We have made our way out of the 2nd Covid lockdown in Melbourne 2020 and people have been talking about all the vivid dreams they were having. ‘Only during Covid’ I ask. I always have very vivid dreams; I greet my carers in the morning with “I had a crazy dream!”
They literally shrug their shoulders like “What’s new?” years ago, I had to start what has become a tradition. I said to a friend “I had a dream; you were in it” he then made a bit of a hopeful questioning noise and I responded, “Don’t worry we had clothes on” To his great disappointment.
Evil laugh.
So, ever since I’ve always stated that line on every comment when I’m telling someone they were in my dream the night before. You were in my dreams last night. Don’t worry, we had our clothes on and I’ve often received responses. “Why would you say that?” A little disturbed.
So, try it next time you have a dream and someone is in it. Tell them they featured and they had their clothes on. Then explain the context.
A few weeks ago on 8th of March it was International Women’s Day, ladies of all ages, I hope you did something to celebrate. I participated in a zoom meeting with around eight other women advocates in the disability world. Other groups I part-take in the energy is very different. The women only meeting was very supportive. We all shared some experiences. I definitely plan to participate in some more women’s advocacy groups. My artist friend contributed to the events and celebrations that day with this street art in Melbourne’s well known Hosiery Lane.
Now, if you have dick and balls, you know who you are. We do not want to hear, but we don’t have an International Men’s Day. Because every fucking day is Men’s Day. If you stop and listen for just two minutes you might realise why it’s so important women get a safe space, just for a day.
Just try to remember when the last time a man was disrespected and undervalued for his age, gender, abilities, seemingly usefulness to society and women with disabilities are respected even less. And at times, sometimes in an effort to fly under the radar, some women will keep their heads down and not support other women just so they don’t lose favour they feel they have curried, rather than support another woman and this is also unacceptable.
If you don’t figure this already, I’m a really frustrated fucking hormonal grumpy woman who mentions in groups mostly of men the symptoms of menopause and expect them to pay attention. I am currently sliding into the Pause and not enjoying the symptoms. I don’t suffer embarrassment on this topic, but I know some other women will just drop out of sight until all the symptoms have passed.
A male friend recently told me I just needed a shag (Not the word he used) so, I thought this friend was better than this and now I realise my work here is not over either For Fucks Sake!
So, ladies lets be more supportive of each other and let’s be the change we want the world to be.
You know these days where you are going to have a ranty rant and you will be perceived as being old and grumpy.
I’m saying to the ‘older generation’, I got this, I’ll take this one for the team. What the fuck is it with buying products these days? You get them home, undo the packaging and in between the bits and pieces and all the faff. No fucking instructions!
Would it fucking kill you people, it’s not rocket science? It’s not that fucking hard. OK, I’ve probably exceeded my acceptable level of F-bombs in this post, but seriously, FFS!
Oh, what’s that? You want to know what I bought?
A small traveller at home kit to do a little waxing. Just thought if ever Covid lockdown goes past the Spring, thought I might want to do my legs. Or to be fair, I can’t inflict this kind of pain on myself, but will happily train someone else to do it for me.
Had years of being tortured by my beautician who is way too efficient. Not enough time to inhale and let out a sound of pain or torture. Oh, but of course there’s a damn web address I must do research.
You know those weirdos who notice cool vintage cars and send photos to a friend to confirm your suspicions about what make it is? That weirdo’s me.
Saw this car on Thursday when I was out with a carer, she got this photo for me and I promptly sent it to a friend. He confirmed with one word.
So, yeah. It’s a Fiat.
I can often commentate living on a busy intersection of the cars or trucks by the sound of the engines. It good like this,” WRX, Cheap import, Vintage Muscle car! Woolies delivery truck!” I’m sure I need to live on a less busy corner, but here we are.
I also follow some blogs I refer to as purely porn. No sexual gratification. One blog is dogs, one is cars. There are mostly unattainable cars to envy with one’s eyes and several car brand/companies I don’t even hit with a ‘Like’. The ones Jeremy Clarkson is scripted in a beige cardigan to state said drivers are boring and wear beige cardigans. Enough said.
Occasionally, you may have noticed I refer to something called Thunders or Thundies. Well, as women we’re on the eternal quest for comfortable undies. Actually, we hate that word. Undies. It’s like what your grandma used to wear, but the image we all have of knickers is something only afforded to the most young, bottomed girls most of us have long since passed.
When you are young, you can buy spares of knickers for $10 (based on 1980’s prices), you can wear just about anything but at some point (for me in my teens) you start to be told when your underwear shows through or despite of your clothing. We of course refer to it as VPL (Visible panty line or camel toe). I think the Canadians call it Moose knuckle. Yeah, that one is just plain wrong.
