Hello lovely bloggees...
So sorry its been a while but I've been full on... oh baby... drama drama drama I tell you.. on stage and off...
Feeling a wee bit weird tonight.. nooo it's not the 15 pinot gris I inhaled... yeah okay maybe that might have SOMETHING to do with it but mostly I reckon it's just life.
So I've invested a lot into the last couple of months. Professionally, personally and creatively. I've gone through challenges in all aspects of the above and I can say honestly for the greater part it was o for orsum. But some have been (to use my favorite termanology...) ARSE.
My baby is flying the nest. My little boy whom I have struggled through this maze of a world I call my life is going flatting and I'm kinda gutted by it. I feel so ripped off... Did I do enough? Was I a good enough parent that he will exist in this septic pool we call the world safely? With enough life skills to get him by, sensibly and safely? Oh shit... I don't know. I only hope that he survives being I guess a lot like me in the survivor sense but not in the emotional sense. I hope I showed him enough honesty to give him the tools to get through but not too much that he feels he can't be all that he should.
Oh christ this is heavy.
Okay so let's get into the lighter side of Vikki Stylz. Jaysus I've been busy. The months and weeks are blurring into one and I'm quite frankly... farking dizzy. Nope that's the pinot gris. Dammit. And its wearing off so forgive me if this gets boring as arse.
I have to re-visit Mr Chemicals because I know that's been a hot topic for the avid fans of "Condensed and Edited". Alas. As with most of my trysts it fizzed like a roman candle in a hurricane. What did I tell you guys??? Too good to be true, too intense to be for real. Now there is this polite funk that quite frankly pisses me off. Ah fark. What can you do huh? Suck it up and store the vibe away for another time, another place, another chemical reaction that you hope comes your way.
Why? What the fark? Come on guys I knew ALL along this was a fantastical surreal feeling. And I was right. So my question to you all is... why was it there? Why did I, despite the gut feelings, persist with the momentary buzz. Now I just feel like a dick. Especially when you get proudly and unshamedly introduced to the 'partner' and the child whom is paraded in front of you like some performing doll. Fark me. This is a place where I'm supposed to give hilarious anecdots of my joke of a life. Now I just feel like I'm a fraud. Especially after reading through my past posts. I was to be honest... absolutely gutted and so very very embarrased because I FELT IT. I believed it and I INVESTED in it. And true to form... I was completely wrong. OK. Can someone just say something funny before I tear myself another asshole for shits and giggles? Aw well... I do... I promise you... I do vow to make sure that one day I shall enter into a relationship that covers all the weird aspects of my life in a way where you will ALL... COLLECTIVELY... breathe a sigh of relief and say "yeah, that's the one. About farking time". Especially me.
You ALL get me. You all know that I'm strangely free but quietly secretive. I bet not many of you know every little detail of who I am and yet I've heard more than once that you envy my life. How naive are you - ha-ha. And yeah I'm happy to keep it that way. Can't have too many of you knowing that I'm a fruitloop in need of a serious labotomy. I'd much rather you all see that as 'talent' or 'humour'. The truth is... I'm scared.
Now that my baby is leaving home I am entering into a phase of my life that is unknown. There's an element of uncertainty that I just can't get a grasp on. I have no excuses now, life is supposed to start for me and I don't know where, just quietly, to begin.
I run through my past trysts and they seem so... so... adolescent. So... (for want of a better word) skanky. What was I thinking? How... pray tell oh bloggees... do I finally listen to my gut instincts and just, well, AVOID. Oh farked if I know.
To quote a writer that has given me joy for the past 8 weeks but isn't intenstly profound or anything... "I feel so... empty. I don't know what to DO with my life. Do just... CARRY ON? The world is spinning out of control and all I can do is... [insert latest Vikki Stylz momentary craze here]. And that is my life... a series of random efforts to fit in... to someone elses world because it seems just so much better than my own... but I guess that's all part of being me huh?
It's a big deal. Just as my boy is growing up and finding his way, I now feel obligated to do the same. But I'm confidently challenged. I was told the other day that I should train as a consellor... yeah okay granted it was advice given to me by a wonderful friend who, as most of my friends do on a regular basis, was experiencing a moment where they weren't quite in their er... right mind. But apparently I was orsum. I'm not surprised. The one thing I can claim as a talent is the ability to listen, disect and decipher everyone elses issues into a very astute mature piece of advice, that in turn, works out marvellously for them and I'm left trudging home to pick up the pieces of my disshelved world, feeling bitter and pissed off that they get what they want and I am still trawling through my trash. Just like the weekly washing it piles up in the corner of my mind, ignored and purposely avoided... because that's what I do best.
I think I need love. I think I need understanding. I think the reason that even though I have a small but marvellous selection of weird and wonderful beings that I call my besties I still come away from their amazing company feeling slightly short-changed is that... well... I'm alone. I have been for a very long time if I'm being honest with myself. Accepting my life and my world and sure... TOTALLY making the most of every day. But as every day goes by I wish for more. I have my selfish moments... where I take the dream lover fantasy and turn it into a completely self-indulgent time of despair. Forever holding on to the fantasy but never quite believing in the ability.
I am the perfect single female. The life of the party, the quintesential hostess, the picture of a perfect guest (when the woodies haven't catapulted me into psychotic oblivion of course) someones bestest bestie. But they all have their lives, and I'm still me. Still the third wheel, still go home to an empty bed because I choose to, still listen to their problems when inside I am silently screaming. But they don't know because I won't let them - maybe sometimes... Just a little bit... just so they know I'm human but without them thinking I'm not cool. But inside... deep deep inside. I ache. I have for many years and I'm afraid I'm past the point of discovering a cure.
Paracetomol moments.
The temporary relief of pain.
My friends are my nurofen plus. And dull the pain they do but its up to me to find a suitable cure and just quietly... I'm starting to think that perhaps its my journey just to be that pain-killer friend to others, and suffer in silence my own shortcomings.
Sometimes there's a quick blast of internal combustion from me and my god do people freak out about it. It's always a build up of many many things that I've swallowed like a hunk of cardboard because even though I might have gone to a situation with the intention of asking for help... I always divert to the other side. "Enough about me... how are YOU doing?" and those kinds of moments just build up. I guess this is a quiet apology, for all those times where people have thought "holy exorcist batman... where the fark did that 'Regan' impersonation come from????".
It's because I care. About you. About what you think of me. About the fact that I need you in my life for a reason. Like someone who will always be an addict no matter what treatment they get or how reformed they are... I will always need my paracetomol moments. I will always need to be needed by you so that my own problems seem... superficial. So I can deal. So I can continue. So I can get up in the morning and carry on. You have been poinient in my survival. Many many times.
Well none of this was farking funny and for that... I'm truly apologetic, but I'm going through a time in my life of huge change, huge challenge and indescribable lonliness of which I can't articulate, but if you read this, don't feel you haven't done enough or should do more because hey... its not you... its me. And I love you for who you are... I'm just trying to find the love in me.
Aw man.
Life can surely suck more arse than a gay man at a mardi gras sometimes. But tomorrow... I'll wake up and wonder what the fark possessed me to post this shit... but I'll feel better for getting it off my chest and think "well fark... that was SOOO last week".
Today is another day, and make it count I will.
Goodnight my beautiful codeine addicts... and no matter how lonely and unfufilled I feel... I will ALWAYS have your back. Just try and stop me.
Peace out.
Stylz
xxxx
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Don't mention the C-word
Baaaaaaaaahummmmbugggg!
Who was the retard that sent the fricken memo out that the C-word is to be crammed in our faces barely half-way into ROCKtober?
It's just arse I tell you. Now I'm not strictly the cliche 'grinch' but I am over the hype have been since November 2000-and-something.
Now I don't want lashings of criticism over this but I have to admit... last year I didn't even put up a C-word-tree. Nope. Didn't have time. Re-freakin-fused I did. Instead I plugged in a neon Surfin' Santa which kept me mildly amused for a couple of weeks and didn't require burn out on the vacuum cleaner. Ha-ha! Sadly tho he had to be returned to the place I pinched him from. Too bloody honest I am.
Oh holy crap... what to do THIS year to avoid the trappings of tinsel trash and blinking bulbs? I don't even NEED decorations... the flashing blindness of the neighbours' 3 gajillion wattage of C-word bling can be seen from space. So! I shall celebrate vicariously off their exorbitant power bill. However, all I want for C-word is a sleeping mask... it's like fricken Antartica in reverse... 24 hours of daylight. Drinking helps.
So you guys saw the good news huh? Yep... mono-ab, shrinking, rapidly. Bloody orsum. Frigging HARD YAKKA tho! Mind you I do chalk it up to all the exercise I have been doing, and the lack of Angus burgers - nope not a one since my last bitch about them haunting my dreams... speaking of dreams... its amazing how you can burn off calories by just repeating a thought over and over and over in your brain. No, not "think thin, think thin" or "you eat, you explode" or "the fridge is full of maggots" or "chocolate tastes like poo" no, no... not that. One word my friends... obsession.
You wanna lose those friendly rolls that have prevented you from cutting your toenails since you were 19 then GET OBSESSED. Not stalker obsessed... just... loser obsessed. The sad lonely obsession that sits in your brain clogging your ability to do the simplest of tasks with any form of decorum or clarity. Even ablutions take twice as long. You realise, only because you're bum is freezing, that you've been sitting there daydreaming for half an hour. You wonder why there's no hot water... you've been in the shower since Tuesday but you still climb out, all zombie-like, your hair encrusted with the shampoo you forgot to wash out...LAST Tuesday. And quite remarkably... YOU... FORGET... HUNGER.
Gone. Disappeared. That growling empty hole is now a different void and no amount of anything can fill it. Plus of course if you do weaken and decide that maybe a 'Double Lust' might just take the edge off you immediately squash that pathetic epiphany and replace it with mildly psychotic threats of self harm if you break and allow that poison access to your vessel you've worked so hard on... of course 'Double Lust' can also be referred to as a completely different need which is handy - not so with 'Kiwi As Chips' or 'Burger'.
So all in all I see my new found version of weight loss as working pretty bloody well just quietly. Piss on the experts. Obsession is good for the mono-ab. Which is now I am proud to report... more of a 'mini-mono-ab'. I tell you guys... my brain is more interesting since I developed this obsession than freakin SKY and Freeview put together. I've got chick flicks, perfect endings, soft porn, comedy, drama and reality TV playing 24/7. Plus I know the producer, director, writer AND actors quite intimately. Of course the only difference is on MY TV channel I am farking gorgeous. Slight over-exaggeration but hey, what the hell, its my head, my show, my obsession.
So with all this exciting brain activity I am literally shrinking. I reckon I'll write a best-selling diet book... and I think I'll call it ...umm...
"Free from fat through fantasy: A chubber's guide to obsessing your way to styly collarbones"
Chapter One
"Mono-ab Anonymous is for Anorexics"
Chapter Two
"Say no to camel-toe"
Chapter Three
"Defining your obsessive boundaries around your mono-ab"
Chapter Four
"Beware the fake obsession - Mono-ab Sabotage"
Chapter Five
"When mono-abs go bad"
Chapter Six
"The do's and don't's of DIY Obsession"
Chapter Seven
"Falling off the wagon..."
Chapter Eight
"Losing the wagon in your mono-ab"
Chapter Nine
"An obsessor's top ten"
And finally...
Chapter Ten
"Fantasy, reality... the blurred line of the obsessor"
Epilogue
"Thin, but slightly bonkers... who cares, I'm thin"
Fark yeah... I think I'm on to a winner hear folks... hmm... anyone want to finance me?
Peace out my friends
Oh and don't worry... er, no offense but I'm not obsessing about any of you... well maybe just for test obsess purposes but I promise... no inappropriate touching.
Bye!
Skatty but skinny Stylz
xxxxxx
Who was the retard that sent the fricken memo out that the C-word is to be crammed in our faces barely half-way into ROCKtober?
It's just arse I tell you. Now I'm not strictly the cliche 'grinch' but I am over the hype have been since November 2000-and-something.
Now I don't want lashings of criticism over this but I have to admit... last year I didn't even put up a C-word-tree. Nope. Didn't have time. Re-freakin-fused I did. Instead I plugged in a neon Surfin' Santa which kept me mildly amused for a couple of weeks and didn't require burn out on the vacuum cleaner. Ha-ha! Sadly tho he had to be returned to the place I pinched him from. Too bloody honest I am.
Oh holy crap... what to do THIS year to avoid the trappings of tinsel trash and blinking bulbs? I don't even NEED decorations... the flashing blindness of the neighbours' 3 gajillion wattage of C-word bling can be seen from space. So! I shall celebrate vicariously off their exorbitant power bill. However, all I want for C-word is a sleeping mask... it's like fricken Antartica in reverse... 24 hours of daylight. Drinking helps.
So you guys saw the good news huh? Yep... mono-ab, shrinking, rapidly. Bloody orsum. Frigging HARD YAKKA tho! Mind you I do chalk it up to all the exercise I have been doing, and the lack of Angus burgers - nope not a one since my last bitch about them haunting my dreams... speaking of dreams... its amazing how you can burn off calories by just repeating a thought over and over and over in your brain. No, not "think thin, think thin" or "you eat, you explode" or "the fridge is full of maggots" or "chocolate tastes like poo" no, no... not that. One word my friends... obsession.
You wanna lose those friendly rolls that have prevented you from cutting your toenails since you were 19 then GET OBSESSED. Not stalker obsessed... just... loser obsessed. The sad lonely obsession that sits in your brain clogging your ability to do the simplest of tasks with any form of decorum or clarity. Even ablutions take twice as long. You realise, only because you're bum is freezing, that you've been sitting there daydreaming for half an hour. You wonder why there's no hot water... you've been in the shower since Tuesday but you still climb out, all zombie-like, your hair encrusted with the shampoo you forgot to wash out...LAST Tuesday. And quite remarkably... YOU... FORGET... HUNGER.
Gone. Disappeared. That growling empty hole is now a different void and no amount of anything can fill it. Plus of course if you do weaken and decide that maybe a 'Double Lust' might just take the edge off you immediately squash that pathetic epiphany and replace it with mildly psychotic threats of self harm if you break and allow that poison access to your vessel you've worked so hard on... of course 'Double Lust' can also be referred to as a completely different need which is handy - not so with 'Kiwi As Chips' or 'Burger'.
So all in all I see my new found version of weight loss as working pretty bloody well just quietly. Piss on the experts. Obsession is good for the mono-ab. Which is now I am proud to report... more of a 'mini-mono-ab'. I tell you guys... my brain is more interesting since I developed this obsession than freakin SKY and Freeview put together. I've got chick flicks, perfect endings, soft porn, comedy, drama and reality TV playing 24/7. Plus I know the producer, director, writer AND actors quite intimately. Of course the only difference is on MY TV channel I am farking gorgeous. Slight over-exaggeration but hey, what the hell, its my head, my show, my obsession.
So with all this exciting brain activity I am literally shrinking. I reckon I'll write a best-selling diet book... and I think I'll call it ...umm...
"Free from fat through fantasy: A chubber's guide to obsessing your way to styly collarbones"
Chapter One
"Mono-ab Anonymous is for Anorexics"
Chapter Two
"Say no to camel-toe"
Chapter Three
"Defining your obsessive boundaries around your mono-ab"
Chapter Four
"Beware the fake obsession - Mono-ab Sabotage"
Chapter Five
"When mono-abs go bad"
Chapter Six
"The do's and don't's of DIY Obsession"
Chapter Seven
"Falling off the wagon..."
Chapter Eight
"Losing the wagon in your mono-ab"
Chapter Nine
"An obsessor's top ten"
And finally...
Chapter Ten
"Fantasy, reality... the blurred line of the obsessor"
Epilogue
"Thin, but slightly bonkers... who cares, I'm thin"
Fark yeah... I think I'm on to a winner hear folks... hmm... anyone want to finance me?
Peace out my friends
Oh and don't worry... er, no offense but I'm not obsessing about any of you... well maybe just for test obsess purposes but I promise... no inappropriate touching.
Bye!
Skatty but skinny Stylz
xxxxxx
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Short. Sweet. Slim.
6.7kgs in just over a month.
Pretty farking styly.
Monoab fighting its last fight - losing.
Nearly half way there... baby steps, baby steps...
Yay me!
xxx
Pretty farking styly.
Monoab fighting its last fight - losing.
