An Unconventional Guide to Optimists and Pessimists – Take my test to find out what you are!

                                     Hmmm... is that glass half empty or half full?

I’m not sure if I’m an optimist, a pessimist or a realist. I know on the rare occasion I buy a lotto ticket I’m usually damn certain I’m going to win. In fact, one day Scotto and I had a full blown argument about how we would spend our millions when we won. 

One thing I do know for sure is that being an optimist can lead to a lot of disappointment. At least if you’re always expecting the worst, when it actually happens, you’ll be mentally prepared.

Pinky's Quiz
I’ve prepared a short quiz if you would like to read on and determine whether you are an optimist, pessimist or realist.

When you are pouring bleach into the toilet bowl and you feel something splash in your eye you;

(a) Think it’s probably just water from the bowl and rinse your eye in the sink nonchalantly.

(b) Know that it was most probably bleach, panic, and spend ten minutes dousing your eye with the garden hose.

(c) Rinse your eye and make a mental note to wear goggles next time you clean the toilet.

When you hop on the bathroom scales and notice you’ve gained three kilograms you;

(a) Think, oh well, at least some of the wrinkles in my face might have filled out.

(b) Know that the middle-age spread has irrevocably begun and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

(c) Distribute your weight with both hands on the bathroom counter until you see your desired numbers register on the scales.

When you are out on a walk with the dog, your dog poops on the grass beside the footpath and you forgot to bring a bag, you;

(a) Wait for the person jogging behind you and ask them if they have a bag.

(b) You wait dejectedly for the tirade of verbal abuse from the person jogging behind you.

(c) You drag the dog along while it’s doing its pooping so no-one will know what’s happening.

When you are b#tching about ‘someone’ at work and your friends suddenly stop laughing and pull a weird expression you;

(a) Assume that ‘someone’ has walked in but you probably managed to shut your big mouth in time and they didn’t hear a thing, then you quickly change the subject.

(b) Slowly turn around knowing that you are about to find out how difficult it is for a middle-aged woman to find new employment in today’s youthful workforce.

(c) Say in a loud voice, “But despite all that we all love the old dragon dearly don’t we?” and go and hide in your classroom for the next two weeks.

When a strange light intermittently flashes on the dashboard of your car you think;

(a) I really better get this car into a workshop before something happens, the problem gets worse and it winds up costing a lot of money.

(b) That’d be right. This is going to cost me a fricking fortune. I bet something really expensive has broken.

(c) I’d better stick an Elastoplast over that light so it doesn’t keep annoying me.

When your eighteen year old son has a horrible screaming match with you and you hear him slam the door and leave the house at 1.30am, you think;

(a) He will probably go to a mate’s house, cool down and come back with his tail between his legs tomorrow morning.

(b) I am a failure as a mother. I’ve probably really upset him, and now he’ll run away and become a street kid.

(c) Oh well… I still have four other kids.

When you’re having a really bad week/month; you feel ugly, fat, stupid, unlovable and jealous of everyone and everything you,

(a) Go and have a facial, a massage and buy some new clothes/jewellery/perfume.

(b) Think that things are never going to get better and start withdrawing from people for a while.

(c) Go to the hairdressers and have your long hair cut off into an unappealing bob just to give yourself a concrete reason for feeling ugly.

You enter blogging competition and when you don’t win you think;

(a) They probably forgot to read my lovely blog. Maybe it was accidentally overlooked. I’ll try again next year.

(b) I knew it all along. I suck and no one is interested in what I write. I may as well give up.

(c) Remember that you’ve never won anything in your life before so it’s probably good that nothing much has changed because you don’t really want to be rich and famous, get to meet the Queen, win an Order of Australia, have a cleaning lady, go to nice restaurants, travel or learn how to write proper anyway.



And finally… the old glass half empty/full analogy.

When you see that your glass of Chardonnay is at half-mast you think:

(a) Oh goody, I still have another delicious half glass left to drink!

(b) Well that hardly hit the sides and now I only have a half glass left.

(c) Oh well, lucky I still have a full bottle left in the fridge.



Your results my friend:

Mostly As- a Pollyanna optimist!

Mostly Bs- a Murphy’s law pessimist

Mostly Cs- a Pinky Poinker realist!



PS: I never b#tch about anyone at work, that was poetic licentiousness. 

"Pinky and Scotto Make a Movie"... not that kind of movie! - "Pinky Stalks Don Draper"

The world première of "Pinky Stalks Don Draper" produced by Scotto is now available here. Please feel free to share if you enjoy it.  

Pinky's Relationship Advice for Men

                               

We teachers were sitting in the staffroom yesterday when one of the Rugby-loving male teachers, JB, shot me a look, “I see you’re off the salads Pinky… like you said you were going to in your bl….” he trailed off and guiltily looked at his feet. 

“Er… I was just reading your blog to make sure you didn’t bag me out about the cheesecake incident at your party,” he added with an overly breezy chuckle. For more on the cheesecake debacle read …here

“It’s okay JB,” I smiled sweetly, “You don’t have to make excuses for reading my blog! Lots of men read it.”

That is technically a big fat lie, lots of no-one reads my blog, but I do know at least a dozen men that do read it and it started me thinking about including some male-friendly content.

