‘Summer Daze’: FREE Chick Lit anthology!

‘Seasoned With Romance’ is a group of Aussie Chick Lit authors comprising:

Georgina Penney, moi, Carla Caruso, Laura Greaves, Belinda Williams, Samantha Stacey Bond and Vanessa Stubbs, and we’ve released another FREE Chick Lit anthology!Summer Daze cover [82841]

Summer… when hot days, steamy nights, surf, sand and sizzle make that first flush of new love feel dreamlike.

Book Boyfriend by Carla Caruso
Forget ‘opposites attract’ – book-loving Laila Laughton is done with guys who are nothing like her. So when she comes across the library receipt of a gorgeous bookworm who seems like her perfect match, she’s determined to track him down.

That Voodoo That You Do by Sarah Belle
Lila is sick of waiting for the criminally sexy Ben to ask her out, so she’s taking matters into her own hands. But when her attempts to harness the power of voodoo go awry, has she lost him forever?

Awkward Chocolates by Georgina Penney
Tom has been out of the dating game for a long time. A very long time. When his internet date makes a sexy request, can he rise to the challenge – or is it just too awkward for words?

Sunny, With A Chance by Laura Greaves
Brydie is moving on from a bad breakup with her adorable dog, Sunny, in their cute country cottage. City boy Leo doesn’t have time for a girlfriend, especially not a hippy artist with a ton of baggage. But Sunny may have other ideas…

Lily and Viv by Vanessa Stubbs
Teddy has been an outsider as long as he can remember. With high school finally behind him, does he have the courage to be true to himself with his dream girl by his side – or will school’s seductive Queen Bee lure him away?

Killer Heels by Samantha Bond
Tough Private Investigator Scully has landed the case of a lifetime: probing the disappearance of a celebrity lifestyle guru. She doesn’t need her gorgeous ex, police detective Logan, getting in her way – until her life is at stake.

Relax by the water’s edge and dive into this all new collection of summery short stories by six Australian chick lit authors.

Download your FREE copy here:

Amazon US 

Amazon AU

Smashwords

Itunes

Iris Blobel’s ‘New Beginnings’…

 

new beginnings

The story is set in Hobart, the capital of Tasmania, the most southern state in Australia. A most beautiful place. I went there a few years back and imagined how it would be to live in this city, how to adapt as a “non-local”, and bit by bit I wrote the story of two sisters moving there.

Obviously, I added a little romance into the story as well – so I added Mark and Zach.

This is the second edition of NEW BEGINNINGS.

The story is now a bit sexier and has also received another edit.

Literary Chanteuse’s review: “This author has a way of endearing her characters and it is easy to fall in love with them. An intriguing story with emotion, love and hope.”

Sharon’s review: “This was a very enjoyable read and it left me wanting just a little bit more. I highly recommend it.”

“Other people have to fight battles in their life as well.”

~~  New Beginnings ~~

(2nd Edition)

by Iris Blobel

♥♦♥  SYNOPSIS ♥♦♥

The chance to start life all over with the help of a stranger. 

Twenty-two-year-old Sophie Levesque has been guardian to her eight-year-old sister Mia since their mother’s death a few years ago, and it hasn’t been easy. Luck comes their way when they inherit a small house in Hobart. Problem is, though, they don’t know and have never heard of Clara Bellinger, the testator. Settling into their new life, Sophie is still afraid it’s all a mistake.

Mark O’Connor, attorney in Hobart and the bearer of the good news for Sophie and Mia, curses himself for the lack of information about the testator. However, researching the questions gives him an opportunity to see Sophie again, and the more time he spends with the two, the more he realises that his life is missing something. And it’s not his casual lover Linda.

But then there’s Zach, Sophie’s sexy neighbour from across the road… and a very good friend of Clara’s.

Will unravelling the mystery unravel Sophie and Mark’s promise of a future?

 

♥♦♥  EXCERPT ♥♦♥

 

Sophie Levesque stared at the attorney in front of her, waiting for some answers. She and her little sister, Mia, had been quietly sitting in Mr. O’Connor’s office for more than half an hour, learning about the details of their inheritance.

Once he was finished, silence hung in the air before she asked with raised eyebrows. “Who?”

“Clara Catherine Bellinger.”

Mia leaned closer to her elder sister and gave a soft tug on Sophie’s shirt. “Who is she?”

Sophie shrugged. “I wouldn’t have a clue.” Then turned her attention back on Mr. O’Connor and asked the same thing. “Who is she?”

