How do you write a eulogy for someone you didn't get on with?

I'm about to enter much deeper territory than I'm used to. Generally I tend to blather on about the lighter side of life and miscellaneous crap that piques my short attention span interest and was going to write about some rather regrettable fashion faux pas that I unfortunately witnessed at my local shopping centre today followed by a recollection of the lovely afternoon I spent with some great friends.

However I then got a phone call from a friend whose mother has recently passed away. Her father has asked her to perform the eulogy and she really can't get out of it.

The problem is, her mum was really, well, mean. I'm not going to go into detail, but suffice it to say my friend is struggling to come up with more than 'good manners' as a positive point.

She was asking me for advice as she's at a complete loss. She doesn't want to lie however her truthful recollections of her mother are unfortunately not for public consumption and certainly do not fit in with the usual theme of 'don't speak ill' of the deceased variety.

I'm in alien territory here for a number of reasons. Firstly I've never had to give a eulogy, this would be a difficult enough task at the best of times. And secondly, when my mother passed away I was devastated. I was only 18 and whilst in typical rebellious teenage fashion didn't have the easiest relationship with my mother, I absolutely adored her and could espouse a million positive things to say about her. She wasn't perfect but she loved me and I loved her and I miss her to this day. And now that I'm a mum myself I catch myself saying certain things and thinking, 'oh my God, I've turned into my mother!' And much as it would have horrified me as a teenager, I'm now proud to say that if I have, then I'm OK with that because she was a vibrant, giving, beautiful woman and a loyal friend and any comparisons to her would be welcomed.

So I was at a bit of a loss of what to say to my friend who clearly does not have the same recollections. In the end, I advised her to perhaps not lie outright, but to be selective of the truths which she decides to share. I suggested that she perhaps get in contact with her mother's friends and focus on a story or stories from them to show her mother in a positive light. To focus on the fact that the good manners her mother was so focused on are now being passed onto her grandchild.

After we hung up the phone I couldn't stop thinking about it. I googled "Definition of Eulogy" and found the following answers at dictionary.com:

1. a speech or writing in praise of a person or thing, especially a set oration in honour of a deceased person.
2. high praise or commendation

Hmm, no help there.

I also googled "Eulogy for a Mean Person" which yielded exactly ONE result. Luckily this article actually offered some useful tips on how to deliver an appropriate yet truthful eulogy under such difficult circumstances.

Apparently it is quite acceptable to simply give a factual account of one's life, ie. born here, raised there, schooled there, married X, etc etc.

However I am now left feeling a little sad and empty. How awful that someone has to actually ask a friend how to write a eulogy for someone who has left a legacy of hurt and devastation behind. How awful that my friend has that hurt and devastation to bear. How sad a life where those left behind struggle to find positive things to say about you.

I would like to hope that when I'm gone people will not have to scrape the barrel to come up with anything nice to say about me. How sad if someone has to read a list of facts instead of eulogising on how I added something positive and meaningful to their lives, without lying through their teeth. I don't want to be remembered as a saint, however I would like to think that it wouldn't be that hard to remember me for being a decent person.

It made me reflect on my legacy. I'd like to thing I'm a warm, caring person, a fiercely loyal friend, a loving mother, a flawed and imperfect human being but one who tried hard and always meant well. Someone who stood up for my beliefs and whose word you could count on. Someone who made an impression on somebody, somewhere.

Deep stuff.

So instead of my meaningless babble of the day, I leave you with this. Do you have any advice for my friend? How would you like to be remembered?

xx

Public Bathroom Etiquette - my observations

Pardon my potty mouth, but this is what I've observed lately:

• People exiting public bathrooms never get out of the way of those coming in. People entering have a greater need and should be given right of way. This is common courtesy.
• The second toilet is always the one with the missing seat/toilet paper/broken lock.
• The size of the line is always in direct proportion to how much you need to go.
• If you're the only person in a bathroom with 3 or more toilets, you can be guaranteed the next person in will choose the cubicle right next to yours.
• Lady in the cubicle next to me, do not compliment my shoes. I know we're just a scant few feet from each other but I would like to maintain the illusion of privacy. If you'd really like to know where I got my footwear, please wait until we're washing our hands.
• Pay attention. If the sign says 'engaged' then there's a strong likelihood someone is in the cubicle. There's no need to push on the door. If the sign is broken, then one push would usually tip you off that the door is locked. The second, third and fourth pushes are redundant.
• And for Gods sake, flush.

xx

Tights are NOT pants!

