Does your husband love this show?

cast-of-mythbusters med

Of course he does! It features explosions and a hawt babe who wears tight tank tops whilst blowing shite up.

Of course your husband loves Mythbusters. Why am I asking?

Of course your husband loves Mythbusters. Why am I asking?

This week at Mumabulous I’m doing a little myth busting of my own.  I am looking at two questions.

Do women like to multi-task?


Are men capable of thinking about nothing at all?

The idea that women are brilliant multi-taskers has been around for so long its become unquestionable fact – much like the world is round, the sun rises in the East and Clive Standen is hawt. Nevertheless academic studies  have drawn wildly different verdicts. Recently an experiment at the University of Glasgow concluded that on average women perform marginally better than men at tasks involving constant attention switching.

Alexander Ludwig  and Clive Standen can sword fight and look hawt at the same time. Who said men can't multi-task.

Oh my! Alexander Ludwig and Clive Standen can fight and look hawt at the same time. Who said men can’t multi-task. HONK!

The reasons underlying this result might be due to the wiring of the female brain. Yet I’d wager that if women are  better multi-taskers its because we freakin’ have to be. We’re the ones who prepare the evening meal, whilst yakking to our mothers on the phone, filing our nails and fielding a million questions from the kids. In the mornings its usually us serving breakfast, readying the kids for school whilst making ourselves vaguely presentable for the office.

Its funny because its true.

Its funny because its true.

I too can multi-task like a boss.  I can munch Tim Tams and watch Mad Men, drink and blog and perve whilst pretending to read the newspaper. Sadly the whole thing falls over when I try to multi-task behind the wheel. I can’t perve and drive. The other day I was stopped at the traffic lights when I spotted an olive skinned crumpet. I missed the light change and was beeped by the car behind. HONK!

Otherwise I dislike multi-tasking immensely. I prefer to focus  my attention on one task, completing it properly before moving on. I have always been a bit this way and parenthood has not improved the situation. My catch cry is “I cant do two things at once”.  After seven years of hearing this P1  still hasn’t absorbed the message.  “You can do two things at once Mum – you’re doing the dishes and talking to me aren’t you?” (She gets her smarts from her father)

I decided to run a scientific inquiry of my own via Facebook. Of the four lovely ladies who responded, three said they can multi-task but hate it. One said she cant do it at all. We can conclude from my academically robust methodology that 75% of women can multi-task but would rather not. I should go on the talk show circuit with this revelation.

Moving along to the second question:

I read on a blog recently that men are capable of thinking about nothing at all.  It was a Daddy blog thus giving the idea some credibility. Apparently a dude called Mark Gungor (a pastor and motivational speaker – my kind of person NAWT) has popularized the idea that men’s brains are like a shelf full of boxes. Men have a separate box for everything in their lives, job, kids, mates, beer, porn etc  They can only think inside one box at a time. Their collection includes a nothing box which is empty. A man enjoys completely zoning out in his nothing box which explains the popularity of fishing.


Woman simply can not conceptualize a nothing box and do not believe it when their partners claim to thinking about nothing. They imagine their partners must be musing on football, beer, porn etc when the man is being “Scouts’ honour” honest.

I again put the call out in social media directing the question specifically at the blokes. I had to ask a couple of times before I got a response. It was like reliving my single days. The answers indicated that men do indeed compartmentalize their thoughts and can focus on a single thing to the exclusion of everything else. At least that’s their excuse and they’re sticking with it.  Case in point (I have excluded the names to protect the guilty)


if horse racing is nothing than yes. If you mean a trance-like vacuum of serenity then no.

I don’t think of nothing… but I can focus so completely on a single thing that it looks like I’m thinking about nothing.

And on Facebook.

 I do it every time i turn on channel 9

A friend of mine went trend but despite knowing him for over 20 years I am not sure whether he is being sarcastic.

 Nope. We are constantly thinking of stuff. We are complex beings don’t you know.

 It looks like the “nothing box” myth is busted.

Can you multi-task? Do you think men are capable of thinking about nothing at all?




