Betty on a Box

I’ve been reading Naomi Klein’s No Logo and, frankly, all that talk about multinationals, workers below the poverty line and abuse of corporate power gave me a hankering for a lukewarm piece of fish slapped with thick white pickly sauce huddled between two sugary buns.

That’s right, this pescatarian went to Maccas for a filet-of-fish or, as Jazzy Jeff scoffs, a “fillay” of fish. Those pesky Americans know all the fancy foreign words.

Oh, and I had some fries with that.

Anyway, this pescatarian hasn’t stepped foot inside a Maccas or a Hungry Jacks or any of the fancier fast food restaurantslike Nandos for nigh on two decades. True, there was a time when my feisty metabolism allowed a McFeast here and there, not to mention some fries with that, when I hopped off the bus from Bundoora on my way home from uni, in my 2nd heyday. But that was only during that short lapse - from 1991 to 1995. Up until the hot dog with bacon incident, I’d been a card carrying member of the vegetarian cult since anorexsix- that’s 1986 - the year that my friend Annette and I decided to see who could out starve and out spew each other on our way towards the tightest dresses ever seen at the end of year formal. We both lost 20 kilos in 3 months, which could explain fairly average HSC grades.

But back to the hot dog with bacon. I was at the Chevron with Frank and the others and I might have been a smattering on the wrong side of sober when I announced: “I wanna hoddog wif baco-”

It lasted a while, this carnivorous descent, up until I arrived at mecca - that would be the biggest prawn I ever did see, sitting at a street stall in Malaysia - not literally. But I went cold turkey after that.

Not literally.

Luckily I lapsed again just before the China trip because I was faced with this mother.

It was pretty much downhill from there. Once you’ve eaten a live crustacean, raw, you don’t have such a hard time with rainbow trout or even McDonald’s hake. But I do stop at anything with feet, or hands. Although, given that my fillay didn’t taste anything like my mum’s blue grenadier, I have doubts about its actual ingredients, much like commercial dog food and Macca’s fudge sundaes, so I might have to give it a miss in future. And I may skip the fries as well.

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on, food | tags: fillet of fish, fries, junk food, maccas, mcdonalds, naomi klein, no logo, take away food, take out. | #

[Do] advertisers have any legitimate right to invade every nook and cranny of our mental and physical environment? (Naomi Klein, No Logo)

Here’s a word of warning: I’m not as articulate as Naomi Klein. But I know that I’ve got an opinion. In fact, I’m very opinionated, just ask anyone I’ve ever known, just ask poor JJ. Seriously. And I get it from my dad, who has an opinion about EVERYTHING, including things he knows nothing about. Anyway, I’ll try not to do that too much because there’s a lot I know nothing about.

But this is different.

In my heart and mind (if not in action), I’m a culture jammer. I’m a Gen-Xer, after all, and it’s our duty to mistrust and, therefore, busting ads since the early 90s branded us as the “disaffected generation”, the “unemployed generation”, the “depressed generation” (yes, we were depressed long before emo kids discovered black eyeliner), the “politically apathetic generation”, the ”don’t give a crap” generation.

Well I flipping care. I hate ads. I would rather channel surf for 10 minutes than face another ad. There’s the assumption that people are so stupid that we don’t know what we want to buy so we have to be told by an ad. It’s like cold callers who try to convince you that you need a new [insert consumable here]. Let’s face it, if I want it or need it, I’ll find it and get it. No amount of convincing me is going to get me to buy it so stop calling me during America’s Next Top Model.

But that’s not what this post is about.

I get really incensed whenever I see this billboard.

And, trust me, it’s everywhere - it’s on each side of every freeway and every main road in Melbourne, including the main street that welcomes you to my suburb. My suburb! The one where people are too busy working 16 hour shifts in soup shops or dealing with four kids under ten, or dealing ice, to be wanting any kind of sex, let alone the longer lasting variety (unless they’re smoking ice).

But that’s not the point of this post either. I’m just tired of seeing every piece of air space or wall as an ad. When did I give permission for this assault on my line of vision? Who decided that it was OK to rent this space? Just like owning the first however many centimeters of the land below my house, I want to take back possession of my immediate air space. It’s mine. I want it back.

But that’s not the point of this post either. As I said earlier, in my heart (if not my hip pocket) I’m actually anti-corporate and these things make me laugh:

So what I want to know is the following:

• If I grow my own organic veggies but my friends buy theirs at Coles, one apple per bag, should I highlight the error of their ways?
• If my friend gives her 3 year-old a glass of Ribena (which has about as much sugar as Coke), is it okay for me to cry out in shock as the kid lifts the glass to her lips?
• If I don’t trust the media because it’s all owned by a select few individuals who are deep inside the pockets of all of our politicians, is it better to read the Age, Herald-Sun, Naomi Klein’s website, Adbusters, MS Magazine, Colours Magazine or watch the ABC news?