I know there’s a plethora of advice out there for men on how to interpret the mysterious quirks of women; what to say when she asks if her bum looks big, how when women say they’re ‘fine’ it means something completely different to ‘fine’ etc.

So I thought it might be useful to compose a Pinky list of home truths about women which you boys may or may not find helpful.

Now remember, I’ve been married twice, have a father, a brother and four sons, so these ‘home truths’ are not necessarily thinly veiled jibes at Scotto and could be about any male (Scotto made me write that).

“Pinky’s Home Truths About Women”

#1. If you ask your wife if you can go on a three week Rugby Union Trip to Hong Kong when she’s eight months pregnant with baby number three and she says yes, she doesn’t mean yes. If you do go, the misdemeanour will continue to be brought up even twenty years later, after the divorce … no matter how amicable it was. (Guess who?)

#2. Don't jump off the scales gleefully announcing you've lost three kilos in a week just because you gave up smoko for four days last week. Your wife will not be impressed.

#3. When you hear your wife viciously swearing and violently shoving bottles around in the bathroom, try to recall if you cleaned your whiskers off the bathroom counter and sink after you shaved because that’s probably what she’s carrying on about. Don’t go in there.

#4. When I come upstairs to the bedroom with the morning coffee, am overwhelmed by a pungent gaseous odour and whilst gasping for fresh air fling open the windows, don’t try to blame the long-suffering dog. It was innocently downstairs with me the entire time.

#5. If you’re out shopping with your spouse, a Jennifer Hawkins (Miss Universe) look-a-like walks past and your wife says, “Wasn’t that girl absolutely stunning?” don’t reply innocently, “What girl? I didn’t notice”

We know you’re bullsh#tting.

#6. If you bung on the sick act too much when you’re not that bad it will come back to bite you on the bum, just like the boy who cried wolf. 

When Scotto complained of a stomach pain for over a week I kept telling him it was probably wind and to go for a walk and fart himself silly. After finally going to the doctor he was sent straight to the hospital with acute appendicitis. I felt like a terribly neglectful wife but when he was released from hospital two days later he collapsed at home with the post-op pain. After being rushed back to hospital with great drama in an ambulance, the cause of the excruciating agony turned out to be… wind.

#7. When you give a woman gifts don’t expect her to be forever in your debt. For example, if you give your mum a fifty dollar gift voucher for her birthday, don’t text her two hours later and ask for a thirty dollar loan.

#8. A woman may bitch and complain about her mother until the cows come home but don’t ever join in. Your mother-in-law will be the first person your wife will call when you have a big fight.

#9. When your wife/girlfriend cooks something new for dinner and asks you if you liked it, say you liked it. It’s not Facebook… you don’t get a choice.

#10. When you and your spouse are hosting and preparing for a big party, compiling a comprehensive playlist on the sound system is not as big a priority as you think… hosing the back patio is!

Hope you found that helpful boys.

And JB… I heard you when you said, “How do you put up with her?” to Scotto at the school fete last year. 

                                  

Pinky loves her very own Bruce Willis!

                                                           Bruce 'Scotto' Willis
                       

Growing up with parents who bred dogs and having personally owned nine members of the Canis Familiaris Genus Species, I've had my fair share of exposure and made some observations on their general behaviour. 

A dog will never sh#t in another dog’s hole. Neither will they steal another dog’s bone then p#ss on it. They may eat it but they won’t deliberately make it so undesirable that no other dog will want a piece of it. 

Not so in the human world.

As a relative newbie in the world of the Internet (read more on that…here ) it hasn’t taken me too long to figure out that there are more than a few nasty animals out there in the cyber-wilderness. 

There are the indolent Sloth Bears who hijack your site with misleading links to porn sites or malware, eg; Broken Controllers. 

Piranhas may swim below the surface of your computer stream in the form of viruses or worms. 

Poison Dart Frogs send you email messages or tweets containing vicious barbs so that when you click on them you expose your computer to all kinds of evil malware. 

I’ve even had sinister little spider monkeys (always a pretty girl with an innocent name and only one or two followers) favourite my Tweets in the hope that I will explore their link so that they can infiltrate my computer with malevolent Trojans. 

Why do they do it? Because they can; also to spam you with advertisements for pornography, weight loss programs and Spanish holiday homes, or worse… to hijack your computer. 

This is what Professor Mungleton warns could happen to you...

Upon arrival, there's something tempting like unlimited torrent downloads, promises to scan your computer for viruses, or pictures of stripping girlies or cats falling down, and you think "Oh, that looks fun" and you click on it and invite worms, trojans and viruses into your computer and suddenly your credit card has been used in Nigeria, you're on the Interpol watch list and your computer is part of a botnet attacking the US State Department. Not to mention the endless popup adverts and redirections you'll get.

Oh yes my friends, it is a bloodied jungle out there. 

But guess what? I am lucky to be married to my own “Bruce Scotto Willis”... a fully qualified, USB carrying, anti-virus warrior living right under my roof. 

How can I be sure he’s the right vigilante for the job?

Well folks, these are the bedroom remote-controls for the telly.

These are the family-room remote-controls for the telly.

These are the TV room remote-controls for the telly.

-If ‘Bruce Scotto Willis’ ever goes out of town I have to leave the telly running for the entire time as I have no fricking idea what any of those remotes are for!

              This is my geek’s yoyo collection.

This is just one of my geek’s three Deloreans. 