Nearly half way there... baby steps, baby steps...
Yay me!
xxx
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
0 Comments
Well that just rips my undies.
The ONE time I pour out my soul, cry for help louder than a huckery old whore with a broken stilleto... you guys decide to dissolve into the ethos. Hello? Am I resigned to the pathetic echos of a 'Nigella-no-friends' cyber life again? Are my literary splurges now SOO predictable that you have lost your interest? Or...God forbid... you have all (all 5 of you) found a life beyond fibre optic pleasure? You bastards... I'm so jealous.
Anyhoo... the delight of chemicals is still running rampant through my inner void but I fear, like a drunk diagnostic worker, I have missed the vein and come out the other side with a sad-sack sounding 'woops'. I have realised that age and too many bar-leaner romances have thwarted my inner romantic. I suck at chemicals. I did EXACTLY what I didn't want to do... ran faster than a coyote on crack. I drifted back into the blur of the wallflower... and stayed there kicking myself. What a loser.
The doubt and paranoia and unknown consumed me and I spent the last few encounters keeping my distance. Thus the electricity has subsided ever so slightly... until... tonight. Great. So... that means... another 3.30 wake-up... with a croaky "aww farrrrrk!". Then a bathroom excursion, which, as I am housesitting at present and have yet to master the 'sleepy walk in the dark to the crappa' journey without injury, does present even more challenge. And then there's the excruciatingly long wait till the alarm goes off just playing ridiculous 'shoulda, woulda, coulda' lamo fantasy situations in my head. Nooo... not THOSE kind of fantasies!!! For some reason my avid readers... sleeping in someone else's bed has this anesthetic effect on a woman's libido.
So... in short, I am this pathetic mess of a day-dreaming, sleep-deprived-fridgid-nana who's only current excited associated with bush and any alternative meaning connected with the term is watching the wood pigeons get drunk on berries and fly beak-on into tree branches, amusing... yes - fricken hilarious actually. Other more 'sensually-insensed' people might find the hum of the natural native Waitakere wildlife invigorating and... strangely arousing. But me... although it is peaceful and relaxing and beautiful it is so highly inconvenient. I've been novocained by nature and its... quite frankly... pissing me off.
Other than that... life's just freakin peachy actually. I AM staying in a Titirangi hideaway that is just bloody marvellous and is really doing my scarred and skanky soul quite a bit of good actually... even though I've only been here a few days. I still feel a little out of sorts... it's a pain in the arse that its so... temporary. Story of my life really... always a temporary thrill - limited real-life fantasy. No wonder I can't farking make my move on Mr Chemicals. I'm always believing everything is temporary and I shouldn't get too attached because its (oh wait for it... I feel a song coming on) OOOOOON-LY... MAYYYYKE...BEEEEE-LEEEEIVE.
Yeah you can put the tiny violins away. So I'm feeling a little sorry for myself...SO I'm smackin' myself up a bit for being chicken shit. So I'm completely insane but hey... that's how I roll. It's so funny... I am on my upmost BEST form around Mr Chemicals... I hit every one-liner with precision... I have 'em all hooting with laughter and I'm having fun... but the downside of the up is the down, and the downer is everyone is up and I'm... shit... I lost my point. So the downside of being up is everyone else is up and I'm thinking... I feel so down when I'm up... and when I'm up is when I shine so the come down from up is a reeeeal downer. But I shouldn't BE down because I REALLY TRULY am UP at the time. So I'm up and down more often than a gynocologist which is started to trip me out. But its an ORSUM up and the down isn't like a REAL down... its just a little.........
Lonely.
It's very quiet out here.
Even the fridge has stopped creaking. The owner PROMISED IT WOULD CREAK.
There's not even any spooky 'past-life' vibe or anything here. Nothing goes bump in the night. Except the cat. Now after many years of living alone (apart from my darling son) a purring cat climbing all over your head in the wee smalls kinda freakin' sucks. "Fluffy" is old. Constantly hungry. Is a 'mute' meower... (I've never been able to lip read, or speak 'pussy' so communication between us is, understandably, suffering). He has the loudest purr in the world. I thought cats only purred when they were content, happy, settled. OOHHH NOOO... Fluffy purrs just to piss me off. "PURRRRRRRRRRR... yes I'm climbing on your face...PURRRRRRR... smell my ass..... PURRRRRRR... here comes THE CLAW BABY...PURRRRRR... you like that don't you?....PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR... hmmmm... if only my balls were still there this would feel AWESOME.....PURRRRRRRR... ooooh I'm so hot right now I'm dribbling... all over the side of your head.... yeaaaahhhh...PURRRRRRR..."
Fluffy is old. He dribbles... a lot. He purrs.... a lot. He eats... a lot. And he's now just discovered that he can not only fly but still land on four paws - who said I can't teach and old pussy new tricks? Case and point. When he's good... he gets an egg in the morning with his bickies... when I am wretching while cleaning cat-drool out of my ear at 2am... yeah-nah... it's not looking too good for the old fuzz ball.
Well this post went nowhere fast... and I'm not even drunk. Dammit. Perhaps I should be? Perhaps I should be drunk with Mr Chemicals coz then NOTHING would faze me... except the following morning when I have to explain why he has a cat stuck to his face... yeah... not the same thing. Sounds similar but rooooollly different.
And on that strangely disgusting note... I shall retire. In hopes I make it past 3am - drool-free, and without the dizzy scent of chemicals sending my last three functioning braincells into frenzied turmoil.
Goodnight.
Wish me luck with my pussy. Metaphorically speaking.
Stoopified Stylz.
It ain't easy being green.
xxx
The ONE time I pour out my soul, cry for help louder than a huckery old whore with a broken stilleto... you guys decide to dissolve into the ethos. Hello? Am I resigned to the pathetic echos of a 'Nigella-no-friends' cyber life again? Are my literary splurges now SOO predictable that you have lost your interest? Or...God forbid... you have all (all 5 of you) found a life beyond fibre optic pleasure? You bastards... I'm so jealous.
Anyhoo... the delight of chemicals is still running rampant through my inner void but I fear, like a drunk diagnostic worker, I have missed the vein and come out the other side with a sad-sack sounding 'woops'. I have realised that age and too many bar-leaner romances have thwarted my inner romantic. I suck at chemicals. I did EXACTLY what I didn't want to do... ran faster than a coyote on crack. I drifted back into the blur of the wallflower... and stayed there kicking myself. What a loser.
The doubt and paranoia and unknown consumed me and I spent the last few encounters keeping my distance. Thus the electricity has subsided ever so slightly... until... tonight. Great. So... that means... another 3.30 wake-up... with a croaky "aww farrrrrk!". Then a bathroom excursion, which, as I am housesitting at present and have yet to master the 'sleepy walk in the dark to the crappa' journey without injury, does present even more challenge. And then there's the excruciatingly long wait till the alarm goes off just playing ridiculous 'shoulda, woulda, coulda' lamo fantasy situations in my head. Nooo... not THOSE kind of fantasies!!! For some reason my avid readers... sleeping in someone else's bed has this anesthetic effect on a woman's libido.
So... in short, I am this pathetic mess of a day-dreaming, sleep-deprived-fridgid-nana who's only current excited associated with bush and any alternative meaning connected with the term is watching the wood pigeons get drunk on berries and fly beak-on into tree branches, amusing... yes - fricken hilarious actually. Other more 'sensually-insensed' people might find the hum of the natural native Waitakere wildlife invigorating and... strangely arousing. But me... although it is peaceful and relaxing and beautiful it is so highly inconvenient. I've been novocained by nature and its... quite frankly... pissing me off.
Other than that... life's just freakin peachy actually. I AM staying in a Titirangi hideaway that is just bloody marvellous and is really doing my scarred and skanky soul quite a bit of good actually... even though I've only been here a few days. I still feel a little out of sorts... it's a pain in the arse that its so... temporary. Story of my life really... always a temporary thrill - limited real-life fantasy. No wonder I can't farking make my move on Mr Chemicals. I'm always believing everything is temporary and I shouldn't get too attached because its (oh wait for it... I feel a song coming on) OOOOOON-LY... MAYYYYKE...BEEEEE-LEEEEIVE.
Yeah you can put the tiny violins away. So I'm feeling a little sorry for myself...SO I'm smackin' myself up a bit for being chicken shit. So I'm completely insane but hey... that's how I roll. It's so funny... I am on my upmost BEST form around Mr Chemicals... I hit every one-liner with precision... I have 'em all hooting with laughter and I'm having fun... but the downside of the up is the down, and the downer is everyone is up and I'm... shit... I lost my point. So the downside of being up is everyone else is up and I'm thinking... I feel so down when I'm up... and when I'm up is when I shine so the come down from up is a reeeeal downer. But I shouldn't BE down because I REALLY TRULY am UP at the time. So I'm up and down more often than a gynocologist which is started to trip me out. But its an ORSUM up and the down isn't like a REAL down... its just a little.........
Lonely.
It's very quiet out here.
Even the fridge has stopped creaking. The owner PROMISED IT WOULD CREAK.
There's not even any spooky 'past-life' vibe or anything here. Nothing goes bump in the night. Except the cat. Now after many years of living alone (apart from my darling son) a purring cat climbing all over your head in the wee smalls kinda freakin' sucks. "Fluffy" is old. Constantly hungry. Is a 'mute' meower... (I've never been able to lip read, or speak 'pussy' so communication between us is, understandably, suffering). He has the loudest purr in the world. I thought cats only purred when they were content, happy, settled. OOHHH NOOO... Fluffy purrs just to piss me off. "PURRRRRRRRRRR... yes I'm climbing on your face...PURRRRRRR... smell my ass..... PURRRRRRR... here comes THE CLAW BABY...PURRRRRR... you like that don't you?....PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR... hmmmm... if only my balls were still there this would feel AWESOME.....PURRRRRRRR... ooooh I'm so hot right now I'm dribbling... all over the side of your head.... yeaaaahhhh...PURRRRRRR..."
Fluffy is old. He dribbles... a lot. He purrs.... a lot. He eats... a lot. And he's now just discovered that he can not only fly but still land on four paws - who said I can't teach and old pussy new tricks? Case and point. When he's good... he gets an egg in the morning with his bickies... when I am wretching while cleaning cat-drool out of my ear at 2am... yeah-nah... it's not looking too good for the old fuzz ball.
Well this post went nowhere fast... and I'm not even drunk. Dammit. Perhaps I should be? Perhaps I should be drunk with Mr Chemicals coz then NOTHING would faze me... except the following morning when I have to explain why he has a cat stuck to his face... yeah... not the same thing. Sounds similar but rooooollly different.
And on that strangely disgusting note... I shall retire. In hopes I make it past 3am - drool-free, and without the dizzy scent of chemicals sending my last three functioning braincells into frenzied turmoil.
Goodnight.
Wish me luck with my pussy. Metaphorically speaking.
Stoopified Stylz.
It ain't easy being green.
xxx
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
It's totally full-on chemicals...
No I'm not on drugs. What... are you retarded?
No... you won't find a recipe for mind-altering substances encrypted into this blog post. That's not how I roll. And roll I would if in fact I DID. Roll right into the gutter dribbling on my own kneecaps. No folks I'm talking the natural high of human chemical reaction. That's my buzz today. And buzz I did :-) Like a humming bird on E.
I really do understand what people go on about with the myth that is instant electricity. It's quite freakin intense actually. What's so hard about it is in this day and age of political correctness, coupled with the sad female to male ratio in my age group - I really don't know what the fark to do with it when it hits me anymore.
The self-doubt is incredible. The obsession quite disturbing. But the feeling is totally surreal and overpowering. And the second-guessing is driving me nuts. My other self, the bitchy narcissist kill-joy keeps piping up and pissing on my cheap thrill... here's some examples from the obnoxious cow...
"Did I just feel what I think I thought I felt?"
"Mayyyte... ya dreamin'"
"But I feel so sick and jiggly and nervous and... flushed"
"Ya haven't had a drink in 24 hours whaddaya expect ya westie booze hag"
"But surely... I mean... there IS a connection... you can almost smell the chemical reaction from here, see it like bolts of lightening flashing between us."
"Geesus even Mills and Boon fanatics would puke at that."
Okay so I'm calling out to the experts... yes... yoohoo! YOU LOVELY LOT. For god's sake help me here before this stuff fries my brain and I completely miss an opportunity... or not.
I guess what I'm very inarticulately trying to spit out here is..."how do you talk to boys?" Boys that you... ya know... LIKE 'n stuff. Coz right now I'm going down the road of "must remain further than 10 feet away at all times for fear of the ferimoans (?jesus how DO you spell that word?)knocking the poor guy out - not to mention everyone else within a 1km radius". "Whatever you do... DON'T LOOK HIM IN THE EYE... DAMMIT! I said DON'T look him in the eye. Christ you never listen...". "Okay, polite conversation, I can do this... [insert foot in mouth disease pandemic here] DAMMIT!"
I suck at this. I really really do. And I don't WANT to suck...er... I mean I would really like to feel comfortable because it makes me... tingle. Yeah, I said that... tingle. I don't think I've 'tingled' in a looooong time. So okay blogees, love guru's, Aunt Agony's... give it your best shot... dating advice for the chemically challenged. THAT my friends is your mission. Well I guess not so much 'dating' as yet... but more 'communicating with style' because seriously... I'm not Miss Stylz when the butterflies are performing Riverdance in my mono-ab. I'm more Miss Smilez... looks away... Smilez... scratches her bum...Smilez... runs hand through hair for thousanth time...Smilez... trips over... Smilez... runs off...Smilez... lil bit of wee comes out. Plus with all the sucking in of my mono-ab... I haven't breathed properly in like a week which makes any conversation useless because it comes out in this horrible squeak like a ballon deflating or fingernails on a chalkboard - soooo not attractive people!!!
I need help. I know the chemistry is there... and perhaps it might be a deadend after all but... no harm in trying to find out is there? I just wish I could do it without feeling like I'm gonna puke all over his gorgeous thighs... DAMMIT. Now I'll never get those legs outta my head!
Over to you guys. Come on, I can take it... okay so it's true I'll most likely do the exact opposite because I'm a klutz and forget all my lines... but there is a glimmer of hope and at the rate I'm going... I'm gonna pee all over it till its just a smouldering pile of wet "coulda, woulda, shoulda" ash.
I'm doomed but baby it feeeels soooo goooooood.
[insert big heavy sigh here]
The thighs have it. I'm so not going to be able to sleep tonight. Ratshit.
Sleep sweet...
Smitten Stylz
xxxx
No... you won't find a recipe for mind-altering substances encrypted into this blog post. That's not how I roll. And roll I would if in fact I DID. Roll right into the gutter dribbling on my own kneecaps. No folks I'm talking the natural high of human chemical reaction. That's my buzz today. And buzz I did :-) Like a humming bird on E.
I really do understand what people go on about with the myth that is instant electricity. It's quite freakin intense actually. What's so hard about it is in this day and age of political correctness, coupled with the sad female to male ratio in my age group - I really don't know what the fark to do with it when it hits me anymore.
The self-doubt is incredible. The obsession quite disturbing. But the feeling is totally surreal and overpowering. And the second-guessing is driving me nuts. My other self, the bitchy narcissist kill-joy keeps piping up and pissing on my cheap thrill... here's some examples from the obnoxious cow...
"Did I just feel what I think I thought I felt?"
"Mayyyte... ya dreamin'"
"But I feel so sick and jiggly and nervous and... flushed"
"Ya haven't had a drink in 24 hours whaddaya expect ya westie booze hag"
"But surely... I mean... there IS a connection... you can almost smell the chemical reaction from here, see it like bolts of lightening flashing between us."
"Geesus even Mills and Boon fanatics would puke at that."
Okay so I'm calling out to the experts... yes... yoohoo! YOU LOVELY LOT. For god's sake help me here before this stuff fries my brain and I completely miss an opportunity... or not.
I guess what I'm very inarticulately trying to spit out here is..."how do you talk to boys?" Boys that you... ya know... LIKE 'n stuff. Coz right now I'm going down the road of "must remain further than 10 feet away at all times for fear of the ferimoans (?jesus how DO you spell that word?)knocking the poor guy out - not to mention everyone else within a 1km radius". "Whatever you do... DON'T LOOK HIM IN THE EYE... DAMMIT! I said DON'T look him in the eye. Christ you never listen...". "Okay, polite conversation, I can do this... [insert foot in mouth disease pandemic here] DAMMIT!"