The handsome attorney on the other side of the massive desk leaned forward and rested his elbows on it before he started to repeat his earlier speech. Although hearing his words, Sophie still found it all very hard to comprehend. Here she was in this old office, furnished with heavy antique oak furniture, the curtains in a pretty shade of aubergine, and the carpet beneath her shoes thick and warm in a matching shade, hearing about an inheritance from someone she’d never even heard of.

Startled by the subtle sound of the clock chiming across the road, Sophie’s gaze turned to the window, where she saw the post office building across the road. It looked impressive and old. It’d been only a few hours since they’d arrived in Hobart, the most southern capital in Australia, but she already liked it. A lot more than Sydney, the place she’d lived all her life.

Hauled back from her thoughts, she heard Mr. O’Connor say, “I believe she was a distant relative of yours. I’m afraid I don’t have any further details.”

Sophie arched an eyebrow in disbelief, doubting the accuracy of it all. Not only did she try not to question his competence as a lawyer, but she also hoped it wasn’t a dreadful misunderstanding.

With a slight shrug of her shoulder, she asked, “Why not?”

He met her gaze steadily. “Pardon me?”

Sitting up straight, she repeated, “Why not? Why aren’t there any further details?”

He rubbed his chin with his fingers, his unease now obvious, and although she almost felt sorry for him, she tried not to care. She needed to know more. And not just the what, but why and who as well.

Only a week earlier, Sophie had received the call from Mr. O’Connor telling her about an inheritance. Initially, she’d thought it had been a horrible joke when he’d given her details on where to pick up airplane tickets to Hobart. It was important for her to come, he’d explained. Some legality she hadn’t understood. Something about her having to sign documents for the transfer of ownership of some assets. It’d sounded too farfetched at the start, but after some research on the firm with the help of a friend, it sounded valid, and she’d hoped her life was finally turning around for the better.

new beginnigns

You can purchase ‘New Beginnings’ here:

AMAZON US

AMAZON UK

AMAZON AU

 

♥♦♥ MEET THE AUTHOR ♥♦♥

IRIS BLOBEL

Iris Blobel was born and raised in Germany and only immigrated to Australia in the late 1990s. Having had the travel bug most of her life, Iris spent quite some time living in Scotland, London as well as Canada where she met her husband. Her love for putting her stories onto paper has only emerged recently, but now her laptop is a constant companion.

Iris resides west of Melbourne with her husband and her two beautiful daughters. Next to her job at a private school, she also presents a German Program at the local Community Radio.

Social Media Links:

Click here to subscribe to Iris’ Newsletter

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/IrisBlobel

Twitter: https://twitter.com/_iris_b

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4067254.Iris_Blobel

Instagram: https:/www.instagram.com/iris_blobel/

Free Chick Lit anthology to warm your winter!

‘Seasoned With Romance’ is a group of Aussie Chick Lit authors comprising:

Georgina Penney, moi, Carla Caruso, Laura Greaves, Belinda Williams, Samantha Stacey Bond and Vanessa Stubbs, and we’ve just released another FREE Chick Lit anthology!

Winter Heat cover [614266]

Six sizzling fun-size chick lit stories

Wish Upon a Star by Sarah Belle
Abby can’t wait to marry her gorgeous fiancé, Xander – until she realises they’ve never had an argument. How can she expect their marriage to weather life’s storms when their relationship has never truly been tested?

A Friend in Need by Laura Greaves
When her best friend announces that it’s not possible for people in committed relationships to have single friends of the opposite sex, Megan is determined to prove her wrong. But are her feelings for her boyfriend’s best mate, Rye, purely friendly – or is Megan playing with fire?

The Reject Club by Carla Caruso
Tired of being rejected in both her personal and professional lives, Maya has retreated to her grandmother’s seaside cottage to clear her head. The last thing she needs is a man to complicate matters – especially one as alluring as Garrett…

The Getaway by Vanessa Stubbs
When Dominique heads to the Tasmanian wilderness with husband Ricky, it’s a make-or-break weekend for their struggling marriage. Is Ricky the same man she fell in love with – or is rugged Cal what she really needs?

Bad Things Come in Threes by Belinda Williams
First her marriage collapsed. Then she lost her job. Wynter isn’t sure whether she can cope with another disaster. And when Marty enters her life, she doesn’t know whether he’s the best thing to happen to her – or the very worst.

Songbird by Samantha Bond
Washed-up pop star George would do anything for another crack at the big time, and when he discovers talented young singer Annabella he sees his chance. There’s just one problem: Annabella’s feisty mother, Catherine.