These are my geek's Pinball machine, Games machine and

the computer all of which he BUILT ENTIRELY BY HIMSELF! 

So Yippie-Kai-Yay Mother F#%kers! Bring it ooooon! 

I'm married to the Emperor of Geeks!

My ingenious geek has installed Avast Anti-Virus on my laptop and any time those dunce-hat, computer subversives attempt to infect my laptop with their filthy malware, a siren blasts and an “Alert Alert Alert” message ( just like that robot from Lost in Space) blares shutting it down quicker than you can say ‘Die Hard with a Vengeance’.

So in the words of Bruce Scotto Willis; 

“Those hackers are just a fly in the ointment, Pinky. The monkey in the wrench. The pain in the ass.”

Please check out Professor Mungleton’s full post…here

Pinky is Dyeing to tell you something.

I’m a bit bored waiting for the L’Oreal Sublime Mousse (Darkest Brown) hair dye I just applied to cure so I thought it would be a convenient time to write my post. Did you know that “l’oreal” means ‘the space between the eye and beak of a bird’? Who knew?

I wish my hair wasn’t going grey but unfortunately it is. You know… there are quite a few things I’d wish for if I had a fairy godmother or a genie in a bottle.

I wish the makers of hair dye weren’t so confusing for a start.

They provide dire warning instructions that you MUST do a spot test (you know… where you put a spot of the dye on your wrist to check for allergies) 48 hours before you apply the dye. This is a mandatory activity every single time you use their product. But you’re only supposed to mix it up seconds before applying so how does that work? What happens if you do have an allergic reaction? 

I haven’t ever bothered doing a spot check and usually spend the 30 minute treatment time with the nagging dread that this may be the time my head will undoubtedly swell up and fall off.

But… shallow desires such as these are not all I wish for…

I wish I’d been born into royalty… Princess Poinker has a nice ring to it don’t you think? (Not the British Monarchy though, they’re boring. The Grimaldis of Monaco might be alright.)

I wish wine didn’t have any calories.

I wish wigs would come back into fashion so I wouldn’t have to dye my hair or even wash it every day.

I wish people would refrain from doing their own advertisements on TV and radio (or worse, get their kids to do them) and hire a professional instead.

I wish restaurants would stop putting calorie counts on their menus; it spoils everyone’s fun.

I wish TV and radio hosts wouldn’t make wheezing or snorting laughing sounds while they’re on air. It doesn’t make what they’re saying any funnier.

I wish my hairdresser would stop trying to sell me conditioner made from crushed unicorn horn because I can’t afford it and I only ever want a trim. This is why I dye my own hair.

I wish people would stop whinging about kids screaming in shopping centres and getting too many school holidays etc. They were a kid once too and I bet they didn’t complain about the holidays then.

I wish manufacturers wouldn’t put a huge hollow in the bottom of wine bottles so that you think you have a full glass left but when you pour it out only a dribble remains. It’s horribly disappointing.

I wish scientists would invent an artificial liver.

I wish skirting boards were self-cleaning.

I wish I could win Lotto so that Scotto and I could buy the Chihuahua farm we’ve always dreamed of. (You could all come and visit, I promise.) 

                               

I wish Oprah would read my blog, invite me on her show and pay me a million bucks so that I could buy a Chihuahua farm.

I wish hair dye would stay in my hair for as long as it lasts staining the back of my ears.

I wish I could learn how to apply hair dye properly.

I wish the time would hurry up so I could wash this hair dye out and leave you all in peace.

I wish my scalp would stop burning and itching.

I wish there was no hypocrisy, racism, bigotry, wars, pettiness or cruelty in the world.

I wish I hadn’t let Scotto talk me into upgrading my phone. I hate the new one. I can’t figure out how to use it and it’s not even pink.

I wish I hadn’t just dropped my new phone on the tiles because I have already given Padraic my old one.

I wish I’d done that spot check… I think my lips are beginning to swell.

I wish I had lips like Elizabeth Hurley.

I wish my fingernails weren’t black because I forgot to put the gloves on when I dyed my hair.

I wish I could learn to read instructions thoroughly instead of just the warnings.

I wish I had a body like Elizabeth Hurley.

I wish I had something better to write about.

Okay, time’s up. Will my hair still be attached to my scalp when I take off this shower cap?

I’m sure you’re ‘dyeing’ to know…

PS: Pinky is very busy tomorrow night (it’s a secret why) so she won’t be able to write a post, but promises to reveal all in a fully illustrated work of literature (or sh#terature if you prefer) on Saturday!

Pinky's Interview with the Family Parrot

Farfel the Lorikeet

                               

Farfel, the family’s Rainbow Lorikeet lives just outside our kitchen window and is privy to many of the nefarious goings on at Chez Poinker. I thought he would make an excellent subject to interview in order to gain a more insightful portrait of our day to day lives.

Interview transcript: Warning- this is not for the faint-hearted.

Interviewer: Pinky

Interviewee: Farfel- Rainbow Lorikeet

Interview Setting: Interview conducted outside kitchen window at 3:00 pm on Thursday afternoon.

(Start of Interview)

Interviewer: So I suppose you have some fairly interesting stories to tell as the resident parrot at Chez Poinker over the last five years Farfel?

Interviewee: Oh for f#ck’s sake! Let’s get this straight first… I’m not a parrot you stupid b#tch! I’m a lorikeet which is a completely different f#ckin thing!

