Learning to Love... is it worth it?

Yesterday was such a great day. My lovely flattie and I went to the Royal Show (something I haven't done since I was a kid) and had an awesome time.

[Expect a post on the number of bogans with more than 4 children as well as the confirmation that we really are the fattest nation on earth in the coming days. Both those facts were rammed home walking around the showgrounds yesterday. Astonishing.]

Then last night we went to one of my favourite Melbourne bars for a catch up with my lovely friend Kitty Kat who was visiting from Sydders.

Kitty Kat and I haven't seen each other since January, so it was lovely to catch up and discuss potential outfits for Britney's wedding which is less than a month away. The wedding discussion eventually branched out away from frock and shoes and on to fellow guests and who we'd like to be seated with at the reception. We both would prefer to be sat next to a hot, eligible bachelor, but I highly doubt whether there will be any such creatures there. We were both emphatic however that there was one person we did NOT want to be seated next to; thankfully we've now discovered he's not been invited.

This man is the husband of a woman who used to be a very good friend of ours. We'll call her Kate, because (a) that's her name; (b) she will probably never read this blog; and (c) even if she does, I will happily stand by every statement I make. Kate used to be a very close friend of mine, the bride's and Kitty Kat's. I say used to, because none of really have any contact with her anymore, purely because of her husband.

What's wrong with the man? Where do I begin?

The first time I met him was about a week after I'd graduated from drama school. I was full of that 'just-graduated-the-world-is-my-oyster' excitement and was having dinner at Kitty Kat's sister's house. Kate brought Rob (yes, that's his real name too) along to meet us. We were introduced and Kate mentioned in the introduction that I'd just graduated from drama school and wasn't that exciting. Rob's first ever comment to me was not, "congratulations" or "nice to meet you" or "good luck with that". No, it was:

"You'll never make it as an actress"

Well, you can imagine my reaction. I gave him one of my best withering looks, retorted with "how would you know, you've only just met me" and flounced off into the kitchen to pour myself another glass of wine.

But that's not the only reason I dislike the man.

Let me give you a little more background.

Kate was one of the most inspirational, successful women I knew. She had a great job in HR, earned really good money, owned her own apartment on the North Shore, had travelled the world, was fun to party with, attractive, bubbly, great with advice, a fabulous cook, spent weekends sailing on the harbour and by the age of 35 had everything you could possibly want except a husband and children.

Then she met Rob. He was in his 40s, working a dead end casual job, studying for a degree which had so far taken him 10+ years to even get halfway through and (to get a little Jane Austen on you), he had little or no prospects. Honestly don't know what she saw in him. He wasn't even attractive. Unless you like the overweight, unkempt slobby types. But Kate liked him. And started dating him. And a few weeks into their relationship, she fell pregnant.

Which is where it all started to go pear shaped.

Now...

Had she decided that she would keep the baby but ditch him for being a bit of a no-hoper then she would have had our full backing. The girls (and the guys) in our little gang were all willing to pitch in and help out with babysitting, shopping, cleaning, moral support, whatever she needed.

But she decided to stay with him. So we tried to be supportive. We tried to mask our feelings for this neanderthal of a man, who had by this time lost his casual job, had stopped studying and was living off her. We tried. We really did. I put all those years of drama school to the test and acted my little socks off pretending to get along with the man.

But just before the baby was born, they got married. At the registry office. Without telling us. In fact she didn't tell us until a good two or three months after the event and only as an off-the-cuff remark at a lunch we were having at someone's house.

Which was quite upsetting. Firstly because she didn't tell us (thereby giving us an opportunity to talk her out of it) and secondly because she'd married a man who was JUST NOT WORTHY.

This is a man who decided that when Kate was in labour, he'd get sick. So sick that he'd be in a hospital bed next to her and unable to support her through the birth of their child. I'm sorry but if that was my husband, I would be grabbing the nearest sharp object and threatening him with castration if he didn't step up to the plate and be a man and HOLD MY BLOODY HAND WHILE I'M GIVING BIRTH TO YOUR CHILD YOU PILLOCK. But Kate excused him.

The they ended up moving to the country, because he had a chance of a job there. So they sold the flat, Kate gave up her great HR job, they moved to the back of beyond, bought a house, and guess what? He lost the job. Unemployed again. So she had to find a job to support them.

And then she got pregnant again.

He was at home, not working, so you'd think he would've looked after the house and the kids. But no. That wasn't his thing. She had to do all that. F*** only knows what he did all day, but it certainly wasn't making a worthy contribution to the world or his family.

But there was always an excuse for him. He wasn't well, the job wasn't really what it was made out to be, blah blah blah. Excuses.

