On The First Day Of Christmas, Santa Gave To Me……

When your room in your own house becomes the subject of much inquiry, phone calls and emails (I miss snail mail and the smell of wet newspaper), you relocate to another part of the house.  In my case since I’m Italian, therefore the comfort of staring at a stove top and imagining things that can be cooked in a matter of moments leads me to one place.   

That place isn’t the cupboard to the pantry however rather is the kitchen where I over take the dining room table because this is where the creative juices are needed muchly for publishing.  And since today is rather an overcast and rainy day with a slightly bitter chill factor to it, I thought it would be best to trudge downstairs with oversized, warm knitted jumper.  Not to wear, oh no reader, but rather so it can keep my lap warm.

Now having set up my laptop, making sure that I have a hot cup of chocolate with a peppermint candy cane sticking out like it is the beacon to the North Pole, I am faced with one thing.  And that one thing is pondering what the hell I am going to write about.    

Most of the times lately, I have been facing/experiencing writers block that has made my brain seem to think that it has a mind of its own.  This has caused me to stare at the ceiling while watching my fan circulate before getting frustrated after counting 120 spin cycles.  Or reaching down for my laptop and watching the next episode of Scandal because my brain is wondering about the next client Olivia is going to take on.  So far, I have managed to watch the ending of season one and have become completely hooked on the show.  All I can say: Damn you America and bloody talented writers!  To which this then leads me to admitting defeat because I have now formed an addiction to political shows such as Scandal, The West Wing and various other shoes such as How To Get Away With Murder.  Okay, so the last show isn’t essentially a political show about the President of The United States however if you look at the dynamic structuring of the characters, Annalise is very much the President in this situation.

Since I am now essentially sleep deprived, I am going throughout the day seeking child sized naps and suffering from ridiculous cravings such as pickles with mustard cheese sauce.  And in a severe case of sleep deprivation, I wanted coffee but not just any coffee but coffee that had a dash of cold tea in it.  With having said that and admitting that I am having rather bizarre cravings that are frustrating me, I am thankful that my brain is able to function at night because when I came home from my date last night, I had a lot of emails waiting for me to reply too. 

Having had a debate with myself and saying in my head, “to bed early tonight, Scarlett.  No ifs, buts or maybes, young lady!”  In theory it may have sounded like a great idea in my head but instead I found myself still sending emails after forty-five minutes of being home.  After viewing listings of potential new house mates and deciding which person appeared to be none criminal psychopathic looking, I decided that it was time to hit the sack.    

Doing what I normally do such as brushing my teeth, taking off my makeup which hides the fact that I have scaly skin and sometimes look like a walking and breathing zombie.  I then proceed to stare at my reflection for a couple of minutes until I can no longer bear the sight I am seeing.  For as long as I can remember, I have been one of those people who scorn women for stopping in the middle of the walkway because they have caught a glimpse of their reflection and therefore think they need to stare at it.  Instead, I have caught myself countless times looking at my reflection after my beauty enhancing makeup is removed and I am essentially naked.  I do not know and am not sure what I am looking for such as have I aged another day or have I grown another invisible crease that is slowly making its self into a laugh line. 

I think it honestly boils down to the fact that I am standing in the bathroom with a door that is locked and therefore I am able to slowly take off piece by piece my body armour.  Having placed the overly bright and happy persona along with matching face mask into its battered and well used box, it is only then that I am able to see the real me.  Sometimes she is scary and sometimes she appears as if she is heartbroken having to deal with the weight of the world knowing that when she steps out of the sanctuary and therefore out into the real world, that will vulnerability will no longer exist.

Most of the time I appear tired looking with incredibly large shopping bags underneath my eyes from the lack of sleep and look as if I am about to faint from blood loss.  Whoever suggested that being as pale as a vampire is cool is a bullshit artist and therefore should be made to re-eat those words.  In other cases, I appear to be genuinely happy where I am almost bursting at the seams to let out of belly deep laugh that is struggling to be contained.  In other times, I appear as if I need to be swaddled in multiple layers of cotton wool before being tucked into a shoe box or against the side of my mother and simply be held.  This is when the loneliness and not being able to see my family in the flesh hits me like a two by four and the strength to keep on going and not crumble into a heap, comes from the backbone that I have grown and therefore am somehow able to carry on with life.

And then there are the times where the feisty, bitchy Scarlett makes a stand for herself while smirking as if she has made a deal with the devil while the normal Scarlett, is tucked away into her safe haven.

As I then move to the door to release it from its locked position, I always brace my shoulders, give myself a pat on the back as I slowly begin to cloak myself in the bulletproof armour that shields before crawling into bed.  Like most nights where I don’t promptly fall to sleep after having a sip of water and rolling over to get comfy, I begin to say my blessings.  This has been stemmed down from my childhood years of being told to get ready for bed, brush your teeth and hair, give your Father a kiss goodnight and now it is time to say your prayers.  Funnily enough this has followed me throughout my life and probably will be passed down onto my children when I have them.