Interviewer: (Startled) My apologies… I thought it was the same thing.

Interviewee: Yeah… well you should have done some f#ckin research shouldn’t ya?

Interviewer: Right… (swallowing nervously), Farfel would you like to talk about your interactions with the kids in the house?

Interviewee: You mean F#ckin D#ckhead, Lame W#nker and Smelly Little B#tchface?

Interviewer: (Choking on my own saliva) Farfel! I’m sorry but could you tone down your language please? Why are you calling the kids those horrible names?

Interviewee: What do you mean? That’s what they call each other isn’t it? (yelling) Dinner!

Interviewer: Well… their names are actually Hagar, Padraic and Lulu.

Interviewee: Is that a fact? Well, who f#ckin knew…? (yelling) Dinner! 

Interviewer: Farfel, may I ask why you keep yelling out ‘Dinner!’?

Interviewee: Because at 7 o’clock every night I hear you screaming it out at the top of your lungs about twenty times in a row you dumb a#se. I can’t get it out of my f#ckin head.

Interviewer: Farfel I can’t help but comment that your language is a little vulgar. Could you explain this anomaly?

Interviewee: Listen you f#ckin sook! I learnt it from your a#sehole brats so don’t blame me. I’m in a sh#t box of a cage right outside the frickin kitchen window and it’s all I f#ckin hear all day. They swear like bloody sailors. (yelling) Dinner!

Interviewer: Okaaaaay… Let’s tackle another question. What are some memorable incidents you might like to relate to the readers? 

Interviewee: Well I suppose there was that time when ‘Nerdy B#stard’ came over for dinner…

Interviewer: You must mean Thaddeus?

Interviewee: Yeah, the one that goes to f#ckin university. Well him and ‘Lame W#nker’ got in a massive fight and ‘Nerdy Bastard’ chucked a full plate of Spaghetti Bolognese at him. That was entertaining! (He chuckles at the memory.)

Interviewer: Do you remember what happened after that?

Interviewee: Are you fr#ggin senile Pinky? You remember what happened don’t you? You came storming down the bloody stairs like a she-devil, smacked the b#stards over the head with a tea towel, screamed at them to clean it up and ran upstairs and cried on your f#ckin bed. (yelling) Dinner!

Interviewer: Hmmm… that is true. What happened after that?

Interviewee: From memory you spent the next six weeks finding bits of spaghetti all over the kitchen. I remember hearing you bitterly muttering things like, 
“What… not in the damn toaster as well?” and “Will I ever stop finding freaking spaghetti in the cutlery drawer?”

Interviewer: That’s very accurate, Farfel. You know… I’m feeling a bit stressed out by this interview and think it’s probably time we finished it off. Do you have any final words to impart?

Interviewee: Yeah. I don’t want to be a f#ckin dobber but you need to know a few things… ‘F#ckin D#ckhead’ drinks the milk straight out of the bottle, ‘Lame W#nker’ allowed his friends to stub out their cigarettes in your Nativity Scene at Christmas and ‘Smelly Little B#tchface’ chucks her broccoli down the garbage disposal every night when you’re not looking.

Interviewer: That’s very interesting. Thanks for your time and your enlightening information, Farfel.

Interviewee: You’re welcome. (yelling) Dinner!

P.S. I really love it when people comment on my posts, hint, hint! Just click below…

Pinky gives Kim Jong-un a telling off.

                        

The threat of nuclear war is no joke but then again we often make fun of the things we fear the most. I’ve seen quite a few Facebook jokes about Kim Jong-un with a myriad of comparisons drawn to Gangnam Style singer PSY. I heard a reporter the other day use a metaphor alluding to a tantrum throwing spoilt child, “Kim Jong-un has thrown all of the toys out of his pram.”

We seem to hear plenty about his late father and grandfather but not too much about his late former opera- singer Mum. I tell you what, if he was Pinky’s son he’d be getting a bloody clip over the ear for his shenanigans.

“Kimmy! You come out of your room right now! And you can get that surly look off your face. I’ve had enough of getting phone calls from other mothers telling me you’re not allowed over to play anymore. That Mrs Putin just gave me a big serve about what you did to her son. What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you play nice with the other kids? What’s that? You’re a dictator? Listen son, you’re not a dictator… you’re just a very naughty boy. 

For God’s sake put some pants on, I’m sick of seeing you walking around in your jocks. And why do you insist of cutting your hair like that… you look like Sweeney Todd. Who is going to want to be friends with someone with a haircut like Sweeney Todd? 

What about those nice boys from One Direction. I like that little Harry, why don’t you grow your hair like him? 

Where have you been all day anyway? Inspecting the concentration camps! Well you could afford to spend a bit of time there yourself Fatty Boombah. You’ve been tucking in to a bit too much Western food lately. Ever since you made friends with that Dennis the basketballer you’ve been feeding your face on Maccas and KFC. Well if you send a nuclear bomb over to America where do you think you’re going to get your fried chicken from then eh?

Can I smell cigarettes? Have you been smoking again? I can always smell it you know. Where are they? Right! Haven’t you embarrassed me enough after lighting up a bloody cigarette when you were inspecting operating theatres at the hospital? What were you thinking Kimmy? What sort of role model are you for the citizens?

