Dry July Sincerely Thanks You….

Welcome to the month of July.

Firstly I would like to mention that this month is known by some as Dry July.

Those who do not know what this could possibly mean then allow me to inform you as to what Dry July is all about. 

The foundation that promotes Dry July asks and encourages people to stay booze-free for 31 days.  Now if this had been me last year, particularly around this time, I would have promptly thought the world had come to a complete and shuddering stop.  The thought of giving up my friends Vodka and Corona not to mention the end of Tequila Tuesday/Thursday would have turned me off.

Yes, I know that this may be a bit daunting for those who like a glass/bottle of wine after clocking off the clock.  Especially when it comes to celebrating having survived another day at work with Perky Pepper, who is perk 24/7.  Not to mention your boss, who well really….a stapler would do him justice.  

Probably should say to you: congratulations for having survived.

However I can hear you asking out loud, what does Dry July have to do with me and why am I going stone cold turkey for 31 days? 

As previously stated before Dry July is a foundation, encouraging people around the nation/world to raise funds.  What I didn’t tell you before is these funds raised, support adults who are fighting a battle between themselves and cancer.  Funds raised by diligent and determined people not only supports the cancer patient but also their family members. 

If that isn’t enough to float your boat or get you thinking about your lifestyle, after these 31 days you have a few positives.

One is that you now have a healthier lifestyle.

Two your output on life is brighter and you now may have an idea as to what is going to happen or a way you change your pathway.

Thirdly, you have a clearer head to think about how you are going to put two into motion and how you are going to do it.

I am not talking about hitting the bottle and pretending it’s Tequila Tuesday/Thursday.  Rather, what you will be doing with Ms Perky and asshole Boss. Think about the times he buzzes through that little black box on your desk, setting your nerves on fire when he snarks, “O’Chunky, 2 sugars this time in my coffee. Now”. 


Health Risks For Rural Men

In the end, Dry July improves the wellbeing of adult cancer patients, their family members, helps raise funds for the charities that have been picked for the month.  

But it also helps to create better service opportunities and environments, particularly for those who are living in small rural and remote country towns.  

Where the nearest hospital could be up to a 2+ hour drive for chemo treatment.  As Aussie kids’ have been taught from a young age, our farmers in Australia rely heavily upon a wage to sustain their family needs.  That they have to leave the main thing, their farm, which is bringing in money to gain life altering and changing medicine.

Just as a side note as well for those who reside out of Australia or have never lived in a small rural and remote country town: most cases, farmers refuse to get the treatment.  This treatment is required to increase their likelihood of living.  Thus, their already slim chance of surviving because of the distance they are from a main hospital, gaining access to chemotherapy and radiotherapy is even more decreased dramatically.

We all know after I have spent countless months/years telling you within a hidden message; having a wellbeing filled with positivity can often be challenging but incredibly fulfilling.  

Not only to you but also for your family.

At the end of the day/month/year, you (we), have created, sculptured and built a determination.  This determination was created from nothing but stubbornness, sweat, blood and tears that can rival the KGB and the Greece crisis.

Yes, I do watch the news and understand what is happening in the world around me.  Not just a pretty face when it comes to boot.

This determination that I speak of is not only rewarding for ourselves but it is also rewarding for those that we surround ourselves.  As their/our overall thought about ourselves is now based upon positivity while maintaining a sense of achievement.  

The final rewarding thought of having done Dry July for those who are participating this year, is knowing that you are helping and have helped someone at the end of the day.  

They could be our next door neighbour facing stage three prostate cancer, the little old lady at the corner store who has fought breast cancer or your family member, fighting leukemia.  

From us to you…

Finally, for those who have put down the bottle and have are striding to become awesome; hopefully you will understand how amazing you are.  

Please know that you are helping someone out through an incredibly hard time in their and their family’s life.  On behalf of someone who has had family members die from cancer and someone who has had a cancer scare herself; Dry July sincerely thanks you.