Pimp Our Game

In news just to hand Immigration Minister Scott Morrison made the most popular move of his career by booting the notorious “executive dating coach” Julien Blanc out of the country. In case you were blissfully unaware Blanc was in Melbourne to deliver a seminar on his 100% succsex  guaranteed pick up technique.  Blanc claims that he can show you the moves that will have attractive women “begging” you for sex. On his website Pimp, a hilarious read Blanc promises his proteges that they will


 As you know Mumabulous is not a prude. I am in favor of dodgy pick up lines – the cheesier the better. I mean I would respond to a “Hey baby, is that a mirror in your pants because I can see myself in them” if it were delivered by Michael Fassbender and I had consumed several Moets on a luxury yacht.  If Colin Firth approached me on the grounds of  Pemberley with a “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you”, I would go down like the proverbial domino. Heck even a “Wench, get me some mead” would work if uttered by Clive Standen in full Viking regalia.  Blanc however aims much lower than this. He is advocating choking women as a means of getting their attention. That isn’t a turn on in most peoples books. It’s assault.

Oh my Fass! You've got your glove on already! Down boy!

Oh my Fass! You’ve got your glove on already! Down boy!

Quite rightfully Blanc was sent packing. Meanwhile there’s a gaping chasm on the motivational speaking circuit. I have heard whispers that the seminar organizers were in emergency discussions with Geoffrey Edelsten  Apparently there is much demand among the old n’ crusty set for tuition in how to get a hawt young bird. Unfortunately the key message “have truckloads of cash” couldn’t be stretched into a one hour talk.

The awesomeness on a stick which is Hugzilla was quick to put forward an alternative proposal. She is offering to run a seminar on how to attract women by being a decent human being.


Its a very nice idea. I have a fondness for decent human beings. In fact I married one. Nevertheless all this pleasantness doesn’t gel with  Mumab’s personal style. I suggest  us old chix get revenge. In the spirit of cheeky evilness I present “Pimp Your Game : Cougar!!!!”.

pimp your game


In this exciting seminar I will educate you on how to embarrass men of all ages making a complete ass of yourself in the process. With a little help from the Mumabs you will be able to make even the most hardened tradies and high flying execs blush. I’m talking beetroot red faces or your money back. And everyone knows that you cant beet a root.(Boom Tish)

Here’s an apéritif.

100% Cougar approved Sherry!

100% Cougar approved Sherry!


Words that must be immediately deleted from your vocabulary.

Shame, understatement, subtly, taste, sophistication and discretion. “Classy” is allowed but only when used with a bogan accent and an ironic tone. For eg “That Benedict Crumpetbatch is one claaaaaaasssssseeeeee piece of crumpet. I could go some eggs Benedict the morning after. You know what I am saying. Nudge nudge wink wink”

How to dress for success.

All your prints must be animal skin, your heels teetering, your makeup premixed in a cement truck and your hair big. Small hair and flat shoes are for boring wimps like my alter ego Brenda.

Japanese middle aged pop idols - Obachan. My kind of people.

Japanese middle aged pop idols – Obachan. My kind of people.


I view Jennifer Lopez as a spiritual twin. We are both mid 40s, round of derrière and live by the mantra “Lets get loud”.  A cougar with a pimped game is never quiet. I advocate carrying a honking horn in your voluminous leopard print hand bag. It should  be used whenever you pass by a building site, a footy team in training, a shirtless man mowing his front lawn etc etc. The opportunities for a good honk are endless.

Its all about that HONK!

Its all about that HONK!

It is important to note that your car horn is extremely useful when you pass by a man in lycra on a bike (as long as it is not Tony Abbott).

Pick Up Ability

The pimped Cougar must be the mistress of the gawd awful pick up line. My personal favorite is to approach your mark, dip your fingers in your sparkling wine moisten his shirt and purr ” Now lets get you out of those wet clothes”. I have personally never failed with this one (because I have never had the chutz pah to use it).  Another goodie is to approach your favored crumpet, remove the ice from your drink, place it on the floor and stomp on it. “That broke the ice” (Boom Tish). Here’s another zinger I found on the interwebs ; “Are you from UPS? Because I’d sign for that package.”


Here’s a sample of the merchandise that will be on sale after the seminar. T-shirts that a cougar can wear with pride.

T Shirt MED


Are you ready to Pimp Your Game?








Who needs All-Bran?

