Three Fat Sisters

By Wednesday, September 21, 2011 19 Uncategorized No tags Permalink 0

Every so often my sisters and I will ring each other and the conversation will go like this:

Kate: “Hi, it’s me. I’m so fat.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m so fat too.”

Kate: “Janey says she’s fat too.”

Anyway, that time has come around once again – we are simultaneously vast.

OK, we’re not Biggest Loser vast. But we’re carrying way more lard than we should be. And thanks to a genetic SNAFU, that lard resides in our arse-al region. Not to put too fine a point on it, we are “broad of beam”.

We workshopped the situation last week, and looked into what it was, for each of us, that made us actually go “geez I’m fat”.

  • For me, it was when MY PYJAMAS GOT TOO TIGHT. Fairly certain I am the first person in the world that has happened to.
  • For Janey, it was when the only thing that would fit her were sunglasses.
  • And for Kate it was when she noticed her jeans were too short because the bum needed to “borrow” denim from the the legs.

Clearly it was time to take some affirmative action. But for fun (and because we couldn’t agree) we each decided to use a different method to shed the poundage.

I have chosen Weight Watchers. Kate is going with the Women’s Weekly 21 Day Wonder Diet, and Janey is ordering up a Lite ‘n Easy storm.

We have each had success in the past with our respective choices, so we are going with what we know.

Today actually marks a week since I re-joined Weight Watchers, and I am totally up myself to report that I have lost 2.3kg. Evidently this whole not-eating-so-much thing works pretty effectively. I’m nowhere near ready to put away the Nancy Gantz Pants just yet, but it looks like I’m on the way.

Kate is on holidays up the Coast, so I have yet to hear how she’s going, although it was considerate of the French Patisserie near our beach house to close for a month to help Kate in her weight loss mission. No croissants for her.

Janey is blessed with a bod that might be short, but which sheds kilos toot sweet once she gets started. Also, after 3 years living in Las Vegas, she has a wardrobe full of hot  fashions, with only two currently on high rotation. I predict she’ll be the one to beat as the contest hots up.

I know I should be posting before photos, but no. Just no.

Instead, I will post a couple of pics of when we looked hot. Hot-ish. Well, not fat. You choose.

Vegas, baby

The booties were because we were on the Skywalk @ The Grand Canyon - not because we are fashion-challenged

My plan is to post regularly with the results of our endeavours. I may even post “after” photos.

Have you had success with any of our methods? Have you ever been on a weight loss mission with family members?

 

Genie bra – genius or genuinely crap?

By Sunday, September 18, 2011 454 Uncategorized No tags Permalink 0

The anticipation has been exhausting, but my Genie Bras finally arrived on Friday.

The interest in my infomercial-based purchase was so high that in the spirit of community service, I have agreed to provide an in-depth review of the Genie Bra.

At this point I should stress that this is not a sponsored post. I’ve always wanted to say that. Actually, I’ve always wanted to say “This is a sponsored post”, because it is my understanding that that would mean I was paid for it.

I’ve been asked why I went with the Genie Bra, rather than the Ahh Bra. This is an excellent question. I spent an inordinate amount of time on the interweb looking for reasons to choose one over the other. The upshot of this was that I went with the one that was easier to order, and which had a slightly less stupid name. Totally scientific.

Anyhoo, I will begin this review by addressing a couple of the incisive questions posed by Twitter followers.

How do they look off?

Shithouse. Seriously, if ugly was a country, then the Genie Bra would be China. But in fairness to the Genie Bra designer, I wasn’t expecting it to give Simone Perele a run for its money.

The Genie Bra is spectacularly unsexy. No need for any form of contraception if you wear the Genie Bra in the boudoir. It is more an item of body furniture than undergarment.

Hot as

I should point out that in the photo above, the “beige” (and isn’t that the most appropriate word EVER) example has the “free extra support pads” in the “specially designed magic pouches”. I can safely say I won’t be using the extra support pads, and I think the designers may have been high when they decided to use the term “magic pouches”.

Is the Genie Bra for bigger breasted women only?

In my expert opinion, nope. Admittedly though, if you are challenged in the area of rib-bumpers, a Genie Bra would look more like a t-shirt. A cropped one.

On the other hand, if you have a massive rack, I’m not sure it’d give you the haulage you’d be after.

I am – according to the professional bosom lady at David Jones – a 14D (which explained why my collection of 12B bras never felt quite right). Google tells me that the average Australian bra size is 14C, from which I will draw the totally scientific assumption that if you are anywhere between a 12B and a 16C, the Genie Bra would hold its own – and yours.

Other Observations

  • I am a bit disappointed by the amount of upper-torso real estate taken up by the Genie Bra. To be fair, if you’re looking for a bra that’ll hold up your badoinkies without underwires or hooks, it’s going to need more than a wisp of elasticised chiffon in the formula. But I have to say, there’s a crapload of fabric on the back, which makes it look more like a post-surgery garment than lingerie.

