Doesn’t time fly biatches.

A year ago today, I was shopping and went blind.

A year ago today, I pretty much emptied our bank account buying fuck knows what.

A year ago today, I was blissfully unaware that in a few hours I would be sitting in the Emergency Department about to go through the most harrowing week of my life.  My will scrawled on a scrap of paper and buried in my clothes.

A year ago today, I was told that I had a stroke.

I know I didn’t finish the ‘Anatomy of a brain fart’.  I just couldn’t.  And to be honest, now my memory is sketchy.  Except for the farting naked Italian woman who emptied her bowels with the ensuite door open I shared a room with.  THAT my fucked up brain chooses to remember clearly.  My nostrils twitching with smell memory.

Oh and she wasn’t always naked.  Sometimes she wore socks.

A year ago today I had no idea of the love and support I would get from you guys.

A year ago today I faced my mortality and came out the other side relatively unscathed.

I am lucky.  I am so very lucky.  Every day, as I take the medications that cost more than the shoes that used to adorn my feet, I am thankful for this second chance.

I have been lurking over at Anissas.  I don’t profess to be her friend, sure we bantered occasionally on Twitter and she is hilarious, but I barely know her.

But what happened to her is like a punch in the guts to me.  This is her second.  She is doing so amazingly well, she is strong and determined. But her second one.  Years later.

That scares the living shit out of me.

So today, a year later, I am going to wander around my house and clean it top to bottom.  A clean house as a birthday present to myself.

Tomorrow is going to be an awesome day.  This time last year will be my yardstick to measure all birthdays.

Cause fuck me dead they don’t get any more crappy than that.

Literally tens of you are already aware of my awesomeness.

You spend your days making shrines to me, lovingly crafting life sized effigies, adorning your walls with my image.

Your prized possession, a cut out of a picture of a lock of my hair.

It is not easy being so adored.

But I soldier on.  I know, I know, I was totally robbed by that Mary MacKillop bitch in being the first Australian saint.  It is a burden I have to bear, but generations to come will right that terrible wrong.

Keep up the crafting though my lovelies, because as of today I am now a FEATURED WRITER over at Craftastrophe.

Karen and Sam literally begged me to come on board with promises of fame and fortune and the opportunity to access more things to point and laugh at.  And I was all ‘OMG PLEASE PLEASE let me write for you I am like totally awesome and I will pay you’ ‘oh, OK.  I will help you try and raise your profile from the measly 3000+ feedburner readers…’

*gulp*

So, do me a solid and get your arses over to Craftastrophe.  Laugh till you pee, tell me I am awesome {so they don’t regret giving me the keys to the joint – and girls I will totally clean up that mess I made} stumble and twitter that shizzle all over the place and if you find any craptacular craftastophes on the interwebs link me up.

Cause that is what the internet is for.  Friendship through mocking the efforts of others.

And to sweeten the pot, I am talking about scrotum.  And everyone loves a little scrotum.

You know how the other day I was all ’sweet! a carpark’ and rubbing your noses in the awesome luck that I was having.

And then I was all ‘well, fuck me dead’ when all our appliances went belly up.

And now I have no idea what to say but thank fucking GOD I didn’t mop the floors yesterday.

That is my front yard.

That is our street.

That is the TV aerial hanging from the verandah.  It took out part of the roof with it.

That is a bowl catching dirty water coming out of our central heating unit. {Pikachu ensuring that the bowl catches it all… *snort*}

And now, after mopping up and a sleepless night worrying that our roof will cave in, I am off to a Christmas Party.

Oh yes peeps, you read that shit right.  A CHRISTMAS PARTY.

The Golden Child is in town and MOTY is losing her shit with excitement.  He wasn’t here for Christmas, so OBVIOUSLY we must partake in turkey and bon bons and showering him with gifts in MARCH.

Schadenfreude my lovelies.  I am getting that tattooed on my arse.

Unless I came back as a very satisfied zombie.  But I am pretty sure zombies are really not that good at clasping and I would drop the dishes and then, OF COURSE, no one would clean that shit up so it would be a moot point really.