I always start off with being thankful for the fact that I am still alive and therefore haven’t been killed or hit with a bolt of lightning.  I have the ability of being able to go to school without the fear of being kidnapped and with that, get to receive the education that I have always dreamt of.  For having a roof over my head, food in my stomach and thought that no matter where I go in life and what pathway I take, I know that I have done the best to my ability of striving to get that result.  I then give thanks for being blessed with friends who allow me to walk the path that I do while supporting me and when I try to get off the pathway because a flower is looking pretty, they set me back on the straight and narrow.

I am thankful for those who take 10, 15 minutes out of their busy schedule to read my blog posts.  Yes, I am talking about you!  Without you, I would not have been able to achieve over 3000 views on my blog posts, strive in wanting to achieve more for myself, write down nearly everything that is happening while maintaining that it is still fun and airy.  Not some depressed, black emo kind of bullshit that makes viewers want to move for the nearest X button and go ‘why the hell did I start reading this shit?’  Essentially you are the ones that keep me going and with that rolling ahead with ideas as to what I should be posting.  In fact, I would not even have considered writing a blog post on sex let alone mentioning anal sex or BDSM if it hadn’t been for you and the determination I felt knowing that yes, I may have turned some people off from continuing on reading my future blog posts but in the end, I grew some balls.

And actually posted what the fuck I had been longing to post.

Also I am thankful for the comments that Peter sends me when he reads this because one, they make me squeal in excitement. Two, I automatically tell Lois that Peter has sent me a message and three; he is ever so the gentlemen.  With that: Peter you are a blessing in so many ways.

I then give thanks for having the parents that most, if not all of my friends wanted and still voice today as an adult.  I also ask for forgiveness for not understanding what they meant when they sat there and said, “Scarlett, I wish I had your parents as my own” and for responding with, “Why? Your parents are so much cooler than mine!” It was cutting to say the least for Lois, hearing from her friends about what I had said in response after my friends having gone home, told their parents.  However now as a 24 year old and having developed a different relationship with my parents that is no longer seen as Mum/Dad are boss and therefore I am not an equal but rather Mum/Dad are boss but I am an equal; my friends are still sitting there saying it out loud.

Having sat back from the situation and analysing previous conversations, the reason why my parents were essentially placed upon a pedestal to be savoured was because their own parents didn’t have time for them.  And when they came to my house, whether it was for a play date or to stay the night, they were treated as if they were part of the family and were given rules that had to be followed.  Still to this day, their parents are battling away at their own demons or going swiftly into the next project that has to be fixed.  This causes their child/children to hate them even more then what they originally do because they never had a Mother/Father who cooked for them or visibly showed signs of love and appreciation that wasn’t built upon the image of ‘how do I look?’

If I was made to describe my parents which by the way, Lois has asked me countless times how I would describe both her and Dad, I can honestly say it would be a bitch of a job.  Having had many conversations about what I perceive parents to be like, what Mum has always wanted to be portrayed as in regards to being a parent herself, I could only describe them as having the parents my Mother has always craved and wanted as a little girl.
I, Scarlett O’Chunky sit here before you and can verbally and physically say/type that I have the breathing and living version for what my Mother’s generation would classify as The Waltons.

I have a Father who will always firmly hold onto the back of that bicycle for a few extra seconds after the training wheels have been removed.  Until he slowly begins the procedure of letting you go.  It is then when I turn around to peer over my shoulder to see if I have gone anywhere, that I am flying free.  And I have left Dad standing there, waving and smiling.  It is until that second of a moment that without Dad supporting me, I am essentially on my own even though he is still standing there and calling out encouragement.  That is when my body decides to sabotage the progress it has done because the training wheels are off and I am now riding a big girl bike, which I end up stacking and promptly burst into tears.  All because of the shock is now starting to hit me that I was alone.  Like the superhero my Daddy always is in my mind, he comes jogging over, bends down to pick me up off the gravel and dusts me off.  Before bracing his hands onto my delicate little shoulders, stares me in the eye while his curly red hair draws my attention before looking back at him as I watch his mouth form the words, “You need to get back on that bike, kiddo”. 

When it comes to discussing or rather describing my Mother to a tee, Lois is a different basket case altogether.

When people meet my Mother for the first time, they see her as the perfect wife and mother who spends hours of the day cleaning, making sure that her children and husband’s lunches are packed, bags are ready and clothes have been ironed.  Yes she does that minus the ironing as stated in her words, “I absolutely hate ironing!” not that I blame her.  However, what most people don’t know is that she was the woman who introduced me to what it was like living on a high; an adrenaline high.  She introduced me to safe driving as I was flooring down the highway doing 130k’s on my learners because we got stuck in road works and therefore had to make sure I arrived there on time.  Even then, we were still 10 minutes late and she fought for me to get my driver’s licence.