It's time for my annual rant on an issue that continues to plague me year after year. It's a topic that causes great controversy and a divide among friends. There are those, like myself, that fall into the absolutely NOT, never-ever-ever category, and others who refuse to see the light and continue to obstinately perpetuate this tragedy.

Of course, I'm talking about the fashion epidemic that just will not die:

Can tights* be worn as pants?

(*for the purposes of this post, all leggings, stretch pants or God forbid, jeggings are heretofore referred to as 'tights').

This issue raises its ugly head the minute the weather starts to cool and I am here to categorically address this accursed trend.

Tights are not pants. NOT.

There is a plethora of literature and online articles that strongly support my opinion. Typing 'tights are not pants' into google brings up more than 2 million results. Wow. The leader of this crusade is tightsarenotpants.com which provides stickers, posters and press kits, yes, press kits, all for free in an attempt to rid the world of this abomination. It's a public service, really. Then there's thefashionpolice.net whose mantra is 'leggings are not pants and tights are not leggings'. 

Say it with me people.

I have nothing against tights as a fashion choice, when worn appropriately. In fact I'm an avid fan and have tights of almost every colour, texture and design that I wear religiously during the cooler months. They're ridiculously comfortable. They can look awesome when paired with fabulous boots and the right choice of top.

However, as I understand that tights are NOT pants, I choose to pair them with a skirt, dress or tunic style top that well and truly covers my ass.

As it should be.

I don't want to be seeing other girls camel toes, panty lines or jiggly bits, therefore I won't subject them to mine. It's just respect.

Even men agree with me, with one fashion savvy gentleman starting a petition to try to outlaw the tights-as-pants trend from LaTrobe University in Melbourne. Good for him.

There's one exception to the rule: if you look like Miranda Kerr then have at it and wear what you damn please. Just be prepared for me to glare at your perfect thighs with envy and mutter under my breath that I can see your VPL.

What's your take on this burning issue?

xx

I love Friday the 13th!

I know my luck must be ass-backwards when my birthdays usually end in tears (despite falling on my 'lucky' number 7) but 'unlucky' days such as Halloween and Friday the 13th end up being fabulous.

Look I'm as superstitious as the next person, in fact maybe more. I don't mind admitting that not only will I never walk under a ladder, I will also avoid walking under scaffolding too as it's KIND of a ladder, yeah? In fact, since the building next door to my work has been under construction for the past 2 years, I have jaywalked across the road rather than count the scaffolding to ensure I'm 'undoing' any bad juju of an odd number of scaffolding 'ladders'.

I don't think I'm alone here as last year they installed a proper crossing so I no longer need to play chicken with the crazy CBD traffic. Bless.

And I don't just hate black cats, I dislike all cats in general (except maybe the weird-ass hairless sphinx cats, which freak me out and intrigue me in equal proportions).

So the day has begun with the usual maiming of the alarm clock, a hurried getting-ready routine, which is par for the course, kiss for my gorgeous boy (aside: are they ever any cuter than when they're fast asleep and all warm and cuddly?), grab the coffee and race to the bus.

Now this week we've been experiencing unseasonably cool weather for April, max temps of 24 or 25 degrees, so the mornings have been enjoyably fresh. I love the cool weather, where you can haul ass for the bus when running late (read: always) and arrive without being all sweaty with the hair you just devoted most of your precious 'getting-ready' time styling all stuck to your neck and frizzed with humidity. Before its so cold that even with your scarf/gloves/coat combo (yes, in Brisbane, I know, I know, I feel the cold OK?) that you're still shivering down to your bones. Anyway, this week has been a delight for me, sunny, bright and cool but definitely not usual April behaviour.

I thoroughly enjoyed my walk to the bus this morning. When I'm too embarrassed to tell you the first song on my Ipod, you KNOW it's bad, but suffice it to say that it was as cheesy as I could hope it to be and AWESOME. So picture me doing a strange sort of walk/skip/dance down the road, grinning like a fool and trying not to sing out loud. Not successfully. Oh well.

So then I'm sitting at the bus stop sipping my coffee and waiting for the caffeine to kick in when out of nowhere a guy jumps off my bus and says to the driver "you've got a gorgeous girl getting on, you lucky bastard".

