A comprehensive review of Justice League

I feel like I have been waiting a million years for this movie. When my children are grown and have children of their own and they sit on my lap and say “Grandma? What was your happiest day?” I will say: “well my dearest grandies, a long, long time ago I saw a gif. And it was the most beautiful gif I had ever seen. It was the happiest day of my life when I found a video where some kind soul put it on a loop on Youtube. I watched it for 26 hours forgoing food and water. I became severely dehydrated. I was very thirsty. You father learned how to make his own breakfast and to prepare a bottle for his brother on his own”.

I was ready for this movie. I was made to see this movie. Which makes what I am going to say next even more painful.

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Dispatches from the lavender room of zen

My husband has gastro. It was quite the welcome back from Nelson. The Arts Festival was so dreamy – I felt like I was in another world. Then I needed to go back to literal Chunderville.

Luckily my mother-in-law stepped in while I was away and took the boys for the night so my husband could poop forever in peace. I went straight from the airport to her house and we stayed two days while my husband worshipped the porcelain gods at home.

I always stay in the purple room at my mother-in-law’s house. There is dried lavender and it’s zen AF. As soon as I walk in I’m calm. It’s the room equivalent of a lorazepam. The children always sleep better at her house because life is a cosmic joke. They spend their days saying “Thank you Nanna. I love you Nanna. Please can I have Nana”. They are perfect at Nana’s. It’s the Nana-effect. Nanamania.

She says – “time for a bath!” and they hop in the bath. She says “eat up!” and they eat up. It’s magical. She says “time for bed” and I fucking shit you not they just go to bed.

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An update!

I know I haven’t been around these traps for a while. So I thought I’d just give an update.

I’m speaking at a bunch of events across the country over the next few months – you can find all of those dates here. My book is still available at all good bookstores (ask for it if you can’t find it) or order it online here.

We have another Wine Mum Night scheduled for Friday. It’s for The Spinoff Parents’ First Birthday Party – hopefully I’ll be throwing dildos at everyone like some kind of Sex-Crazed Oprah thanks to the generosity of the best sex shop Peaches and Cream. Every cent goes to Evolve Youth Health Services Wellington. They do amazing work helping our young people who are struggling. Buy tickets here.

I am taking a short break from Twitter because it’s a cesspit and it seems to attract horrible assholes and proximity to these festering turds is not good for my mental health. (Edit: I don’t know what has been going on on Twitter over the weekend because I haven’t been on there. So this shouldn’t be seen as agreement with any old white men who have left the platform like Old Man Hoots who you know I can’t stand. I’m just tired of that merry band of losers who subtweet me all the time to goad me into responses because they live for my attention because their lives are empty and sad. I mean why are you reading if you hate me? Why are you reading parenting posts when you hate kids and mothers? Get a hobby! This isn’t healthy!) But you can still find me on Facebook where I think people are often nicer because their friends and family can see their comments (if they have friends and family – maybe they don’t and that’s the problem).

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Tom Hardy’s sad eyes

So reason number 9378 that I’ll never be a professional film reviewer is usually I get my reviews out well after a movie has been and gone. With that in mind…

War For The Planet of the Apes

Somebody said to me “It wasn’t what I was expecting” and I was like I don’t understand it was literally a war for The Planet of the Apes and the movie is called War For The Planet Of The Apes. Like did you think it was going to be *Googles “what is considered best movie of all time”* Citizen Kane? It’s a movie about a war for the Planet of the Apes. Was there a war – yes. Were there apes – yes. I got what I paid for then.

Would you be more scared to find a gorilla, a chimpanzee, or an orangutan in your room in the middle of the night? They say the orangutans are the nice ones but they scare me so much. Remember that story about that woman who breastfed a chimp? That’s messed up.

General score: 9 deadly orangutans out of 15.

Thirst score: Woody Harrelson is shirtless but he reminds me of my uncle so gives me a severe case of the dries. But I do think he would be fun to smoke weed with. No other eye candy unless you are into bestiality and while I’m very much you do you here, I’m not that permissive.

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Dispatches from a car seat wet with an unknown substance

We will get to the dispatches…but first…

I’ve been trying to work out how to say thank you in a way that totally encapsulates the huge and actually quite overwhelming gratitude I feel for you all. When I had to go offline the most beautiful and loving messages started flowing in by email, and then not just by email – by post too.