The last time I saw Kate was a couple of years ago when we had a big girls' Sunday lunch at posh restaurant. All the married-with-kids girls left their babies with the husbands (some of whom got together with all the kids for a 'the-girls-are-out-so-let's-stick-the-kids-in-the-backyard-and-we'll-watch-the-footy' afternoon) and it was going to be our chance to catch up without having any little people interrupting our champagne consumption and grown-up conversation.

Kate even came up from the country for the weekend for it.

But Rob decided about half an hour before lunch that he didn't want to watch the kids, as was planned. He wanted to go sailing. So she had to bring them along.

Now, they weren't bad kids. They weren't good, but they were kids. Painful little toddlers. They didn't want to be at a posh restaurant having to behave anymore than we (or the wait staff) wanted them there.

But Kate bowed to Rob's needs yet again and gave in. And put a dampener on an otherwise lovely afternoon.

ANYWAY...

That's a lot of background. I'll forgive you if you skipped through it.

The crux of the topic is, that when Kitty Kat and I were discussing our mutual dislike of Rob last night and remarking on what a shame it was that Kate had chosen this ape and kept making excuses for his behaviour, Kitty Kat told me something which resonated quite sharply with me.

She said that she'd once confronted Kate about how Rob had offended her by asking inappropriate questions about why she was still single, and that Kate had sighed and said "I know. He's awful. But I've learned to love him".

LEARNED TO LOVE HIM.

WTF????

Surely that's no basis for marriage.

Surely you should love someone BEFORE you marry them. Unless you're of a culture where arranged marriages are still the norm, of course.

A successful, independent woman should love a man before she marries him. Not have to learn to love him. And she should never just settle for someone because she's getting to an age where she feels that if she doesn't do it now, she might miss out on the whole marriage and kids experience.

Or am I just being idealistic and naïve?

I don't know, I just think that agreeing to marry someone you don't love in the hope that you will one day learn to love them is not only sad and wrong, but a terrible example to set for your children.

Call me crazy, but I have vowed I will never get married unless I am head over heels in love with the man. I'd much rather be single, happy and in control of my own destiny than be married to someone who didn't add to my life (which I reckon is a pretty damn good one) and instead sucked all the joy out of it.

And if I never meet that person and never get married and never have kids then so be it. There's nothing wrong with being single and I'm a bit over people who act like something's missing in my life because I'm not with a man. I have freedom. And choice. And I can sleep in if I want without having to negotiate a deal on who will get up with the kids at 6am.

But if I meet the right man and we decide to get married then, yes. I'll do it. But only if I love him.




At least none of us will have to put up with Rob at the wedding. But it's a real shame Kate won't be there because she really was good fun at a party.

And its even more of a shame that we've lost her as a friend because she made a poor choice for a husband.

I ♥ Glee

It's true.

I'm a Gleek.

I fell in love with the pilot months ago and just watched it again tonight. My VCR (yes, I'm old school, I don't have IQ or recordable DVD yet) has already been programmed for Thursdays at 7.30pm on Channel 10 indefinitely.

I'm not sure what it is I love about it most. Mercedes and her "Hell to the no! Look, I'm not down with all this background singing nonsense. I am Beyoncé... I ain't no Kelly Rowland!" or her "Whatchoo bringin to the table Justin Timberlake?" is my current fave character.

Although I think it might just be the music. From Rachel's audition of "On My Own" from Les Miserables (a pet fave of mine) and Finn's shower rendition of REO Speedwagon's "I Can't Fight This Feeling", to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing"... well, its unashamedly awesome.


I totally ♥ Glee.


Gleek and proud.

What's In A Name?

Taking a moment out from the morning's tasks (ironing outfits to go into a gift basket for a 3 year old celebrity child who is currently living in my city while her mum films a movie), I just HAD to comment on today's news.

No, not the fact that the Samoans are now driving on the left instead of the right (what kind of government springs that on their poor constituency?).

Nor the fact that Annie Leibovitz is in waaaaay more debt than I could ever contemplate (US$24 million... how the hell do you rack up debts like that??).

No, this morning's news which I just HAD to comment on was the birth of the newest Richie-Madden offspring.

Sparrow James Midnight Madden. Sparrow. I'm serious. Really. People.com don't lie.

I don't understand. Harlow was such a nice name. Unusual, sure, but pretty. Sparrow is just downright mean. What happens if he's not even the least bit sparrow-like when he grows up? What happens if he turns out to be a big ol' boof like his old man? The only consolation is that at least he'll grow up in Hollywood surrounded by the likes of other strangely named celebrity offspring like Zuma Stefani Rossdale and Bandit Lee Way...

