• An adequate mother,  parenting

    Breastfeeding for the well-endowed woman.

    I’ll be honest. Breastfeeding didn’t come easily to me, in no small part due to the enormity of my breasts. At 42HH it wasn’t like I could just drop a silky camisole strap while chatting over a latte, no my breastfeeding experience was far less social and a whole lot more Bad Boy Bubby. To give you an idea of what 42HH looks like –  sure you could Google it (be warned that breast size seems to appear alongside a lot of people who have had concrete ass implants for some reason), or you could imagine two 4 kilo twins dangling from your neck as they punch you repeatedly in…

  • An adequate mother,  End of the World

    Road Tripping with a baby…

    How I survived* a road trip with a 10 month old. (*barely) Six hours in to our return road trip from Sydney to Melbourne when HE started to grumble. It was a slow build at first. A disgruntled 10-month-old baby, uncertain of where He was, why He was there and understandably annoyed with having to face backwards when all the fun seemed to be happening in the forward-facing seats of the car listening to My Dad Wrote a Porno (what! He’s 10 months old! It’s not like he knows what a taint is any way or how to even put it to good use!) But within minutes’ whatever revelry –…

  • An adequate mother,  parenting,  pregnancy,  Relationships

    Warning: Toilet Humour (or How I Learnt To P** Again)

    I read once that a guy was so constipated that he took a hot shower, bent over and tried to spoon himself out. It was a success and that spoon is supposedly still in circulation today. A true hero’s journey. Why do I mention this? Because I too once thought the idea of removing a shit with a spoon was beneath me, that is until five days after having my son, I found myself hunkered over a hospital toilet, toothbrush in hand, contemplating a similar fate. Here’s the thing. No one tells you that your first shit after having a baby is going to quite possibly be a worse pain…

  • An adequate mother,  Lady stuff,  Mums and their sons,  parenting,  pregnancy,  Relationships,  She got in trouble again,  The Adventures of Mum and Dad

    Best Birth-Day Ever

    By the time I reached 36 weeks, I think it’s fair to say, I was not the poster girl for pregnancy. I was the pregnant woman anyone thinking of getting pregnant needed to avoid at all costs. There was no glow. No increased libido. No ethereal photoshoot by the seaside with my partner’s arms wrapped around my naked belly. Wheelchair-bound thanks to crippling back pain, vaginal spasms (yes, yes it’s completely ok to be aroused by my writing of ‘vaginal spasms’’), a 35 kilo weight gain and a constant flow of discharge – I looked like and felt like a creature you’d find living under a bridge, picking at an…

  • Boys and touching boys and boys who touch

    I love you, just not what you’re into.

    Since we nearly broke up a few months into our relationship after I told my Lord of The Rings loving boyfriend (JK) that ‘I didn’t care for fantasy’ I’ve made a concerted effort to champion his interests while remaining detached and uninvolved. Like he’s really into historic drama TV shows – Vikings and Hell on Wheels type stuff. Sometimes he even insists we watch them together so I try and make a game of it, guessing how far into an episode I’ll see a woman’s breast, or her rape or perhaps her sale to a wealthy landowner. He’s also really into reading books about dogs, which is cool, if that’s…

  • Uncategorized

    I’ve dated a Trans Person. A lot of us have.

    ‘….our identity is a sum of our parts, not just one part in particular.’ I’m not Trans. I can’t speak to that experience. So I won’t. What I will speak with is the experience of someone who was once in a relationship with a Trans Man. Some people know about this, some people don’t. I always felt uncomfortable talking about my experience, thinking that in doing so I was revealing something that wasn’t mine to do, so much so that when I did a show about this particular relationship back in 2009 I didn’t mention it. I was really into prop comedy at the time anyway. I argued it wasn’t important…

  • Lady stuff

    I’d F**k A Funny Woman Any Day.

    I find women funnier. I just do. There, it’s said. It’s out there. For years I’ve taken a diplomatic stance – funny is funny no matter what the gender, no matter who is telling the joke, but who was I kidding, give me an Amy over an Arj any day. Now by no means is that meant to be taken as a disparaging comment on the Arj’s of the world, it’s just that my pen is inked from a different well, um, a well of ladies. I was born this way. From the moment I came into the world, as my mother looked at my tanned skin and joked between puffs ‘oh look, she’s nicotine stained’…it…

  • Must see!

    ‘What is your story?’ – a much more rewarding question.

    When people ask me what my cultural background is I like to set them at ease by telling them I’m half second generation Australian. If you put the word Australian in there it makes them feel better like they could be friends with you. I bring this up because it’s something I’ve been thinking on since Australia Day and whether you celebrate it or not, I think we can all agree on the same thing, being Australian means different things to different people – like to racists it is a day to drape a flag over your car and drive around yelling out to people like myself to ‘go back…

  • To whom it concerns...

    It’s a Straight Issue.

    ‘As far as I’m concerned, everyone – gay or straight –  has the right to be as unsure and skeptical of the institution of marriage as I am.’ I watch wedding shows. Heaps. Say Yes to the Dress, Four Weddings, anything with David Tutera in it. I watch them to see how the other half live. They’re my version of Animal Planet. When a bride turns to camera to share with us that they’ve dreamt about this day since they were a little girl that to me is the same as David Attenborough telling me that male Koalas have two penises. WFT? Mind blown! Really? And there is where I…

  • To whom it concerns...

    Being fat in the ’90s.

    I was fat. See this photo. In this photo what you see here is me, sitting, being fat. I was probably being funny too, cause that’s what fat girls do best, funny. You can’t see it, but I reckon everyone in the room was laughing at something I’d just said. Somebody probably peed his or her pants. So back to the photo and me being fat in it. I know I was fat because at the time this was taken I was constantly being picked on for my weight whether it be by ‘friends’ in the playground, or ‘friends’ of my parents commenting on my ‘full figure’ or my grandmother…