 

So, if you’re looking for some winter giggles, some warmth, some lurve you can download your free copy here:

Amazon AU

Amazon US

iTunes

Smashwords

 

 

 

 

Here’s to all the 70s kids…

I am a kid of the seventies and this is what I remember – what makes me smile each time these memories are recalled…

I grew up in a time when televisions didn’t have remote controls. Changing the TV station required someone to get off the brown vinyl couch, walk over to the set and turn the dial onto the other four channels that were available. There was no channel surfing.

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Families usually had one car, at least four kids, one bathroom and one toilet to share which resulted a l-o-n-g wait to use the loo, and a fairly quick visit requiring expert holding of breath, if the person prior to you had an upset stomach. Every family toilet had a chenille lid cover and matching floor mat, usually in mission brown, burnt orange or lime green.

We had a small collection of clothes and shoes, neatly divided into school wear, outside wear and ‘good’ outfits. God forbid we should wear a Sunday best outfit into the backyard and get it dirty, or worse, torn. My dresses were decorated with bows, ruffles and pouffed shoulders.

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The coffee machine in my house consisted of a kettle that whistled when the water had boiled atop a gas flame, and a glass jar of Nescafe blend 43. A ‘milky’ coffee was one with two dashes of milk instead of one. Lattes were unheard of.

My parent’s wine came out of a cask or flagon -Riesling or Moselle, Shiraz or Claret. For dinner parties a bottle was purchased, or the cask wine poured into a crystal decanter that sat on the shelf gathering dust for eleven months of the year, simply because it was ‘too good’ to use every day.

coolabah_cask

My mum’s dinner parties consisted of at least three courses and were eaten with the ‘good’ silver cutlery that sat in a velvet-lined wooden box for eleven months of the year because it also was ‘too good’ to use. And even though it was rarely used, it was polished regularly, along with every other item of silver and brass.

Dinner parties started with canapés and an aperitif, such as Sherry or Vermouth in order to stimulate the appetite. After dessert came the cheese platter and port or muscat or tokay, and lively debate on politics or religion. The next day the room smelt of Brut, Old Spice, Charlie and stale tobacco.

brut Charlie Dancing

Carpet was shagpile- fibres inches long and impossible to vacuum clean. God knows what lurked beneath everyone’s luxurious flooring, most likely Ebola or Typhoid. However, because we played in the dirt and mud, and ate bugs and dog food when dared, we had strong immune systems.

Retro-Carpet-Swatches

Walls, and even ceilings, were adorned with wallpaper. Psychedelic prints, geometric prints and large green leaves were all the fashion. My mother used to wallpaper everything. I remember her threading each sheet of wallpaper through a special water-filled trough that dampened the glue sufficiently to make it cling to a wall. Prior to this invention she used to lay the paper on trestle tables and paint the claggy-glue on with a wide blonde, horse-hair brush.

wpaper Vinlon_1970s_wallpaper

Our television, a wooden box on four skinny legs, had rabbit ears as an antenna. These ears were temperamental and required much jostling, tweaking and experimenting to find the ‘sweet spot’ where the static didn’t ruin the picture and sound was clear. On many occasions it was my job to stand next to the TV and hold the rabbit ears because that was where the picture was best.

After school we would play with our friends on the street or go wandering around our suburb, or to the local park. Home time was when the street lights came on. We knew everyone in our suburb, and everyone knew us, which meant that we were sure to get caught if we did anything stupid.

Nothing was more important than playing outside, riding bikes, mastering rollerskates, laughing, playing tiggy or chasey or flirting innocently with boys. No one wanted to stop playing to eat lunch or dinner. Food was an inconvenience, an unwanted (but necessary) interruption to playtime.

bike

After playing with our friends all day, we’d go home and talk to them on the phone all night. Our mothers and fathers would interrupt us constantly, telling us to get off the phone, that it was bedtime. And constantly, we would ignore them because there was still so much to say to this person we had just spent all day with.

70s-telephone

Holidays were spent at the beach. Four weeks in a caravan and canvas annexe. BBQ each night for dinner, spotlight in the trees at night, days of swimming and tobogganing  on the sand dunes. Pure heaven. Pure freedom.

We would tape songs off the radio on our cassette players because we didn’t have the money to buy a song from a record store. Music came on flat black vinyl discs that were played with a diamond stylus. My mum’s copies of Hot August Night and American Pie were the soundtrack to my childhood. I still know all the words.