I suck at this. I really really do. And I don't WANT to suck...er... I mean I would really like to feel comfortable because it makes me... tingle. Yeah, I said that... tingle. I don't think I've 'tingled' in a looooong time. So okay blogees, love guru's, Aunt Agony's... give it your best shot... dating advice for the chemically challenged. THAT my friends is your mission. Well I guess not so much 'dating' as yet... but more 'communicating with style' because seriously... I'm not Miss Stylz when the butterflies are performing Riverdance in my mono-ab. I'm more Miss Smilez... looks away... Smilez... scratches her bum...Smilez... runs hand through hair for thousanth time...Smilez... trips over... Smilez... runs off...Smilez... lil bit of wee comes out. Plus with all the sucking in of my mono-ab... I haven't breathed properly in like a week which makes any conversation useless because it comes out in this horrible squeak like a ballon deflating or fingernails on a chalkboard - soooo not attractive people!!!
I need help. I know the chemistry is there... and perhaps it might be a deadend after all but... no harm in trying to find out is there? I just wish I could do it without feeling like I'm gonna puke all over his gorgeous thighs... DAMMIT. Now I'll never get those legs outta my head!
Over to you guys. Come on, I can take it... okay so it's true I'll most likely do the exact opposite because I'm a klutz and forget all my lines... but there is a glimmer of hope and at the rate I'm going... I'm gonna pee all over it till its just a smouldering pile of wet "coulda, woulda, shoulda" ash.
I'm doomed but baby it feeeels soooo goooooood.
[insert big heavy sigh here]
The thighs have it. I'm so not going to be able to sleep tonight. Ratshit.
Sleep sweet...
Smitten Stylz
xxxx
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Inspiration is the new thin...
Holy shit balls.
After a gruelling 24 hours I just had to go to the pub for release. Not good for the mono-ab I know but FANTASTIC for the soul!
You know when you have one of those conversations and connections that you wish could last longer than a brief chat at the taxi-rank? Yeah I had that tonight. Words that flowed probably free-er than you'd like to admit but what gives you the push again to believe in your spirit.
It's random and it's unexpected but it's awesome. It's true to assume that I am a nerd of words. Seduced by the power of the conversation. Turned on by the freedom of speech...
It's all about connection. You meet someone that has solidified their passion and their place in the world and they don't give a rat's bollocks what anyone else thinks. Jesus I crave to be that confident.
Okay so I might be just a little pissed but a wise man once said that that was the juice of creativity... opens the mind. Hence my verbal squirts here.
So.. to update you... had this fantastic splurge of inspiration, got it all down here, exposed my soul, bled my heart dry, even signed off all heartfelt and true, ran naked along Albert St (metaphorically) and what do you know? I lost the rest of my ramblings in the unstable environment that is the online world. Aww shit.
Now I'm too far gone to remember all the awesome things I said. Maybe it's for the best and they weren't that awesome after all. But not one to give up... I'll try and recap... just like a Sunday night Dukes of Hazzard episode... but without the tight jeans :-)
I have always wondered... why have I not had a relationship with a creative??? They GET me, they INSPIRE me, they talk like a song I could listen to on repeat and they bring laughter and reality to my world.
You all know me... I shirk the problems, am great at advice but shit at taking my own... then... when I finally emerge from hobbiton, I remove the invisibility ring of the real world, shave my feet and re-surface into the world of the unknown.
The life of the lonely creative. No wonder we drink.
So I'm sitting in my little study on my Friday off in my mis-matched jarmies listening to the rain... yes once again its raining on my cheeky long weekend and I'm feeling ever so slightly flat. No not FAT... flat. Almost a juxtaposition but not quite...
I'm a bit disappointed in myself to be honest. I started this wee story with such passion and commitment and fresh inspiration and yeah a little too much Pinot Gris last night and I was on fire. Fingers flying over the keyboard with the speed of superman, ideas and anecdotes flowing like perfect rivers from a fountain of literature... I was in writer's heaven... the perfect post and then...
It all went horribly wrong.
If there is such thing as an afterlife... could someone scrap up my lost words and dump them back in my brain because that's the only place I can think of where they went. They just... disappeared. Like the hot guy I had a crush on for ooh months at high school and finally ended up snogging in a dark corner of the school ball. Only to have him suddenly wipe off the pink lipstick, stagger off to the loo never to be seen again... leaving me sitting alone at a table, feeling more of a loser virgin with every excruciatingly long passing minute and wondering how many people saw my cheap undies while my legs were flailing about like a windmill in a hurricane.
Yes that's how I feel this morning. Gutted. And I know that it was just a little bit my fault. Being slightly pissy-eye (yes the downside of a lifestyle change is that booze hits your brain at warp speed and reacts with it like Woodstock-strength LSD.) I wasn't functioning as well as I usually am on this thing and didn't really take much notice of the non-responsive 'save' button until it was too late. As much as I rebel against the "do not get pissed and blog" rule - coz that's when it's really magic, the ramifications of blogging while smashed can be gutting - and I do feel like a tool. Because it WAS magic.
Okay sure you guys (all four of you) are smart cookies and can tell when Miss Stylz has had a wee too many drops from the jungle joose jug because her stories are insane... but that's why you're here and that's why you're my friends. Embrace the freak within :-)
Maybe I should have a drink... okay so its only 8.20 in the morning but what harm can come? It might re-ignite that particularly glorious creative flame I had blazing at 9pm last night until I passed out with my jarmie pants on inside out and a random twig stuck in my hair (I have no farking idea... if I can't find my words how the hell am I supposed to know how I got the ability overnight to sprout branches from my head - just another hidden talent I reckon).
Anyway... this wonderful story last night... it was all about me. Hehe. Actually it was about you lot, and creativity and love and the spirituality of being special and......... yeah okay I definitely was hammered but it was cool and very well written for someone that was typing on dual keyboards thanks to double vision. (Yes, yes I know... another talent - they just keep surfacing... like jobbies that won't flush).
On the upside... I AM shrinking. Not of old age but actually shrinking. My mono-ab is retreating at a rate of knots and my Angus Burger craving has all but dissolved (until just now.... DAMMIT). It's been just over two weeks and today is the big day of tape measures and scales. I'm a bit nervous but I'm confident... when you can actually sit down in your jeans and still have the ability to breath you know you're doing okay. When you can't cross your legs without your fly simultaneously exploding open due to the gravitational pull and immense pressure of the bulge... it's certainly nice when you can finally rise up from your chair without frantically grappling around your crotch to try and find where the fark the little metal zip thingy has escaped in fear to.
It's nice to peel off your jeans at the end of the day and not look like you've been hacked to pieces when you see the swollen red welt reminder that your body had punished you with for cramming it viciously into pants you have no business even looking at let alone wearing out in public.
It's nice not to have a camel toe.
It's nice not to have to find a top that is more of an illusionist than David Copperfield to hide a life-preserver sized mono-ab hanging over your skin-pinching waistband.
It's nice to put back fat behind me. (hehehe - oh come on that was GOLD)
It's nice to put on a bra for support and not have 14 other pairs of nipple-less breasts pop out around it.
And it's nice to wear undies that do not require a mining crew and drill bit to retrieve at the end of the day.
So all is not lost. Words, yes, braincells, yes, weight, definitely. The balls to get up and start again... never.
One word of advice before I embark on whatever surprises and inspirations the day may bring... SAVE NOW. Okay that's two words but hey I'm a giving kinda girl.
Stay cool, hug a new friend because they don't come around often in this world as we get older, and for farks sake have a bloody good laugh.
Peace
Skinnier Stylz
xxxxxxx
After a gruelling 24 hours I just had to go to the pub for release. Not good for the mono-ab I know but FANTASTIC for the soul!
You know when you have one of those conversations and connections that you wish could last longer than a brief chat at the taxi-rank? Yeah I had that tonight. Words that flowed probably free-er than you'd like to admit but what gives you the push again to believe in your spirit.
It's random and it's unexpected but it's awesome. It's true to assume that I am a nerd of words. Seduced by the power of the conversation. Turned on by the freedom of speech...
It's all about connection. You meet someone that has solidified their passion and their place in the world and they don't give a rat's bollocks what anyone else thinks. Jesus I crave to be that confident.
Okay so I might be just a little pissed but a wise man once said that that was the juice of creativity... opens the mind. Hence my verbal squirts here.
So.. to update you... had this fantastic splurge of inspiration, got it all down here, exposed my soul, bled my heart dry, even signed off all heartfelt and true, ran naked along Albert St (metaphorically) and what do you know? I lost the rest of my ramblings in the unstable environment that is the online world. Aww shit.
Now I'm too far gone to remember all the awesome things I said. Maybe it's for the best and they weren't that awesome after all. But not one to give up... I'll try and recap... just like a Sunday night Dukes of Hazzard episode... but without the tight jeans :-)
I have always wondered... why have I not had a relationship with a creative??? They GET me, they INSPIRE me, they talk like a song I could listen to on repeat and they bring laughter and reality to my world.
You all know me... I shirk the problems, am great at advice but shit at taking my own... then... when I finally emerge from hobbiton, I remove the invisibility ring of the real world, shave my feet and re-surface into the world of the unknown.
The life of the lonely creative. No wonder we drink.
So I'm sitting in my little study on my Friday off in my mis-matched jarmies listening to the rain... yes once again its raining on my cheeky long weekend and I'm feeling ever so slightly flat. No not FAT... flat. Almost a juxtaposition but not quite...
I'm a bit disappointed in myself to be honest. I started this wee story with such passion and commitment and fresh inspiration and yeah a little too much Pinot Gris last night and I was on fire. Fingers flying over the keyboard with the speed of superman, ideas and anecdotes flowing like perfect rivers from a fountain of literature... I was in writer's heaven... the perfect post and then...
It all went horribly wrong.
If there is such thing as an afterlife... could someone scrap up my lost words and dump them back in my brain because that's the only place I can think of where they went. They just... disappeared. Like the hot guy I had a crush on for ooh months at high school and finally ended up snogging in a dark corner of the school ball. Only to have him suddenly wipe off the pink lipstick, stagger off to the loo never to be seen again... leaving me sitting alone at a table, feeling more of a loser virgin with every excruciatingly long passing minute and wondering how many people saw my cheap undies while my legs were flailing about like a windmill in a hurricane.
Yes that's how I feel this morning. Gutted. And I know that it was just a little bit my fault. Being slightly pissy-eye (yes the downside of a lifestyle change is that booze hits your brain at warp speed and reacts with it like Woodstock-strength LSD.) I wasn't functioning as well as I usually am on this thing and didn't really take much notice of the non-responsive 'save' button until it was too late. As much as I rebel against the "do not get pissed and blog" rule - coz that's when it's really magic, the ramifications of blogging while smashed can be gutting - and I do feel like a tool. Because it WAS magic.
Okay sure you guys (all four of you) are smart cookies and can tell when Miss Stylz has had a wee too many drops from the jungle joose jug because her stories are insane... but that's why you're here and that's why you're my friends. Embrace the freak within :-)
Maybe I should have a drink... okay so its only 8.20 in the morning but what harm can come? It might re-ignite that particularly glorious creative flame I had blazing at 9pm last night until I passed out with my jarmie pants on inside out and a random twig stuck in my hair (I have no farking idea... if I can't find my words how the hell am I supposed to know how I got the ability overnight to sprout branches from my head - just another hidden talent I reckon).
Anyway... this wonderful story last night... it was all about me. Hehe. Actually it was about you lot, and creativity and love and the spirituality of being special and......... yeah okay I definitely was hammered but it was cool and very well written for someone that was typing on dual keyboards thanks to double vision. (Yes, yes I know... another talent - they just keep surfacing... like jobbies that won't flush).
On the upside... I AM shrinking. Not of old age but actually shrinking. My mono-ab is retreating at a rate of knots and my Angus Burger craving has all but dissolved (until just now.... DAMMIT). It's been just over two weeks and today is the big day of tape measures and scales. I'm a bit nervous but I'm confident... when you can actually sit down in your jeans and still have the ability to breath you know you're doing okay. When you can't cross your legs without your fly simultaneously exploding open due to the gravitational pull and immense pressure of the bulge... it's certainly nice when you can finally rise up from your chair without frantically grappling around your crotch to try and find where the fark the little metal zip thingy has escaped in fear to.
It's nice to peel off your jeans at the end of the day and not look like you've been hacked to pieces when you see the swollen red welt reminder that your body had punished you with for cramming it viciously into pants you have no business even looking at let alone wearing out in public.
It's nice not to have a camel toe.
It's nice not to have to find a top that is more of an illusionist than David Copperfield to hide a life-preserver sized mono-ab hanging over your skin-pinching waistband.
It's nice to put back fat behind me. (hehehe - oh come on that was GOLD)
It's nice to put on a bra for support and not have 14 other pairs of nipple-less breasts pop out around it.
And it's nice to wear undies that do not require a mining crew and drill bit to retrieve at the end of the day.
So all is not lost. Words, yes, braincells, yes, weight, definitely. The balls to get up and start again... never.
One word of advice before I embark on whatever surprises and inspirations the day may bring... SAVE NOW. Okay that's two words but hey I'm a giving kinda girl.
Stay cool, hug a new friend because they don't come around often in this world as we get older, and for farks sake have a bloody good laugh.
Peace
Skinnier Stylz
xxxxxxx
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Behold! Belly dancers and a free Friday...
Well hello there my dedicated followers...
Doesn't it just rip your undies when the first Friday you have off the weather is arse. You know, even though the trade off is 10% less salary, I think I might like these regular long weekends... its so nice to be regular :-)
But it was kinda weird to begin with - last night was one of the L O N G E S T nights in history I think... jeez why aren't like that when I'm working the next day - you get a whole hecka shit done! Maybe I was bored - or horror of horrors - lonely but the evening went on forever.
I think I was just a bit excited about my Friday off... it made me feel... ooh kinda 'naughty' in a way - not in THAT way you sick bastards... in a wagging school kinda way. Like I've faked runny poos and takin the day off to go to the beach or something - or been up all night er.. 'talking'... and you utilise your rough voice to call in sick so you don't have to er... 'exit the moment' so to speak - not that I ever DO that... I have too much guilt and work ethic. What a freakin nerd huh?
I slept like a baby... got up and got cracking. 7 yawns in a row around 1pm today told me perhaps I could have done with a wee sleep in but hey, I got shit done and that... was awesome.
I finally completed the saga of the lost phone... my baby never turned up and with the phone network not being able to find their arse with both hands I've resorted to my old 'still can't work the thing for shit' model. Consequently if you've received phone messages at odd hours with what sounds like a train station/rave in the background and text messages that read "hey ho" don't take offense... joystick issues. Who ever thought up the bright idea to put that microscopic useless piece of plastic in the middle of the phone must have been one-helluva coordinated wanker that's all I can say.
So I rock into the cop-shop... yeah got to admit it... little bit of wee came out - wasn't drunk, have warrant and rego and wasn't in trouble but I still got a bit nervy about being there. Rang the buzzer and asked this incredibly casual looking bloke if I could file a police report... "So what's happened to ya" he said without looking up from his report pad. Vik goes into nervous Woody Allen mode.
"Yeah well ah you see..." rattle rattle blah blah blah TMI garble garble "missing phone not like me SOO organised Cambridge morning rang taxi rang hotel no luck broad daylight Telecom are arse insurance..so this means I don't have to pay an extra $300 bucks - primo for me... and that's about it really".
He just smiled... took his finger off the "call the whitecoats" button and politely gave me my police report. Sweet man. Off I went.
We now cut to the Telecom shop - lovely little Asian salesgirl Diana whom I ripped into the last time I was there [because I failed to supply a police report which Telecom insurance had failed to advise me] saw me walk in, went white, totally tried to hide (and being so petite she could have done this easy - behind a freakin Nokia handset actually) and came over with her hands shaking. Being the nice person I am I said sorry... blamed it on a bad day - just stopped short of mentioning PMS, slapped my glorious documentation on the counter and held my freakin breath.
She walked away with the phone on speed-dial to the insurance company. I felt dizzy so I remembered perhaps another breath was good... let out a wee nervous fart and waited.
She emerged with a grin on her face, colour in her cheeks and a lovely little box that held my sparkling new phone. I let my breath out with a big sigh and tried hard not to well-up in the shop or fart again.