I can’t remember the last time I hand washed the dishes.  Probably some time last century.  Because HELLO TECHNOLOGY!  We don’t live in no dark ages or university share house, we are civilised people with a fucking MACHINE that does that shit for us.

{OK, OK some of you may not have a dishwasher and for that I am sincerely sorry.  But what are you?  Fucking AMISH?  A dishwasher is like a fucking basic human RIGHT.}

But now I am sitting here peering into my kitchen full of dishes with a dishwasher that is all ‘blink blink blink, fucking BLINK’ which is dishwasher speak for fuck you biatch, do your own damn dishes.

And to add insult to dishpan hands, the oven is all ‘meh, you want WHAT temperature?  How about I fart out a tiny bit of heat in this corner here and we call it a day?’ and then the washing machine is all ‘what about me?’ and then vomited a fuck load of water onto the floor which seeped into the hallway and the cupboard and THROUGH THE FUCKING WALL into the bathroom and the toilet was swimming in 5cm of water which was AWESOME cause Boo had only just sprayed the general vicinity of the toilet in piss and that, along with toilet paper, mixed in with the water from the machine seeped BACK THROUGH THE WALL and now my entire house is covered in piss scented washing machine water.

AND to add to the mix I can’t eat anything cause I get heartburn like a motherfucker and then cough up a lung and now my stomach is gurgling and I cannot venture further than 5 feet from a toilet and OMG NOW I HAVE A SORE THROAT AND A RUNNY NOSE.

Hence the fuck me dead.

CLEARLY all this means I am going to win the lottery on the weekend.

And we are having takeaway for dinner.  But nothing spicy.  Fuck it.

Boo:  I need you to write a letter to Japan.

Me:  What for dude?

Boo:  *as he wanders off* I need some Japanese people…

*boggle*

And then he presented me with this:

People of Japan!

Listen up! Boo has created a 27 episode show called 北極点戦隊クリスマスのレンジャー. He needs some cast and crew as well. Please supply him with Japanese people starting on 28th Feb ‘10. Here’s a list.
阿部 薫 as クリスマスレッド/アスカ
長澤 奈央 as クリスマスブルー/野乃 七海
三上 真史 as クリスマスイエロー/最上 蒼太
林 剛史 as クリスマスグリーン/戸増 宝児
別府 あゆみ as クリスマスキースー/小津 芳カ
出合 正幸 as クリスマスブレイク/高丘 映士
木下 あゆみ as クリスマスホワイト/礼紋 茉莉花
吉田 友一 as クリスマスブラック/姶良 鉄幹
千葉麗子 as クリスマスムラサキ/リシヤ族プリンセス•メイ
市川 洋介 as クリスマスシャイン/ヒカル
ドギー・クルーガー as Himself/クリスマスマスター
姜 暢雄(the male, if you know what I mean) as クリスマスブワルブライジャー/霞 一鍬
逢沢 りな as クリスマスゴールド/楼山 早輝
伊藤 陽佑 as クリスマスシルバー/江成 仙一
Don‘t forget the arsenal

From the *insert our last name here* Corporation

I iz scared.

Hope they send Ninja.  I hear they rock at washing windows.

Yesterday I went to the optometrist.

Just a little checky checky considering I haven’t been for 3 years and my current old lady reading glasses are kinda making my eyes tired and I hate them with the passion of the billion suns that shine out of my brothers arse.

Ironically, I gotz me the old lady reading glasses when Boo was going in for a check up to see why he does the squinty head on the side flap his fingers in front of his face while grimacing thing.  I could have told them it was just a Booism.  But NOOOOOOOO a school nurse was all ‘hello… this kid needs glasses’ and I was all ‘well fuck me, ANOTHER thing for him to add to his diet’

So I took him to the optometrist.  Because I am a good mother.  And because of said good motherage I allowed the optometrist to check my eyes first so Boo could see what would happen.

I walked out with a six hundred dollar pair of old lady glasses and Boo skipped out all squinty head on the side flap his fingers in front of his face while grimacing Booism.

Suckage.