Sometimes I enjoy having the shites. A little outrage gets the heart pumping. It stirs the blood. Adrenaline surges through the cells making me feel like a vital human being with a brain. Days spent trying to entertain a preschooler have had a deadening effect on my mental and emotional faculties. Chasing lite relief through the the Facebook Viking Fan page  provides a temporary treat for my eyes but doesn’t shake me out of my malaise. I mean it is a disgrace that several  hunks on that show are unvalued by the  viewing public (I’ve just been through a 100 hawtest hunks on TV list and not a cracker people – not a cracker! No FOTC or Jon Snow either!), but its difficult to get  worked up about the issue. By contrast reading the Daily Telegraph does it for me.

Facebook politics – the mental equivalent of All Bran

Its peversely pleasurable and gives me a rare sense of intellectual superiority. Its sad that I have to trawl the bottom of Australia’s media barrel to feel smart. Anyhow recently I read something on Facebook that really, really gave me the shits.  It was the mental equivalent of having eaten All Bran with prunes for  week. The experience was less than sanguine. In fact it made me despair for humanity. No it wasn’t some hack criticizing Michael Fassbender’s acting skills. It was a political post. Specifically this one from the ALP:

Australian Labor Party shared a link.

Moments ago Christopher Pyne said in Question Time that they had an “avalanche of support” for the Americanisation of universities. Yet 20,000 have signed our petition in 24 hours. Add your name here:

Tony Abbott and Christopher Pyne’s unfair Budget will create $100,000 degrees and force Australians across the country into a debt sentence. Tell Tony Abbott and Christopher Pyne that their higher education changes are short-sighted and unfair.
Firstly I need to qualify I am not a “liker” of the ALP nor any other political group on Social Media. Nor am I an apologist for the ALP who I believe  handled certain things very badly (carbon tax, mining tax, corporate welfare). You know there’s a “but” coming. Here it is;
BUT – I feel very strongly about this particular issue. I am vehemently against the proposed cuts to funding, deregulation of university fees and higher interest charges on HELP debt.
The age of entitlement is over now that he's had all the entitlements.

The age of entitlement is over now that he’s had all the entitlements.

Only the University of Western Australia has announced what it will charge if the new regime is passed. However it appears that fees will have to increase by at least 30% to cover the shortfall in government funding. It is feared that as Universities will be able to charge what the market will bear fees for some high demand courses could skyrocket by as much as 60%.

There is already a gaping chasm dividing opportunities for  rich and poor in this country. Its about to get wider. To be fair, the changes include a scholarship program for the disadvantaged which is marvelous. Yet on balance I fear that substantially increasing the amount students will have to pay for their qualifications roadblocks the less well off.

At the moment the changes are before the senate and it looks like that crazy cat Clive Palmer wont be letting it through.

I cant believe I agree with Clive Palmer.

I cant believe I agree with Clive Palmer.

The thing that caused me my extreme mental diarrhoea was the comments attached to the Facebook post. My faith in humanity has taken a bashing. For example;

Let’s just burden low wage income earners to pay for other peoples uni fees who will end up earning more than the people paying the taxes

Is there a petition to sign because I do not want to pay for bludgers and idiots to attempt further education at our expense…

Get a job, contribute to AUSTRALIA..

Stop the take take take mentality

Why am I a taxpayer one who will never use the University system being made to pay taxes, so someone elses kids can go to uni? User pays im afraid, its the way of the world.

Why shouldn’t the individual that benefits from the education, pay a reasonable amount for the qualification that will entitle them to a life of oncoming luxury…

Robbing poor kids, to pay for rich, and middle class kids to go to university at someone else’s expense, so that for the rest of their life, that highly educated person can look down on the labourer that paid for his education

Why should I pay for some other kids education I’m more than happy to pay for my kids only . So that increase makes me happy

Ive work for over 45 years and as a single person raised and educated my daughter through Uni so why am I now responsible for other people to go to Uni, if someone can explain this please do.

AAAAAArgh make it stop!

I cant believe the self centredness and short sightedness of some individuals out there. Why indeed should anyone contribute anything  that might benefit someone other than themselves? Why should my taxes go to building roads that I won’t drive on and hospitals that I wont visit? Why should I pay for your old age pension?

Getting a tertiary education is not freeloading as some of these commentators believe. Currently students pay 40% of their tuition back through the HELP system. If they are fortunate enough to earn a high salary (unlike highly educated nurses, teachers and social workers) they will give back far more in higher taxes. Hence these bludgers that you supported through uni will subsidize your Family Tax Benefit, your Child care rebate, your baby bonus and your Medicare.