This means that we are that little bit closer to not having to deal with the scariness as to what life can bring, serve and deliver to us on a silver platter.  Hopefully, we may be able to decrease the altering consequences and repercussions of having chemotherapy/radiotherapy. 

Just think of what can be done with the funds raised.

Now even though I am not participating in Dry July this year, I am going to ask for you to do something minor that will only take a few minutes out of your busy day.  

The minor thing is: if you know someone who is participating in Dry July and giving up alcohol to support/raise money for a foundation/cancer research; please take some time out and give them a helping hand.  Whether it is word of encouragement, slipping them a few dollars, picking up their children from school or cooking them a meal; everything is accepted and great fully done so.

By doing this, just know that you are helping someone less fortunate and it restores the faith and belief in humanity.

Secondly and finally, welcome to the daunting, scary and slightly sickening thought of July being already on top of us.

I will not speak of the words that came out of my month when I was scrolling through the busy feeds of my social media websites, wondering when Mrs. Bear was going to announce that the stork had dropped both her and Mr. Bear’s baby off.  Least to say, much to my excitement and delight, I was informed today that Mr. and Mrs. Bear’s little delight had been delivered, safely.

However, it was not the delightful and exciting photo greeting me of Mr. and Mrs. Bear holding onto their gorgeous little boy.

But rather a horrifying photo stating, ’25 weeks until Christmas’.  

To the person who posted that on my social media website, thank you very fucking much!

After collapsing in the seat and staring blankly at the screen as my brain retreated, all that crossed my brain membrane was a few things.

  1. What the hell?
  2. I do not need to be reminded that Christmas is coming.
  3. Can I at least get my results for this semester…. in fact, I am going to stalk my uni page until they are released.
  4. *Sings* stalking my webpage….stalking…Bond….Batman, Bond….doesn’t work.
  5. When do I need to go house hunting?  September wasn’t it?
  6. Pass next semester and then contemplate clinicals over Christmas.
  7. 25 plus 13…….38 weeks until I graduate.
  8. Remember when it was 156 weeks until I graduated college… Time has flown.
However as much as I like celebrating Christmas with my family, it is going to be a completely different year for me this year.

Because this year, I may be doing clinical placement as I had to postpone placement as there wasn’t enough places available in this semester just gone. 

Instead, I got placed in summer school and my schooling has been extended for another six months.  

Not that I am complaining as this has given me the opportunity to not only improve my education after my fuck-up last year.  But also I can increase my overall GPA rating so I can hopefully get a placement position at the end of my college degree in a ward that will allow me to flourish. 

Not only as a nursing student, who has just graduated college, but also as someone who is constantly interested in learning.

Hello cardio, maternity (because who doesn’t wish to look at Mum’s in their moment of time and possible weakness with a loving and caring hand?) and anything else that doesn’t end in neuro.

You watch, Karma will have its way and I may actually end up on that ward.  Oh well, education is education and I shouldn’t moan and complain as this may and well help me be able to pinpoint some brain disorders that could happen in any other situation.

While most people are normally dying of the heat, slapping on sunscreen and finding a portable fan, I am not lucky in that regards.

In December, unlike most other months of the year, I gain and develop skills that can be only called ‘Ninja Reflexes’.

These reflexes that I speak of, have unfortunately, not been shown or taught to me by a ninja. 

Because we all know ninja’s are hidden people and do not come out unless it is necessary.  Rather, they have been taught to me along the lines of someone that can only be described as….

Between Mr. Bean and myself, we have often collaborated in teaching me new things.

This has often involved me diving head first into a bin, holding balls to get away from enemies.  These enemies that I speak fondly of are often pint sized little midgets that come with with steely gazes and lethal arms.  Not to mention a ‘fuck you’ attitude.

In fact, I have been known to jump into a bin a few times, somehow squishing my body into some pretzel like shape to hide in clothes racks.  My favourite would be the time I hid behind a manikin to get away from these delightful little brats that decided to use the back of my head as targeting practice.