But I’m not sue that’s the point of this post either. So what is the point?

1. Do my friends think I’m annoying and preachy?

And, more importantly:

2. Does my bum look big in these jeans?

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on, books i'm into, culcha | tags: adbusters, advertising, air space, culture jamming, naomi klein, next top model, no logo. | #

 what’s next?

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on, tattoo | tags: chrysanthemum tattoo, tattoo, tattoo magic, yellow outline tattoo. | #

JJ and I are about to buy a new house. I can’t bring myself to say where. However, I must admit that it’s the kind of suburb that I used to scorn (still do actually), and scoff at its inhabitants (and when I see 30 year old mum dressed in the same Bratz outfit as teen daughter, I still scoff). I’m judgemental, but with reason, I think.

So this new house needs work. This is good because I have never lived in a perfect house. This is also good because I fear that a perfect house would need to be Enjo’d more than once a fortnight. I’m not only judgemental, I’m also a little lazy when it comes to cleaning. The pooches seem to have approved of the new house. Nennah and the kid have also approved.

And JJ is delighted to have a Games Room. That’s capital G, capital R. It really is a bona fide GR. And despite not having made an offer on the house yet (I’m playing cool as an icy pole, saying things such as: “Oh yeah, it’s okay, I s’pose. I mean, we will have to get rid of the asbestos in the shed.” That sort of thing), JJ has already planned the takeover with plans for a pool table and a doctor Who pinball machine all laid out.

                                                              Despite the asbestos.

Oh, and the snakes. Look, I’m not saying that this suburb is in the sticks. In fact, it’s 15km from the GPO (the old one) and has a delightful park beneath these great looking, graffitied silos (no longer in use and I think they were for flour or something). But therein lies the problem. Along the (dried up) creek of said delightful park, there are a series of signs with cute little illustrations on them. Something like this:

Umm… Yes… In spring, the odd tiger snake or two, after a few months of burning off all that summery goodness, they’re ready for a juicy treat. But they’re not only at the park That’s right. One of our new neighbours has informed us that they also like to slither down the street from the park. I’m sure that Yoyo and Peaches will be delighted. My aunt’s got Jack Russells who actually do protect her country home from snakes (although she tends to lose at least one dog a year - luckily the leftover pups have no problem procreating with their mother, father, sister, brother, grandpop, aunt… you get the idea). Anyway, I wish one would slither over to our place right now and wriggle up our clogged shower pipe. You’d think that my hair was made of Steelo or something. Seriously, jeff shoved draino down there 4 times and we got one of those snakes from Bunnings and everything, but nothing worked! Nothing.

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on | tags: dog, dr who, draino, game, pinball, snake. | #

I got lost in Hong Kong recently. I had a map but I’m not very good at reading maps. Hence, this not uncommon scene whenever Jazzy Jeff and I go travelling:

   

So the problem with Hong Kong was that it wasn’t a shopping centre and the streets, well, I don’t read Cantonese, even in English. Oh, and I didn’t really care. I figured I’d get where I needed to go, eventually.

I don’t like to ask for directions. It makes me very very anxious. It could be that when we were in Egypt in 1997, the tourist police always gave us the wrong directions unless we offered some Baksheesh. Or it could be that my mother brought me up to be very wary of people, nay, to simply not trust ANYONE except for her and my dad. However, as the years have passed, I’ve grown less and less trusting of everyone, especially mum and dad (but that is another story that I will no doubt share some time). I just HATE asking locals for directions. It’s a very un-ladylike condition - it’s what women do. But in our case, it’s Jazzy Jeff who will stop ANY hunched-over, wizened old timer who is more likely to be able to do handstands than speak our lingo. And then I get frustrated. Then he gets frustrated at me for getting frustrated and for becoming frustrating. And sometimes it ends with me walking away. When the time comes for me to look at a map, we have to stop. Completely stop, and not assume a direction. Like if we’re in the driveway, if JJ reverses while I’m checking the Melway it drives me crazy.

So, alone, and lost, in Honkers I took the left road, the right road, the high and low roads without passing one single landmark. But I found the coolest carry bag and JJ called me out of the blue so everything was ok. Did I get out my map? Nup. Did I make it back to the hotel? Yep. In time? Nup, but nobody seemed to mind.