Next time you need a medical professional, switch your computer on or even drive over a bridge that doesn’t collapse ask yourself whether having educated people is of benefit to the community.

A well educated, critical thinking population is crucial to having a prosperous and well rounded society. In the face rapidly changing technologies it will only be more so. In my book that’s worth making a contribution to.

What happened to the Australian ideal of a “fair go”?

What do you have the shites about?



NB: I also need to stress that I dont think uni education should be completely free. The system we have in place where there’s a 40%-60% split between what the student pays and the government pays is reasonable. I dont want to see education pushed out of the reach of the average person.


Smart is sexy!

Smart is sexy! – There’s a whole other rant :-)


Sorry about the pic of Christopher Pyne. Here's some Christopher Pine to make it up to you.

Sorry about the pic of Christopher Pyne. Here’s some Christopher Pine to make it up to you.


How To Annoy Your Kids

Its a parent’s God given right to both embarrass and annoy their offspring. Here at Chez Abulous  embarrassment is yet to kick in. At age 7 and (almost) 5 my girls are too young to be fully cognisant of just how embarrassing Mum and Dadabs are.  We are both short of stature, wild of hair and geeky of taste. No doubt we will cause much mortification in the future. In the meantime I’ve got the annoyance thing down pat.  As a generous spirit I shall share my knowledge and experience so that you too can drive your kids crazy.

I present a by no means definitive list of things that irritate the bejeepers out of my kids.

Singing. They hate it when I butcher their favorite Katy Perry toons. However I special form of loathing is reserved for my rendition of Weird Al’s “Eat it”.  For me this 80s classic has taken on special resonance since becoming a parent. These  lines get trotted out at meal times with alarming frequency ;

“Don’t want to argue. I don’t want to debate

Don’t wanna hear about the foods you hate

You won’t get no dessert til you clean up your plate

So eat it. Just eat it. Wooooooooo!”

The response is always groaning and pleading. “Muuuuum. You said you wouldn’t sing that.”

NB: For bonus annoyance points make sure to add a enthusiastic “Woooooooooooooo”. A Michael Jackson crotch grab is probably taking things too far. It is also important to note that the “Dont want to argue. I dont want to debate” line covers a wide range of situations. I like to trot it out in the morning when the girls are complaining about my choice of socks.

Its pop parody gold but my kids haaaaate it.

Its pop parody gold but my kids haaaaate it.

Being described as “recalcitrant” – The Malaysian PM  Mahathir Mohamad did not appreciate it when he was accused of recalcitrance by Paul Keating. (This happened in 1993 so of course you are too young to remember it).  At the time it sparked a diplomatic incident. If anything my kids like it less than Mahathir. “Muuuum. I am NOT a ‘calcitrant. Don’t call me a ‘calcitrint”, they will whine whilst refusing to get dressed, brush their teeth or put on shoes.  The fact that they are recalcitrant to do these things is of no concern to them.

Criticizing their choice of viewing – My seven year old has recently become a Winx fan girl. I’m not sure its appropriate but the horse has bolted. Banning it now would only imbue it with a mystique it does not deserve.  My problem is that the Winx present like slappers. Their hair is over coiffed, they wear too much makeup and slink around in slutty skin tight lycra – and that is just the blokes. P1 doesn’t appreciate me pointing this out to her.  Meanwhile I know she’ll tire of Winx and go back to watching (bloody) Arthur on a continuous loop. Arthur is innocuous (which makes him so bloody irritating).

Those Winx boys are man-tarts! The red head with the glasses is undeniably my type however.

Those Winx boys are man-tarts! The red head with the glasses is undeniably my type however.

Repetition – “What cant I do?” – “Two things at once”. “What don’t I like?” – “whinging”.  I say these things so many times I day ,I  should bypass speaking and just get the T-shirt printed. “Muuum. You say this all the time. You’re boring” Nevertheless after 7 years of parenthood the message is yet to sink in. Perhaps it cant penetrate the brain blood barrier at the molecular level.

The fact that I cant do two things at once.

The fact that my tolerance for whinging is limited.

My technical incompetence -The girls are believers in the magic of technology. For them the interwebs is a mystical place where their every desire can be conjured. This is true 99% of the time. Occasionally however the internet wont give them what they want  eg- film  clip where the La La Loopsys join forces with My Little Pony to go raiding in Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom. It is evitably my fault when You Tube wont deliver.