FM_AM_Radio_Cassette_Recorder

Dinner was meat and three veg, tuna casserole and rice or curried sausages. Dessert was tinned fruit and plain vanilla ice cream. Lunch was a cheese sandwich that sat in our bags for hours, in hot, humid school corridors. Ethnic kids had salami sandwiches. No fridges. No one ever got food poisoning.

A plain icy-pole cost five cents. Lollies were displayed in specially made glass cases in milk bars. We took our time in choosing exactly which lolly, and how many of each, we wanted in our bag of mixed lollies because it was a hugely important decision. Twenty cents was a fortune. Fifty cents practically made you a billionaire. A crisp white bag of sugary treats was move valuable than diamonds.

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The shops closed at midday on Saturday and didn’t reopen until nine on Monday morning. We never ran out of bread or milk and didn’t panic buy simply because the shops were closed for a day and a half. Car parks made great racing tracks for our bikes. We would pretend we were adults, driving cars and parking our bikes in the middle of empty car parks.

I wish I could take my kids back to my own childhood, just to share with them the pure magic of having been a seventies kid. The freedom that they don’t have now. To show them that life does not revolve around ipads, tablets, laptops and mobile phones would be heaven. To see them fall into a hot shower each night to hose off their dirt and sweat covered skin, to ravenously throw dinner down their necks and collapse into their pillow each night out of pure exhaustion and happiness, would be wonderful.

They ask me about the ‘olden days’ occasionally and shake their head when I tell them what it was like. No internet. No computers. No mobile phones. No international school camps. For all the convenience and promise the kids have now, I wouldn’t swap a thing. I love my seventies childhood, and feel extraordinarily blessed to have these memories.

Call in Scully and Mulder…

truth

Call in Scully and Mulder because I want to believe…

I walked downstairs on Saturday morning and, stunned by the scene in front of me, became convinced I was in the wrong house.

Something woo-woo had happened in my sleep, causing me to astral travel to another woman’s home, even though it was disturbingly similar to my living room. Even the kids were identical to mine.

But despite the similarities, it couldn’t possibly have been my house because…

There were three children sitting at the table in complete and utter silence…

doing their homework…

Voluntarily!

IMAG0134

Da-da- dahhhhhhhhh!

I know! Shocking, right?

Completely freaking unbelievable?

Immediately, I whipped out my phone to record the moment for posterity, because surely this was a once in a lifetime event- never to be repeated, ever again in the history of the universe.

Oh-you-didnt-2uks1a

I snuck around behind them and looked at their screens, the cynic in me too suspicious to truly believe my own eyes.

Expecting to see ‘Lego for kids’ or bloody ‘Minecraft’, I was stunned into silence when the screens displayed ‘Mathletics’ and ‘Reading Eggs’- their assigned homework sites.

Holy crap!

Did the ‘homework faerie’ come to my home last night and sprinkle his magic dust over three of my kids? (the eldest was still snoring in his bed- he’s not a morning person).

Were they hypnotised into obedience? (is that even possible?)

Had my husband bribed them with sugar, salt and grease laden treats the night before?

No, no and no. They had simply decided to do their homework before breakfast so that they could have the rest of the day to themselves.

Utterly shocking. A miracle worthy of canonisation.

Those of you who have children will smile when I say ‘it’s usually very difficult to get my kids to do their homework.’

And by ‘difficult’, I really mean impossible; requiring more bribery than the FIFA World Cup drama, more tears than a screening of ‘Beaches’, ‘Step Mom’ and ‘The Fault in our Stars’ combined. More objections than the entire 20 seasons of ‘Law and Order’, and a level of eye-ball rolling, pouting and groaning that would rival the entire teenage population.

And that’s on a good day!

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Yes, parents – you know exactly what I’m talking about. Homework = nightmare.

It’s possible that every parent hates homework more than their kids do. The act of getting your kid to sit down and do their homework is a trial, a torture and threatens family unity. It ruins that lovely parent-kid bond that you’ve worked so frigging hard to achieve.

And the worst part of homework is that for their entire school career it never ends! It starts in Prep and finishes 13 years later when the graduate high school – and that’s without them going on to University!

So, you can imagine my aneurism inducing shock at the image of the scholarly endeavour in front of me.

untitled

I can’t explain it, and more importantly, I don’t even want to. Whatever happened was perfect – like all the planets aligned and combined with the ethereal powers of the universe, Jedi force and magic ju-ju.