I got lost walking to Nazareth once and just hoped to see some palm leaves along the rocky road, which I didn’t. But the town looked like an oasis in the distance. It didn’t look so oasis-like from up close. But I felt like Jesus must have as the group I was with (Jazzy Jeff was back at the Kibbutz sleeping) were greeted warmly by a milkbar-owning Arab family who treated us to lemon wafers with our bottles of Fanta and 7-Up. The moral of that story? Jesus wore leather sandals and long gowns for a reason - walking through Israel’s potholed terrain dressed in a rather short dress and thongs is something worth reconsidering if by chance I end up in that situation.

I like arrows. There aren’t enough of them. Arrows help you decide which way to go so you’re guaranteed to see everything. Which brings me back to my point about the Melbourne Aquarium. There are no arrows. But there is a map, so I’m double screwed.

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: Arab, arrows, follow, Hong Kong, Israel, losing, lost, Melbourne, Melbourne Aquarium, Nazareth, oasis, shopping, shopping centre. | #

Ok, so maybe I’m turning a lot more than thirty on Monday but my mother and my father can still strike more fear into me than a nun with a ruler.

It’s just the outline right now. And yes, it’s around a quarter sleeve. I think I’m now officially a tattooed lady. I might have to buy some half sleeve t-shirts…

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on, tattoo | tags: arm, chrysanthemum, quarter sleeve, sleeve, tattoo, tattoo magic, tattoo outline, tattooed sleeve. | #

So around two weeks ago, well before PMS had set in, Little Miss Tani asked me if I wanted to go and see Bad Company. No, not the 1970s British blues-rock group fronted by Paul “The Voice” Rodgers whose official website contains nothing more than a warning to all and sundry that should you want to pass yourself off as THE band, their lawyers will come a tap-tap-tapping at your door. If you’re interested in that Bad Company, you’re welcome to leave here RIGHT NOW and go here.

But if you’re sticking around, you might want to head here while you’re reading.

So Little Miss not-quite-thirty asked me and Jazzy Jeff if we’d be interested in checking out Bad Company. Well the name alone sent me back, way back to that night eight years ago this month when I went down to Billboards with a couple of Kiwis and after several protracted trips to the Ladies with Nat, I bounced the night away, a la Lionel Ritchie on crack. This was followed by a long drive to the country for a Communion, a Confirmation or a Baptism (Jazzy Jeff, who stayed in bed – sensibly – and did not come out with me and the Kiwis, was driving) and an even longer drive back which ended in a near death car accident on the Hume Highway just on the outskirts of Melbourne, and a night at the Northern Hospital in Epping with a piece of plastic molding in my leg and glass shards in my hands. Ah, those were fun times.

And naturally, when Little Miss Tani asked us along to this little piece of drum and bass nostalgia, how could I say no? Of course, as the day drew nigh, I started to behave like many of my almost-on-way-the-wrong-side-of-thirty contemporaries.

Betty: Jazzy Jeff?
Jazzy Jeff: Yes, Betty?
Betty: You know, I’ve been to more than a few drum and bass nights in my day.
Jazzy Jeff: That’s true, Betty. And I don’t need to remind you that I used to run a booming drum and bass night in the city (read: a few of our mates used to show up) – Carbon 14.

(So successful was it that a Google search did not reveal one reference – but they had a wicked flyer)

Betty: Yes, Jazzy, I remember those heady days. But anyhoo, you do realise that the main DJ won’t go on stage until around 2, right?
Jazzy Jeff: (Guffawing over the Age and a decaf latte) Oh Betty, don’t be silly, it isn’t a daytime gig.
Betty: That’s 2am, JJ! 2AM! How the hell and I going to stay up until 2am? It’s not like the good old days. We have a freaking mortgage.
Jazzy Jeff: Well, now, that IS serious. I guess we’ll have to do the only thing we can.

So like many of our almost-on-way-the-wrong-side-of-thirty contemporaries, we took an afternoon nap, downed a bucketload of Red Bull and V and came home at the rather respectable hour of 3.30am complaining of tinnitus and aching knee joints.

But oh what a lovely time we had!

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on | | #

Well Momo’s having twins so I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than to start the rivalry now.

Number one is a scene that I used to draw constantly as a kid. While number two has images of my latest tattoo obsession - Sailor Jerry old school illos.

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: craft, felt toy, handmade, momo, one, rattle, sew, tattoo, toy. | #

So you would think that not getting knocked up was about as much of a kick in the teeth as any girl could handle. Not so. After being told by my very kind new manager to hand in my gun and badge and take a couple of (head case) days off, I decided it would be a most opportune time to torture myself a little bit more and head off to WW yesterday. What is WW? Well that would be the dreaded Weight Watchers. And wasn’t it a freaking larf when I got on them thar scales - IN MY SHOES, thankyou very much (this is a totally new and unusual punishment but luckily I was wearing teensy little gold slippers so, maybe fifty grams?). And there it was, an extra 8 and a bit kilos in the last year and a bit (I reached goal in January last year). And I’m blaming all of it, every last ounce of it, on the hormones and maybe the lack of exercise. Well whatever, it’s coming off. And I have to say that it was a bit of a relief to know that I’d actually put on weight, not just girth. So that means that I MIGHT go to the beach this summer. Maybe. We’ll see.So eight kilos to go.