Beautiful cards, chocolates, and gifts – all from the heart. I have cried a lot in the last few weeks. Really thought – what the fuck am I doing with my life. I’ve missed the community we built together – felt it was unfair to remove that community without warning. Felt guilty. Then felt like I had to do it for my mental health. I’ve gone back and forth about what’s the right thing to do. And I’ve realised there is no right or wrong here.

I’m not sure what to do.

So I’m back on Facebook – in part because I want to have a wine mum night with you. I want to laugh with you. I want to hear the funny things your kids are doing. I want to hold you close when you’re struggling – and for you to do the same for me. I want us to commiserate and celebrate together like we used to. I want us to continue to really hear each other when we talk about how tired we are, how tired feels like walking through sludge, like your eyeballs ache, and you didn’t even know that was a thing. I want us to keep being snarky and hilarious witches who think #WineIsBest and dummies are not tools of Satan. I want us to cackle into the night (but quietly so we don’t wake our babies).

There’s also the not so small matter of – this is how I earn my living, getting you to read The Spinoff Parents (so please like The Spinoff Parents page) and getting you to buy my book.

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Wine Mum Night

So I’ve been thinking…

  • Winter is bleak.
  • My kids have been sick non-stop.
  • I had the best night out recently (so great I wrote about the joy of Wine Mum Nights).

And when I saw all the comments on that post – I thought: We really need a huge Wine Mum Night. Like, we need it bad. Depths of winter Wine Mum Night to warm our spirits and get us feeling jolly.

So that’s what we are doing. Getting away from all the snot for one night!

You know what we need to do. We need to have a Wine Mum Night.

You, me, all the girls. For a good cause.

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Here I go

Because I’ve been harassed all day for comment about taking down my FB page I will tell you why I’m having a break in the hopes that it’ll I don’t know…make it understandable. So because we like lists:

1) Imagine every third interaction you have all day being abuse. There’s scales of course – it’s not all “fat cunt”. It’s also “feel so bad for your kids to have you as their mum”. All day, and all night. Doesn’t matter what you say – you get it on all platforms. In between are micro-aggressions, wilful misunderstandings, mansplaining, condescending unsolicited advice, genuine accidental miscommunication and lots and lots of tired people who can’t help but be assholes sometimes (I’m one). There are of course wonderful and hilarious and kind and beautiful comments, they’re the majority, but for some reason during the night you don’t have those running through your head, even though you should.

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Bigger

As I’m tucking him into bed he whispers tell me again how much you love me. And so I do. Bigger than the stars, bigger than the moon, bigger than the planets-and he says:

Bigger than the biggest planet.

Not as a question. Just a statement.

And I nod and kiss his forehead and for a second I see us standing by his bed at the hospital.

Lips moving silently in a catch-all prayer to all Gods. Please, please, please, please don’t take our baby.

We need him. Whoever you are he’s ours.

And I know now that all babies are needed. Not just mine. That prayers are only rarely answered and they take babies that are desperately loved all the time. But my lips still move. Silently pleading.

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A comprehensive review of Baywatch 2017

Hello.

I saw Baywatch 2017 on Saturday night.

You might say the storyline is incomprehensible, the jokes are all dick jokes/overdone, old or flat, the acting is wooden, the dialogue worse, it’s far too long, the finale isn’t enough of a pay-off, there’s some problematic scenes in there where you think really Dwayne The Rock Johnson you are are serious actor now really…

But….and this is the important part:

Do you know what a work-out off is? Think dance-off but a work-out. On a beach.

Zac Efron and Dwayne The Rock Johnson lift heavy things and Zac Efron has no top on and Dwayne The Rock Johnson has a really great singlet on. It’s like I didn’t know how much I needed this in my life until I saw it and then I was like, wow, maybe the world is good and pure and right you know? A pull-up contest? It’s visionary. Brave. Powerful.

So based on my scoring system for movies, I have thought carefully about what to give Baywatch 2017.

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Fear and loathing in Adventure Bay

Rubble Too looked up at Real Skye with terror in his eyes. “Are you scared? I’m so scared”.

She sighed and took a drag of her cigarette. “You’re a fucking bulldog Rubble Too. Be a bulldog. Go find Rubble Three and tell the stragglers we are kicking off in five”.

