The Top Ten Greatest Hits gathered together in one post! Party on! Click on titles to see full posts.
Reservoir Mum, you have been the polar opposite – cool, relaxed, turning pages in magazines, collecting luggage, strolling about the airports and taxi ranks and hotel lobbies in a way that reminds me of the gently lapping waters of a sheltered island cove. But rather than having the ability to calm me, your cool allure only intensifies my nerves, my burning concern, because although I hold the humility of the question and the awe of the ring, you hold the power of the naked finger and maybe even the horror of the words I’ll pass, I’d like to start seeing other people or simply no.
I was nervous again today as I wandered into the Channel Ten studios but, strangely, I felt some comfort holding on to two pairs of Mentally Sexy Underwear. When I handed them over to The Circle Producer, Samantha Hastie, I felt like a little boy must feel when someone takes away his security blanket – like chucking a massive hissy-fit.
Luckily, Sam has two kids of her own and engaged me with the distraction technique by putting me in a room with Charlie and Carrie from the 7PM Project and I was able to forget about my underwear for a while as a make-up artist used a spray gun to take the shine off my baldness, and by the time Charlie had given me some tips on staying cool on live TV, and I’d read through Sam’s notes, I wasn’t thinking about undies at all.
One thing lead to another and a challenge presented itself – Amanda McFarlane and Perri Perrin requested Reservoir Dad Gangnam Style. I told them I couldn’t do that with a Facebook page under 1000 likers. A few hours later the liker-meter had tipped over the 1000 mark and is now approaching 1,300.
So, my quiet night alone turned in to a massive panic stricken dance-athon.
‘If you look at the stats,’ Reservoir Father In Law says, ‘thousands of people go missing every year. There are probably hundreds of thousands of cases going back a hundred years. The authorities just wouldn’t want to know about another missing nutbag. They’ll go through the motions, sure… but you just have to keep your mouth shut…’
In my mind’s eye Reservoir Father In Law morphs into Ivan Milat. He’s standing in front of a fireplace holding a rifle and a hunting knife. Behind him, on the wall, is my mounted head.
Time freezes as the subconscious part of my mind is triggered into releasing memories it had previously considered worth hiding from my conscious self. I feel the hot desert sand on my hands and knees. I’m moving towards an Oasis. There is a pond there in the shape of Reservoir Mum and I’m so thirsty and the sun is so hot and I keep crawling and reaching but just as I think I’m about to lap at her waters and quench my thirst the Reservoir Mum Oasis reveals itself to be a mirage that disappears into a crying baby, a dirty nappy, an episiotomy… or one of my in-laws.
She opens the sliding door to find her partner of 15+ years standing legs apart, knees slightly bent, hips thrust forward, arms out to the side performing an overzealous version of ‘jazz hands’.
‘Ta-dah,’ I yell. ‘The fireplace finally matches the mantelpiece!’
Far out man. I spend a lot of my time worrying about the people who Google their way to the Reservoir Dad website. I imagine them getting here and having a quick look around and then leaving terribly disappointed because they didn’t find what they were after. I really want to please everyone. So I spend a bit of time perusing my web stats via Woopra.com and when I notice many people arriving and leaving unsatisfied I do my best to change it.
I get at least a dozen people Googling ‘Yumi Stynes’ eye every day.
‘Are you famous?’ Archie asks.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Arch,’ I say, slowing down incrementally to avoid tearing a muscle. ‘I mean yes I am, but I don’t like to admit it… why do you ask?’
‘He was reading your blog,’ RM says.
‘Are you as famous as Justin Bieber?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘It all depends on your perspective Arch. In seven-year-old-boy-world Justin Bieber would probably pip me right on the line in terms of famousness but I don’t live in that world, you see?’
I’m trying to convince myself that my ‘Wednesdays from the Womb’ posts have been relatively sex-free and semi-pure but when I finish clicking through them I find that out of a total of twelve I have made a direct reference to sex or genitals on eight occasions. That seems rather high. I also mentioned vas deferens once but thankfully removed it in the editing process. My mouth feels dry and my leg is twitching and when I hear a voice behind me I turn the hard drive off super-quick, as if I have just been caught watching porn.
Now as I stand here, after a total of two hours sleep in 48 hours, having come to the end of another labor/birth rollercoaster ride with Reservoir Mum, hitting the highs and lows of fear and hope and panic and joy – again as the odd one out among a group of incredibly useful people – it’s as if the outside world has taken a step back to offer us a breather. The silence allows me to hear a hushed ringing in my ears; the echo of the craziness we just left behind.
‘RM, you were really wailing in there,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘there was a baby was coming out of my vagina.’