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: being weighed, day off, eight kilograms, getting weighed, holiday, kilo, kilograms, kilos, weigh, weighed, weight, weight watchers, WW. | #

So Jazzy Jeff and I headed across to the beach on the long weekend. Just to chill out, give the puppies bad haircuts and carry them nimbly across rocks and boulders and watch them pound the waves right after I’d given them a bath. Not that I’m complaining.

 Anyway, whenever I go on a holiday, be it an overseas jaunt or just some beige trip to the coast, I tend to look at it as an OPPORTUNITY TO REDEFINE MY LIFE. So far, I haven’t done a very good job. There was the time when I thought I could concentrate hard while chanting “what’s my life mission” under my breath. All I could think about was that I like animals. Not life changing. And rather obvious. Then there was that time when Jazzy Jeff and I decided to stay up all day and all night and all day after dancing for a number of hours and maybe behaving a bit like the people our mothers told us to stay away from. We decided that we were gunnas, not doers. That WAS life changing. We sort of became doers.

But this weekend smelled a little different, what with all of the stuff that’s been going on this year. So I forced the situation and said, “lookit JJ, I get the feeling that you don’t really want to be a dad.”

JJ: “Well we’re giving it a mighty good go there, Betty.”

Betty: “Yes, we have spent a bit of money and it seems we’ll have to spend some more to get those eggs cracking, what with the price of pineapple at Safeway.”

JJ: “Well B, we said we’d give it five goes and we have two left. Let’s see what happens.”

And that’s when I twigged. Well, I don’t want to pop out a sprog just because we got lucky after 4 goes bedcause we decided to see if it panned out. I guess I always knew that it wasn’t in Jazzy’s heart. So we made the decision, I’ve cancelled the appointment and I’m now going to revel in my friends’ bellies - so many of them! I’m going to make them some cool coming out presents and totally become the parents’ friends they want to kick it with when they’re older.

So, back to redefining my life. So I asked Jazzy Jeff that same old question:

Betty: “Jazzy Jeff?”

Jazzy: “Hmm?”

Betty: “Jazzy Jeff, what’s your life’s passion.”

Jazzy: (Rolling his eyes in that oh no, she wants to have THAT talk AGAIN) “Well Betty, I just want to be happy.”

Betty: “Don’t you think that’s a bit 80s? I mean, what about everyone else.”

Jazzy: “Well they can bask in my glow.”

It’s like last night’s episode of House, the one where the man was super super nice and his wife says that his niceness makes her better. It’s true. Honest.

We clamber over some rocks and I get my cloth shoes soaked. Yoyo starts to whine a little and I pick her up.

And I start to wonder what happens when a woman decides to quit the reproduction biz and goes back to everyday life. What to expect when you’re not expecting. I have no idea and I’m a little anxious.

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: babies, dog, happy, house, life, life changing, passions, puppies, redefine, yoyo. | #

 A guy walks into a bar with jumper cables. The bartender says, “You can come in, but don’t start anything!”

Here’s my favourite joke ever and ever from when I was a kid.

Long, long ago an old Indian chief was about to die, so he called for Geronimo and Falling Rocks, the two bravest warriors in his tribe. The chief instructed each to go out and seek buffalo skins. Whoever returned with the most skins would be chief. About a month later Geronimo came back with one hundred pelts, but Falling Rocks never returned. Even today as you drive throughout the West you can see signs saying: WATCH OUT FOR FALLING ROCKS.

Not long after Jazzy Jeff and I met, we realised that back in primary school, even though we were on opposite sides of the globe, we both bought the same joke book through the school book club - 101 Hamburger Jokes: Meaty Jokes to Be Devoured with Relish.

Here’s just one example of its witticisms:

What did the hamburger say when it found out that most people liked hamburgers better than frankfurters?

Hot Dog!

Remember the brochures and how they had lucky bags and you didn’t know what you’d get? I think that’s how I got two copies of 100 Pounds of Popcorn.

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on | tags: 100 pounds of popcorn, 101 Hamburger jokes, book club, Falling Rocks joke, funny, Geronimo, joke books, jokes, school books, watch out for falling rocks. | #

So I really need some advice on how to augment the lovely artwork on my arm.