But before I begin that epic tale of failure, my delightful mother spends six weeks before Christmas buying up large to have Christmas lunch.  This often results in Lois waking up on Christmas eve morning, opening the fridge door that is over flowing with things that needs to be cooked and calls out to one of us kids.  

When we hear the door open and Lois go: ‘Hmmm…’ and the wheels in that head of hers starts rotating, we put our game plan into effect.

We go into covert operation complete with seal talk with our fingers, Mission Impossible theme song backing us as we go skimming around the corners.  All the while playing our favourite game with Lois of: ‘Hide and never find us’.

You would think after playing this game for nearly five years, we would remember to stock up on food before going into hiding.  Nope, not me.

I reluctantly forfeit my independence and prime hiding spot for a full belly and the opportunity of ripping off a bit of sponge cake.  Clearly, we all know where my stomach lies and that is certainly within the four walls of the kitchen.  Just call me Nigella and Jamie from now on, thank you very much.

Since I have now just forfeited my independence for food, Lois gets this gleam in her eye as she slides up to me and holds me hostage in the corner of the kitchen.  Where unfortunately because my legs are not as athletic as Cathy Freeman or talented in jumping hurdles like Sally Pearson; I am stuck in this corner with Lois getting closer and closer.

Sticking up a hand before she can open her mouth, I pull out my sunnies that I have ‘borrowed’ from one of my brothers and place them on the bridge of my nose.  I make myself a coffee the size of my head because I know what is about to be delivered onto my lap is worthy of needing so much caffeine.

‘I don’t have enough of the following: cream, potatoes, sponge cake and lollies.  Can you go down the road and grab those things for me?’.

As if I have silently agreed to doing this, Lois writes down a ‘quick’ shopping list that contains twenty or more things; she does(n’t) need.  Ever since I have gotten my driver’s licence and therefore somewhat obtained freedom, I find myself glancing at the back of the pantry because I am double checking if she really does need the things on the list.
The doors to Narnia and Aslan…

When glancing at the back of the pantry, I am secretly hoping, praying and waiting for the magical doors of Narnia to open. 

Least to say at the age of 25, I am still waiting for those bloody doors to open and welcome me to the mystical and magical world, post wicked witch.  

I am not amused to say the least when I stalk out of the house with my 20 page novella.

Detailing and informing me as to what is(n’t) required for Christmas Day lunch, Boxing Day breakfast and up to New Year’s Eve.

This brings me to the comment, my eighteen year old cousin stated one afternoon after having spent time cooking with my younger niece and nephew.  “Marry an O’Chunky woman.  You will never, ever starve.  Plus they are fucking great cooks”.

Clearly this is evident in life as people are often hungry (no pun intended) by the end of the year, to be sent an invitation to attend Christmas with us.  Plus, it doesn’t help the fact that I have been propositioned by a few Greek and Italian mothers to marry and cook for their sons.  Because no one I cook for has to fear of going hungry as meal sizes would make my Greek Godmother impressed.

After defending myself to be able to park in my car park, preferably not be side swiped by a crazed, lunatic.  Who thought committing manslaughter near Christmas would be an entertaining news headline on the news that night, I was greeted.

I wasn’t greeted by a doorman dressed in his finest uniform, welcoming me to the mall and with a reminder that the alcohol shop would remain open until 10 pm that night.  No, instead I was greeted with something completely and utterly different and yet Christmas brings it out each year.

I was greeted with sheer, utter fucking chaos.

As previously stated, I felt like I had walked onto the set of Mean Girls as there was sheer, utter fucking chaos from one side of the building to the other side.  Everywhere I looked, I saw people fighting over things, people have large debates over prices and kids running around throwing shit.

In the 30 minutes after I arrived, I witnessed a lot of things that still to this day has left me stumped.

Firstly, I found myself being run down by dazed, crazed and glazed mum’s wielding lethal weapons.  No I am not talking about their toddling children on cute little monkey things that have leashes attached to them.  Rather, they were wielding trolley loaded with additional Christmas presents Santa hadn’t delivered yet.  