That’s for those who don’t know, is when you pull your underwear up so high your V-jay jay (vagina) is on display for all. Have you heard the line comedians use about guys wearing skinny jeans? Jeans so tight you can tell if they’re circumcised, yeah. It’s like that for girls minus the cutting, please. What?
I just Ross Nobled the shit out of this post too. Did you expect anything else? Back in 1994 OMG, I feel so old, not. I went to the UK and saving every cent before I left, I packed my three most comfortable pairs of underwear and did washing about every other day. I’m just saying it gets old fast. So, there you are in a foreign country with sizes that do not make sense. Choosing is a serious commitment (because it is) and getting it miserably wrong, because it’s not idiot proof. Just lucky I was in an English-speaking country.
So, my older sister had a similar situation many years later, but in New Zealand and I guess from her experience we all can reap the rewards. But in my sister’s case, she got lucky.
I will admit they cost much more, but every pair I buy is 100% on the money and by that I mean on my ASS.
Thunderpants, are a New Zealand based company of big, amusing and totally comfortable underpants with attitude for those of us who don’t want undies that go up our bums. This is their tag lines.
They do different sizes, ranging from small to XXL.
They are for New Zealand real ladies bottoms after all.
For which we all benefit.
My older sister years ago advised me against the hipsters. I wear the ones Bridget Jones would likely wear. What? I’ve got these weird bits on my hips that splay out of nowhere. Just like my Aunty Agatha (Not her real name). Thanks wench.
And my ass has these nice hollow bits on the sides. What’s with that? You can’t push those bits from up your sides to the hollow bits. Thankfully, on the whole, it’s still rather peach-like.
All things considered, where was I? These days, as the older ladies will at least, we prioritise money on things to have a bit of comfort. I will say, everything is better if you have on comfortable underwear and yes, they have different colours, patterns, styles even options for the kids and men.
Men’s underwear is not nearly as big a problem I suspect but matching thundies with your bestie brings a smile to my face.
Occasionally, I have been known to check the website five times a day, so I don’t miss my favourites and I will buy multiples of them when they do appear. I keep my eye on the sales page too for ones I don’t mind wearing around the house (ok, apartment), you know, your weekend plains. I will even gift special people with a pair. Not often, but I have been known too. Something chicks can do but, guys maybe not.
Every morning I announce to my carers which ones I get to wear, “Oh, it’s my space invaders!” then I sing a bar. Googled the song once. There really is barely a line I recall.
On occasion, I’ve stated to a carer “got my worms today!” She was a new carer and looked a little startled. She thought I meant I had actual worms. It’s actually, my older sisters nickname for one pair in particular. She has many names for some we’ve both had over the years. French Riviera (I called those deck chairs and umbrellas), but both works.
I’ve started a collection in my wardrobe for when my favourites get demoted (never thrown out, just demoted!) and it is a comforting thought, my search is over. Older sibling also gave me some wise advice years ago. Always get a size up from what you think you are, they will wear better and last longer.
So, I guess I definitely cannot get a fat arse as I will be in deep trouble. If you want to have a look, no commitments to purchase, here is the link.
Despite how it may sound, this is not an advert. How serious are you about your Thundies? And I think you realise I’m serious. They made me smile so much, I confess, when I have new ones, I purposely save wearing them until it’s a Wednesday when I see my chiro.
I have been known to get ready so when she enters the room I’m across the other side of the table with my pants down under my backside with full Thunder exposure awaiting her entrance. She sees them and lets out a laugh. Job done.
I will occasionally gift her with a text. It goes like this
There are times, few but worthy when I fall over. Now again, I seem like despite my disabilities you may think I wouldn’t fall over like a toddler or a chick. But I can, I do and I will.
It just always depends on where I am and the circumstances. Some years ago, I was standing beside my bed and fell over. No reason just went sideways to my left and landed like a sack of potatoes.
You may ask, you were so close to your bed, why not throw yourself at the bed, why not throw yourself at the bed? Yes, because that’s how it happens. When you fall, it’s usually a bit of a surprise, so in a way I’m lucky I didn’t land on the bed as I would have collected the hard timber on the side, which would have hurt despite not being as far away as the hard floor I landed on.
However, this Sunday night I had a bit of a tricky stumble. Tripping up on a slipper (it is tragic) and I stumbled backward. Have I mentioned if all I have to do is put my left foot back I won’t fall. Yeah so, I fall because I can’t trigger that response quick enough. But on this occasion, I landed with my back against the kitchen pantry door and made a slow slide downward to sit on the floor. It was like a slow slide, however halfway down I thought, “oh, I’ve got a plastic jug of cold water in my hand.” I briefly contemplated throwing it away from me onto the floor but ended up still holding it as I sat on the floor.