I’m looking for fruit, vegetables, flowers. Something colourful and beautiful. Old school Americana would be lovely. Here are some ideas so far - not exactly right though.

I LOVE the old lady feel of these ones:

2 Comments | In: Betty babbles on | tags: flower tattoo, permanent art, suggest a tattoo, tatt, tattoo. | #

Why didn’t the paper arrive at 6 like it’s supposed to?

Why do I have to catch a bus this morning when I drove the car in for no reason yesterday?

Why is it so bitterly cold when I’ve forgotten to bring a scarf?

Am I going to lose these 5 (or so) kilos?

Why did he just ignore me last night even after I told him that I got my period?

Why am I a PT loser when everyone else has a car space?

Why would I want to drive to work anyway?

Why doesn’t Jazzy Jeff write songs for ME?

Why hasn’t Jazzy Jeff knitted ME a scarf?

Why didn’t we try to have kids earlier? Who do I think I am trying to get knocked up at my age? This isn’t Hollywood.

No amount of super embryo glue is going to make them stick.

If we don’t have kids, then what? A joyous lifetime of sitting in front of the tele (or computer) sewing cats and owls and stuff for other babies?

They all say that you can have a perfectly fulfilling life without kids. If I haven’t managed to have one up until now, why would it suddenly get better? Who are they trying to kid? Are these the same people who tell us that being single is the better choice?

I guess this is what I get for all those years of barracking for the underdog. When Collingwood, in the 80s, were known to have the “Collywobbles”, I still paraded around proudly wearing that black and white striped scarf because I thought they would still get there. You always need to live with hope, no matter how stupid it made you feel. Even now, I think, so maybe it’s not really a period, maybe it’s just implantation spotting. Yeah, maybe that.

Am I paying for something? My friend RoRo went to Catholic School so she would know all about this. Maybe I didn’t confess enough. Maybe I didn’t confess the right stuff. Maybe I’m not actually the underdog. Maybe I’m just an asshole and this is what you get. Oprah said that you get given exactly what you need. What I need? So lemme see here. What’s my lesson? That even after $10000, 5 months, 3 cycles, a few extra kilos, 20 (more or less) injections (not counting blood tests), 6 eggs, 3 embryo transfers, 2 negative pregnancy tests, even after all of that, you simply have no guarantee of anything. Meanwhile crack whores of the world are churning out future crack whores. Halleluiah.

Am I sounding like a victim? You tell me. Apologies if I don’t care though. But when you let me know, by all means, tell me not to worry, to keep trying, never give up, of course I’ve only just started, it’ll happen eventually, I’m still relatively young - relatively. Oh, and my favourite - life’s better without kids (thanks for that one, mum). So don’t expect me to be grateful for you well-intentioned but terribly misdirected advice.

But on the plus side, it will mean big things for my employer because what do I do when I’m upset? Well naturally, chin up and keep on trucking.

2 Comments | In: Betty babbles on | tags: angry, egg, embryo, embryo transfer, humorless, ivf, list, lists, loser, negative pregnancy test, sad. | #

Everyone has plenty of advice about how to get knocked up and how to stay that way, how to determine the sex of your seed, how to stop yourself from throwing everything up, and the rest of it:

1. Don’t jump up and down after sex;

2. Stop drinking coffee unless you want a tiny baby - not such a bad idea considering where it’s coming out;

3. Don’t eat sushi or mouldy cheese;

4. Avoid night-time strolls through the local power plant unless you’re wearing one of these;

5. No flying in the last trimester;

6. Where to buy a convertible cot like this;

But has anyone thought of creating an equally gripping list for the pregnantly-challenged? Well, hardly. Here are my findings after an exhaustive search:

Betty: “How to make an egg stick”
Google: “Gypsy Horse Embryo Transfer”

Betty: “How to crack an egg in your embryo”
Google: “”When you crack an egg, and it has red in it, What does it Mean?” or “Chicken Incubator”

Betty: How to stay pregnant on IVF
Google: “Congratulations on your pregnancy through IVF. I too am pregnant with no. 2 thanks to IVF… I don’t know how people stay sane with multiple babies…”

Betty: “What the hell to do while waiting for the eggs to crack”
Google: “mamamia: “Just hurry up and get yourself some sperm, will you!”"

All very helpful, you know. Although I did get a couple of interesting hints about what to do after the embryo transfer.

1.      Invest in some embryo glue - so when I’m at Bunnings, which aisle do you think I should check?

2.      Eat tonnes of pineapple - fresh - not out of a can.

So here I am, at the end of an Aussie Summer, glueless but eating loads of $5 pineapples from Safeway that tastes remarkably like what you’d expect a $5 pineapple from Safeway to taste like at the end of summer. Still, I won’t be faulted for not trying.