Yay! I walked out of there like I was on lithium... whatever that feeling is like - I expect its awesome.
Slid past the pharmacy... when a glowing light beckoned me in... it was a set of scales - oh god. My stomach knotted, I started sweating and I'm pretty sure I let another one go but I thought to myself "You need to know... since you've started this journey you need proof" so I held my breath again and walked towards the looming mechanism of depression.
The result - not as bad as I thought - in fact I have lost a couple kilos. I am under 80 which is awesome for a shortarse like me... yes my BMI could run a fish and chip shop for a few months but it's not too bad... so I chatted to the skinny "yes I used to be size 14" (whoopdy shit) nutritionist there for a wee while and got some bloody good and well-needed inspiration. Reinstating the fact that I can actually do this... and I only need to shed about 3 small children and I'll be farking gorgeous. Great! I thought it was going to be more like the equivalent of an entire Catholic family.
With my new found willpower, ignorning the grumbles in my mono-ab I sailed out of the chemist in search of whiteware... yes if you blend it... it will come. The taste that is. If I'm going to have a love affair with cauliflower and his other dirt-grown counterparts, I need something to be creative with - AND this one (so sayith the box) has ICE CUTTING BLADES. Orrsum. Once I'm skinny I can make margarita's to celebrate - WOOHOO!
So a full day of delight and expeditions galore was had... and tonight just to give me ADDED inspiration, I'm off to watch a play about belly-dancing. Yes. With bare tummys and tinkly coin belts. Very cool.
Speaking of hunger pains... must share a brief moment of weakness with you... weakness and triumph so all is not lost... I was driving back from a school drama show on Wednesday night... I'd been fantastic all day - even after the low-life arseholes in my office were filling it with the delicious smell of freshly baked sausage rolls... one of my many weaknesses. But I kept my cool, enjoyed my rabbit food and dead fish and successfully polished off 1.5 of the two litres of water I need to drink to stop me from shrivelling up like a rasin. So I'm driving home... it was about 9pm and I was freakin starving! All I could think about was a bloody Angus burger from maccas. And I mean ALL. I had a limited time period, I needed to get home for my fix of vampiric pleasure... True Blood... so I was gauging how long it would take to get to Kelston, go through the drivethru, get my delicious calorie loaded burger and scream home to rock and masticate in a carnivorous frenzy in private while watching the bloodsuckers.
I WAS CONSUMED
I WAS TALKING TO MYSELF
I WAS A MESS
I WAS SHAKING
I WAS SWEATING
I WAS WEAK
I WAS LOSING THE BATTLE
but then... [insert heavenly harp music here]
I DID NOT PULL INTO THE MACCAS DRIVETHRU.
I DID NOT HAVE A 3 BILLION CALORIE BURGER FOR DINNER
I DID HAVE RABBIT FOOD AND DEAD FISH
I DID POLISH OFF THE 4TH BOTTLE OF WATER
I DID HAVE TO WEE THREE TIMES IN AN HOUR
I DID FEEL REALLY PROUD OF MYSELF AND I DID...
...still want an Angus burger - but I want collarbones more.
GO ME!
Well... not the most thrilling post my friends but hey... need to keep you up to speed with the goings on. Hope you have a fabulous weekend and please... have a burger and a few beers... on me :-)
Peace out
Skinny bum Stylz
xxxx
Doesn't it just rip your undies when the first Friday you have off the weather is arse. You know, even though the trade off is 10% less salary, I think I might like these regular long weekends... its so nice to be regular :-)
But it was kinda weird to begin with - last night was one of the L O N G E S T nights in history I think... jeez why aren't like that when I'm working the next day - you get a whole hecka shit done! Maybe I was bored - or horror of horrors - lonely but the evening went on forever.
I think I was just a bit excited about my Friday off... it made me feel... ooh kinda 'naughty' in a way - not in THAT way you sick bastards... in a wagging school kinda way. Like I've faked runny poos and takin the day off to go to the beach or something - or been up all night er.. 'talking'... and you utilise your rough voice to call in sick so you don't have to er... 'exit the moment' so to speak - not that I ever DO that... I have too much guilt and work ethic. What a freakin nerd huh?
I slept like a baby... got up and got cracking. 7 yawns in a row around 1pm today told me perhaps I could have done with a wee sleep in but hey, I got shit done and that... was awesome.
I finally completed the saga of the lost phone... my baby never turned up and with the phone network not being able to find their arse with both hands I've resorted to my old 'still can't work the thing for shit' model. Consequently if you've received phone messages at odd hours with what sounds like a train station/rave in the background and text messages that read "hey ho" don't take offense... joystick issues. Who ever thought up the bright idea to put that microscopic useless piece of plastic in the middle of the phone must have been one-helluva coordinated wanker that's all I can say.
So I rock into the cop-shop... yeah got to admit it... little bit of wee came out - wasn't drunk, have warrant and rego and wasn't in trouble but I still got a bit nervy about being there. Rang the buzzer and asked this incredibly casual looking bloke if I could file a police report... "So what's happened to ya" he said without looking up from his report pad. Vik goes into nervous Woody Allen mode.
"Yeah well ah you see..." rattle rattle blah blah blah TMI garble garble "missing phone not like me SOO organised Cambridge morning rang taxi rang hotel no luck broad daylight Telecom are arse insurance..so this means I don't have to pay an extra $300 bucks - primo for me... and that's about it really".
He just smiled... took his finger off the "call the whitecoats" button and politely gave me my police report. Sweet man. Off I went.
We now cut to the Telecom shop - lovely little Asian salesgirl Diana whom I ripped into the last time I was there [because I failed to supply a police report which Telecom insurance had failed to advise me] saw me walk in, went white, totally tried to hide (and being so petite she could have done this easy - behind a freakin Nokia handset actually) and came over with her hands shaking. Being the nice person I am I said sorry... blamed it on a bad day - just stopped short of mentioning PMS, slapped my glorious documentation on the counter and held my freakin breath.
She walked away with the phone on speed-dial to the insurance company. I felt dizzy so I remembered perhaps another breath was good... let out a wee nervous fart and waited.
She emerged with a grin on her face, colour in her cheeks and a lovely little box that held my sparkling new phone. I let my breath out with a big sigh and tried hard not to well-up in the shop or fart again.
Yay! I walked out of there like I was on lithium... whatever that feeling is like - I expect its awesome.
Slid past the pharmacy... when a glowing light beckoned me in... it was a set of scales - oh god. My stomach knotted, I started sweating and I'm pretty sure I let another one go but I thought to myself "You need to know... since you've started this journey you need proof" so I held my breath again and walked towards the looming mechanism of depression.
The result - not as bad as I thought - in fact I have lost a couple kilos. I am under 80 which is awesome for a shortarse like me... yes my BMI could run a fish and chip shop for a few months but it's not too bad... so I chatted to the skinny "yes I used to be size 14" (whoopdy shit) nutritionist there for a wee while and got some bloody good and well-needed inspiration. Reinstating the fact that I can actually do this... and I only need to shed about 3 small children and I'll be farking gorgeous. Great! I thought it was going to be more like the equivalent of an entire Catholic family.
With my new found willpower, ignorning the grumbles in my mono-ab I sailed out of the chemist in search of whiteware... yes if you blend it... it will come. The taste that is. If I'm going to have a love affair with cauliflower and his other dirt-grown counterparts, I need something to be creative with - AND this one (so sayith the box) has ICE CUTTING BLADES. Orrsum. Once I'm skinny I can make margarita's to celebrate - WOOHOO!
So a full day of delight and expeditions galore was had... and tonight just to give me ADDED inspiration, I'm off to watch a play about belly-dancing. Yes. With bare tummys and tinkly coin belts. Very cool.
Speaking of hunger pains... must share a brief moment of weakness with you... weakness and triumph so all is not lost... I was driving back from a school drama show on Wednesday night... I'd been fantastic all day - even after the low-life arseholes in my office were filling it with the delicious smell of freshly baked sausage rolls... one of my many weaknesses. But I kept my cool, enjoyed my rabbit food and dead fish and successfully polished off 1.5 of the two litres of water I need to drink to stop me from shrivelling up like a rasin. So I'm driving home... it was about 9pm and I was freakin starving! All I could think about was a bloody Angus burger from maccas. And I mean ALL. I had a limited time period, I needed to get home for my fix of vampiric pleasure... True Blood... so I was gauging how long it would take to get to Kelston, go through the drivethru, get my delicious calorie loaded burger and scream home to rock and masticate in a carnivorous frenzy in private while watching the bloodsuckers.
I WAS CONSUMED
I WAS TALKING TO MYSELF
I WAS A MESS
I WAS SHAKING
I WAS SWEATING
I WAS WEAK
I WAS LOSING THE BATTLE
but then... [insert heavenly harp music here]
I DID NOT PULL INTO THE MACCAS DRIVETHRU.
I DID NOT HAVE A 3 BILLION CALORIE BURGER FOR DINNER
I DID HAVE RABBIT FOOD AND DEAD FISH
I DID POLISH OFF THE 4TH BOTTLE OF WATER
I DID HAVE TO WEE THREE TIMES IN AN HOUR
I DID FEEL REALLY PROUD OF MYSELF AND I DID...
...still want an Angus burger - but I want collarbones more.
GO ME!
Well... not the most thrilling post my friends but hey... need to keep you up to speed with the goings on. Hope you have a fabulous weekend and please... have a burger and a few beers... on me :-)
Peace out
Skinny bum Stylz
xxxx
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Lightening Crashes... an old mother cries
It's been a shit of a week quite frankly. Well it was the week when I first started writing this... yup, I've crapped out again, sorry dudes - but I've made up for it, yeah by writing a freakin novel - I warn you now.
But hey, I did have a bit of a rough time goin on - One of those weeks where you just want to pack your bags and find a hobbit cave somewhere and hibernate.
Or run like Huck along the train tracks and leap on the first carriage that's open. (Yeah-nah I can't really see me leaping on to a train either...but hey ho).
Drain the bankaccount and go grape stomping in Tuscany.
Buy a housetruck and some bells, not wash for a few years and dance at gypsy fairs. Sign up as a mail order bride - you pay the fare, I give fair play etc.
Run Forrest Run! (enuf said)
Be a long-haul air hostess with no fixed abode - plane, hotel, plane, hotel, pilot's, plane, hotel.
Serial backpacker.
Park a tent in Tutukaka, get a job as a deckhand. Learn how to fillet a fish.
Get a bartending licence - pour beers in a pub - somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here.
The great escape. And then... horror of all horrors... its the beginning of another week!! Argh!!! But there was improvement on the horizon... the perpetual headache was dissipating and I was functioning on aroundabout 4.5 cylinders - and y'all know usually I'm a V12 at the least! But of course then... just when you thought it was safe to let your guard down, move on and get over it... the dumbasses of this world just ooze out of the crevices - and their MO? Hello?? To piss me off!
Now I certainly do not claim to be a genious... and there are things that you could say highlight my attractive 'dumb' side but I'm not thick. And pretentious whinging morons really rip my undies. That was pretty much the straw that broke the camels back - a saying that I'm not a hundy sure makes sense but it makes the sentance look cool and me sound like I'm a writer - booyukka! Hehe.
So a couple of challenging weeks mixed in with a few nice outings and some bourbons thrown in for good measure and I got back on track... 3000th mid-life crisis over. I must say they are getting less dramatic as the years roll by which is awesome because we all know how freakin 'ATTRACTIVE' a woman is when she's a misery-guts and hey... I NEED ALL THE ATTRACTIVE I CAN GET!!!! Now that the saggies aren't springing back, the worry lines could easily open for business as a dormatory and my 'not my daughter's jeans' are now not even my great-great-grandaughter's-twice-removed...(not the jeans... removed that is... keep up people I can't even get them on let alone have them taken off!!!) so its a sad state of affairs really. That's why I'm having a whinge.
But there is hope on the horizon... no not my dream of a portable fat sucking machine that you plug in next to your GHD's... or an instant boob expander machine that plugs in next to the fat sucking machine - or a George Clooney clone that doesn't plug in at all because it runs on rechargable batteries - no people! Just plain old hard work...
Yeah its just becoming a bit too self-destructive... but its sooo haaaard man...it's like the minute someone mentions 'change' I'm suddenly agoraphobic. Paranoia kicks in... facing the elements in lycra and expensive running shoes like I know what I'm doing and having people in cars laugh at my boom-baba-boom stride and my tomato paste face. Holding my breath because the power of the pant will knock a small child off their bike 3 suburbs away. That I'll do the trip-over-the-invisible-obstruction-on-the-footpath thing coz I'm walking on two sticks of raspberry jelly where my legs should be... that the little red engine "I think I can" chant will get so imbedded into my brain that I'll need a labotomy to rectify it, that my aging bladder won't be able to handle be farther than three driveways away from my bathroom, that I'll lose my underwear for a week and have to have it surgically removed from my upper colon. There are RISKS with this shit people!
But... necessity has prevailed. If it has taken a steady creep over 10 years accumulating this mono-ab then surely... surely I can cope with about 15 weeks of life-changing functionality. I need too. I'd like to see my feet. I'd like to be able to paint my toenails and re-discover how nice it is to fondle my own collarbones. They were quite lovely once. So were my legs and I had a cute butt - when there was just one of them.
Don't get me wrong I have had ample opportunity to get fired up over becoming a MILF, hottie, even havin a crack at cougarville with certain incentives - you'd think having to watch yourself on nationwide television would have the desired effect to shun all form of oral mastication and run 15km every morning - but noooo... us low self-esteemers just LOVE to see ourselves on widescreen television each night, nothing lower than a midshot camera angle for fear of damage to the intricate workings of a multi-thousand dollar camera lense. I heard a rumour that there was a rush on converting from standard screen to 16:9 in preparation for the impending cliff hanger - I was in the running for the part of the cliff.
I know I'm being a bit harsh but this avenue is all about extremity... sharing my experiences and cracking you up so don't worry... I ain't all that down on myself but there are going to be changes and if I put it out to the ethos I can't take it back... so I'm-a gunna have to follow through.
So why now? Well as I said I've watched the slow expansion for a decade or so... not really worrying too much, having a bit of a yo-yo just for shits and giggles and now... well I'm thinking I'm not really just a little chubby anymore and I miss feeling sexy... plus my gorgeous friend has just done the most amazing job of sheading about 14 extra people from her body and it makes me feel my favorite emotion of guilt... I COULD DO THAT. What's stopping me? Bourbon... yeah that'll do it.
Also (and here we get into the Good News Section of this - putting it politely - FREAKIN BIZZARE post)I've just scored an amazing role in a play. Yup. Didn't think I had it in me but I nailed it. Got the lead too I might add - haven't had one of those since I was ooh about size 12. I'm thinking as I'm moving into my dirtiest of 30's and cruising toward the naughtiest of 40's that I'm gonna go for it and I can't do it if I have arms that look like Christmas turkeys. Okay so I might lose the boobies a wee bit but hey - I have no use for them really... and I'm a makeup artist for christ's sake... I'll just paint on a clevage!!! Plus in this role I have to kiss a younger man and have a fake whoopee scene (no I won't be naked - that was SOO last century) so I figure it would be nice for him if his arms could actually make their way further round than my armpits and that he would like to keep all his ribs intact for the 12 weeks we will be working together.
So that's the good news and the bad. And if you lot are expecting some sado-masichistic voyeuristic before and after shots you've got more chance of winning lotto - you'll just have to take my word for it.
Naturally this will mean I'll need to cut down on my favorite pastime - socialising. For many reasons really - firstly... I won't have the use of my limbs due to severe muscle strain so getting in and out of the car and walking anywhere in public is just quite frankly not going to happen. Secondly...Bourbon... Pinot Gris and Corona... yes you know who you are you filthy no-good bloody gorgeous tasting beverages - but ohhh my friends how I will miss you... Thirdly - long conversations... my ability to speak will have been rudely ripped away from me by weeks of rasping, puffing and crying out in pain. But just like the catterpillar... I will emerge a butterfly. Well I freakin hope so. Of course every week I think I'm going to start this new way of living my life and every weekend there just has to be one last 'farewell party'. I can't win.
