, if I can see your cheeks, then you are not actually wearing pants, you're wearing denim underwear. Also if your pockets are longer than your shorts it kinda looks like you have a piece of toilet paper stuck to you... not the best look.

2. You have DD breasts and are obviously wearing a C cup bra which has effectively cut your norks in half giving the impression that you now have four. The multiple boob look should only be attempted by that one girl in Total Recall - you know the one.

3. You look amazing in something I tried on and looked like a Christmas Ham in. OK, I admit, this one is just based in pure, unadulterated jealousy.

4. I can see your labia. Girls, you may have amazing legs from here to tomorrow and love showing them off but if your skirt could be mistaken for a belt then I think you need to put something else on. What do you do if you need to pick something up off the floor? No really, I have no idea how you can possibly do it without chucking a Brittney Spears.

5. You have a dark bra on under a light shirt. You are not Carrie Bradshaw! For the record I thought she looked crap when she did it too.

6. Leggings as pants. Enough said.

7. You dress for the size you want to be not the size you actually are. In other words, muffin tops, back fat and bulges or shapeless tents. There are amazing clothes out there for people of all shapes and sizes, though sadly sometimes they are hard to find (ask Nikki at Styling You, she'll help you no matter what your size).

8. I can see three inches of bum crack and/or underwear. Do you have a plumbers license? No? Then pull your god damn pants up!

9. You are covered in the insignia of a team you've never actually seen play, from a country you've never visited and a city you could barely place on a map.

10. You are wearing clothes that could easily lead to any number of passers by mistaking you for an exotic dancer... and you're only fifteen. Now you might think that my recent birthday means I've ticked over in to the fuddy duddy category but you'd be wrong - I've been in that group for a long time already,. PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!

What makes you think an outfit is horrible?

10 Reasons Why I I'm Not Your Facebook Friend

Facebook. Hrmmm. I have a love hate relationship with the 'book. I recently did a huge cull of "friends" and freely admit to be being too chicken to delete more.

For some of the defriends, these were my top ten reasons.

1. We went to school together and we weren't friends then, definitely aren't friends now, and are highly unlikely to actually be proper friends at any point in the future. It was nice to get on and have a look at how fat/skinny you are and how cute/fugly your children are, but it's time to put it behind us. However, if you transition to Twitter, let's be BFFs.

2. Every single update is emo and attention seeking. I get it, really I do. Sometimes you need to vent about how shit your life is. Heaven forbid that I, the ultra crazy gal, would deny anyone the right to talk about their mental health or lack there of. But if it's all you write, it's a bit of a downer. Get a therapist.

3. You bitch and moan about how little money you have thanks to your deadbeat ex who never pays child support and ask for people to lend you petrol money, then post pictures of your brand new Great Dane puppy from your brand new iPhone while you're getting a pedicure.

4. You mention, in detail, your child's toilet habits. I don't enjoy dealing with my own child's shit, why would I want to hear about yours' in all it's festery detail. The same goes for "Yay Ashlynella-Lou just did poo in the potty!". I DON'T WANT TO KNOW! If you put a photo up, Google God help you because I will hunt you down.

5. I don't actually know who you are. If you blog under a pseudonym and then add me under your real name I simply have no clue who the hell you are. Same goes for if we met at a party and spoke for all of five minutes. I don't add randoms - that is what Twitter is for.

6. You fill up my feed with your latest and greatest cold/flu/sinus infection/ear infection. Does the word hypochondria mean anything to you? No? Look it up, your photo is there. If you really are that sick then I suggest skipping the GP and heading straight to a major hospital because it's obvious you have some sort of diabolical immune disorder.

7. You send me requests for farm animals/plants/potions. It's bad enough that you fill up my feed with all this crap but you make it ten times worse when you send me a personal message asking for a freaking spanner to repair your coffee machine in a cafe game. The only fucking spanner I'm going to give you is one to shove up your arse. Go to a real cafe like a normal person.

8. You comment on every single one of my status updates and photos. The sanctity of Facebook revolves around how easy it is to stalk people - you're doing it wrong if you make it so bloody obvious. It is entirely too freaky if you comment multiple times on a single photo of my son. I know he's cute, I'm his mother. Plus I have an entire blog full of information, why stalk on Facebook when it's all right here?