Now I’ve made up my mind Kimmy. You’re grounded until you can cut out this weapons nonsense and start focussing on learning to get along with others. 

Isn’t it time you thought about getting a real job. I’m sure you could get a car mechanic’s apprenticeship at Hyundai if you apologised to South Korea for being such a little nasty little sh#t. 

That Barack’s a lovely bloke! Why don’t you invite him over for a play? And while you’re at it get rid of this internet and media censorship you insist on, I want to find out what’s happening on My Kitchen Rules! Now go to your room and have a good think about your attitude!” 

                           

My Kitchen Rules- Pinky tries another reality show!

                                                   Image credit: en.wikipedia.org
 

Too many cooks spoil the broth! 

I was watching My Kitchen Rules on the idiot box last night and was suddenly struck with a magnificent idea. Why don’t Scotto and I audition for a spot on the show next year? I’d love to star in a reality show! Gosh, I can just imagine it…

(Voiceover) Welcome to My Kitchen Rules where tonight one team is going home.

(Head shot of Scotto and Pinky)

Pinky: ( matter of fact voice) We’ve got 90 minutes to take care of an entrée, main and dessert.

Scotto: (earnest voice)We really want to impress the judges.

Pinky: Yeah… change the judge’s opinion after last time. 

(She continues proudly) So for entrée we have... fish cakes with an olive tapenade, Scotto will be taking care of the main... baked bean and cheese jaffles and I’ll be doing dessert... Milo sorbet.

(Kitchen scene as the two begin preparation)
Scotto: So the thing that concerns me is the main and getting this cheese to fluff up.

Pinky: Yes and I’m worried about getting the fish fing… sorry cakes, to a nice crisp golden colour.

Pinky: (an aside into the camera) I really want us to work well together, last time we clashed heads… literally... when we were trying to get to the fridge at the same time.

Scotto: (yelling in a stressed manner) If we don’t get this tub of sorbet in the freezer right NOW it’s going to melt!

Pinky: Stay cool! We can’t afford to crumble under this pressure! What’s its consistency at the moment?

Scotto: Frozen.
Pinky: Good.  Oh God! The fish cakes are burnt! We’ve done this 1000 times and never, ever have we burnt them.
Scotto: So don’t panic Pinky. Just open another packet and start again. What about the olive tapenade?

Pinky: (defeated tone in voice) You won’t believe this… I forgot to buy the olives. Maybe we can just put some tomato sauce on the side?

Scotto: I’ll get on with the main. The jaffle maker is HOT! I’m gonna do it now!

(Switch to head shots)

Pinky: At this point I’m feeling really nervous. The clock is ticking.

Scotto: I check the jaffles- they are NOWHERE NEAR ready.

(Camera switch back to kitchen)

Pinky: Stop opening the jaffle maker Scotto! If you want to see the dark side of me just open it one more time, I’m warning you!

Scotto: (near hysteria) I’m really worried about the cheese! I’ts not puffing! It’s not PUFFING!

Pinky: (panicking) I can’t get the lid off this sorbet! Got it! This Milo takes three minutes to spoon over the sorbet and I’ve only got TWO minutes.

(Switch back to head shots)

Pinky: We were really under the pump now… we made a call… bin the original jaffles and start again!

Scotto: We do not want to go home tonight.

(Back to kitchen)

Pinky: How are those jaffles going Scotto? 

Scotto: Dropped ‘em! (Pinky’s back arches tensely)

Scotto: On to the plate! (winking at camera cheekily)

Pinky: Right! We’re ready to plate up. (Gives Scotto a good luck peck on the cheek)

(Judge’s Review Scene)
Judge: ( in a very serious tone) 

So Scotto and Pinkeee… ‘ow you teenk you went?
Pinky shrugs humbly, about to cry.

Scotto: I think this is it for us.

Judge: (sighing sadly) 

Zee fish cakes were dry. Where was zee olive taponahhhhde? Fish is very unforgiving. Zee main?… overall not a bad dish, but then came dessert. Too much the same… the milo, the soft, the milo, the soft. Where was zee crunch?

Tonight one team failed to make zee mark and zat team was…

Yeah okay maybe this show is not for us. What about The Voice?

For more funny tales about cooking read ... here

Pinky goes bacterial!- A really bad post!

                                                                  

I woke up this morning to a glorious day; superfluous actually! The sun streamed through my bedroom window and I contentedly watched the dust motifs dancing in the rays.

Trotting down the hallway and pausing at teenage son, Padraic’s door I knocked before peeking into his bedroom. His room was empty but what greeted me was beyond my apprehension. 

His room was spotless, neat as a pin; perhaps this was an optical conclusion? It was certainly an unparalysed event in the history of Padraic’s endeavours to get on my good side.

Then, moving on to daughter, Lulu’s room I was again surprised to see that she had left her room in the same state. Was this a pigment of my imagination?

But… I divulge. Back the subject.

Firing up my laptop I waited patiently to check the pageview stats on my blog. I wondered if the outrageously hilarious antidotes I've written about my family had gone viral overnight. 

Don’t worry, I don’t have ellusions of grandeur, but you never know. The stats page was up… oh Lord, I had over 100 000 pageviews in one day. I literally died!

Does this mean I’ve become infamous?

Hello… what’s this here, an email from my father. I love my Dad and he has been a big effluence on my writing but sometimes he can be a bit channel visioned.