Its like the woman I once worked with who named her child Grace. This woman was fat and dumpy, her husband was fat and dumpy... what in the name of sense made her think that her child would be anything other than fat and dumpy? Seriously, the kid would come into the office and stump around like a sumo wrestler. Nothing Grace-ful about her.

Let's hope none of the other Hollywood mums about to give birth try to out-do Nicole on the name stakes...

Everyone should take a leaf out of Charlie Sheen's book. Max and Bob. Great names. And guaranteed to be highly unusual at Beverly Hills High.

What Would He Do?

After a busy start to the day (up at 6.45am to drive lovely flattie to the airport for her holiday to the red centre, followed by a bit of Ikea shopping and a Sunday work shift), I collapsed on the sofa about 4pm with a cup of tea and switched on the TV for a bit of mind-numbing chillaxing.

Sunday afternoon is not known for being much chop in the TV department (unless you have Foxtel, which I refuse to have on account of I'd never get off the sofa and I'd end up one of those horribly obese people who have to be lifted out of the house via a crane), so I was prepared for football, Sunday Arts or that dreadful holiday show with Frankie J Holden and his missus where they take free trips to caravan parks and bark on about how wonderful it is.

However, it was not to be.

Imagine my delight when this lovely fella popped up on Channel Ten:





This truly was one of the great series of the 80s. The man made science and math seem like useful skills to have. Not that I bothered learning either skill, being more artistically inclined, but then I never wanted to be MacGyver. Unlike some people I know...


No, I just admired the man for his talents. And good looks.




Oh come on, admit it. EVERYONE had a little bit of a crush on MacGyver. Even boys. What that man could do with a swiss army knife, a roll of gaffa and some chewing gum was amazing. And he was hot.

HOT.

The teenage m_m would have gladly grown up to be Mrs MacGyver.

Stop laughing. There are worse things to have wanted to be. Like Mrs T.

So anyway, I find out there's been talk of a movie being made. Hurrah, I think! A whole 100+ minutes of MacGyver action and excitement and hotness.

Bring it on.

Until... I stumbled across a snap of how Richard Dean Anderson has aged.




MacGyver hot? MacGyver not.

Oh dear.

How are they going to work that into the script?

Time really is a cruel mistress sometimes.

But snaps to Channel Ten for programming this gem in an otherwise dull timeslot. May I tune in again next week?

Where's the Dignity?

This really is one of those shake your head, sigh and say "what's the world coming to" kind of moments.

Not so much because the man was a reality TV contestant who was obviously desperate for his five minutes of fame or that his wife-of-five-minutes was a former Playboy model. As tacky as all that is, that's not why this particular case piqued my interest. And its not because he's pretty much confirmed his guilt at the crime by committing suicide, which is pretty weak in my book. No. What fascinated me about this case was that:

"Investigators used the serial numbers on her breast implants to identify her, the Orange County district attorney's office said."

That poor girl. Fancy only being able to be identified by the serial numbers on your breast implants.

What's the world coming to indeed...

This Is How It Went...

Conviction is a wonderful thing.

Let's just check on what we planned last night:

• Freo will have their game face on.
  
  Check. They sure did. Pearce was outstanding early on and McPharlin and Pavlich stepped up to the plate like the legends they are.
  
  
  
• The Bombers will be plagued by injuries and lose their mettle.
  
  Check. The loss of Lucas and Lloyd, amongst others was always going to be a big factor. A few of the youngsters tried their hardest but just couldn't sustain a comeback.
  
  
  
• Freo will score a rare, yet convincing win, to keep them safely away from the wooden spoon and the Bombers will drop back to 9th place on the ladder.
  
  Convincing? Well, I reckon 54 points is pretty bloody convincing. Although the Bombers still hold 8th place, it all comes down to next week, which is virtually an elimination final. Excitement, much.
  
  
  
• Which, after tonight's solid 42 pt win over the Tigers, will put my boys in the 8.
  
  We're not there yet, but if we win next week... WHICH WE WILL, we'll be into the finals.
  
  
  

And that's all I'm asking.


Oh and gorgeous scene on the 12:16pm train from Yarraville to Flinders St today:

Seddon station. On jumps Dad, Master Six and Master Four. All kitted out in Saints guernseys/sweatshirts/scarves, with Master Six and Master Four's cheeks painted in stripes of black, white and red. Adorable.

South Kensington station. On jumps Mum and Master Five. Mum dressed casually, Master Five decked out in Kangaroos guernsey and cap, clutching a blue and white flag which is about twice his size in one hand, and Mum's hand in the other. Super adorable.