Beside me was a three tier Ikea trolley and I collected it under my right arm. The jug of water jiggled a little water out onto the floor. As I sat there thinking the jug was mostly still full, in my hand and I was dry.
You know those things we say or do that seem offensive, racist or ageist and we didn’t intend it that way? Here’s one of those posts.
Years ago, my older sister sent me one of those really cool bags that you keep inside your bag or car, or you know, somewhere handy. When you go into a supermarket or shop you pull it out and unfold or open it to put your purchases in. Once home, unpacks fold and return it to your bag for next time. My sister called it a ‘nanna bag!’
See? Not intending to be ageist but nailing it. Nannas are not wrong, that bag was so handy, then it shrank a bit after years of torture and washing. I’ve replaced it with a new model. This one has owls on it! It’s pretty cool, I got it from Wilbur. 🙂
The only problem it’s worse than trying to fold a map one handed, but I’m really lucky these days I’ve got two Japanese carers who live for this stuff.
Clap for Carers / Asian woman applauding at home in quarantine
See? Seeming racist.
Not meaning to be however, they seem to have infinite patience to fold, fold, tuck, fold and well, it seems to be their ‘Jam’. Like their ‘happy place’.
So, while not meaning to be ageist or racist, I’m noticing some vintage/nationalities have and contain certain skill sets or temperaments I don’t have and I have my own skill set and appreciate those that have the skills I lack.
Annoyingly, now I no longer have either of my Japanese carers so need a new one.
So, continuing with the grumpy women who disrespected me and felt she could or should tell me she thought I was a terrible advocate. I’m just saying I made this happen.
I know to a start with it does not look impressive. However, its perfect because down in Clifton Hill there are still some sections of the main roads that have the old grey stones and very deep gutters, where regularly people attempt to drive into a particular car parking spot just near my GP. Fairly certain I’ve made my own Mother nearly lose her mind when she did not want my advice on how to park her car.
But I can tell you I have a carer that wishes she’d taken my advice as this was the predicament, we found ourselves in one lovely Thursday afternoon.
While she consulted her insurance policy on her phone. Checking the fine print if they covered a tow truck? Pretty fine print on a mobile phone. Definitely. I decided to go find some Muscle, as I referred to it. A local cafe yield was two men. Discovered the car was front-wheel-drive and the muscle did not want to risk trying to lift the front of the car, not a big car, but good not to add physical injury to a sad stuck car.
A mum, in hospital scrubs was dropping her daughter to get her braces stopped to offer a hand. A man in not even a cheap suit enquired what our problem was? Note the difference there?
I had rung a few friends; some advice was offered but I couldn’t convince my carer to try it and the not very useful barely-suits man who didn’t want to get dirty. He didn’t look like he’d gotten his hands dirty in his life, would give it a go.
In the end my carers son came from work, swapped cars with us so we could continue our shopping and getting gear for the following days chores. He waited for the tow truck.
While waiting, several locals told us there were several cars each day that got themselves into trouble at that location. I couldn’t understand why the council hadn’t tried to make their city more accessible. An email or two later, over a few months where I told them I wasn’t demanding they remove the blue stone gutters that make the street interesting and original but was there something they could do to deter a repeat incident at that location.
Fast forward a few months and this happened
So, to that Hell-Hater. Take that.
I know it’s not ground-breaking and there’s still world peace to solve. Sometimes, the big advocacy stuff is harder than world peace and you gotta celebrate the small stuff.
Not throwing a party. But I wrote this post, little brag.
I’ve previously covered that the definition of “to bruise easily” is finding a bruise on your body and not remembering how you got it. For over a week my carers have been pointing out this bruise on my left arm. And I recall exactly how it happened. This is from when I took on a fence while out on my scooter, it’s still standing but so am I.
I have a tendency to take the High Street to go out on HellOnWheels to do some Hunter/Gathering at times to help get ahead of what I need to achieve with my carer on a Friday and to be a little creative, take a break from the High Street, I take some smaller side streets to cut through the smaller streets, on this particular day I encountered a shopping trolley someone had thoughtfully left on the footpath leaning against a tree. I imagined I could fit through the gap. I was wrong.
I reversed, got off my scooter then pushed the trolley onto the road where a driver could curse the universe later. I continued home.
Since then, when questioned by my carers, I respond, “I took on a fence! The fucking thing is still standing!”
Sometimes I will message a friend just to tell him how I am or cheer them up and then I realize oh that really could’ve been a blog post that really needs a bigger audience than audience of one, so he goes.
Twenty-four months ago I bought some sachet’s for a face mask I’ve still got three left this is before and after.
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 