Will it happen again next week?

I’m an optimist, not a deranged lunatic. I’ll leave my homework-performance expectations where they are- somewhere around the soles of my shoes.

Instead I am going to take this victory as a baffling, but extraordinarily wonderful, phenomenon of magnificence. It will be stored in the recesses of my mind and brought out while sitting around campfires telling stories of the eerie and inexplicable. It will take its place in folklore and fable, nestled amongst Big Foot, Nessie and the Min Min lights, and there it shall remain- a distant, yet glorious memory in my mummy mind.

Living with boys…

Raising four boys, I knew I had a big job ahead of me in regards to house training. But when Master 12 tried to open a can of tuna with a fork, even though it was not of the ring pull variety, it became apparent that the job in question may be bigger than I first imagined.

fork

People often ask me what it’s like to be the only female in a house of five males. My answer is that I don’t know life any other way. I grew up with three older brothers and shared a house, in my uni days, with three boys. I now have four sons. It’s my comfort zone.

However, it is my job to house train my boys so that when they leave the nest, they are able to look after themselves  and grow to be a fully functioning, efficient and effective young man who is capable of cooking more than spaghetti on toast, or living on take away.

Even though it’s gonna be a humungous job, I am committed to the cause and am tackling it one bit at a time, starting with the basics…

Hanging out washing …

Masters 12 and 10 have the Saturday job of hanging out the washing, something I thought was self explanatory, until I saw their work…

20141127_181232

We had a soldier’s five on how to hang washing so as to give maximum surface area exposure, which results in faster and more even drying.  I am proud to say that they now use a minimum of two pegs on all items other than socks and jocks. It made my mummy heart happy to see such improvement.

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However,  upon my next trip to the washing line, I was puzzled as to why nearly every peg was scattered on the ground instead of hanging on the line. It wasn’t until I remembered asking the boys to bring the washing inside the previous day that their method of clothes retrieval occurred to me.

pegs

This was my conversation with Master 12.

Me: When you brought the washing in yesterday, did you take the clothes off the line by pulling them by the bottom, ripping them off the line and letting the peg fly into the air and land on the ground?

M12: wide eyed stare.

Me: Okay, I take it, from your deer in the headlights reaction, that my assumption was correct?

M12: wide eyed stare, tinged with a flicker of confusion – a kind of ‘how else are you supposed to get clothes off the line’ expression.

We all moved out to the line and had another soldier’s five on clothes extraction and the replacement of pegs either onto the line or into the designated peg basket. I am thrilled to say that they are now fully versed in the art of both hanging out the washing, and bringing it back in.

The importance of a balanced diet…

My boys hate vegetables. If it’s not pasta or meat, they aren’t interested.  There have been many a tear shed at the dining table over my placement of a corn cob or a few peas on their plate. Upon suggestion from a friend, not to make a fuss out of the necessity to eat vegetables by quantifying them, I now simply put the salad in front of them and say ‘everyone must have SOME salad’.

Of course, that means that the word SOME is a moot point.

D dinner

Having had three older brothers, I am well aware of many men’s aversion to the more fibrous elements of the daily diet. My brother’s response to my mum asking him to try mushrooms was:

‘If I wanted to eat fungus, I’d lick the bathroom wall.’

You can’t fight logic like that. However, when he fell head over heels– with a vegetarian  (oh, how we loved the irony)- he soon discovered the delights of vegetables in order to impress his new love, even eating raw cauliflower in the pursuit of passion.

Another brother, also wanting to please his lady friend, ate the garnish on his plate as he wasn’t sure if it was for decoration or part of the meal. It consisted of lettuce, alfalfa sprouts and tomatoes – his sworn enemy. But he who ate the garnish, also got the girl, so his sacrifice paid off.

So, based on the historical events of their uncles’ lives, and knowledge that my own hubby’s meal time consisted of two kilos of BBQ’d chicken wings, I know that my boys will one day eat vegetables. It may be in order to impress a girl, or in the hope of having sex with her, but they will eat their vegetables eventually.

boy noise

Being surrounded by boys my entire life has enabled me to understand the way they think, why they act the way they do and, like David Attenborough, how to live with a male of the species in his own environment.  As a mum, it’s my job, and my honour, to teach them how to fend for themselves . One day they will fly away from my nest and I need to pass on the skills of domestic life on to them the same way my mum did for me.  While we’re not quite up to tackling a béchamel sauce yet, they are making wonderful progress on the domestic grounds…one little step at a time and I couldn’t be prouder!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why S#!t is my favourite profanity…

English is meant to be the hardest language in the world to master. We do battle with homophones, finite verbs, intransitive verbs, adverbial phrases and predicates daily, although most of us are unaware of their workings.