She even let me crash in the car before giving me a cuddle of support, some words of wisdom before stepping out of the office with a grumpy driving instructor with the hopes of doing my Mother proud.  Before stepping back into the office with a miserable look on my face as if I were about to burst into tears as I watched my Mother’s eyes fill with tears at the thought of me telling her I had failed.  Until I burst out into hysterical laughter, swept her up in my arms and yelled, “I FUCKING PASSED! I FUCKING DID IT!”  Much to her wanting to hit me for lying to her, she was excited that I was officially an adult with a driver’s licence.  Too which that reminds me, we still need to go to the Gold Coast for fish and chips…it’s only been a few years and we still haven’t crossed that off the list yet!

Another thing that sets her apart from other fantastic and some not so fantastic Mothers’ is that she doesn’t force me into being anything that isn’t me.  Or try to change the beliefs that I hold dear to myself as a person, an adult but also as Scarlett.

Both of my parents have allowed me to become a variety of different things while growing up such as a vegetarian for example.  This may have caused many worried looks from my Dad as he couldn’t understand why his daughter, a daughter of a butcher wouldn’t eat meat.  When I stood up from the dining room table and demanded that I would no longer cut my hair off as it were against my beliefs and that I would rather prefer a trim.  All because I had wanted waist length hair after watching some movie where I saw a girl brushing her hair and it looked so beautiful also because it was spurred on by listening to Janis Joplin’s ‘Mercedes Benz’ while touching my cousin, Janice’s hair.

Having grown my hair so it was well past my hips and onto its way of being an overcoat until I resembled cousin Itt,  I decided that I was going to become a fully fledged, long dress wearing, flowers in her hair, hippy.  The look was completed off with me telling strangers that it was better to make love then bombs before finishing my demonstration, complete with peace rallying signs that you would see back in the 70s and a peace sign.  Until one day I forced to grow up as I was now a high school student and therefore society had dumped its responsibilities and perceptions of what they classified as a ‘perfect teenager’ was soon thrown in my face.  And therefore meant that I go no longer go walking around flashing the peace sign, declaring that love would end all wars to existence and that I was going to become a writer just like William from Almost Famous and that I was going to work for Rolling Stones, covering awesome bands.

However before society impacted my mental perception of what I wanted to be, I was introduced to a variety of different musicians, concepts of musical patterns and instrumental techniques ranging from Black Sabbath, Ted Nugent, Elton John and Led Zeppelin to name a few. 

When I first heard the twangy strings and Robert Plant’s crooning of how a lady who is sure that all gold glitters, which funnily is the reason why I titled my blog Stairway To Nurse’s Heaven, was because that few bars managed to make my world come to a standstill.  As Lois proceeded to drive down the highway to the Gold Coast with Zeppelin blasting from the Statemen’s speakers, I knew that I had found the calling to my life.  And I had discovered the band that would forever be my number one band to this day and whenever I am driving, I find myself reaching for my phone just to play this song.  Especially when I am on my way to finding paradise located at the Little White House.

I then discovered the sounds of Paramore which happened by mistake one day and decided that when Hayley and the Farro brothers wrote ‘The Only Exception’, they must have been looking at me.  Because that song had been specifically written for me in mind and to this day, it is a constant reminder that I will eventually find love, even if it takes a few more years.  And whenever they were in Australia for a tour, I would plead and beg Lois to let me buy a ticket.  Just so then I could go and lap up those few hours with other people who knew where I was coming from and would understand. 

I also say blessings for the siblings that I have been gifted with.  However that is a completely different story and is one that will be told shortly.  Because as Lois and Dad have raised us from knee high to the grasshopper to resembling jolly giants, our motto amongst others that we hold dear to our souls is that blood is and will always be thicker than water.  And we, the O’Chunky kids are a force to be reckoned with.

With that my dearest, most beloved and gracest readers from a far and near, I welcome you to another blog post. 

I have decided that since today is the twelfth of December, which means we have another twelve days until Santa packs the sled and starts his trip around the world delivering presents and coal, that I would write a blog for each day.  As suggested by Nannie this week when coming back from University and having a bitch session about not knowing what to write, that it would be fantastic to update every day until Christmas Eve.  And here I am, having thought that it was a great idea as I had always wanted to do something like this.  Unlike last year between moving, finding a house, studying for an exam, Christmas present shopping and pondering body weight issues, I have more than plenty of time up my sleeves at the moment. 

Now I cannot guarantee that these pieces will be lengthy pieces as compared to what I normally sit down and write.   However I will try to make sure that the blogs are entertaining, somewhat eye opening and fantastic.  Now while I am singing in my head because that is normally what I do when I start coming to the end, that I hope this counts but if it doesn’t…..tough tits, I have something to say.

And that something is:

On the first day of Christmas, Santa gave to me: my incredible parents.

Red, Lois and Scarlett.

Until Next time,

Cheers xo

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s