As I was the only person of either gender waiting for the bus (OK I looked), I can only conclude he meant me. And as the guy in question appeared clean, sober and apparently in reasonable mental health I was flattered. Never mind that the driver told me this dude has been on a fishing boat for a month and just got back, and therefore reason might dictate that I may have been the first girl he'd laid eyes on in a while...

I'll take it.

Happy Friday the 13th all, hope you enjoy it as much as me! But I will still be avoiding scaffolding at all costs.

xx

Happy Thursday!

Ah short work weeks...how I love thee.

Although it only feels like hump day, tomorrow is wonderful, wonderful Friday.

It's been a crazy busy week but has gone by lightning-fast and suddenly we're approaching the weekend once again.

So this week I've been amusing myself with watching yellow-scarf-girl (who's back to the yellow scarf, in case you're interested) and becoming completely obsessed with Instagram. If you haven't checked it out yet, you really should! It's my new obsession and of course, I now believe I'm the most excellent photographer in the city, nay, the country. But of course.

So I've been downloading all my old photos onto my phone just so I can give them the Instagram treatment. It's rather addictive so if I appear to have gone quiet it's not death by Easter chocolate, although I gave it my best shot. I've got loads of pics in the queue to 'Instagram' so if you have the misfortune to follow me on Instagram, apologies in advance.

E goes back to school next week after 2 weeks holiday and for the first time ever he's actually itching to get back. I guess 2 weeks at home, with at least five consecutive days on a sugar high, has left the poor kid feeling a little bored. Even spending his Easter cash on Ninjago (what else) only temporarily eased the boredom. Isn't it funny, as a kid everything is 'boring' however as an adult I'd kill to have enough time off to get bored.

I've also been loving 2 Broke Girls, even though they're just airing repeats, repeatedly. I want a Kat Denning Bite Me Cupcake. Want.

So enjoy my Instagram gallery below and feel free to give the accolades an elite photographer deserves...

Or not.

xx

The Zombie Apocalypse...will you survive?

A friend of mine has an unholy fascination with what he assures me is the inevitable zombie apocalypse. He has spent an inordinate amount of time recruiting his army, locating supplies and making plans for survival in the event that rotting brain suckers do invade.

His theory seems to be well supported, with Creators Doejo even publishing a Map of the Dead showing just where are the hotspots for the zombie invasion will be.

America is screwed. All 50 states. London is double screwed. Most of Europe will be wiped out.

And for Australians, the prognosis is mixed. Any of us living in a capital city seem to be doomed to recreate our very own Shawn of the Dead scenes. The outback and wilderness are considered 'safe zones'...although I'm not sure why? Perhaps zombies only thrive when close to a 7-11 hub? If they can't eat brains perhaps a lukewarm pie and a Big Gulp at 2am does the trick?

However the news isn't all bleak. Western Australia and the Northern Territory will be largely unaffected and apparently even zombies don't want to go to Tasmania. Huh.

Frazer Island is the pick apparently, just a hop, skip and a jump away.

Apparently Vladimir Putin recently confirmed that Russia has been testing mind-bending psychotronic guns that can turn people into zombies. Ironically, according to the Map of the Dead, zombies give Russia a wide berth, so I'm thinking that they're going to be the evil geniuses behind this apocalypse.

All I can tell you is when the zombies come, I'm heading for Alaska, with one of these on my back. An award-winning safe house in a backpack? Sold! As an aside, is it time to worry when they hold an international Zombie Safe House Competition? With the winner awarded a Golden Shovel?

xx

Horrors of Raising Baby - the man's perspective

So back to work after four days of relaxing bliss. I don't know about you but I found it just about impossible to get up this morning, and my poor alarm clock nearly suffered a fatal accident.

Typing this with a keyboard where the 'L' button is sticky - luckily for me I just re-read the above sentence prior to posting as 'clock' without the L completely changed the context of what I was trying to say. Ha.

Today I stumbled across this fabulous blog post entitled '30 Practical Tips About The Horrors Of Raising A Baby That You Will Never Learn From Movies and TV'. Written from the male perspective it is a hilarious (and accurate) account of a man experiencing the joys and mishaps of parenthood.  It's always interesting for me to read things about men and babies as I've been raising Elijah on my own since the beginning. It's nice to see that men feel the pain, guilt and angst of caring for newborns just as much as women.

Best line of the day: "Husbands: If your wife wakes up, YOU WAKE UP. Don’t be a dipshit. Misery loves company. A happy marriage is a marriage in which both spouses are equally sleep-deprived".

Totally brightened my day.

Happy Tuesday everyone!

xx