Inadequate wardrobe – P2 can never find anything suitable to wear and as Chez Ab’s chief fashion buyer  it is my fault. My taste is apparently concealed within my underpants.

Sending packaged snacks to school on Waste-Free-Wednesday. Woe betide the parent who places packaged snacks in their child’s lunch box on Waste Free Wednesday. Not only are you solely responsible for the melting of the polar ice caps you’ve denied you child precious “house points”.

My Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation – Fair call – that’s really annoying.

The Mumabs is more Conan the Librarian. (PS: Conan is one of the funniest movies of all time)

The Mumabs is more Conan the Librarian. (PS: Conan is one of the funniest movies of all time)

What would you add to the list? How to you annoy your kids? Are you embarrassing them yet? I need some tips for the future.




A Cosmetic Misadventure

Recently I engaged the services of a Podiatrist. I’ll spare you the ghastly details but lets just say my issues are minor and mostly cosmetic. The wearing of thongs is de rigueur at my beach and I felt I needed some work done to rock this summer with confidence. We’re talking Havaianas in case there’s any confusion.

I want to feel confident in my thong.

I want to feel confident in my thong.

The procedure I planned to undertake was very new fangled, high tech and involved the use of a laser. This provoked scientific skepticism from Dadabs. “Have you done your research? Are you sure its not some quack bull dust?”  “Relax I’m going to a bona-fide medical establishment”. My (nearly)  five year old P2 was aghast “Dont get lasered Mumma. You’ll die!” She then produced a charming illustration of an evil onion being lasered by a pre-school girl with super powers.  My seven year old who is getting sassier by the day, merely scoffed. “You’re getting lasered? Who’s going to do it – Luke Skywalker? bawahahahahahaha”. Meanwhile I couldn’t be prouder of her indepth knowledge of Star Wars. Dadabs and I are doing a stellar job.

The Podiatrist and his arsenal

The Podiatrist and his arsenal

The fateful day arrived and I entered the Podiatrist’s suite with excitement which demonstrates two things

1) I was really looking forward to ending the scourge of ugly toenails &

2) My life really is that dull.

I was greeted by a big, boofy young man . Brick outhouse would be an apt description.  However his cheeky grin and lively sparkling eyes lifted him to crumpet status – if foot crumpet is a thing. I mused that there were worse ways to spend the next thirty minutes to an hour. I was to be proven wrong!

The dude sat me down in a comfy recliner and assured me that my toenails would not melt and that the whole thing would not be very painful. Yet he contradicted himself by handing me a box of tissues – in case I needed to cry or dry my sweaty palms. Huh? He then told me to yell out “hot” if the pain was becoming unbearable.  He then tried to reassure me that he always over plays the discomfort factor so that clients won’t be angry with him. Now I was confused but I summoned up my best macho posturing. “I’ve given birth twice without an epidural!  I can handle this.” I announced smugly.  He did a good job of feigning nonchalance but I detected a faint flicker of alarm in his eyes. Young men hate the topic of child birth, (especially child free men with live in girlfriends) and frankly who can blame them.

We both donned some stylin’ Lady Gaga type protective goggles and he set to work. I felt the laser’s gentle warmth. It was actually quite pleasant. “Piece of cake” I thought. “This is alright” I said.

This is me getting my toenails lasered.

This is me getting my toenails lasered.


Then without warning or build up it hit. Seering, burning agony! Oh My God! “Ummmm. That’s hurting a bit now. That’s really hurting” I felt tears build up around my eyes. It was orders of magnitude worse than anything I’d suffered at the hands of a professional waxer.


“You’re doing really well” said the dude.

The last time I heard that line I was in labor and it was blatantly untrue both then and now.

The dude informed my that some of his clients (mostly male) “swear like wharfies” and instructed me to “keep talking to him”.

I was subjected to four more bursts of stinging way more intense than child birth. During this time I was distracted by the dude’s amiable banter. I learned that Team Abulous should be watching Arrow and that The Flash is an under rated super hero. Conversely the dude learned that he really must watch Vikings*.

Despite the dude telling me that there would be no residual pain, I felt like my toes had been bashed with a hammer. I whimpered that I needed a glass of red wine to ease the trauma. The dude gave me his permission to neck the whole bottle – the sooner I got “medicated” the better. He also recommended that I throw out all of my old rank shoes and purchase a new collection. This advice was prefaced with  “Your husband’s going to hate me but….”.