I have put up with these fuckers for 3 years and decided that I would treat myself to a new pair for my birthday.  Now don’t panic my biatches, my birthday is not for a couple of weeks so you have PLENTY of time to send me copious amounts of gifts and cash and my optometrist has plenty of time to make sure my new glasses are ready in time.  And I think I deserve a pair of glasses that reflect my awesomeness rather than make me look like the crazy cat lady.

When I went in to make my appointment I was served by the most gorgeous flamboyant manchild.  As I approached the wall of glasses he flitted over and squealed ‘Darling! Let me help you!  Oh My GOD they are FABULOUS on you!’  so obviously we were immediately BFF.

I showed him my current glasses, and after he fawned all over my ’simply GORGEOUS’ handbag and shoes his face screwed up when he saw my glasses.  He had to hold himself up on the counter while whispering ‘hideous’ and ’simply ghastly!’

Um.  I didn’t think they were THAT bad…

And then, with the flourish of a Mardi Gras dancer he produced a pair of glasses and gently placed them on my face and stood back.  ‘Darling.  Absolutely DARLING’

So obviously I bought them.  Cause I am a sucker for a gay boy.  Well not LITERALLY, cause well… you know… the whole not having a penis thing.

Ahem.

Fast forward to yesterday when I had my eye test.  After the machine that is supposed to automatically stop just in front of your face and blow a puff of air PUNCHED ME IN THE EYE REPEATEDLY and endless ‘is this better?  This? This? THIS?’ I wandered out with a watery eye and a prescription for stronger reading glasses.

Apparently I have the eyes of a 45yr old.  Which blows but is awesome cause I had the eyes of a 45yr old 3 years ago, so technically they are getting younger.

By the time I am 60 I will have the eyes of an Anime character.

* I never got the attraction to Bette Davis’ eyes.  I always thought that they were kinda weird and poppy outty {medical term}.  Maybe Kim Carnes got too many hits to the head with the supposed to automatically stop just in front of your face and blow a puff of air but punches in the eye repeatedly machine.

Or maybe she didn’t have a faaaaaabulous gay boy BFF to pick out her glasses.

Or lucky 45 minutes.  I am choosing the former.

Oh Em Gee you guys!  Seriously the luckiest day EVAH!

{holy shit, I HAVE TO stop following my cousins on Facebook soon I will be txt tlkn}

ANYWAY…

The day started off fairly normal, but I knew something was up when Boo got in the car to go to school without a fight and FIVE MINUTES EARLY!

Got to school and found a park right out front.

Boo didn’t do the walk around half the school to decide which gate he will deign to be appropriate to enter which just happens to be the first one we approached thing and I left school BEFORE NINE AM!

Drove to the shopping centre and OMG A PARK RIGHT OUT FRONT!

Went into the optometrist to confirm my appointment for tomorrow, no waiting.  In and out in 30 seconds.

Got my favourite trolley at the supermarket {shut up.  They have these awesome tall half trolleys that are so freaking CUTE and awesome and no bending or lifting.  They would be your favourite too.} AND there was hardly anyone in there AND they had everything I needed.

AND THEN as I approached the registers THEY OPENED ONE FOR ME!

AND I did a shop UNDER one hundred dollars which is totally unheard of and I credit my awesome budgeting and meal planning skills and the trolley of awesome.

Checked my purse and OH MY GOD I am up to my freebee coffee and my favourite barista was working and she fawned all over my shoes.

THEN as I got to the car there was a pole right in front to rest the trolley against, NO ONE in the park next to me AND I managed to get all the shopping in the car one handed.

Seriously.  No lie.  This all happened.  How fucking lucky can one girl get?

Now I am gunna sit back and wait for someone to call me to tell me I won the lottery.

So what lucky things have happened to you today?

EDITED TO ADD:

Lucky day just got fucking LUCKIER, BITCHES!

Remembered to wipe the toilet seat BEFORE sitting down and avoided sitting in cold pee.