Like the Friday just gone - popping up the road for an innocent beer with a well-liked and humourous family member - stumbled into what was a birthday celebration... drank the equivalent of Dominion Breweries on an open day. Yes the westie machine strikes again. But crikey it was fun. See? How am I going to do this? I LIKE fun, I'm FUN when I'm having FUN, people have FUN with me and LIKE me when I'm having FUN.. FUN FUN FUN FUN FARKING FUN - oh WHY was I born into a society that embraced binge drinking and fish'n'chips? WHY WHY WHY??? Oh god I think I'm an alcoholic.
But anyhoo... back to the having fun thing... I always like to share without naming names all the randomly fabulous people I'm blessed to share my good times with... so let me fill you in on wee snippet of my evening...
The sun was blazing... yeah man we were all lookin very PONSONBY ROAD in our shades sitting behind the red rope at our outdoor table. Oh yes people - even though I bagged P street a couple of blogs back I have to admit... 'it' and 'I' cohabitated for a number of hours rather pleasantly... I got to experience a side of it I liked and 'it' got to shun all the westie prejudices it may have had before my arrival on its polished pavement.
The establishment was well-chosen, hip but not too wanky, coupld of famous faces but not too "you're not on the list" (we were there first anyway so suck on that celery stick). And apart from ye old whanau member I knew absolutely no one. Danger, warning bells, knowing noone means I can misbehave and not have to worry about bumping into them again... YAY - glug glug glug. Well bugger me if that stoopid kiwi 2 degrees of separation kicked and I ended up having some kind of weird connection to every single person there. DAMMIT... slow down - NO! I DON'T NEED A VODKA SHOT... ah yeah okay just one... after the first one. Cheers.
So there was the masseuss with the new job who was a notorious drink spiller - she went to the loo for quite some time... there was the loud student having his 25th birthday - 5th time over... newspaper in hand as he feared noone would show. Wrong! The dead school-teacher - not as bad as it sounds... in fact she was gorgeous. The dead school-teachers partner who noone took any notice of because the schoolteacher WAS GORGEOUS. The milk-maid. The ring-in marketing mogule who sauntered up the hill casually surveying the masses and getting more than he bargined for. And of course the gregarious hilarious troublesome twosome whanau who were well on form and kept the buzz alive... OF COURSE I was one of them.
It was quite a neat human fruit salad experiement really - all of us very different in a lot of ways and hey it could of all gone horribly wrong but it didn't... it was a very cool night. All of a sudden though - horror of horrors... just when you thought you had HOURS of fun to get through... that screeching alarm of the New Zealand birdlife that rips you from your frivolous festivities to remind you it really is the next day and you've not had a blink of sleep. What a rip. You open the curtains and singe your corneas on the blazing sun of a Saturday morning and while adjusting to the giant green blobs where your pupils should be, you realise that not only are you blind, but you've got a nest the size of a bald eagle's in your hair and you found mascara in your ears. Oh crap. AND... you're not at the pub anymore - oh that's right... vaguely recall those immortal words "party at my place!" roar from my relatives' mouth. Talk about suddenly sober. Where's the car? Where's my handbag? Did I REALLY wear those undies???? What was I THINKING!!!!??? What's that smell? Oh. It's me. Gap it!!
While trying to drive on the correct side of the road you are all consumed with the sinking feeling of... blank.
Or... blanks.
What was clear as a bell a few hours ago is suddenly foggy, sluggish and you're excuse for a short-term memory is now likened to cold creamed corn. Welcome back my friend paranoia... what the fark did I do? Oh THAAAT... yeah THAT was okay but THAT??... now THAT was just ridiculous... but how did I get TO THAT... was it THAT? Or perhaps THAT... I said THAT! Now THAT was stupid. Hmm, so many questions, so little recollection. Oh well... what goes on tour stays on tour... I hope. Small mercy that everyone else was blitzed, possibly more-so than me and has an even smaller frontal lobe function.
Of course none of this helped the fact that I had foolishly agreed some weeks ago to spend the remainder of the afternoon playing "makeup artist" at an 11 year old girls birthday. Oh it was awesome. 20 10-going-on-21 girls squealing their way through pizza, fanta and a bowl of lollies the size of a cauldron. Rhianna blasting through a tinny stereo, followed by every single sucky pop chick song that I detest and loath... what had started off as a severe lack of sleep turned into a hangover that if microphoned would drown out a University marching band. Christ it hurt. But I did it - didn't poke anyone in the eye, only yelled 'shut up' twice and somehow managed to make these delightful little screamers look quite pretty. Job well done - don't ever let it be said that I do not deliver under pressure.
Naturally I get home 6 hours later - bent like a hunchback, smelling like pre-adolescent BO and collapsed into a soft chair only to wake at 9.30pm realising its Saturday night and whatever self-recovery mission I could have dragged myself off to was quite simply... NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN. Crap television and crazy flashbacks was to keep me mindly amused for the remainder of the evening.
Awake Sunday. Not amused. Get up. Not easy. Get motivated? Not going to happen. Get washing done? Get stuffed. I am, once again, a train wreck of a middle-aged woman. That's just soo not cool man.
So!! This week I'm going to have a crack at 'practising the new regime... then next week there are no excuses... there's even a PLANNING SESSION in the pipe line to SCHEDULE our painful sweat-fests. O for orsum. Not-my-daughters-jeans, here I come. Back bra? Yer so outta here. Orange peel thighs? Suffer in the reduction of your juice. Chins? Get a passport. Collarbones... be prepared for granduous exposure... boobs - it was nice knowing you. And finally... mono-ab... we've been close over the years, we've had good times, bad, but I'll never forgive you for getting in the way of my talents to give myself a phenomenal pedicure, amongst other things.
And you my endearing bloggees... pray for me. If you do and I make it through this alive... I'll let you fondle my collarbone.
Peace and love for vegetables. My friend vegetables. Veges are gooooood.
I am so screwed.
Stylz - OUT
xxx
But hey, I did have a bit of a rough time goin on - One of those weeks where you just want to pack your bags and find a hobbit cave somewhere and hibernate.
Or run like Huck along the train tracks and leap on the first carriage that's open. (Yeah-nah I can't really see me leaping on to a train either...but hey ho).
Drain the bankaccount and go grape stomping in Tuscany.
Buy a housetruck and some bells, not wash for a few years and dance at gypsy fairs. Sign up as a mail order bride - you pay the fare, I give fair play etc.
Run Forrest Run! (enuf said)
Be a long-haul air hostess with no fixed abode - plane, hotel, plane, hotel, pilot's, plane, hotel.
Serial backpacker.
Park a tent in Tutukaka, get a job as a deckhand. Learn how to fillet a fish.
Get a bartending licence - pour beers in a pub - somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here.
The great escape. And then... horror of all horrors... its the beginning of another week!! Argh!!! But there was improvement on the horizon... the perpetual headache was dissipating and I was functioning on aroundabout 4.5 cylinders - and y'all know usually I'm a V12 at the least! But of course then... just when you thought it was safe to let your guard down, move on and get over it... the dumbasses of this world just ooze out of the crevices - and their MO? Hello?? To piss me off!
Now I certainly do not claim to be a genious... and there are things that you could say highlight my attractive 'dumb' side but I'm not thick. And pretentious whinging morons really rip my undies. That was pretty much the straw that broke the camels back - a saying that I'm not a hundy sure makes sense but it makes the sentance look cool and me sound like I'm a writer - booyukka! Hehe.
So a couple of challenging weeks mixed in with a few nice outings and some bourbons thrown in for good measure and I got back on track... 3000th mid-life crisis over. I must say they are getting less dramatic as the years roll by which is awesome because we all know how freakin 'ATTRACTIVE' a woman is when she's a misery-guts and hey... I NEED ALL THE ATTRACTIVE I CAN GET!!!! Now that the saggies aren't springing back, the worry lines could easily open for business as a dormatory and my 'not my daughter's jeans' are now not even my great-great-grandaughter's-twice-removed...(not the jeans... removed that is... keep up people I can't even get them on let alone have them taken off!!!) so its a sad state of affairs really. That's why I'm having a whinge.
But there is hope on the horizon... no not my dream of a portable fat sucking machine that you plug in next to your GHD's... or an instant boob expander machine that plugs in next to the fat sucking machine - or a George Clooney clone that doesn't plug in at all because it runs on rechargable batteries - no people! Just plain old hard work...
Yeah its just becoming a bit too self-destructive... but its sooo haaaard man...it's like the minute someone mentions 'change' I'm suddenly agoraphobic. Paranoia kicks in... facing the elements in lycra and expensive running shoes like I know what I'm doing and having people in cars laugh at my boom-baba-boom stride and my tomato paste face. Holding my breath because the power of the pant will knock a small child off their bike 3 suburbs away. That I'll do the trip-over-the-invisible-obstruction-on-the-footpath thing coz I'm walking on two sticks of raspberry jelly where my legs should be... that the little red engine "I think I can" chant will get so imbedded into my brain that I'll need a labotomy to rectify it, that my aging bladder won't be able to handle be farther than three driveways away from my bathroom, that I'll lose my underwear for a week and have to have it surgically removed from my upper colon. There are RISKS with this shit people!
But... necessity has prevailed. If it has taken a steady creep over 10 years accumulating this mono-ab then surely... surely I can cope with about 15 weeks of life-changing functionality. I need too. I'd like to see my feet. I'd like to be able to paint my toenails and re-discover how nice it is to fondle my own collarbones. They were quite lovely once. So were my legs and I had a cute butt - when there was just one of them.
Don't get me wrong I have had ample opportunity to get fired up over becoming a MILF, hottie, even havin a crack at cougarville with certain incentives - you'd think having to watch yourself on nationwide television would have the desired effect to shun all form of oral mastication and run 15km every morning - but noooo... us low self-esteemers just LOVE to see ourselves on widescreen television each night, nothing lower than a midshot camera angle for fear of damage to the intricate workings of a multi-thousand dollar camera lense. I heard a rumour that there was a rush on converting from standard screen to 16:9 in preparation for the impending cliff hanger - I was in the running for the part of the cliff.
I know I'm being a bit harsh but this avenue is all about extremity... sharing my experiences and cracking you up so don't worry... I ain't all that down on myself but there are going to be changes and if I put it out to the ethos I can't take it back... so I'm-a gunna have to follow through.
So why now? Well as I said I've watched the slow expansion for a decade or so... not really worrying too much, having a bit of a yo-yo just for shits and giggles and now... well I'm thinking I'm not really just a little chubby anymore and I miss feeling sexy... plus my gorgeous friend has just done the most amazing job of sheading about 14 extra people from her body and it makes me feel my favorite emotion of guilt... I COULD DO THAT. What's stopping me? Bourbon... yeah that'll do it.
Also (and here we get into the Good News Section of this - putting it politely - FREAKIN BIZZARE post)I've just scored an amazing role in a play. Yup. Didn't think I had it in me but I nailed it. Got the lead too I might add - haven't had one of those since I was ooh about size 12. I'm thinking as I'm moving into my dirtiest of 30's and cruising toward the naughtiest of 40's that I'm gonna go for it and I can't do it if I have arms that look like Christmas turkeys. Okay so I might lose the boobies a wee bit but hey - I have no use for them really... and I'm a makeup artist for christ's sake... I'll just paint on a clevage!!! Plus in this role I have to kiss a younger man and have a fake whoopee scene (no I won't be naked - that was SOO last century) so I figure it would be nice for him if his arms could actually make their way further round than my armpits and that he would like to keep all his ribs intact for the 12 weeks we will be working together.
So that's the good news and the bad. And if you lot are expecting some sado-masichistic voyeuristic before and after shots you've got more chance of winning lotto - you'll just have to take my word for it.
Naturally this will mean I'll need to cut down on my favorite pastime - socialising. For many reasons really - firstly... I won't have the use of my limbs due to severe muscle strain so getting in and out of the car and walking anywhere in public is just quite frankly not going to happen. Secondly...Bourbon... Pinot Gris and Corona... yes you know who you are you filthy no-good bloody gorgeous tasting beverages - but ohhh my friends how I will miss you... Thirdly - long conversations... my ability to speak will have been rudely ripped away from me by weeks of rasping, puffing and crying out in pain. But just like the catterpillar... I will emerge a butterfly. Well I freakin hope so. Of course every week I think I'm going to start this new way of living my life and every weekend there just has to be one last 'farewell party'. I can't win.
Like the Friday just gone - popping up the road for an innocent beer with a well-liked and humourous family member - stumbled into what was a birthday celebration... drank the equivalent of Dominion Breweries on an open day. Yes the westie machine strikes again. But crikey it was fun. See? How am I going to do this? I LIKE fun, I'm FUN when I'm having FUN, people have FUN with me and LIKE me when I'm having FUN.. FUN FUN FUN FUN FARKING FUN - oh WHY was I born into a society that embraced binge drinking and fish'n'chips? WHY WHY WHY??? Oh god I think I'm an alcoholic.
But anyhoo... back to the having fun thing... I always like to share without naming names all the randomly fabulous people I'm blessed to share my good times with... so let me fill you in on wee snippet of my evening...
The sun was blazing... yeah man we were all lookin very PONSONBY ROAD in our shades sitting behind the red rope at our outdoor table. Oh yes people - even though I bagged P street a couple of blogs back I have to admit... 'it' and 'I' cohabitated for a number of hours rather pleasantly... I got to experience a side of it I liked and 'it' got to shun all the westie prejudices it may have had before my arrival on its polished pavement.
The establishment was well-chosen, hip but not too wanky, coupld of famous faces but not too "you're not on the list" (we were there first anyway so suck on that celery stick). And apart from ye old whanau member I knew absolutely no one. Danger, warning bells, knowing noone means I can misbehave and not have to worry about bumping into them again... YAY - glug glug glug. Well bugger me if that stoopid kiwi 2 degrees of separation kicked and I ended up having some kind of weird connection to every single person there. DAMMIT... slow down - NO! I DON'T NEED A VODKA SHOT... ah yeah okay just one... after the first one. Cheers.
So there was the masseuss with the new job who was a notorious drink spiller - she went to the loo for quite some time... there was the loud student having his 25th birthday - 5th time over... newspaper in hand as he feared noone would show. Wrong! The dead school-teacher - not as bad as it sounds... in fact she was gorgeous. The dead school-teachers partner who noone took any notice of because the schoolteacher WAS GORGEOUS. The milk-maid. The ring-in marketing mogule who sauntered up the hill casually surveying the masses and getting more than he bargined for. And of course the gregarious hilarious troublesome twosome whanau who were well on form and kept the buzz alive... OF COURSE I was one of them.
It was quite a neat human fruit salad experiement really - all of us very different in a lot of ways and hey it could of all gone horribly wrong but it didn't... it was a very cool night. All of a sudden though - horror of horrors... just when you thought you had HOURS of fun to get through... that screeching alarm of the New Zealand birdlife that rips you from your frivolous festivities to remind you it really is the next day and you've not had a blink of sleep. What a rip. You open the curtains and singe your corneas on the blazing sun of a Saturday morning and while adjusting to the giant green blobs where your pupils should be, you realise that not only are you blind, but you've got a nest the size of a bald eagle's in your hair and you found mascara in your ears. Oh crap. AND... you're not at the pub anymore - oh that's right... vaguely recall those immortal words "party at my place!" roar from my relatives' mouth. Talk about suddenly sober. Where's the car? Where's my handbag? Did I REALLY wear those undies???? What was I THINKING!!!!??? What's that smell? Oh. It's me. Gap it!!
While trying to drive on the correct side of the road you are all consumed with the sinking feeling of... blank.
Or... blanks.
What was clear as a bell a few hours ago is suddenly foggy, sluggish and you're excuse for a short-term memory is now likened to cold creamed corn. Welcome back my friend paranoia... what the fark did I do? Oh THAAAT... yeah THAT was okay but THAT??... now THAT was just ridiculous... but how did I get TO THAT... was it THAT? Or perhaps THAT... I said THAT! Now THAT was stupid. Hmm, so many questions, so little recollection. Oh well... what goes on tour stays on tour... I hope. Small mercy that everyone else was blitzed, possibly more-so than me and has an even smaller frontal lobe function.
Of course none of this helped the fact that I had foolishly agreed some weeks ago to spend the remainder of the afternoon playing "makeup artist" at an 11 year old girls birthday. Oh it was awesome. 20 10-going-on-21 girls squealing their way through pizza, fanta and a bowl of lollies the size of a cauldron. Rhianna blasting through a tinny stereo, followed by every single sucky pop chick song that I detest and loath... what had started off as a severe lack of sleep turned into a hangover that if microphoned would drown out a University marching band. Christ it hurt. But I did it - didn't poke anyone in the eye, only yelled 'shut up' twice and somehow managed to make these delightful little screamers look quite pretty. Job well done - don't ever let it be said that I do not deliver under pressure.