My key take aways from this experience were;

  • Super sensitive toes and a pathetic limp.
  • Although the dude tortured me I can’t help but crushing on him a little. It’s impossible not to like a man who recommends you both down a bottle of red and buy new shoes.
  • There is no way in hell a laser is ever going to touch my face.  A future spent looking at my own wrinkles is preferable to the pain.
  • I am completely put off any type of invasive cosmetic treatment. No lipo or implants for me. I’d rather be imperfect than in agony.


9/10 Podiatrists recommend Shiraz

9/10 Podiatrists recommend Shiraz


Cosmetic treatments? How far would you go? Would you suffer for your looks?



* That’s my message to the world.





If I Could Turn Back Time

You know the  saying “if you can remember the 1960s you weren’t there”?  I can’t remember the 1990s.  Its all a bit of a blur. All I have is snippets.  I do remember stumbling out of the Australian Hotel in the Rocks and performing my own interpretation of Cher’s iconic hit “If I Could Turn Back Time” on this very canon. Its just below the Harbor Bridge and despite having taken my weight it is still there. They made things to last in ye days of olde.

I sat on this canon and its still there!

I sat on this canon and its still there!

My companion at the time laughed with the kind of hilarity only several pints of boutique lager will induce.  That relationship only lasted about 6 months but if I could turn back time I would still have dated him (albeit briefly). I have trouble saying that about a handful of the others. Still every choice I’ve made either good – like buying my own unit, or bad like dating unsuitable individuals has led me to where I am now. Its a pretty good place. I wouldn’t want to mess with that.

If by any far-out, science fiction scenario I was bestowed with the power to turn back time I wouldn’t interfere with my own life. Instead I’d use the gift purely for entertainment purposes – like watching the Vikings in real time instead of on SBS.  Going back and visiting key moments in world history sounds way more exciting than a night in front of Big Brother.

Here are my top destinations in history.

The 1990s – I’d take a whirl wind tour through the decade to refresh my fading memory. There had to be more to the era than Dawsons Creek, Friends and NKOTB*. Right?

A friend of mine told me that back in the early 80s he was in a dingy night club in London when an unknown band called U2 took the stage and performed “Sunday Bloody Sunday” apparently for the first time. That strikes me as a moment worth visiting. Meanwhile the dude will dine out for the rest of his life on that anecdote – its one of the few anecdotes he has which is family friendly.

Whilst we’re on the topic of great performances – how about  Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust tour, The Rolling Stones circa 1972 or Sally Bowles at the Kit Kat Club in 1931? Ok – the last one is fictitious but it had to be based on something. Pre-war Berlin was quite the bohemian hawt spawt.

In 1972 Jagger had the moves like - well Jagger.

In 1972 Jagger had the moves like – well Jagger.


Berlin in the early 1930s - a hawt spawt of debauchery.

Berlin in the early 1930s – a hawt spawt of debauchery.

Neil Armstrong’s moon landing. The unadulterated awe the world felt when Neil took his “one small step for man” will never be matched.




I would love to have read Pride and Prejudice when it “first came out”. We’ve seen thousands of permutations of this story and its somewhat lost its edge.  Darcy however never loses his hawtness. Imagine how hawt he would have been in 1813.

Likewise seeing Hamlet performed for the first time at the Globe theatre in 1601. Prior to then no-one had ever asked “to be or not to be?”

It would be remiss to leave out great moments in visual art. I would love to visit Michaelangelo in his Florence studio and watch him create David. It would be a truly marvellous thing to see one of the world’s most iconic sculptures as a work in progress. Just kidding – that model is obviously smokin’ hawt!

Hawtest sculpture in history.

Hawtest sculpture in history.


November 22, 1963 Dallas Texas – the assassination of  President John F Kennedy. I want to settle the question of whether there really was a second gun man behind the grassy knoll.

and finally

My top choice for an historical photo-bombing opportunity – 2 June 1953 Queen Elizabeth 2’s coronation.

Epic photobombing. NB: In case you were wondering this is NOT me.

Epic photobombing. NB: In case you were wondering this is NOT me.


Do you ever ponder what you’d do if you could time travel? Would you change your own life? What moments in history would you like to photo-bomb?