Also, not quite sure what these mum’s were on but I can suggest that it wasn’t coffee.

Secondly, I found myself in a store filled with all of the glitter, push buttons that can be pushed at once and the ability to peg balls.  Yes, I mistakenly found myself to be a in a department store with 100 plus mums, what seemed like a never ending supply of children and Dad’s that looked like they had been dragged out of the house.  

No doubt with the promise of kinky, naughty Santa sex later on that night.

P.s. I will let you wear those suspenders if you want ;).

After grabbing a basket load of lollies that could fulfill our lolly stash for the next day and New Year’s Eve, I found myself to be surrounded by delightful little horrors.  I seriously do mean horrors.  Who just so happened to leave their Mum’s perusing clothes that they no doubt will outgrow by February (hello growth spurt!).

This is when my story from beforehand of being used as a dartboard for balls comes into effect.  Not to mention, squishing myself into a pretzel shape to hide amongst the clothes rack to outrun/hide these little shits.

Here I thought being hit by a broccoli by Lois in the back of the head was like a breeze in the park.  Not something that I wish to live or experience again.

After sustaining a bruised cheek from a flying fist as a lady wanted the last sponge I was holding, my hair being pulled from said lady.  Not to mention my head being used as a dartboard and the back of my heels resorting to looking like bloody wounds.  After a few of nails had been ripped off within those thirty minutes of venturing outside  the safety of The Little White House,I successfully and painfully left the store.

In fact when rereading this out loud to Lois, I burst into hysterical laughter.  Before abruptly shutting it off and telling her, “if you want to go shopping for Christmas and you want me to go.  You can get fucked, literally”.

That day after risking my life, I dumped the groceries on the bench.  All the while, Lois fluttered around the kitchen, humming like someone had lit a firecracker up her arse and vowed something to her.

That I would never, ever return to the shops on Christmas Eve.  If I were to do, Lois could go and get fucked or she could pay me to risk my life, body and brain IQ. 

Having sustained my life threatening and psychological traumas, I swung around and said to Lois, “You know most non-insane mothers would allow their child to stay at home and not brace the craziness”.  

As she bustled around the kitchen tending to her various recipes that were on the go, Lois replied with something that I never thought I would hear come from her mouth.

But before I gear myself up for those delightful and lovely words of, ‘I need you to grab….’; I am particularly looking forward to something more family orientated.  And preferably less sustaining a concussion, bloody heels, black eyes and ripped clothes orientated fun/torture.

As we all should know by now, I am not American nor have I experienced the lifestyle of an American.  

Or have I consumed a burger the size of my head or a foot long hot dog covered in bacon pieces, ketchup and enough dairy that would make me regret my decisions.  The one thing that I have taken from an American holiday that I am particularly looking forward to celebrating this year is Thanks Giving.

Because I believe this year, I am pretty thankful for many things.

This idea came to me last year when I was writing down a list of holidays from around the world that I would like to take part in.  When telling my parents of my decision, they didn’t at first understand why I was doing this.  This of course lead to some pretty heavy and heated discussions before they realised why I found it necessary to celebrate this event.

When I decided as to what the family and I would be doing, I broke the news to Lois and Red.  

Except Red, who is a true blue Aussie Battler to heart, thought it was a somewhat and borderline stupid idea because we are not American and that it was a holiday that only American’s do.  Like most cases when my brilliant and non-selfish plan gets shut down, I shut down the conversation by slamming down the phone.  

When the logical part of my brain was working rather than the side that was dying to say something that could not be taken back and would do harmful damage, I told Red: “We will be celebrating this holiday.  Whether you like it or not as I believe, we have plenty to be thankful about this year and being alive is one”.

With that, I am looking forward to spending Thanks Giving with my family before Lois says, “Scarlett…can you grab a few things”.

Remember to take some time out to give a small donation to someone who is doing Dry July and I will see you shortly with another blog post.

Until next time,

Cheers xo

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