Dear Pinky, (he wrote)

I’m sorry I said your blog was a waste of time and you should do some serious writing. I agree now that it was wrong of me to say you aren’t funny and that no one wants to read about you because you’re a nobody.

Love Dad. X

Ha! Yes Dad, I thought. I remember everything you said about my writing because I have a photogenic memory. Okay, I might not be writing a fast action cliff-dweller but I am a bit amusing.

I’m on fire Dad! You’ll need to get out a fire distinguisher to put out my flames now!

Then I woke up… it was all a dream.

Linking up with Emily at Have a Laugh on Me for Laugh Link!

The Biggest Loser Blogger

                                     

I love watching the reality show “The Biggest Loser” and seeing the progress the contestants make in transforming their bodies through a Spartan regime of diet and punishing exercise overseen by domineering personal trainers with names like “The Commando”. The only drawback is that it tends to make me incredibly hungry and I wind up staring ravenously into the fridge.

Recently (after only seven weeks of blogging), I had the impudent gall to enter my blog ‘Pinky Poinker’ in a Best Blog competition. After perusing my site I’ve come to the conclusion that it could do with a bit of a shake up and I’m thinking I need a personal trainer to give me that extra push. In fact, wouldn’t it be great if they could create a reality show called, “The Biggest Loser Blogger.”

I’d want social media doyen Jeff Bullas, author of "Blogging the Smart Way - How to Create and Market a Killer Blog with Social Media" - as my personal trainer.

Episode One- “The Biggest Loser Blogger”

#Cue in music (possibly the Beatles, “Paperback Writer”).

Pinky stands on a podium as the camera pans over the contestants.

“So,” says Jeff, “we’ve been secretly filming all of you in your homes.”

Gasps from the audience as the cameras focus on the mortified faces of the bloggers.

“We know every dirty little habit that happens behind closed doors!”

The scene cuts to Pinky sitting at home on her laptop presumably working on her blog. Camera closes in on the laptop screen revealing that Pinky is watching a Facebook clip about a cute cat riding in a car. The scene swiftly changes to Pinky going to the fridge, getting a glass of wine then going back to reading her Twitter messages. The clock on the wall shows two hours have passed and Pinky is still on Twitter. Disapproving titters are heard from the studio audience.

“That’s a lot of wasted time there. What do you have to say for yourself Pinky?” Jeff demands of the humiliated Pinky.

“I come home from work…I go straight to my laptop and over indulge in social media instead of writing. I can’t help it, the temptation is too great.” whispers a teary Pinky.

“Well Pinky, the time has finally come to weigh in. There’s nowhere to hide. Your word count is about to be revealed to Australia. How do you feel about that?”

Pinky looks down the monitor with pathos. “But… I haven’t checked my word count for two months. Alright then, I guess I’m ready. I want to be open to letting the light back into my life again. I want to live.”

Episode Two- “Bootcamp”

“Come on Pinky, Get on that laptop! I want sixty smash ‘em in your face headlines. Come on! Bring your knees parallel to the laptop. Push it!”

“I can’t do it Jeff.” Pinky pants. The camera swings over to another blogger spewing in a bucket. “I need my Thesaurus,” the blogger gags.

“Don’t be a pussy!” yells Jeff, “I’m gonna make you guys so strong you’ll walk out of here freaks!”

“What did we get ourselves into?” wheezes a shattered Pinky.

“You’re all talk!” Jeff barks. “Now give me ten similes and five metaphors before the next commercial.”

Episode Three- The Immunity Challenge

“Okay, now one of you bloggers wins immunity this week if you beat the others in this challenge. The blogger who can publish a post and last the longest without checking their pageviews wins immunity this week.” announces Jeff. “Remember it’s not all about pageviews.”

“But how will we know if people liked it?” cries a beseeching Pinky.

“Think of how you’ve ended up here, Pinky. Too much time clicking on distracting sites instead of focussing on your writing. We need to get to the core of the problem. Do you want empowerment or what?”

“Damn straight I want empowerment, Jeff.” says Pinky, tears glistening in her eyes, gazing straight down the camera lens with feeling.

#Cue closing music.

Stay tuned next week on “The Biggest Loser Blogger” twist when Pinky faces temptation. The immunity challenge reward will be choosing between ten retweets or ten comments on her blog.

Have Pinky's teenagers driven her to alcoholism?

                             Lee-lee, Pinky,Shazza and Kyles partying up at Karaoke!

Okay so I have a glass of wine every day with Scotto when he comes home from work before I have to start cooking dinner.

I may enjoy another little tipple whilst slaving over the hot stove merely to make the task more pleasant. I may even sup on a wine with my dinner to compliment my overcooked broccoli.

“That’s too much Pinky!” I hear the accusatory voices in my head screaming at me.

What… so I’m an alcoholic? When in doubt look it up on the internet I always say, so that is what I did.
I found a website that listed signs you are an alcoholic and have made notes beside each one in order to compare.

The questionaire began…

If you’re reading this, there’s a chance that you’re an alcoholic.

Oh crap! It looks like I’m already in with a chance.

Do you have a lot of friends whose last names and professions you don’t know? Do they have nicknames like PB Arnie, Mattallica and “the coke guy”?