    The Rear View

  • I give it 8 out 10 for comfort. I am one of those girls who whips off my bra the minute I walk through the door. My issue is usually with the band under the brassiere, which goes around the ribs. I don’t think there is a technical term for that component – although interestingly, the bit between the chesticle cups is called the “gore”. Who knew?

    After wearing the Genie Bra for a few days now, I am saddened to report that I am still experiencing some discomfort in the aforementioned under-bra-around-ribs-area (I wish there was a technical term for it). However, I am prepared to concede that this may be due to the design of my mid-region (also my Big Mac habit) than the design of the Genie Bra.

    Whilst the shoulder straps aren’t padded with cashmere, they are comfy enough. I don’t reckon they’re any more or less comfortable than any of the other bras I’ve worn, but it’s not something I’ve generally had a problem with.

  •  The other big question – aside from comfort – is how effective the Genie Bra is at harnessing one’s tatas. And I am happy to report that it is doing a deadset ripper job. When wearing the Genie Bra, I am confident that I can go about my daily business and the girls aren’t going anywhere they shouldn’t be. They are well contained, adequately rounded, and most importantly, perpendicular to the rest of me.
  • Value for money? I paid $89.91 (yeah, I know) for 3 Genie Bras (black, beige and white). Were they a bargain at $29.97 (FFS) each? Nup. But not a ripoff either. I’ve paid way more for bras that I pull off through my sleeves at the earliest opportunity.  Plus they were delivered, so that whole hellish bra-trying-on thing is neatly avoided.

At this point, you’re probably going “Photos! We were promised photos!” Well, ask and you shall receive.

Wonder if Zoo will call?

To summarise – the Genie Bra is more or less what I expected. More ugly than I expected. Slightly less comfortable than I expected. But it does do its job, meaning I don’t have to think about whether everything is where it should be.  Leaving me free to worry about whether my underpants are up to the job.

Tuckshop – there’s a reason it’s called “duty”

By Thursday, August 11, 2011 30 Family No tags Permalink 0

I’ve just arrived home after doing my monthly tuckshop duty at my son’s school. And by monthly, I mean those months when I can’t manufacture a plausible excuse for wagging. (BTW, being school-related, wagging is a totally appropriate term for getting out of tuckshop.)

Still, instead of looking at it as 6 hours I’ll never get back, I have decided to make productive use of today’s tuckshop duty.  For those who are new to it, I have prepared the definitive guide to doing tuckshop.

A couple of notes first:

  1. I live in Brisbane. We call it tuckshop here, which abbreviates nicely to tucky. You may call it canteen. Canteen has no acceptable abbreviation. Canty is stupid.
  2. Most tuckshop volunteers are mothers. I will be using the term “tuckshop mums’. Please look away if you are a Tuckshop dad/aunt/grandmother/gestational carrier…

So, here we go:

  1. There is a reason it’s called “duty”. Notice how it is referred to as “doing tuckshop” or “being on tuckshop”. It’s no coincidence that the same terminology is applied to “doing time”, “being on parole”…
  2. You will be filled with eager anticipation the first time you do tuckshop duty. You will be filled with dread every month thereafter.
  3. There are two kinds of tuckshop convenors. The first (and most common) is called Colleen or similar, and is scary as shit. Colleen has been there for 18 years, and anyone who suggests changes to the way things are done is, as my Grandpa used to say, suffering from stupidity. Colleen directs proceedings from a vinyl stool next to the pie warmer. Colleen will give a clip over the ear to any boy who doesn’t remove his hat when he enters the tuckshop.

    "Colleen"

  4. The other type of convenor is called Felicity or similar, and volunteered to take over  when Colleen retired. Felicity will name the tuckshop “the Classroom Cafe” and have a logo designed. Felicity will have the enthusiasm of a Masterchef judge – “Come on girls, let’s shake up this school!” As a result of replacing sausage rolls with quinoia wraps, Felicity will last one term.

    "Felicity"

  5. There will be one tucky mum who will drive you mental because she won’t shut up.
  6. Even though you totally support the Red/Orange/Green food system, you will be desperately disappointed that tuckshops no longer sell Space Bars, Boston Buns or Sunny Boy Glugs.
  7. Your child will appear at the counter 13 times for food for himself and his friends. This will come to approximately $79 by the end of the day.
  8. You will spend another $13 making up the deficit for kids who are 10c short for their lunch.
  9. You will be stupidly excited that you get to use the teacher’s toilet.
  10. You will spend an inordinate amount of time perving at the hot Year 6 teacher. He will have been born in the 90s.
  11. No-one will buy the homebaked stuff.
  12. At least 3 kids will bring in their orders after you’ve finished bagging them up.
  13. 1 order will have no money in it. Colleen will say “Bad luck. He has to learn.” Felicity will pay for it herself.
  14. 2 orders will have no names on them.
  15. You will have a hotdog for lunch.
  16. One smartarse kid will pay for a 50c ice block with a $100 note. Obviously you will give him his change in 5c pieces.
  17. The kids will call you “Miss”, and you will feel about 100.
  18. The money from the kids will be sticky.
  19. You will sell an apple Popper 200 times, but you will not remember the price.
  20. You will need a calculator to add up $1.70 and 90c.
  21. You will come away with important intelligence on teachers and other parents. And therein lies the reason for doing tuckshop.