Naturally I get home 6 hours later - bent like a hunchback, smelling like pre-adolescent BO and collapsed into a soft chair only to wake at 9.30pm realising its Saturday night and whatever self-recovery mission I could have dragged myself off to was quite simply... NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN. Crap television and crazy flashbacks was to keep me mindly amused for the remainder of the evening.
Awake Sunday. Not amused. Get up. Not easy. Get motivated? Not going to happen. Get washing done? Get stuffed. I am, once again, a train wreck of a middle-aged woman. That's just soo not cool man.
So!! This week I'm going to have a crack at 'practising the new regime... then next week there are no excuses... there's even a PLANNING SESSION in the pipe line to SCHEDULE our painful sweat-fests. O for orsum. Not-my-daughters-jeans, here I come. Back bra? Yer so outta here. Orange peel thighs? Suffer in the reduction of your juice. Chins? Get a passport. Collarbones... be prepared for granduous exposure... boobs - it was nice knowing you. And finally... mono-ab... we've been close over the years, we've had good times, bad, but I'll never forgive you for getting in the way of my talents to give myself a phenomenal pedicure, amongst other things.
And you my endearing bloggees... pray for me. If you do and I make it through this alive... I'll let you fondle my collarbone.
Peace and love for vegetables. My friend vegetables. Veges are gooooood.
I am so screwed.
Stylz - OUT
xxx
Sunday, August 23, 2009
All fun and games until someone loses a limb...
Awww man!
Soooo retarded. I lost my phone. Its sucks arse. Now I lose lots of things... my keys, my lipsticks, I've even lost my mind AND a pair of shoes but NEVER my phone!
It's a really weird feeling. Like someone has gone thru your undie drawer. Vulnerable, yucky. And the funny thing is... I had it. In my little hands, sitting in the sunshine just waiting for a cab, a sleep and a shower. And then... it was gone-burger. I'm sorry lil phone... you must have felt... so ronery. I know I did after you were gone :-(
And it was such a wicked weekend... I didn't lose anything else - well materialistically at least... I lost my fight with sleep, an arm, a microphone, a cigarette and the war of the infectious late night giggle. Maybe it was just the last in an all night losing streak... shame really because despite all the losses the night was smashing. The All Blacks won, the crowd was happy and heaving and there were friends and hugs and peace and love galore. How freakin kewl.
So TECHNICALLY I'm not the loser I make myself out to be... I may have lost my phone but I am a winner in many stakes. Around the wee smalls I hit my game... I only wish I could re-create the hilarity of the moment here on the page... then again... secret squirrel club, what goes on tour stays in the bus bathroom and all that jazz. Plus it was so random you really wouldn't get the joke - had to be there'n'all.
But to summarize... there was a one-handed bandit, a drunken DJ, a sleeping angel, a humping canine, a rare breed of a rat, a horticultural expert, a supermom, a cake with a personality, flaming shoes, nyummy buns, getting jiggy wid it and music... lots and lots of music. And that was just Sunday morning.
Saturday was reminiscing... I visited a good mate who I went to high school with and it was like we'd never left school. Who's doing what when why where, what happened then, can you remember that? Denial denial denial!! Hard case... all this and visiting a new town! Stamped my wee mark on that one too and will be back to fill in the colour that's for sure!
Now just in case you are worried that I'm sitting here typing with one hand (see losing an arm comment above) take a breath it wasn't MY arm. It was the little arm off the amazing creation some other fabulously talented friends made. This fantastic nyummy cake all boxed up and snug made the journey down the line safely and was just sitting quietly in the dark corner of a kitchen minding its own business, waiting for its cue to bust out and thrill the world with its awesomeness when suddenly...
The stroppy shrew materialised. With bad news. "Aw we wuh just opening the box aye to take a foto coz it was sooo cuwl..." she stuttered from behind her buck-teeth kuwi beauty... "and va lil arm wif the microfone feel off and the ciggie fell off but we didn't touch nuffin... honest... so we've got some icing from the shop and glued them back on aye. Nah worries mate, sorry aye"
Sorry? SORRY??!! Are you fricken FOR REAL?????!!!!
I was very very good.
I didn't have to be. But I was. Thank god for the panini I kept shoving into my mouth for fear of random escaping profanity. I was slightly concerned that I was also in possession of non-illegal weaponry... I've got a fork and I'm not afraid to use it scenario. Say hello to my little friend the breadknife... the old salt in the eyeball trick... all rushing through my mind like Gordon Ramsay starring in a Tarrentino flick on fast forward.
I was rather flushed. I think the stroppy shrew knew too. She grabbed hold of another friend (the one who wasn't growing horns and steaming from her ears) and dragged them off with a nervous waddle to show THEM the damage.
I did manage to casually and very calmly squeak out one sentance in between angry mouthfuls... *gulp* "So ah... why did you even touch it? We ah... have plenty of photos." Breathe. Take another bite of the particularly delicious panini that unfortunately tasted like acidic vom by this stage. "You. Should. Have. Left. It. ALLLOOOONNNEEE." *snort, growl, hair prickle up, incisor teeth dripping with rabid foam*
Thank goodness we had already presented this chocolate beauty to the birthday boy himself prior to the stroppy shrew attempting to tax the thing... look luv if you wanted a piece sooo badly you should have waited a couple of hours... the thing had enough cake in it to feed a mid-sized Ethiopian village... twice.
So I gained a few things over the weekend - couple of choice new acquaintances, a new respect for 5am conversations, probably another coupla kilo in bourbon and possibly one enemy... mind you I played nice... the stroppy shrew did actually sort herself out to become the more sheepish shrew - and my aching need to shove her eyeballs in the pepper grinder dissipated, even when the cheap icing didn't stick and we had to serve up the creation armless, mic-less but no less impressive. And of course 23 seconds after we carried it out... I got to shrink every blokes ball sack in the room by brandishing a huge knife and hacking it to pieces. O for orsum.
Great weekend... today not so great... a little lack lustre but still, life is what you make it... can't laugh all weekend and not feel friggin shattered at some point. I shall crawl off to my little bed... snuggle down... read a little and drift off into drooly pillow land.
Thank you C-town, you turned my frown upside down. Woop woop!
Laterz
(can't stand that word)
Hello.
Stylz - out!
xxx
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
I'm not waitin on a weekend... I'm just waitin on a friend...
Oh it was an EARRRRRLY start this morning...I gotta say as much as I love staying up... I do love a good sleep... and as much as I love getting going... getting up is totally overated.
I'm freakin excited. Another loan ranger road trip is looming and even though I know I'm going to be RATSHIT on Monday... I am looking forward to it. Seems these last two weeks have flown by but have been boring as arse. I'm knackered at night but I'm back into my seriously weird dreaming patterns - I wake myself up... take a good swigg of water, shake it off and mutter... "Yeah, yeh-yeah-yeah, I gotta cut down on the Cody's...foooeee...bi-i-zzarrrrrre". Yawn. Fart. Snore.
What totally blows my mind when I dream is my sensory detail - I can feel, taste, touch, smell... its trippy. What I can never do is run, cry, scream, die. Which I guess is a pretty good bonus with the exception of when I'm trying to get the hell away from something.
Last night I distinctly remember cupping a MOOB. Yes I was copping a feel of a man breast. Whose I cannot divulge for fear of humiliation... plus I doubt George Clooney would ever read my blog... uh-oh... DAMMIT!
Anyhoo... we all know that GC is pretty tidy for a celebrity hobbit... however, in my state of alpha fondle I have to admit I wasn't impressed. Thus the Georgie crush dwindled by the grey of the morning mist... Until about 2 hours ago...
No I wasn't having a day-dream-moob-feel-flashback but I did have one of those special moments that you read about and fantasize about but never really take seriously coz people will just think you are full of shit. And I am, most of the time... in a nice non-offensive way. Freakishly eccentric, gregariously delightful.
I was in Ponsonby. (Yeah you heard right. Early morning, needed coffee, closest place, end of story). So a colleague and I rocked into this cafe and I'm yabbering like Jajabinks on crack about some mundane crap and all of a sudden my chest prickles and my head is possessed by a mysterious force that mechanically (and slightly 'Exorcist-ish-ly' if that's a word) turns my head and eyeballs' attention to the back end of the cafe.
(insert heavenly halo shining angel wings flapping glitter bomb dropping cloud hopping pan-flutey harp playing god-ghetto-box sounding, chimes... here)
Hell-oo honey I am H. O. M. E. and VERY happy to see you...fwoar.
Here's George Clooney's younger more attractive clone with the trendy unshaven good looks of poor dead Denny of Grey's Anatomy (whom of which was on my A-list of male actors starring in my various dream states for quite some time). Smiling, grinning in fact and locked in eye contact... with me. Yes my eyeballs... mine, not my blonde colleagues, not the stumbling drunk outside or the teenage waitress with the low-slung jeans and chuckies... MINE. Oooh my lil heart skipped a beat... and I caught my breath a little... I think...
I know how tin-arse does that sound!!?? I can hear your dry-wretching from here okay and yeah I'm slightly nauseous too but I swear to god... A MOMENT. Of course being well-practised in the art of 'crowded room moment-flirting' from my earlier years as a full-time hottie, automatic hormone pilot kicked in and I twinkled my eyes, smiled back and continued with my Java-deprived Jajabinks jabber.
Now he's psychologically stalking me and I'm sliding down the slippery slopes of an obsession over someone who was probably... (and let's be honest here it was PONSONBY for farks sake)... LAUGHING at me, not sharing a movie-moment. I probably had marmite on my face or a booger hanging out my nose or something - or my blouse button was undone and my mono-ab was poking out desperately trying to make its escape as it does several dozen times a day... but then... when doubt and commonsense are prevailing....
(insert heavenly halo shining angel wings flapping glitter bomb dropping cloud hopping pan-flutey harp playing god-ghetto-box sounding, chimes... here)
I took another look and it happened again.
And again.
I don't think I actually exhaled until he walked out of the cafe. Probably what he was smiling at - my face bright red and shiny like I was holding in a fart or something. Or that he just thought I was retarded. Or paranoid. Or on crack. Yes. Yes that's probably definitely what it was because I was in PONSONBY guys like that don't REALLY mean magic-movie-moments in PONSONBY. He had probably just dribbled out of the Whiskey bar. Or rolled down the hill from some dodgy all night booze binge in the CBD and can only stand in one spot grinning stoopidly because if he so much as twitches he'll puke jager-bombs all over the pumpkin and feta muffins - OR... hes on crack. And his face looks like that because he's frickin fried.
Yeah. Yeah that's most likely it. For sure. Because it's freakin PONSONBY. You're not in Horrenderson now Doctor Ropata. You're drowning in trim soy double shot caffeine free chai mocha-latte hell dressed in Calvin Klein and no matter how good he looks walking away with his apple-butt and friendly face he's probably off to wank around an oversized boardroom table about inflated advertising campaigns with derogatory remarks about female anatomy and cruetly to animals (Yes, we only have one and we must look after it) and which office conquest with botox and fake boobs is on the agenda for Friday night drinks.
Yeah. Definitely. That's totally him. Whew. Psychological stalking successfully dissolved. Ahh I feel so much better... lighter... stronger... in charge.
Oh who am I kidding?? We all know I really mean horny. And IT WAS A MOMENT. SEVERAL IN FACT... A PONSONBY moment... like a New York minute... but without bagels and cream cheese.
See you after the weekend... maybe by some miraculous force of nature and fate combined he will have some paranormal force guide him to Cambridge... yeah right!
Lots of love,
See you on the flipside
Peace out
Styles
xxx
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Silent Flacidity and the Human Fruit Salad Experiment
Crikey... the funniest thing.
Just when you think your week is turning to arse a little ray of sunshine beams down to pick up your spirits like a well-seasoned chili...
One of those spontaneous events that you wish you could have recorded for posterity using modern technological advances rather than rely solely on the part of your brain that's supposed to retain these types of things but...err... ho hum... where was I again?
When common sense tells us that we should be trawling through the trials and tribulations of life as an 'adult-ager' and yet it's guffaws galore over the intricacies of modern interior decorating - not of the living channel kind... more like the 'Extreme Makeover - slash - Caci Clinic' variety, with a few pearla cooking terminologies thrown in for good measure.
Gordon Ramsey reigned supreme... the foul-mouthed f*#%er. Who'da thunk it aye?
Eras, relations, opinions and experience blended together, merging like a perfectly chilled fruit salad - well perhaps with a couple of pips and two of those budget maraschino cherries but hey what can you do, you swallow it down greedily while the juice runs down your chin.
I called these Forrest Gump Gatherings... you never know what you're gonna get but they're never boring. This was my second ever Human Fruit Salad experiment - okay so technically it wasn't MY Gump Gathering but they are a regular occurrence and I am a regular fixture.
The first time I quite by accident watched a human fruit salad take formation was at one of the many soiree's held in my wee home (notched by the various beverage stains over the carpet).
The Human Fruit Salad Experiment
T'was the night of my birthday and all through the house...
People connected, man,woman and... mouse (sue me... it rhymes!)
Intros were made by the hostess with care
In hopes that formations of friendships might fare
I in my dressups stood back and observed
As blurry visions of human fruit salad merged
Some danced and some sang and some drank a wee bit
To my amazement the experiment was quite a hit
The Drag Queen's posed questionable heated debate
From the fishing bloke who arrived with the celebrity mate
Who just couldn't grasp that a man in a skirt
Had the balls to think they could have a wee flirt
The music vampire who wriggled all night
The farmers that stood under the starry light
The thesbians oooh darling'ed to one and to all
The bushman at ease with his back to the wall
The Snoops were on form albeit slightly in awe
Mingling with the westies and weirdos galore
The oldies and goodies sat glued to their spot
Afraid that they might have sip shots or sniff pot?
As I watched my gorgeous creation take flight
And flavours merged on and on into the night
Acquaintances showed a truer side
Decisions were made on flavours that hide
Acceptance for one and for all was the buzz
The unspoken rule of "we party, not judge"
Some were faced with a few challenged views
It was peace and love for natives and nobody spewed
The crowd slowly dispersed as the music wound down
Claiming a party as good as any nightclub in town
With big hugs and drunk smooches they came and they went
Thus The Human Fruit Salad Experiment
hehe - cool aye? I like poems. Especially ones I make up.
So yeah I really enjoy watching people from all walks of life, ages, professions, egos, backgrounds, foregrounds and the like, mix it up and create something special. That's why I have the friends I do... because they are all uniquely comfortable with who they are, and they are all uniquely comfortable with who I am... and THAT my friends is the shizzle.
Right - this post has taken like a week to write - sorry about that - I'm slack and my TWO followers will kick my arse.
BUT wait... there's more... As I'm at work and I'm bored to tears and I'm bloggin anyway... I shall end this topic (HFSE was SOOO last week) and start a new one...
Peace out... see you in a bit
Stylz
xx
Friday, August 7, 2009
To sleep per chance to... sleep in...
I am elated. Yes elated. Guess where I am RIGHT this moment? Go on... give it your best shot. You have no idea do you? Ha-ha! I'm thinking that right now all sorts of unsavory pictures are heading through your minds... anyone who has fallen victim to my quick-witted dodgy sense of humour would naturally lean towards the grotty. Well you little pervies its not like that at all....
I am, despite the brilliant sunshine, still snuggled in my warm delicious bed and I don't feel guilty one freakin bit. I went to bed last night so excited I was unsure I would be able to fall alseep - as luck would have it I was knackered so sleep came quite easiliy. You cannot believe how much I was looking forward to it being Saturday today. More than expectedly normal. Why? Well it's quite simple really...
I cannot remember the last time I slept in on a Saturday morning... in my own bed... in my own home... I awoke this morning and just about cried, it was like I hadn't seen my lovely little adobe in the crisp morning light in so long... I tell you it was like the opening sequence to a chick flick it was that sickenly perfect. I rolled out of bed (ever so slightly less graceful than a movie star and looking a little more dishevelled in my purple flanellette jarmies and panda eyes) grinning all the way - made toast and coffee and talked to myself like a nutter throughout.