Well I do know my friends last names and the only “coke guy” I know is the one who stocks our staffroom vending machine.

Do you drink with people you would be embarrassed to walk down the street with or introduce to your real friends?
No, but I’m embarrassed to walk down the street with some of my real friends.

Have you ever drunk other people’s half-empty beers because the party ran out of booze?
Who would go to a party that ran out of booze? A lousy party that would be.

Do you have trouble concentrating on the conversation at a table where alcohol is being shared because you are mentally dividing up the portions to make sure you will have enough?


That depends. If I’m having dinner with my friend Kyles the answer is, yes. She always beats me to the last glass, the cow.

Do you consistently bring alcohol into situations where there wouldn’t otherwise be any, like a movie theatre or your office?


Nope, I don’t work in an office and don’t go to the movies either.

Have you attended an after-hours club or found yourself wishing the party could continue past 5 a.m.?

My friends are always getting up me because like a nana I’m usually the first to leave a party. Pinky needs her beauty sleep or she is a grumpy shrew the next day.

Would you trade a year of your life for a consequence-free year of partying?


If consequence-free means no hangover/ liver damage/financial scarring…Hell yeah! Who wouldn’t?

Have you ever cried because you couldn’t have an alcoholic beverage?


It once took me an hour and a half to open a corked bottle of wine with a fork because I couldn’t find a corkscrew and I didn’t cry once.

Do you drink when you are sick, because vodka totally “kills the germs”?

Never. Everyone knows red wine has more anti-oxidants.

Do you harass people who aren’t drinking, or who go home before 3 am, by making comments like “What? Does your vagina hurt?”

Who wrote this questionnaire?

Have you ever wet the bed after a night of drinking?

Not since I was in hospital at six years of age and the nurse forgot to bring my bed pan.

Is drinking making your home life unhappy?

My drinking holds the fabric of my home life together. Without it dinner would never get cooked.

Have you ever felt remorse after drinking?

Only if I have managed to get hold of the Karaoke microphone sometime during the night.

Have you ever had a loss of memory as a result of drinking?
Lord how I wish I could forget singing “It’s Raining Men” the night before.

Have you ever been to a hospital or institution on account of drinking?

Yes. Five times when my children were born.

Have you ever woken up with cigarette burns on your chest?
No of course not. I don’t smoke.


Hey! I think I’m okay! It’s six o’clock! Time to crack open the vino!

Please note: I am not trying to make fun of alcoholism (which is a very serious thing Kyles!). 

Pinky's Gone Mental!

Introducing a guest writer: Celine (Miniature Fox Terrier)

Poor Pinky has really lost it this time. I put it down to ‘Empty Nest Syndrome’. The first to fly the coop was Thaddeus. He’s the one who smokes and comes home at three o'clock in the morning singing opera at the top of his voice. Then that little sh#t Jonah (the one I don’t like because he torments me) went off to attend University in the Big Smoke. Then we have Hagar and Padraic who operate like a couple of Tom cats and are never home even though they allegedly live here. And finally Lulu, the pre-occupied teenage girl who doesn’t even acknowledge Pinky unless she needs money or a lift somewhere.

When I arrived on the scene there were already two dogs, a cat and a parrot in residence. Pinky was clearly desperately seeking love and affection since her thankless offspring had absconded so abruptly. 

 Then I entered the picture and all of Pinky’s redundant affection was projected on to moi.

The question begs to be asked; why wasn’t I enough for her?

Foolishly, Pinky and Scotto went out on a Saturday morning to hire a video and came back with another bloody dog! Dog is probably a contradiction in terms; rodent would be closer to the mark. It’s an ugly little bulgy-headed, pop-eyed Chihuahua they've named ‘Pablo’.

I’m mightily p#ssed off, but as I apparently have to learn to live with the little mongrel I’ve resolved to take him under my wing and have thus compiled some sage advice for the Mexican midget.

Learn to beg my little Gringo. If you want treats learn to balance on your hind legs, spin around three times and add little extra traits like tilting your head to the side endearingly. It sucks Pinky in every time.

Don’t trust the cat. It will let you sniff its bum and act all unconcerned, then suddenly swipe you with its claws and sink its fangs into your neck. Believe me, I’ve been there.

Learn to jump, Burrito. The three teenagers who occasionally grace us with their presence are a prolific source of fast food snacks. By jumping on to the dining room table via a chair you can always find unfinished McDonald’s burgers and assorted crumbs they’ve neglected to throw away. 

According to Pinky they “don’t know how to wipe down a f#*ing table”.

Know your place my tiny Enchilada. Pinky lets me sleep in her bed and if you try to come between us during the night I will bite you on your chico ass. The same goes if you even so much as look at any of my thirty-four toys.

My final piece of advice Taquito is this; when Christmas time comes and Pinky tries to dress you up in a ridiculous Santa costume, run for the hills my little Amigo! Run for the hills! 

Pinky's Puzzling Questions (the first in the series)

I was watching my husband Scotto cleaning out his undie drawer the other day and I noticed he had laid out thirteen unmatched socks on the bed. 

Where are the missing socks? 

I know this is an age old quandary so one day after a few wines I came up with an ingenious idea. Why don’t sock manufacturers include little Velcro dots somewhere on each sock so you could stick them together before you put them in the washing machine. 

Inspired by the thought of instant wealth and motivated by dry, crisp chardonnay I banged off an email to a sock manufacturer. 