The one facet of another language we tend to master with expert efficiency is profanities.

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WARNING! THIS POST CONTAINS THE WORD S#!T IN ITS UNCENSORED FORM. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 OR ARE OFFENDED BY THE WORD S#!T IN ITS UNCENSORED FORM DO NOT READ ON…

 

Personally, I love the word ‘shit’. Shisse. Skit. Skōr. Many languages have their own variation.

Why do I favour this profanity above all others?

Because it’s the most versatile profanity in the English language. No other profanity can be used in such a variety of ways and still remain relatively inoffensive:

The query of disbelief – You’re shitting me?

Exasperation of disbelief – No way! That’s bullshit, man!

The social comment – And he was acting all tough and shit…

The culinary critique:

Part 1- Dinner tasted like shit.

Part 2 – Dinner looked like shit.

Part 3- Dinner smelt like shit.

The physical observation that no one wants to hear – You look like hammered shit.

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Thinly veiled sarcasm – No shit, Sherlock!

The confrontation part 1 – You’re full of shit, man.

The confrontation part 2 – You give me the shits.

The lesser known Myers-Briggs personality type – Shit head.

A summary of alcohol consumption – He was shit faced last night.

Religious exasperation – Holy shit!

A comment on one who moves without urgency – He moved as slow as shit.

Aussie speak for “don’t be sassin’ me” – I don’t have to take this shit from you!

The surprise of finding your conversation partner actually has a functioning brain that is capable of retaining more information than yours – ‘How do you know this shit?’

Australian comment on negative things in general – Shit house

Australian toilet part 1 – Shit house. (also called a Dunny in the outback.)

Australian toilet part 2 – Shitter.

swearing 3

USA insult to someone who lacks nerve – ‘You’re chicken shit, man!’

A term of endearment used to describe a person of meaty physical stature – Built like a brick shit house.

A metaphor for the fear one experiences when things go bump in the night – I was shitting bricks.

How not to advertise a motor vehicle for sale – The car is a shit bucket / bucket of shit.

The answer to the comment ‘you look like shit’ – I’ve had a shitty day.

bad day

A measure of another’s conceit – He thought he was hot shit.

One whose IQ is room temperature – He’s such a dip shit.

One whose IQ is below room temperature – You’ve got shit for brains.

Cinematic critique – The movie was shitful.

Irish for shit – shite.

Sudden disbelief that his wife has just found out about his mistress – Uh-oh, I’m in the shit now.

shocked

Melbournian exclamation of surprise – Holy snapping duck shit!

Measuring 10 on a scale of 1-10 of exhaustion  – I’m shitters.

A polite version of ‘F^%k You!’ –  ‘Eat shit and die.’

A thinly veiled threat of physical harm – ‘I’m going to rip your head off and shit down your neck.’

Dope head’s critique of highly potent marijuana part 1- This is some good shit, man.

Dope head’s critique of highly potent marijuana part 2- This is some bad shit, man.

A mother’s internal dialogue during the 8 weeks of summer school holidays as her children constantly fight with each other – You’re shitting me to tears.

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What happens after over abundance of hot curry – Shit through the eye of a needle.

Wise Australian Army proverb for being an organised person – Get your shit in one sock.

Measuring 7 on a scale of 1-10 degree of difficulty –  Push shit uphill.

Measuring 10 on a scale of 1-10 degree of difficulty –  Push shit uphill with a stick.

Failure to read map coordinates correctly, or inability to assess the initial seriousness of a situation- Up shit creek without a paddle.

A nervous petty criminal’s answer to a police officer’s query of what he knows about a big time criminal –  I don’t know shit man!

What writers get asked all the time – How do you make this shit up?

The internal monologue of a parent after unwisely poking their head in a teenager’s bedroom – It’s a shit fight in there.

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An Aussie scolding for embarrassing someone else in public – You’re such a shit stirrer.

Thank you for asking me on a date, but I am busy that night – I’d rather eat a shit sandwich.

My suburb isn’t on the ‘suburbs set to boom this year’ list –  I live in Shitsville.

When your name has been taken off someone’s Christmas register – I’m on the shit list.

It can even be pronounced in different ways:

Fear – shiiiiiiiiiitttttt

Frustration – SHIT!!!

And that my friends, is no shit!