Masters Six and Four eye up the new addition to the carriage, then Master Four takes a step forward, grabs his scarf, raises his arm and proclaims:


"SAINTS ARE GONNA RIP YOU APART TODAY!!!"

Cue a few raised eyebrows and giggles from fellow passengers.

Without missing a beat, or letting go of Mum's hand, Master Five calmly replies:

"We'll just see what happens at the final siren."

Cue full on laughter, applause and cheers from fellow passengers.

When I heard the final score this afternoon I couldn't help but give a little cheer for Master Five and imagine what he would have said if he'd run into Master Four on the way home...

Bless their little blue & white and black, white & red cottons.

This Is How It Goes...

Right.

Here's how tomorrow is going to go.

• Freo will have their game face on.
  
  
• The Bombers will be plagued by injuries and lose their mettle.
  
  
• Freo will score a rare, yet convincing win, to keep them safely away from the wooden spoon and the Bombers will drop back to 9th place on the ladder.
  
  
• Which, after tonight's solid 42 pt win over the Tigers, will put my boys in the 8.
  
  

That IS how it will go.

I'm convinced the football gods will make it so.

No hoping. No wishing. Just conviction.

Failure is not an option Dockers. Or I will go west and kick your ass.

Dear Mr Sony (remember me?)

Hi Mr Sony,

Yep, me again. Got an awesome idea for you this time. Kind of a cross between SingStar and Guitar Hero.

TV Theme Sing'n'Play Hero Star.

Like it? I personally think its a little bit genius.

You get to either sing TV themes (if there are words) or play them (if they're instrumental). Or both, in the case of a theme like The Dukes of Hazzard (you could adapt the guitar to be a banjo).

Think of the possibilities. Just THINK!

Here's a few I came up with which I'd like to sing (besides The Dukes of Hazzard):

• Charles in Charge
• I'm No Superman (Scrubs)
• Not The Boss of Me (Malcolm in the Middle)
• Growing Pains
• Punky Brewster
• Family Ties
• Who's The Boss?
• Laverne & Shirley
• Fresh Prince of Bel Air
• The Facts of Life
• Diff'rent Strokes
• Cheers
• Full House
• The Brady Bunch
• Perfect Strangers

Enough? Oh yeah, Eight is Enough. That one too.

And for playing... well there's heaps of them too.

• MacGyver (imagine the drum content of this one... awesome)
• Knots Landing
• Baywatch
• Grange Hill
• Head of the Class (if you had a piano component it could get very twiddly which would sort the men from the boys)
• Mork & Mindy
• Knight Rider
• The Professionals
• The A Team
• Beverly Hills 90210*
• Melrose Place**
  

There's loads. LOADS.

I strongly suggest you bring it up at your next brainstorming session. I reckon it'd be a real winner. I'd buy it.

Sincerely,

magical_m



* Updated to incorporate elaine's brilliant suggestion.
** On the back of elaine's brilliant suggestion, I had to add this one for sheer guitar component potential.

Sautéed in Wrong Sauce... Again*

Oh. My. Goodness.

Tommy Lee really does refuse to grow old gracefully doesn't he?

Reading this article during breakfast this morning nearly caused me to choke on my tea.

Burnt his hand whilst playing with sparklers. How old is he, 9???

But you've gotta give the guy credit for freely admitting that he's an idiot.

You just wouldn't wanna date him.

Weeeeeelllll....

No.

NO.


Couldn't date you Tommy. But can have a bit of a giggle at your expense and thank you for reminding all of us that while growing OLD is inevitable, growing UP is optional.

Tommy Lee, we salute you.

* for those who don't know or remember my obsession with Tommy Lee, click here. Or here. Or here.

I just want them to know that they didn't break me...

I read the news today, oh boy.


John Hughes passed away, aged 59. As a teenager of the 80's, John Hughes probably had more influence on who I am than any other person in the world. Big statement I know, but as a teenager who never felt that she fitted in, he told the stories that made me feel just a little bit better about being me.


He (and Molly Ringwald) showed me that its ok to be an individual. That its ok to not be part of the cool clique. That its what's inside a person that truly counts and you can find love anywhere if you look deep enough.


So I was a little sad today to hear about John.


And then I read this post.


And I cried.


Because its not just me that feels like a part of my youth has gone forever.


And because a part of it will live on because John Hughes captured what mattered to me at that particular point in time.


Because he listened. And observed. And then told our stories.


Vale John Hughes. I never knew you and you never knew me, but you were one of the most important people I never met.


And thank you.