They replied to my innovative idea with an email that basically said 

‘Get stuffed, we have our own marketing department who have marketing degrees (la di da da da) thank you’. 

But seriously, where do those missing socks go? 
Why do our men get addicted to the Bureau of Meteorology (B.O.M.)? Scotto has formed an unhealthy relationship with the B.O.M. I will be standing observing the cloudless, blue sky out of the window in the morning while Scotto reads out the weather forecast from the website. 

“It’s going to be a fine day, no rain.” he declares. 

You think? 

When they forecast rain or storms and they don’t materialise, Scotto (who comes from Melbourne and hates our dry climate) becomes incensed; swearing at his computer and upsetting the dog. 

“Where’s the bloody rain?” he will rage. “They said there was a ninety per cent chance of a storm. Bloody liars!”



What are they putting in sunscreen these days? Taking my class to swimming lessons on the school bus last week the bus driver made the kids sit on their towels. Apparently the sunscreen saps the colour out of the bus seats. What is it doing to a ten year old’s skin then? This puzzling question reminds me of the other night when I accidentally used a Pine o Clean wipe on my face instead of a Dove towelette. It did a good exfoliation job but it stung a bit.

Why do men need so many condiments? When Scotto tags along on shopping expeditions he throws in every sauce imaginable. Tomato Ketchup, Barbeque, Smoked Barbeque, Cajun Seasoning, Chicken Salt, Thousand Island dressing, Peri Peri sauce, you name it. 

Is my cooking really that bad?

Why are teenagers so forgetful? It’s almost as if the fifteen to nineteen year olds are sleepwalking their way through life. Eighteen year old Padraic will climb into my car on the way to football training and listen to his iPod the entire twenty minute journey not saying a word to me. When we arrive he’ll look confused as to how he arrived at this point, turn to me and say, “I forgot my footy boots.” Where did he think he was going?

Pinky's "Little Book of Smarm"

The bestselling “The Little Book of Calm” by Paul Wilson promises help to regain balance and reduce stress in your life. 

Open it at any page, he assures, and you will find a path to inner peace. 

I would like to offer extra (mother of teenagers) advice to some of the suggestions offered by the author. 
(Though if the real author is actually reading this it I’d like to make it known that today’s effort was written by a guest writer, Ann Smith.)

1. Invest in a fruit bowl. Eat more fruit, and you’ll feel more relaxed.

Unless that fruit has been fermenting in an oak cask for a few years it ain’t gonna make me more relaxed. Invest in a wine club instead.

2. Take the time to brush someone’s hair. Better still, brush your own- or have someone else do it.

I wonder which of my colleagues will sit in the staffroom before school and brush my hair for me? Instead, ask your teenagers to use a toilet brush on their lingering skid marks for once.

3. Ignore small print. Small print is custom-designed to prompt frustration. If you want to remain calm, have someone else read (and explain) the small type for you. 

The most frustrating part of small print is when you can’t find your bloody glasses. Check your fridge, the washing machine and the top of your head. Never ask your teenagers to read for you because they will taunt you with ageist jokes.

4. Barricade the door. Concentrate on your own needs for at least one hour a day.

Not having a lock on my door I always told the kids not to interrupt me unless the house was on fire, someone was breaking in, or the bone was actually poking through the skin. 

Of course in saying this you run the risk that they will set fire to the house as an excuse to interrupt you.

5. Lower the bar. Do yourself a favour and relax those standards a little.

Bar? Did someone say bar? Yes! The housework can wait – let’s go!

6. Wear white. Loose garments and light colours lead to calm.

Unless you accidently wash your whites with one of Hagar’s red basketball jerseys; then pale pink is fine too.

7. Snatch a couple of zzz minutes. Take brief cat naps throughout the day.

However, speaking from experience, it is recommended that you never nap while driving on the motorway to work, when you’re in the classroom surrounded by twenty eight nine-year olds, or when having special relations with your spouse.

8. Practise saying No. Only take on what you can do, politely turn down all other requests.

“No, I am not lending you money to get a tattoo. It’s not an investment.”

“No, I’m not paying for you to go on a trip to the UK with your netball team when I haven’t had a proper holiday for thirteen years.”

“No, I’m not giving you money to mow the lawn in advance because you promise to do it ‘tomorrow’.”

“No, I’m not driving out to woop woop again to bring your spare key because you locked your car keys in for the second time today!”

This is fun! I LIKE saying no!

9. Avoid pressure phrases like ‘I should…’, ‘I have to…’, ‘I must…’. Replace with calmer phrases like, ‘I choose to…’, ‘I may…’

Okaaay!

“I choose to sit and do your biology assignment instead of watching ‘My Kitchen Rules’, I don’t have to.”

“I choose to pick up the dog poo in the backyard because no other b#$%ard will do it, I don’t have to.”

“I choose to pick wet tissue off a full load of washing because someone forgot to clear their pockets, I don’t have to.”

Hey! This isn’t working!

10. My FAVOURITE!

“Remain on the lookout for things that make you laugh- and, if you see nothing worth laughing at, PRETEND you see it. Then laugh.”

And when the men in white coats come to take you away just scream,

“’The Little Book of Calm’ told me to!” 

Wilson,P. (1996). The Little Book of Calm.Penguin Group. Australia.