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: , embryo, embryo transfer, ivf. | #

Well everybody’s doing it. Even my friend Momo has managed to go and get herself knocked up, with twins, no less! Awesome news. And then there’s Ballerina, who’s about to pop one out into a pool of water surrounded by midwives any day. And Teesh who managed it while climbing Machu Pichu and BB who just dreamed of it and it just happened. But a few years ago - well before any of these young’uns  jumped on the wagon - Jazzy Jeff and I decided that we sort of wanted a kid of our own. We decided it in much the same laconic way that we decided to get married.

Betty: Hey Jeff, what do you reckon? Wanna hook up?
Jazzy Jeff: You mean “marriage”?
Betty: Yeah.
Jazzy Jeff: Alright.
Betty: Alright then. I’ll tell my folks.
Jazzy Jeff: Ok.

I know, truly romantic. An inspiration for all of the kids out there. But here we are, 14 and a bit years later, so it couldn’t have been that bad.So anyway, there we were sitting on the couch and Jazzy might have been doing something mind-numbingly creative on the laptop while i was knitting or some such thing and I sighed: “I’m a bit bored, Jazzy Jeff. We should get another dog. Or have a kid.”

Jazzy Jeff: Yoyo and Peaches couldn’t handle another member of the pack. A kid’ll be better.
Betty: Cool.
Jazzy Jeff: Alright.

Well that was around three years ago. But who’s counting? And, let me tell you something, for some of us, no amount of temperature taking, Maybe Baby fern finding, charting or legs in the air is going to do the trick. Making babies is not the cinch I thought it would be! The fact that I am of a certain age may have something to do with it but, whatever. So around a year ago, maybe more, I headed off to Frank’s obstetrician - the guy who managed to show up after the birth - and told him I wanted him to fix me up. A bit of investigation and lots of umming and aahing later and Jazzy Jeff and I started IVF last November. Me being me, I did as little research about it as I possibly could, things like, will the medication make me fat? If I have sextuplets, can I loan them out to make extra money - a la Mary-Kate and Ashley? And other such important matters.

I’ve had one cancelled cycle, and am on my second real cycle. I had three eggs collected in January, two were fertilised by Jazzy Jeff’s manly seed but only one made it to implantation and that one didn’t make it. Over the past few months I’ve endured the pill, twice daily nasal sprays that lead to the most delightful sinus headaches, nightly injections – one that I had to give myself on the plane on my way back from China last week. It went something like this: Me standing in very hygienic economy class toilet preparing syringe. Needle goes into belly and I slowly plunge. Plane hits turbulence and loses altitude for a moment. Needle comes out mid plunge. Plane regains altitude and needle plunges in as “fasten seatbelts” sign starts to ping.


And today I had three more eggs collected (I’m a veritable battery hen) and I find out tomorrow if they’re ready to go. And then I got to thinking, if Momo can do it, maybe I can too. So I said to the embryologist: “Hey, I’ve changed my mind, stuff this one child business, whack all of them in, as many as you can, all of them.” And the cute embryologist looked at me in my blue paper slippers, hair net and possibly too much make up for surgery and said: “Legally, two is the maximum in Australia”. (There go my dreams). But really, it’s not all bad and way more fun than watching So You Think You Can Dance, Australia. Oh, and I’ve discovered that I have a thing for general anesthetics – that moment of absolute silence as you  count backwards from 10, 9, 8…

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: babies, ivf, Maybe Baby, twins. | #

So I was thinking about all the famous people I’ve known. No, not like when I realised that my musician friend, Sugar, was actually well known in the Melbourne electronic underground. I mean really famous people.  But then I realised that the list would be pretty small so I’ve decided to include those I’ve known by 1-degree of separation. And then I thought that maybe I’d need a few rules that would define what I mean by “people I’ve known”.  Like, what was my proximity to them at the time of said knowing? And what activity were we engaged in?

Rules

1. If I’ve actually met them (names exchanged – mine, not theirs) – they’re in;

2. If I mixed up their Rubiks Cube, in; 

3. If we were eating at the same restaurant at the same time (but not necessarily together like the time John Singleton was with some broad at Yu-u) – not in;

4. If they were walking down a red carpet, not in.

So, here goes:

1. Noah Taylor – I used to work with his mother
2. Molly Ringwald – Oh, those 15 not-so-glorious minutes I spent “interviewing” her when she made the not-so-glorious poor excuse of a film Cut. The interview was, in fact, one of the worst experiences of my professional life. I still can’t talk about it.
3. Geoffrey Rush – Jazzy Jeff and I sat behind him and his family at the Melbourne premier of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I’m not sure if that counts but
4. Geoffrey Rush – Sat behind him at the Kino during a media preview screening of some film or other – I mean, there were only 10 of us in the cinema.
5. Adam Ant    
   