* New Kids On The Block for those two young to remember or too old to care.


Life Hacked

Are you thinking about using the services of a Life Coach? Let me save you hundreds of non-medicare rebated dollars by giving you the low down. They will tell you is to formulate some goals. Once these goals are tabulated, they will check  your weekly progress and put a proverbial rocket up you if you fail to achieve them. That’s $150 thank you very much.

Here at Chez Abulous we dont need to pay for life hacking because our lives are well and truly hacked.

A life coach will put one of these up you. Its as painful as it sounds.

A life coach will put one of these up you. It’s as painful as it sounds.*

Dadabulous exemplifies a successful life on all levels. Early in our marriage he informed be of his personal mission because forewarned is forearmed.  He was not going to slide passively into decrepitude with age. On the contrary he  plans to go out with an extended roar.  The hills of the eastern suburbs will truly come to life with the sound of his whinging. If anything (no matter how trivial) even vaguely pisses him off he will fire out missives of complaint to the perpetrator, the newspaper and the local MP. His role model would be Victor Meldrew of One Foot In The Grave but he can’t stand that kind of gentle British comedy. Its yet another thing for him to complain about.

Dadabs gets his grump on.

Dadabs gets his grump on.

Many people dream the dream but Dadabs lives it. We recently sampled a local French bistro sans kids. Although the food was good it did not represent value for money. Dadabs is a keen seeker of value for money. ( Funnily Bunnings always represents money well spent whilst shoe shopping doesn’t). The complaints came thick and fast. The bistro was asking top dollar but forced the customer to pay for vegetable sides, corkage was exorbitant and the communal seating was inconsistent with the outrageous pricing. The diatribe continued on an off throughout the evening and into the following day. I reminded him of his goal of becoming a grumpy old man and commended him on how close he was to achieving it.

Dadabs was compelled to justify this dubious honour. He explained that as a man ages he only gets better at three things;

1) Sprouting hair from the ears and nostrils.

2) Farting

3) Complaining

The conversation then morphed into the most intellectually rigorous debate of our relationship. I argued that much like sexual prowess, farting peaks in adolescence. No creature farts with more gleeful abandon than a teenage boy.  Dadabs and I will have to agree to disagree on that score. Meanwhile he remains resolute in his mission to become a cranky old grouch.  I have no doubt he will fulfill this goal by the preciously young age of 47. (He’s 46)  Aren’t you feeling inspired?

Whilst my husband is on top of his game, I am barely treading water. I have made it my mission to become the dirtiest middle aged woman since Patsy Stone but I seemed to have stalled in my quest.  For one thing I’m not going to the gym because I’m distracted by self indulgent pursuits like housework. This has removed a couple of good perving hours from my week. However I take consolation in the fact that  I am still paying gym membership and making a real contribution towards building the hunks of the future. It should be tax deductible.

patsy med

Living my best life.


Moreover I’m seriously falling down in the cougar fashion stakes. I’m missing the ab to my fab. Just look at my leopard print shoes? Scuffed and disgraceful. I’d upgrade but I dont have time to waft around Bondi Junction Westfield like a yummy mummy,  middle aged dowager. There’s so much wrong with that sentence.  It shows just how far I’ve strayed from my true calling.

I need an upgrade.

I need an upgrade.

Meanwhile my sassy seven year old says I should team these boxer shorts with cat ears and be a cougar for Halloween. I dont know where she’d get an idea like that. It is however entirely appropriate for the occasion. It’d be the scariest costume on our block, if notthe whole of Sydney.

Can you think of spookier attire for Halloween? I can't.

Can you think of spookier attire for Halloween? I can’t.

The other area where I am letting team Cougar down is on the drinking front. I confess I’m all Friday night Facebook talk but very little action. I managed  two glasses (and relished very sip) of this cab sav last night and I’ll match it with two tonight. I’m sure you’ll agree its a feeble effort.

I'm not consuming nearly enough.

I’m not consuming nearly enough.


There’s now way in Hades I’d pay for the services of a life coach so I am turning it over to you. Blog fans could you hack my ‘abulous life ?  How can I get back on track on my journey towards becoming a dirty old lady?

Is your husband a Victor Meldrew?

Farting? – At what stage in life does it peak?

Life hacks like or loathe?



* Yes the rocket is Dadabs handiwork. He is polymath.