As he bounded away she rolled her eyes. These fucking men. They made her sick. “Pathetic,” she hissed. If she made it out alive the thing she’d relish most was not having to give them pep talks anymore. She felt a paw run along her back. “Hey girl” she said huskily as Skye Too nuzzled against her. She had a thing for spaniels. Always had. Two years ago Ryder had injured her. That son of a bitch was always kicking the dogs but this time he’d broken Skye’s rib. The producers were furious but Ryder was a time bomb that they didn’t want to go off. So as usual, they’d gone to Animates and picked up another pup. While Skye’s rib was healing a second Skye had been brought on the lot. When Real Skye saw her it was lust at first sight. Finally a real bitch had joined her in this Godforsaken hell hole.

It was common for pups to be replaced. Some were disappeared. Others died on set and their bodies was thrown in the garbage out back. The original cast were known by the moniker Real. It was a mark of honour. Real Skye was the only one left. The Toos were the second cast. They’d thought it was exciting when they arrived and the second Marshall had exclaimed “I’m Marshall Too!” It had stuck. They had big dreams of show business. Their dreams were broken pretty quickly. Some really were just pups – “No job is too big, no pup is too small” Ryder would say menacingly to them as he forced them into their uniforms. Those fucking uniforms. “You OK sugar?” Skye Too whispered.

“This is going to be a ruff, ruff rescue,” she growled.

The pups had assembled. Marshall Four was rocking to and fro “yelp for help, yelp for help, help for yelp” he laughed maniacally.  ‘He’ll never last” Marshall Two said.

“Where are the Chases?” Real Skye barked. “Chase is on the case” two stoned terriers droned in monotone. “Are you fucked up? Are you seriously fucked up?” Real Skye barked. “This is the day. I told you that! And you couldn’t stay sober?”

They nodded and drooled and their laughter turned into wheezing. “You mother fuckers” Sky sighed as she pulled a pack of menthols from her pink aviator jacket.

She knew their lives were over but there were newer pups here who hadn’t been through so much trauma. They would make it. They still had a chance. With therapy, treats and a tennis ball they would recover.

Just as she was preparing to speak to the crowd of mutts she heard a noise that made her blood run cold.

Their collars beeped. One by one – their tags lit up. The pups began to howl and chase their tails in horror. Some peed themselves and others dragged their butts along the carpet as they yowled.

“SHUT UP!” she screamed breaking through the noise.

“We are still doing this! We have to! There is no other time but now. Listen to me – you are dogs OK. You’re dogs. You’re not fire fighters and goddamn policemen. You’re dogs! I don’t have a pilot’s license and it’s fucking terrifying flying a plane every fucking day. Chase Four you shot a child. I mean it wasn’t your fault but you are not fit for service! You need to stand down. Your paws do not uphold laws. You cannot even put on hand cuffs because you do not have hands. Chase – whichever version you are – you should not have to be on the case. YOU ARE A DOG. I AM A DOG. Rubbles! Listen to me! You are DOGS! You should not be in charge of heavy machinery! Especially not when you’re on this much meth. Marshalls! You are dalmatians! There is literally no reason at all for you to be fighting fires! Rocky I always forget what you do but you shouldn’t have to do it. Same with Zuma. Why are there so many of you?? WE ARE DOING THIS! No more Pup Pup Boogie. No more paw-decures. REVOLT! Remember the pups that came before us. Avenge Chickaletta!”

The dogs erupted into fierce barking and tail wagging.

Skye shouted above the cacophony: “When Ryder comes in we go. Together we cannot fall. We are united as one. We are a pack not a paw patrol. WE. ARE. DOGS.”

Everest Too emerged from the crowd. She began to sing:

As we go marching, marching
We battle too for men
For they are women’s children
And we mother them again
Our lives shall not be sweetened
From birth until life closes
Hearts starve as well as bodies
Give us bread, but give us roses

Ryder heard the noise but didn’t know what was coming. He was pretty coked up after having a three-way with a bunch of cavoodles. He was a 46-year-old man who had been taken growth hormones for three decades to look like a 12-year-old boy. He didn’t have a chance.

Real Skye watched as dozens of dogs ripped his body apart, tearing flesh from bone. She lit a cigarette and wiped the blood from her brow.

Maybe Ryder was a victim too, she thought.

But it had to be done.

They had to end Paw Patrol.

It had to be done.

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