What can you add to the list?

 

Would you like a puppy with that?

By Thursday, August 4, 2011 20 Dogs, Family, The Councillor No tags Permalink 0

So a couple of months ago I went to do the groceries, and I accidentally bought a puppy.

Can you blame me?

It’s fair to say that I am occasionally guilty of the odd impulse purchase. Maybe a bit more than occasionally. But I will admit I outdid myself this time.

Especially because there were a truckload of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea to come home with a puppy instead of the groceries.

1. There was bugger-all food in the house – breakfast the next day was looking like 2-minute noodles.

2. You know how there are dog people? I am not dog people. That’d be the Councillor (which was kind of what I was counting on…)

3. We already had a dog – Maxie, the world’s most annoying dog.

Maxie

4. Maxie was the result of the Councillor and Joe going to the movies 3 years ago, and coming home with a dog. For which I still haven’t forgiven him. I know, right? And here’s me doing the same thing.

5. He cost… umm… a bit.  More than the groceries. But he was a labrador (ok, allegedly a labrador) with a teeny bit of cattle dog in him. So he was a bargain. Right?

So in the true spirit of the impulse purchase I reminded myself of all the reasons we totally needed another dog.

1. Maxie needed a friend.

2. Nope, I’ve got nothing else.

So I arrived home with a black labrador. The kids googled “dog names”, and we named him Leo.

As it turns out, now that Leo is with us, he’s provided us with a truckload of additional reasons for not getting another dog.

1.  Leo is a Labrador. Leo eats like a Labrador. That is, his whole reason for being is to eat. Anything. In a nano-second. This includes Maxie’s food.  Maxie is a mini-foxie.  He’s all “meh” about eating.  We will put food in his bowl, and he will treat the bowl like a 7-11, swinging by when he needs a quick snack, knowing it’ll be open all hours. With Leo here, that system isn’t working so well for Maxie. He is learning it’s the quick or the dead when it comes to food.

2.  Leo will, literally, eat anything. Last weekend, he ate so much of the cane outdoor furniture that he vomited cane.

3.  Leo ate Maxie’s kennel.

Dinner

4.  Leo eats the washing.  And washing baskets. Pegs not so much – by then he’s probably full.

As the owner of a mini-foxie, it never occurred to me that I would one day need a strategy when it came to hanging out the washing.

As the owner of a Labrador, I now know that only a FOOL would hang a towel vertically. And that only a moron would let shirt sleeves hang down. But despite learning (quickly) to double-peg a sleeve, evidently labradors have super powers that enable them to leap to unimaginable heights to secure a tasty singlet. I know we’re supposed to avoid using the clothes dryer for the sake of the freaking planet, but at this rate The Councillor will be going to official functions in crop tops that were formerly business shirts.

5.  Leo and Max are outside dogs. Despite what they think. Unfortunately for the garden-proud Councillor, this means that “outside” now looks like a lunar landscape.

6.  Leo and Max like to play. Like toddlers however, it pretty much always ends in tears. Yesterday they were fighting over a stick, and I actually said to them “stop it or one of you will lose an eye’.

7.  Notwithstanding the outside dog thing, we appear to have created a routine wherein we allow the dogs to join the family in the living room for a short time in the evening. Because we are idiots.  When the dogs enter the house, it sounds like the Charge of the Light Brigade is coming across the timber floors. They run at the speed of light and literally – I’m serious – FLY OVER the coffee table onto the sofa. They are like canine F18 jets. Anyone unlucky enough to be sitting where a dog lands will pay the price. Especially if it’s Leo launching himself towards you. Because as The Councillor discovered to his considerable detriment, 18kg of excited black labrador puppy is NOT what you want hurtling into your lap at warp speed.

Leo was an impulse buy, yes. Were we ready for him? No. Did we need another dog? A hundred times no.

But is he a much-loved family member? Absolutely. And I haven’t had a single moment of buyer’s remorse. Except for maybe the cane vomit.

What was your most spectacular impulse purchase?

I am sooooo not an outside dog.

* I totally understand the arguments against buying animals from pet shops. Really, I do. But I honestly don’t believe that *not* giving pet shop animals a home is the solution to puppy and kitten farms. Whatever the solution, it can’t be leaving animals in glass boxes in shopping centres. We have always had rescue dogs, and I hope we will again.