I brought my brekkie back to bed and grabbed my book. O, o, oooo for freakin Orsum. Sounds silly I know but I am really really truly in a right giggle about it.
So I tuck into my toast and my copy of 'Twilight'. Yes I do follow the fads at times - shut up you lot it makes me feel young. I like to see what the fuss is all about, I like to be able to talk to the young and the old and not feel like I'm categorically confined to either. Enough explanation and justification for you? Great now zip it while I continued with this morning's epiphany...
Yes the book has an effect. It is very cleverly written. Just as the legends tell of vampires having incredible psychological/hypnotheripeutic powers as does this novel. Which brings me to my next theory that the author either IS a vampire or a hypnotheripist or with some doctorate in psychology. AND a feminist. AND a romantic. AND a little sado-masochistic if we're talking honestly here...
Yeah I admit it... I've seen the movie and the chemistry is well directed... and I am drawn even futher into it through the book because I can invest as much or as little of my emotions as I like. And yes... Edward is a very very powerful, dark, sexy and steamy character - oh come on he's a vampire for fecks sake of course he's all that. Bella is the fairly cool, unperfectly perfect female (thank you for being a brunette by the way and not completely retarded), instinctive, strong, attractively aloof. So yeah okay I'm buying this jazz... it's entertaining and I'm lost in the world so that's cool. Except for one thing...
This is where I apologise to all the Twilight fans out there... don't hate me 'cause I'm honest alright? I've just told you all I LIKE the story... its just the personal implications it has on me are a little disturbing. No I'm not afraid of Vampires, no I don't feel ick at the sight of blood, no I'm not a pessimist because I know its not real from being behind the camera blah blah blah...
But... just as I'm waking up in my home elated to feel free... not watched... not remote controlled... not mechanically driven through my life by the higher force of emotions and relationships..............................I'm bloody reading about it.
She comes out of class BAM! he's there. She's out the door ready for school WHOOSH! he's by the car. Okay so she's about to get jumped by 4 guys and EEERRRRK! he's screeches to a stop in the Volvo and she's saved and that's pretty cool.... but hello... STALKER! Hello... CLAUSTROPHOBIA... Hello... HAUNTED. Hello - ISSUES... SEE YA.
Okay so maybe I'm just a tad oversensitive due to recent domestic situations but it kinda killed my buzz a bit this morning - I really was getting into the whole love story thing but...
I will of course put it into my own perspective for you simpletons (before I cause mass Edward-loving hysteria)....Okay...
Sometimes I fart. Yes I've been know to fart. I'm a lady when I can be but hey a lot of people fart and I'm one of them. Now IF I'm being stalked, followed, mind-read, obsessed over the LAST thing I want is to be out on a Twilight fantasy date (with Edward's slightly less skinny and more blokey attractive older brother)... and have him look me intensley in the eyes and say...
"So... yesterday - you farted."
"Did not."
"Lier"
"I didn't!"
"Yes you did."
Silence. Conjour up my coolest 'Bella' impersonation...
"Well Mr "I have super-human vampire ears" let me tell you something my Mum always told me... If you don't eat, you don't shit. And if you don't shit, you die. Now you don't eat so you obviously don't shit which means you SHOULD be dead and you are but you're not. And futhermore I bet if you DO shit you would declare infatically that it doesn't stink and it probably doesn't because you're the undead and it most likely shoots out like frozen yogurt or a slushy and makes your bum colder than a long-drop in the middle of winter and while you sit there on your toosh with your willy chilly I bet the one thing you wish for... what you would really really love to do... is warm your arse with a fart".
And Edward's-less-skinny-more-blokey-attractive-older-brother would look at me with his searching, smouldering golden eyes and say...
"You seemed to have forgotten how dangerous I am to you... I hear your thoughts, see your dreams and can smell your scent from 3 miles away... I cannot get enough of you.... I cannot fight this, I should... I know. I have never loved a human so much that I didn't want to feed on it. So thank Christ for your farts because that totally puts me off wanting to suck anything outta you babe."
Problem solved. I might get out of bed now.
Before I do I must get to my point because the whole Edward's older brother catching me out on a botty burp allowed for a digression I didn't plan for. The fact of the matter is due to my own shadowed circumstances of trying to exist in a real grown up relationship I realised that like Dorothy and Toto... there's no place like home and as much as the fantasy of Edward and Bella intrigues me... the lack of independence and privacy gets to me. There needs to be a balance, it has to be home, love, protection, understanding. respect, trust and uniqueness all in one.
For me... it's the disappointment of loving the book, watching the movie and realising there's always something missing - albeit a small insignificant detail to the naked eye - but unavoidably massive when you've invested your expectations and emotions in the story.
So... Edward and Bella - good luck... I am looking forward to slowly progressing through your stories... just a few steps behind the fad (coz that's how I roll) and I do hope in time I can get over my suffocation issues enough to enjoy the fantasy. As for wanting a real-life vampire like billions of other swooning Eddie fans throughout the world... yeah - nah. Too freakin intense for me, plus I hate hickies, adore food and love the beach so we'd be screwed.
Gimme Wolverine anyday. Or Van Helsing... crikey imagine the parties!??
I'm going to get up now... put my stereo on and clean my house. Okay so I'm not too thrilled about the cleaning part... but despite all my complaints and wishes for a wee collonial cottage in the sticks... I love my little whare. It is... really good to be home :-)
Have a groovy weekend :-)
Peace and love for vampires.
xxxxxxxx
I am, despite the brilliant sunshine, still snuggled in my warm delicious bed and I don't feel guilty one freakin bit. I went to bed last night so excited I was unsure I would be able to fall alseep - as luck would have it I was knackered so sleep came quite easiliy. You cannot believe how much I was looking forward to it being Saturday today. More than expectedly normal. Why? Well it's quite simple really...
I cannot remember the last time I slept in on a Saturday morning... in my own bed... in my own home... I awoke this morning and just about cried, it was like I hadn't seen my lovely little adobe in the crisp morning light in so long... I tell you it was like the opening sequence to a chick flick it was that sickenly perfect. I rolled out of bed (ever so slightly less graceful than a movie star and looking a little more dishevelled in my purple flanellette jarmies and panda eyes) grinning all the way - made toast and coffee and talked to myself like a nutter throughout.
I brought my brekkie back to bed and grabbed my book. O, o, oooo for freakin Orsum. Sounds silly I know but I am really really truly in a right giggle about it.
So I tuck into my toast and my copy of 'Twilight'. Yes I do follow the fads at times - shut up you lot it makes me feel young. I like to see what the fuss is all about, I like to be able to talk to the young and the old and not feel like I'm categorically confined to either. Enough explanation and justification for you? Great now zip it while I continued with this morning's epiphany...
Yes the book has an effect. It is very cleverly written. Just as the legends tell of vampires having incredible psychological/hypnotheripeutic powers as does this novel. Which brings me to my next theory that the author either IS a vampire or a hypnotheripist or with some doctorate in psychology. AND a feminist. AND a romantic. AND a little sado-masochistic if we're talking honestly here...
Yeah I admit it... I've seen the movie and the chemistry is well directed... and I am drawn even futher into it through the book because I can invest as much or as little of my emotions as I like. And yes... Edward is a very very powerful, dark, sexy and steamy character - oh come on he's a vampire for fecks sake of course he's all that. Bella is the fairly cool, unperfectly perfect female (thank you for being a brunette by the way and not completely retarded), instinctive, strong, attractively aloof. So yeah okay I'm buying this jazz... it's entertaining and I'm lost in the world so that's cool. Except for one thing...
This is where I apologise to all the Twilight fans out there... don't hate me 'cause I'm honest alright? I've just told you all I LIKE the story... its just the personal implications it has on me are a little disturbing. No I'm not afraid of Vampires, no I don't feel ick at the sight of blood, no I'm not a pessimist because I know its not real from being behind the camera blah blah blah...
But... just as I'm waking up in my home elated to feel free... not watched... not remote controlled... not mechanically driven through my life by the higher force of emotions and relationships..............................I'm bloody reading about it.
She comes out of class BAM! he's there. She's out the door ready for school WHOOSH! he's by the car. Okay so she's about to get jumped by 4 guys and EEERRRRK! he's screeches to a stop in the Volvo and she's saved and that's pretty cool.... but hello... STALKER! Hello... CLAUSTROPHOBIA... Hello... HAUNTED. Hello - ISSUES... SEE YA.
Okay so maybe I'm just a tad oversensitive due to recent domestic situations but it kinda killed my buzz a bit this morning - I really was getting into the whole love story thing but...
I will of course put it into my own perspective for you simpletons (before I cause mass Edward-loving hysteria)....Okay...
Sometimes I fart. Yes I've been know to fart. I'm a lady when I can be but hey a lot of people fart and I'm one of them. Now IF I'm being stalked, followed, mind-read, obsessed over the LAST thing I want is to be out on a Twilight fantasy date (with Edward's slightly less skinny and more blokey attractive older brother)... and have him look me intensley in the eyes and say...
"So... yesterday - you farted."
"Did not."
"Lier"
"I didn't!"
"Yes you did."
Silence. Conjour up my coolest 'Bella' impersonation...
"Well Mr "I have super-human vampire ears" let me tell you something my Mum always told me... If you don't eat, you don't shit. And if you don't shit, you die. Now you don't eat so you obviously don't shit which means you SHOULD be dead and you are but you're not. And futhermore I bet if you DO shit you would declare infatically that it doesn't stink and it probably doesn't because you're the undead and it most likely shoots out like frozen yogurt or a slushy and makes your bum colder than a long-drop in the middle of winter and while you sit there on your toosh with your willy chilly I bet the one thing you wish for... what you would really really love to do... is warm your arse with a fart".
And Edward's-less-skinny-more-blokey-attractive-older-brother would look at me with his searching, smouldering golden eyes and say...
"You seemed to have forgotten how dangerous I am to you... I hear your thoughts, see your dreams and can smell your scent from 3 miles away... I cannot get enough of you.... I cannot fight this, I should... I know. I have never loved a human so much that I didn't want to feed on it. So thank Christ for your farts because that totally puts me off wanting to suck anything outta you babe."
Problem solved. I might get out of bed now.
Before I do I must get to my point because the whole Edward's older brother catching me out on a botty burp allowed for a digression I didn't plan for. The fact of the matter is due to my own shadowed circumstances of trying to exist in a real grown up relationship I realised that like Dorothy and Toto... there's no place like home and as much as the fantasy of Edward and Bella intrigues me... the lack of independence and privacy gets to me. There needs to be a balance, it has to be home, love, protection, understanding. respect, trust and uniqueness all in one.
For me... it's the disappointment of loving the book, watching the movie and realising there's always something missing - albeit a small insignificant detail to the naked eye - but unavoidably massive when you've invested your expectations and emotions in the story.
So... Edward and Bella - good luck... I am looking forward to slowly progressing through your stories... just a few steps behind the fad (coz that's how I roll) and I do hope in time I can get over my suffocation issues enough to enjoy the fantasy. As for wanting a real-life vampire like billions of other swooning Eddie fans throughout the world... yeah - nah. Too freakin intense for me, plus I hate hickies, adore food and love the beach so we'd be screwed.
Gimme Wolverine anyday. Or Van Helsing... crikey imagine the parties!??
I'm going to get up now... put my stereo on and clean my house. Okay so I'm not too thrilled about the cleaning part... but despite all my complaints and wishes for a wee collonial cottage in the sticks... I love my little whare. It is... really good to be home :-)
Have a groovy weekend :-)
Peace and love for vampires.
xxxxxxxx
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Deep songs say so much
Okay so I have this thing where I hear a song, it sticks in my brain, tickles my heart and buries in my soul- don't worry I won't get too deep... I mean this is coming from a chick who credits "Ride On" and "If you want blood" by AC/DC as getting her through the tough teenage years!
So don't expect friggin Chopin or anything! But things affect people in different ways, music, lyrics they are the poetry of the modern world. The sonets from the latter day Romeos to their Juliets and vice-versa. So I guess that's just a weak excuse for me to compare to my journeys throughout my life. It plays out in songs... some cool, some wild and some downright lame! But in my favorites you fine me... my life... my story. I'm just friggin gutted I didn't think of them first.
So anyway my repeat fav at the mo when i'm cruising in my truck is the following... its kind of like if you were a fly on my wall on nights like this... Cold. Quiet. When pondering rings louder than thunder but its silent in the real world. Crazy. Then this song pops into the reverie and tells you what you want to hear... seems to answer all the questions and you hope that someone out there that think they know you, can listen and think "wow, i never knew that about her... Christ it's true...She's... human!?"
So here it is - the poetry of my cool end-of-winter-solice night... when nobody knows.........
But me.
Nobody knows, nobody knows but me that I sometimes cry,
If I could pretend that I'm asleep when my tears start to fall
I peek out from behind these walls I think nobody knows
Nobody likes, nobody likes to lose their inner voice
The one I used to hear before my life made a choice
But I think nobody knows, nobody knows
Oh the secret's safe with me there's nowhere else in the world that I could ever be
And don't it feel like I'm all alone who's gonna be there after the last angel has flown?
And I've lost my way back home I think nobody knows, I said nobody knows
Nobody cares, it's win or lose, not how you play the game
And the road to darkness has a way of always knowing my name
But I think nobody knows, nobody knows
Oh the secret's safe with me there's nowhere else in the world that I could ever be
And baby don't it feel like I'm all alone who's gonna be there after the last angel has flown?
And I've lost my way back home, nobody knows
Tomorrow I'll be there my friend
I'll wake up and start all over again
When everybody else is gone
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows the rhythm of my heart
The way I do when I'm lying in the dark and the world is asleep
I think nobody knows
Nobody knows
Nobody knows
But me
Ponder that.
Peace out.
xxx
So don't expect friggin Chopin or anything! But things affect people in different ways, music, lyrics they are the poetry of the modern world. The sonets from the latter day Romeos to their Juliets and vice-versa. So I guess that's just a weak excuse for me to compare to my journeys throughout my life. It plays out in songs... some cool, some wild and some downright lame! But in my favorites you fine me... my life... my story. I'm just friggin gutted I didn't think of them first.
So anyway my repeat fav at the mo when i'm cruising in my truck is the following... its kind of like if you were a fly on my wall on nights like this... Cold. Quiet. When pondering rings louder than thunder but its silent in the real world. Crazy. Then this song pops into the reverie and tells you what you want to hear... seems to answer all the questions and you hope that someone out there that think they know you, can listen and think "wow, i never knew that about her... Christ it's true...She's... human!?"
So here it is - the poetry of my cool end-of-winter-solice night... when nobody knows.........
But me.
Nobody knows, nobody knows but me that I sometimes cry,
If I could pretend that I'm asleep when my tears start to fall
I peek out from behind these walls I think nobody knows
Nobody likes, nobody likes to lose their inner voice
The one I used to hear before my life made a choice
But I think nobody knows, nobody knows
Oh the secret's safe with me there's nowhere else in the world that I could ever be
And don't it feel like I'm all alone who's gonna be there after the last angel has flown?
And I've lost my way back home I think nobody knows, I said nobody knows
Nobody cares, it's win or lose, not how you play the game
And the road to darkness has a way of always knowing my name
But I think nobody knows, nobody knows
Oh the secret's safe with me there's nowhere else in the world that I could ever be
And baby don't it feel like I'm all alone who's gonna be there after the last angel has flown?
And I've lost my way back home, nobody knows
Tomorrow I'll be there my friend
I'll wake up and start all over again
When everybody else is gone
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows the rhythm of my heart
The way I do when I'm lying in the dark and the world is asleep
I think nobody knows
Nobody knows
Nobody knows
But me
Ponder that.
Peace out.
xxx
Monday, August 3, 2009
I ain't too proud to beg....
I SHOULD be in bed... but I'm not I'm just WAY TOO EXCITED!!!
I did it.
It's happened.
Yes folks [er... 'FOLK'] I have ONE FOLLOWER!
So this post is specially for them... to say thanks. Thank you for the music... you know who you are you saucy minx.
Okay so I kinda had to gently 'steer' them in the right direction... okay I begged... and it was excrutiating... I was so nervous I had to wait till they had a cigarette... pee... fold the laundry... perhaps have a conversation with their siggie (significant other - had to expand on that because rumour has there's some alphabetically challenged issues going on). But finally... it happened. They followed. I am now officially a real blogger.