   God I used to think about him so much (“I wonder what he’s doing RIGHT NOW?”) (“RIGHT NOW?”) (“No, NOW?”) (“AND NOW?”) that it felt like I was with him EVERYWHERE.
6. Marcus Graham (remember E-Street’s Wheels and that bathtub scene?) – I was at the Malthouse cinema for the first night of Tartouffe and I was having a drink while waiting for Jazzy Jeff and I was sitting upstairs where perhaps I shouldn’t have been because then the cast and crew came out and started having dinner and there was Marcus, a few tables away. (I think I just broke rule number 2?)
7. Lawrence Leung – See rule 2 – At the RR OB 1 year ago.
8. Val Lehman aka Bea “Top Dog” Smith
   
   I met her on the weekend at Writers at the Convent! Introduced myself and got a photo. A photo! With BEA “TOP DOG” SMITH. My folks were RAPT!
9. Chopper Reed – It was when Jazzy Jeff and I had our graveyard show on RRR a few years back at the old studio in Fitzroy. It was around 1.30am. Chopper was coming out of the toilet. I was heading towards the ladies. He was zipping up his pants. It was my birthday. He said “g’day”. I said “hi” and kept moving.

I guess in all, I haven’t really known that many famous people. Jazzy Jeff has made a CD. I guess he’s famous.

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: Adam Ant, Bea Smith, E Street, Kandyman, Lawrence Leung, Marcus Graham, Molly Ringwald, RRR, Rubik Cube, Triple R, Val Lehman. | #

I’m forever writing lists. I LOVE making lists. I make lists at work of things I need to do. I make lists on the white board on my fridge of things I need to buy and things I need to do. I have an old school bag from, like, Grade 2 when I went to St Mary’s. It’s one of those way-before-backpack do-das that looked like little suitcase made of cardboard. It was almost as big as I was. But anyway, on the inside is a list of my best friends at the time. I think Bernadette was really my best friend at the time because I was new and she had loads of freckles but we must have had a fight so she was off the list. Then there’s my favourite book from that era, The Silver Crown and I’ve written a list of my favourite TV shows inside the front and back cover (next to a bunch of Tattslotto numbers). Greatest American Hero (written as Greatest USA Hero) - the show where I first heard the word “scenario”, was on top.

So now that I’m reaching some big numbers of my own, not unlike the long chain of Tattslotto numbers mentioned above. Here’s a new list (in no particular order) that will grow and grow.

1. Write at least one book 

2. Enter The Age short story competition every year

3. Enter 2 other short story competitions each year

4. Walk daily

5. Learn to swing dance with Jeff

6. Become financially independent 

7. Have a baby – what the hell, have 2

8. Find my passion 

9. Learn to play the guitar

10. Retire early 

11. Move out of the city 

12. Visit Our Lady of Fatima on Jazzy Jeff’s birthday (which happens to be the day of the Miracle)

13. Meditate or learn to focus without thinking - whatever that’s called

14. Organise my photos – seriously have to do this

15. Learn not to judge people

16. Buy a brand new car – anything, just brand new – and respect it

17. Read all of the books on my reading list by 2010

18. Finish writing this list

1 Comment | In: Betty babbles on | tags: 2010, dance, Greatest american hero, Jazzy Jeff, Lady of Fatima, list, lists, photos, rading list, school suitcase, the silver crown, tv shows. | #

So we walked in, Jazzy Jeff and I, to the humble Western Suburbs rents’ home to pick up the pooches. With the pooches scratching my unclad legs, I went straight for the pantry where mum keeps the bottomless jar of BBQ shapes - seriously, it’s always full, like a glass of cheap wine at a wedding. This is great as it makes me feel that I’ve never finished a packet, hence my youthful, dreamlike figure (dreamlike is true). So anyway, Jazzy Jeff’s busy drooling over mum’s stove checking out what we might be able to take with us for dinner. I turn around from the pantry and nearly choke on every one of those BBQ shapes I’ve shoved in my gob and the jar almost crashes to the floor cos there’s dad, all 70 years of him, wearing a baseball cap - BACK TO FRONT. This is a man who thinks that insomnia is best dealt with by drinking a cup of espresso, who falls from the ancient fig tree after breaking a branch with his hulking frame but decides to chop down the tree out of spite and who still thinks that all of the Hollywood actors of the 50s and 60s were Italian (the films were DUBBED, DAD!). So, given that the man doesn’t watch nearly enough commercial TV anymore thanks to 24-hours of RAI-International that beams in on the tele from the super-massive bird-shit-splattered satellite dish, where did the back to front baseball cap come from?Has Papà’s been sneaking into our place on the sly when he SAYS he’s mowing the lawn and in between snips he’s been watching MTV Cribs and he’s now down with the homies, yo?