Call from Boo’s new case manager (about time and SQUEEEEE) she sounds awesome.  New tallboy to replace the one Boo tore apart and ate is ready to be delivered and extra money in the budget after the realising that Boo’s package was funding someone else in error.  Enough moolah to fund a little getaway to a luxury hotel for some desperately needed sleep and getting of religion *snigger*

Boo-fucking-YAH!

Hey guys, here is a little tip.

If you see a woman rummaging around in her bag and then walk off in the direction of the ladies room with her had clenched around something small, do not insist on knowing what she has in her hand.

Especially if said woman has been a little irrational lately and been nomming on all of the office chocolate.

You are not going to like the answer, especially if she chooses to demonstrate what is in her hand through interpretive dance.

At work, doing my shizzle and according to A of ‘Marcus’ fame, I was rocking some serious Audrey Hepburn moves with my black ensemble, flat shoes (*sob*) and hair slicked back into a high ponytail.  Something I could do now, since the great hair lopping of 2010 and subsequent immediate loss of 10 kilos in hair weight.  Before hand, if I put my hair in a ponytail the sheer weight of all my hair would pull it out.

Therefore I was totally rocking The Audrey.

But something was seriously cramping my style.

I had a headache.  I tried everything humanly possible to treat the said headacheyness – coffee, water, paracetamol, eating every damn thing on the tea room table {OMG the cheese was amazing!} – and then sitting down with my face planted on the cool surface of my desk I admitted defeat and sauntered over to Coffee Bitch’s desk.

‘I am going home.  I just cannot shake this headache’

A look passed between some of my coworkers which I chose to ignore and went home to sit in some darkness for a bit…

A few days later, back at work, Coffee Bitch came up to me.  A look of concern in on his face.

‘How is the headache?  I was so worried about you.  I was going to call but didn’t want you to think I was pressuring you or anything…’

‘Oh.  Um.  About that…’

I had gone home with aforementioned headache and sat in the aforementioned dark.  I decided to lay down in the hopes of alleviating the aforementioned ratfucksonofabitch pounding in my head.  I took out the aforementioned rocking of the ponytail…

…and my headache went away.

Turns out, when you have the weight of a small child lopped off your head and you put the remnants in a ponytail, the hair band loops around a few more times than usual and can totally make everyone think you are about to have a damn stroke.

It goes so fast, the old lady said to me.  Moo cooing in her pram, pretty in pink.

Treasure every moment, she said with a faraway look in her eye.

I humoured her with a smile and a nod and went on my way, so much to do before naptime, the only time of the day I got to breathe.  To sit without someone attached to my body one way or the other.  Such a difficult baby, needing me all the time.

I turned back and saw her looking at me wistfully, raised my hand in a wave to the woman.  Old in my eyes, but probably no more than 50.

**************

I thought of her this morning.  Moo sitting on the edge of the bath, her makeup smeared, exhausted but exhilarated from the night before.  A night where she, along with thousands of other screaming fans, rocked out at the AC/DC concert.  A night when she caught a train in the middle of the night to travel three and a half hours home without me there to protect her from the shadows that danced in my minds eye.  A night – and the whole day before – that I could not wrap my mind around her being so far away surrounded by strangers.  My breath shallow with the ‘what if’s my brain kept haemorrhaging.

She excitedly tells me about her adventures of the previous day and night, as I apply my own makeup, and how she cannot wait to do it again.  The plastic wristband that ensured her entry metres from the stage still attached to her wrist, a wrist resting against her favourite pyjama bottoms.  Pyjama bottoms that I bought her years and years ago.

All I can hear is a wooshing sound, like waves crashing on the beach and a faint screeching.  But I smile and nod and carry on as normal as my heart starts clenching because, at that moment, in that light, I can still see the faint scar from her birth.  The scar the doctors said would disappear quickly, but here we are 18 years later and there is that crescent moon of a scar on her cheek from the failed forceps delivery that almost took both our lives.

It goes so fast, the woman said.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that she was weaning/crawling/starting school/ getting her first bra?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was the 18 year old spreading my wings?

Wasn’t it just yesterday?

We have grown up together, me and my Moo.  And now it is time for me to let her go.

Whether I am ready or not.