9. You publicly chuck a hissy fit when someone deletes you, even though you weren't really friends to start with. Then you turn around and delete people a week later saying you simply don't want to share everything with everyone and would people please grow up, it's not the end of the world. HYPOCRITE!

10. You ask information you should be finding out through more appropriate means. Facebook is not for street directions, movie reviews, weather updates or the seeking of medical advice so stop requesting it. That is what Google, and to a lesser extent a doctor, is for. Every time you ask your "friends" if your symptoms require a trip to the hospital, a puppy dies. True story.

Why aren't you a Facebook friend?

10 Reasons Why I Don't Follow You On Twitter

So this is the third installment of 'Why I Don't' posts, hot on the heels of Why I Don't Read Your Blog and Why I Don't Comment On Your Blog. In short, it's a thinly veiled bitch session.

Twitter is my favourite thing in the world (@glowless in case you were wondering). Awake at midnight? Go talk to someone! Something important happens in the world? Find out within mere minutes - most of the time from eye witnesses (and RTs) more than half an hour before it gets on even the top news sites. But mostly it is where I go for shits and giggles with my buddies from all around the world... and to avoid housework, obviously.

10 Reasons Why I Don't Follow You On Twitter

1. You're a company and the only thing you tweet is your latest deal over and over again. If I wanted to see so many damn ads I'd watch commercial television. Twitter is an amazing marketing tool but you have to engage with me. This also counts if you use your business account to just retweet your own blog account. If there is no point of difference between the two, one has to go.

2. You only retweet others. If I want to know what they're saying, I'll follow them thankyouverymuch. Say something original but preferably not just a blow by blow account of what you're doing unless you happen to be "doing" a celebrity.

3. You have no bio. I know, I know, they can be a bitch to write but it is the biggest make or break for me. I need to immediately know if you're a person or a company, if we have anything in common and if you're going to give me some level of entertainment. And further to this please list your location to the nearest city... if you put your location as "Earth" I'll just think you're a dickhead or an alien. Same goes if your avi is that stupid bloody egg.

4. Your name, Twitter handle and blog name are so different to each other that I have no idea who the hell you are. Here's a hint, if they're really different put the information in your bio, there's even a special spot for a link so USE IT! Make it easy for me, people!

5. You tweet quotes and pretend they're your own. Just like the other eleventy hundred bajillion people on the interwebz, I got that viral email in 2003 too, so I've heard the joke before. You're not fooling anyone, mister!

6. You follow and unfollow me to get my attention. Now this can be used as a way of covertly gauging if someone has intentionally unfollowed you or if the phantoms of the Twittersphere have worked their evil magic again and just kicked you off a list. But once you've done it once and I don't follow back, perhaps it's a useful clue. It smacks of desperation when you do it weekly, so don't. This is even worse if you're a business - yes, I'm looking at YOU Perth video making company that shall remain nameless.

7. You use too many hashtags. Do #you #really #need #every #single #word to be one? This is of course null and void if your hashtags are hilarious and involve mention of nipples, wine and/or Glow Jobs.

8. Your tweets are set to private. WHY?!?!?! Twitter is about being in a global conversation, don't cut yourself out of it! It doesn't make sense so I automatically think you're a douche and won't follow you. If for some incredible reason I do send a follow request, whenever I go to RT you I get a little warning from Twitter telling me I'm RTing protected content... it's annoying in a first world problem kinda way.

9. All your tweets are about your damn cat and your lonely single life. Unless you're Bridget Jones and can tell me some saucy stories about getting it on with Daniel Cleaver, whining all the freaking time about your non existent social life is just infuriating. Join an online dating site or, I dunno, put down Mr Snuggles for a goddamn minute and go out in to the real world for once.

10. You tweet racist, homophobic, xenophobic, sexist crap under the thin veneer of humour and the protection afforded you for being considered a celebrity social commentator. There is no excuse for being a bigoted twat, grow up.

Why don't you follow someone on Twitter? I'm expecting the new little bird on the scene might get a mention here.