No Comments | In: Betty babbles on | tags: baseball cap, BBQ Shapes, crazy, dad, espresso, falling, fig tree, figs, Jazzy Jeff, MTV cribs, Vanilla Ice. | #

Jazzy Jeff: ♫I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart, down in my heart. I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart to stay. And I’m so happy, so very happy, I’ve got the love of Jesus in my heart…♫ (And so on)

Betty: Hey Jazzy Jeff, you know how you like music and stuff…

Jazzy Jeff: Yeah.

Betty: And you know how you like to sing those crazy non-Catholic hymns that I’ve never heard and stuff.

Jazzy Jeff: Yeah.

Betty: Well I was thinking, what with how you once were a Pentecostal and spoke in Tongues and stuff, that you should start your own church. But it couldn’t be all 7th Heaven with me, the little missus, in the front pew every week with her brood of pearly white children - seven of ‘em. I don’t think I could do that.

Jazzy Jeff: Have seven children?

Betty: No, show up to church every week, glowing. I mean, I’ve seen you give power-of-positive-thinking type speeches to your work colleagues and, like, not that they weren’t really good speeches, especially for being off-the-cuff and all, but man, it was a freaky other side of you I don’t want to see ever again.

Jazzy Jeff: Oh, but you’re prepared to have seven offspring?

Betty: Well if the choice is between that or sitting in the front pew and watching you deliver sermons every week, I think I’m prepared to have the seven ankle biters.

Jazzy Jeff: Or what if I just become a marriage celebrant?

Betty: And because you like to sing so much, maybe you could be, like, a singing celebrant.

Jazzy Jeff: That’s a really good idea. I’ll go online now and check it out.

Betty: Good idea. Jazzy Jeff?

Jazzy Jeff: Yeah, Betty, my child.

Betty: Would I have to come to the ceremonies?

Jazzy Jeff: Nah. You wouldn’t even know the bride and groom.

Betty: Ok. I think you’ll make a great marriage celebrant.

Jazzy Jeff: ♫If tomorrow all the things were gone, I’d worked for all my life. And I had to start again, with just my children and my wife. I’d thank my lucky stars, to be livin’ here today. ‘Cause the flag still stands for freedom, and they can’t take that away. And I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free. And I wont forget the men who died, who gave that right to me. ♫ (not a hymn, exactly, but curiously, a favourite of Jazzy’s)

And it was so. Jazzy Jeff did study diligently. And he did pass his assessments with only a few to go. And he has already booked his first wedding. But perhaps I can pick the hymns.

4 Comments | In: Betty babbles on | tags: catholic, celebrant, hymns, Jazzy Jeff, minister, pentecostal, preacher, priest, speaking in tongues, wedding clebrant. | #

How come when I sent a text to all of my pals requesting their presense at the drag races at Calder Park last Friday night I got the following responses:

1. Who is this?
2. Is this a joke?
3. What’s wrong with you? (from the mother with young child)
4. I’m there! (Bless you Momo)

But really, after driving through the Bob Jane half tyre and parking the Corolla in the what we thought was a car park hoping that none of the rev-heads would think that it would be a nice challenge to steal it (not such a challenge) and convert it into a nitrous-huffing machine (QUITE a challenge) we climbed over the Calder hill to the sounds of lawnmowers and jet engines - seriously. It was like the West had come alive. Sure there weren’t too many folks there at the nanna time of 7-ish but what a crowd it was. Momo, Jazzy Jeff and I wandered down the hill and found a place next to a middle-aged couple and their kids. Their kids! I wanted to take a photo and send it to my friends (particularly number 3, in the list above) and say, “see, it’s just a fun Friday night out with the family!” Sure, this family might have been wearing sleeves of tatts and Holden Special Vehicle windbreakers but they were a family dammit. When I have a family, there’ll be no Hi-5 concerts with pre-tweens in their crop tops and spangly hair ties, it’ll be a night out amongst the fumes, the souped-up Toranas that can manage 249kph in 9 seconds, soggy vinagered potato cakes and a coffee from the back of a van. That’s where they’ll learn what they need to know about the world - how to apply an even fake tan, how to light a fag and, most importantly, how to legally drag-race a Commodore while still on their P-plates.

2 Comments | In: Betty babbles on | tags: burn rubber, calder park, car racing, drag race, family, Hi-5, Jazzy Jeff, momo, potato cake, torana. | #