You see bloggers can't be bloggers until they have bloggees who make the blogging worth the slogging.
I have at least one bloggee... maybe even two but they may well be a silent bloggee and that's okay - kinda groovy really like literary voyeurism without the perv factor.
So I am swimming in the sea of writing cool. I have made it. I am finally a grammatically correct sentance, a poem with a rhyme, a novel with a Pulitzer, a Shakespeare with a tragedy, a play with a rhythm, a comedy with a laugh-track, a thriller with a killer, a drama with a twist and a chick-flick with a love story.
Bloggee.... you complete me.
I shall sleep soundly and content.
Ahhhhhhhhh... but wait... it smells like chocolate?
Stylz... out.
xxx
I did it.
It's happened.
Yes folks [er... 'FOLK'] I have ONE FOLLOWER!
So this post is specially for them... to say thanks. Thank you for the music... you know who you are you saucy minx.
Okay so I kinda had to gently 'steer' them in the right direction... okay I begged... and it was excrutiating... I was so nervous I had to wait till they had a cigarette... pee... fold the laundry... perhaps have a conversation with their siggie (significant other - had to expand on that because rumour has there's some alphabetically challenged issues going on). But finally... it happened. They followed. I am now officially a real blogger.
You see bloggers can't be bloggers until they have bloggees who make the blogging worth the slogging.
I have at least one bloggee... maybe even two but they may well be a silent bloggee and that's okay - kinda groovy really like literary voyeurism without the perv factor.
So I am swimming in the sea of writing cool. I have made it. I am finally a grammatically correct sentance, a poem with a rhyme, a novel with a Pulitzer, a Shakespeare with a tragedy, a play with a rhythm, a comedy with a laugh-track, a thriller with a killer, a drama with a twist and a chick-flick with a love story.
Bloggee.... you complete me.
I shall sleep soundly and content.
Ahhhhhhhhh... but wait... it smells like chocolate?
Stylz... out.
xxx
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Lions, teenagers and blokes - oh my...
I am soo very sorry. But then again I don't even know who I'm apologising too... I don't even have any followers on this thing. Which is probably quite convenient given the dodgy subject matter.
Sooo it has been... what? MONTHS since I posted last... crikey I suck at this. Funny thing is when I do come in here and spill the beans I love it. Its like everything that makes someone feel good in life... why can't we keep it up? Oops scratch that, didn't quite come out how I mean't it to... or did it.
Things have changed considerably in my world. Love found love lost love sucks and damn I apparently "do single well". O for orsum. I think. I don't know is that a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is its the NOW thing. NOW it works... ask me again in 6 months and we'll see how I actually RATE it. Hehe.
Don't get me wrong, I actually like er.. 'dating'. I enjoy it. What I don't enjoy is being changed or finding it hard to breathe. I'm not afraid of small spaces but I can be likened to a trapped rat if I'm chased into a corner with a well-meaning broom. Why is it also that we close our world off when we are supposidly in a position where it's supposed to shine? THAT my friends is what I miss. Where I slip up and come a-croppa. When those long-time smiles aren't around and all of a sudden I'm trying to impress people I don't even know - some relatively lovely people too, but most just bodies and faces that share their own pasts of which I cannot relate and generally don't want to... but I'm a nice girl, so I pretend. I'm an actress so the challenge is to ensure every stranger thinks I'm awesome. To make the other half look good. Aren't I freakin considerate? No wonder it drives me mental. What drives me more mental is I knew this all along but it took me the best part of my young adult life to realise it. So! I embrace spinsterhood with a new lease on... ME. How profound and fricken grown up of me. Let's see how long it lasts. HA!
On a lighter note (yeah that's enough soul searching reporting for now!) I had a wonderful weekend away. Cambridge is a nice town - not that I see much of it as my friends are all vampires and the nightlife is where it all happens. I have never laughed so much in my life - and I ALWAYS meet a new friend there - someone cool, someone different, someone who shines even more light on my short but pleasant time there. It's fast becoming my escape capital of the world :-) Coz its so much fun and it makes me feel... comfortable and, ah, (hehe) cool.
This time down the line I met a really interesting person, a writer, someone with a story to tell that may not be to everyone's taste but [in this world] that everyone should read. Not only interesting but a right cheeky bugger that had me in stitches and working very hard and one-upping the one-liners. It was fun as well as enlightening. I think I have found a new friend. I hope so anyway. Fun times :-)
Had another stint on the street too... quite fun - this time I think I really nailed it. It felt great during the process and I was happy with the end product. Maybe this telly thing is starting to fit after all :-)
Right you bunch of nobodies, I'll leave you to it. Whatever you're doing, wherever you are. One day you may just materialised but until then - make sure you're content. Whatever you're doing and wherever you are.
Peace out
Love
Stylz xxxx
Sooo it has been... what? MONTHS since I posted last... crikey I suck at this. Funny thing is when I do come in here and spill the beans I love it. Its like everything that makes someone feel good in life... why can't we keep it up? Oops scratch that, didn't quite come out how I mean't it to... or did it.
Things have changed considerably in my world. Love found love lost love sucks and damn I apparently "do single well". O for orsum. I think. I don't know is that a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is its the NOW thing. NOW it works... ask me again in 6 months and we'll see how I actually RATE it. Hehe.
Don't get me wrong, I actually like er.. 'dating'. I enjoy it. What I don't enjoy is being changed or finding it hard to breathe. I'm not afraid of small spaces but I can be likened to a trapped rat if I'm chased into a corner with a well-meaning broom. Why is it also that we close our world off when we are supposidly in a position where it's supposed to shine? THAT my friends is what I miss. Where I slip up and come a-croppa. When those long-time smiles aren't around and all of a sudden I'm trying to impress people I don't even know - some relatively lovely people too, but most just bodies and faces that share their own pasts of which I cannot relate and generally don't want to... but I'm a nice girl, so I pretend. I'm an actress so the challenge is to ensure every stranger thinks I'm awesome. To make the other half look good. Aren't I freakin considerate? No wonder it drives me mental. What drives me more mental is I knew this all along but it took me the best part of my young adult life to realise it. So! I embrace spinsterhood with a new lease on... ME. How profound and fricken grown up of me. Let's see how long it lasts. HA!
On a lighter note (yeah that's enough soul searching reporting for now!) I had a wonderful weekend away. Cambridge is a nice town - not that I see much of it as my friends are all vampires and the nightlife is where it all happens. I have never laughed so much in my life - and I ALWAYS meet a new friend there - someone cool, someone different, someone who shines even more light on my short but pleasant time there. It's fast becoming my escape capital of the world :-) Coz its so much fun and it makes me feel... comfortable and, ah, (hehe) cool.
This time down the line I met a really interesting person, a writer, someone with a story to tell that may not be to everyone's taste but [in this world] that everyone should read. Not only interesting but a right cheeky bugger that had me in stitches and working very hard and one-upping the one-liners. It was fun as well as enlightening. I think I have found a new friend. I hope so anyway. Fun times :-)
Had another stint on the street too... quite fun - this time I think I really nailed it. It felt great during the process and I was happy with the end product. Maybe this telly thing is starting to fit after all :-)
Right you bunch of nobodies, I'll leave you to it. Whatever you're doing, wherever you are. One day you may just materialised but until then - make sure you're content. Whatever you're doing and wherever you are.
Peace out
Love
Stylz xxxx
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Followers... ZERO
Zero Followers - *sigh* (and yet I feel truly blessed and loved by many friends and family - perhaps they just can't read...?)
What a sad state of affairs... its the first thing that jumps out at me when I open this page. Let's face it. No one gives a rats arse about this blog - except me... its been a long time since I kept any sort of a diary - I used to... I had this magnificent account of all the angst going through my teenage years - the tears, the tantys, the broken hearts, the poetry, the crushes, the err... 'list'. It was awesome. Purple hardback which I lovingly decorated with the AC/DC logo that adorned anything I had that could be written on. And the stories...oh the stories... the memories, the rose-tinted tales that were yet to go horribly wrong and the horribly wrong situations that were yet to have closure. The flirtations and heart flutters and repetitive entries of "guess what! HE SPOKE TO ME" or "we had to squish up together in the car to fit everyone in so he told me to sit on his knee" etc etc - the excitable ramblings of a teenage girl, hormones exploding with the need to be wanted, accepted, desired, loved and COOL.
My diary was a fascinating literary piece, it lived safely in the journalism folder that housed years of very very singy-songy poetry... born lyricist, thats me. From about the age of 13 up until 18 - which is a wonderful time to record your history and SO MUCH happened to me during those few years - left school, started work, lost jobs, found jobs, fell in love, fell into groups, fell out of groups, lost my virginity, became a Mum, oh all sorts and the dramas that unfolded in many situations. Memories and detail that live in my heart but have long since faded from my mind - that book was my reminder of where I had been, who I was, who I was becomming and where I was going - if ever I felt a little lost or needed cheering up I took it out, read it or wrote in it and I would feel so much better... Helen Field would have been proud... Bridget Jones's New Zealand equivalent rocking the pages long before the idea had manifested.
Then that horrible awful gut-wrenchingly painful day.
Someone with no right, no justification, no reason besides an insanely fuelled internal battle with the demon jealousy - envy for unknown names, unknown places, times, a past and memories that were not their own - not their life - NOT THEIR JOURNEY... blinded by rage and ghosts of times gone by, voices in the head and internal inadequacies.... calously destroyed my beautiful biography.
I'm not sure how long before I noticed it was missing.
The second I did I could almost smell the fire...taste the ash... it was gone. Incinerated with the scrub from the construction of a new home. A place we were to grow old in, raise our family and live happily ever after in a loving, trusting environment.
You bastard.
I would have put up with a thousand black eyes, and a million nights of drunk bullshit and abuse but none would come close to the pure evil of burning someone's memories. The pain from that runs barely a hair-fracture second to the defiant ignorance, neglect and hatred that was showered upon an innocent child and both have an infinite degree of unacceptability the like which no mathematician can calculate in this world or another universe - ever.
For a long time I didn't write anything except poetry. Sad, lonely singy-songy poetry influenced by sad, lonely songs... and sadness... oh and lonelyness - better throw in a good dollop of hurt as well I reckon. But over the years I've written some short stories, plays and some bloody brilliant letters and emails to friends - many of which I kept meticulously and I hope to god I can extract them later when needed. But up until now... I hadn't kept anything personal really - there's a journal I started when the Bridget Jones craze came out but I really didn't stay on a roll. Now I kind of am - I have to get used to the fact that this IS a diary that people ARE permitted to be a part of... but as is with most things in my life these days - shrouded in humour to detract the hungry reader from the real me.
Okay stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP! Heavy... very heavy.
So ZERO FOLLOWERS - you can kiss my tighty whitey quite frankly coz if anything else... I entertained myself immensley - plus killed 30 minutes making the day go faster and get closer to the weekend PLUS offloaded what must have been worth at LEAST $4K worth of therapy - FOR FREE!
HAHA! And that's why they call me Vikki Stylz :-)
Peace - have a groovy weekend.
xxx
What a sad state of affairs... its the first thing that jumps out at me when I open this page. Let's face it. No one gives a rats arse about this blog - except me... its been a long time since I kept any sort of a diary - I used to... I had this magnificent account of all the angst going through my teenage years - the tears, the tantys, the broken hearts, the poetry, the crushes, the err... 'list'. It was awesome. Purple hardback which I lovingly decorated with the AC/DC logo that adorned anything I had that could be written on. And the stories...oh the stories... the memories, the rose-tinted tales that were yet to go horribly wrong and the horribly wrong situations that were yet to have closure. The flirtations and heart flutters and repetitive entries of "guess what! HE SPOKE TO ME" or "we had to squish up together in the car to fit everyone in so he told me to sit on his knee" etc etc - the excitable ramblings of a teenage girl, hormones exploding with the need to be wanted, accepted, desired, loved and COOL.
My diary was a fascinating literary piece, it lived safely in the journalism folder that housed years of very very singy-songy poetry... born lyricist, thats me. From about the age of 13 up until 18 - which is a wonderful time to record your history and SO MUCH happened to me during those few years - left school, started work, lost jobs, found jobs, fell in love, fell into groups, fell out of groups, lost my virginity, became a Mum, oh all sorts and the dramas that unfolded in many situations. Memories and detail that live in my heart but have long since faded from my mind - that book was my reminder of where I had been, who I was, who I was becomming and where I was going - if ever I felt a little lost or needed cheering up I took it out, read it or wrote in it and I would feel so much better... Helen Field would have been proud... Bridget Jones's New Zealand equivalent rocking the pages long before the idea had manifested.
Then that horrible awful gut-wrenchingly painful day.
Someone with no right, no justification, no reason besides an insanely fuelled internal battle with the demon jealousy - envy for unknown names, unknown places, times, a past and memories that were not their own - not their life - NOT THEIR JOURNEY... blinded by rage and ghosts of times gone by, voices in the head and internal inadequacies.... calously destroyed my beautiful biography.
I'm not sure how long before I noticed it was missing.
The second I did I could almost smell the fire...taste the ash... it was gone. Incinerated with the scrub from the construction of a new home. A place we were to grow old in, raise our family and live happily ever after in a loving, trusting environment.
You bastard.
I would have put up with a thousand black eyes, and a million nights of drunk bullshit and abuse but none would come close to the pure evil of burning someone's memories. The pain from that runs barely a hair-fracture second to the defiant ignorance, neglect and hatred that was showered upon an innocent child and both have an infinite degree of unacceptability the like which no mathematician can calculate in this world or another universe - ever.
For a long time I didn't write anything except poetry. Sad, lonely singy-songy poetry influenced by sad, lonely songs... and sadness... oh and lonelyness - better throw in a good dollop of hurt as well I reckon. But over the years I've written some short stories, plays and some bloody brilliant letters and emails to friends - many of which I kept meticulously and I hope to god I can extract them later when needed. But up until now... I hadn't kept anything personal really - there's a journal I started when the Bridget Jones craze came out but I really didn't stay on a roll. Now I kind of am - I have to get used to the fact that this IS a diary that people ARE permitted to be a part of... but as is with most things in my life these days - shrouded in humour to detract the hungry reader from the real me.
Okay stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP! Heavy... very heavy.
So ZERO FOLLOWERS - you can kiss my tighty whitey quite frankly coz if anything else... I entertained myself immensley - plus killed 30 minutes making the day go faster and get closer to the weekend PLUS offloaded what must have been worth at LEAST $4K worth of therapy - FOR FREE!
HAHA! And that's why they call me Vikki Stylz :-)
Peace - have a groovy weekend.
xxx
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Shhhh...
Okay... secret squirrel... I'm 'bloggin' on the job.
Its 8.30am and I just can't be arsed diving into work mode just yet. Probably something to do with the anxiety attacks I've had since Friday about having to come back into the stale air-conned environment and losing my tan (coz brown fat looks better than white fat and I'm still in disguise mode... no, no I HAVEN'T found those extra 5kg that my other colleague seems to have evaporated off... no its just because I'm so BROWN you see the er... SHADING gives the illusion that I am more CURVACIOUS...) Oh who AM I kidding.
Despite some crazy sleep patterns over the last few days (and OUT-OF-IT dreams!) I'm doin okay. I broke my 'back at work lay off the piss' rule fairly quickly. Monday to be exact. But it was worth it. Just a little squiffy to get me through without people noticing how bad my DT's are.
Anyhoo... I digress... I was going to fill you in on how the opera pool party went and how I spent my last few days of vacation. Well suffice to say when I finally crawed out of the 'playhouse' Saturday brunchtime and took a look at the night captured in all its digital photographic glory I was... quite frankly... horrified. I now see how the whole 'scared straight' tactic works. Althought the night was one of the best times I've had in ages I obviously lost all inhibition and decorum. It must have been the beautiful Waitakere bush setting, the lovely day, the good wine, the fine fine company, great conversation and belly laughs galore. And opera... for a little while... although that was quickly replaced by middle-eastern dancing... which was awesome - especially when you have a cape that you can fling around passionately while doing moves you thought were lost a decade ago. Totally totally awesome.
Fast forward to the morning... yeah so I wake up in the little cottage sleep out (absolutely gorgeous) that we affectionately christened 'The Playhouse' because it was just like the one my Dad made me when I was a little girl. Feeling a little stiff, foggy and with really sore knees. Turns out at some point I fell up the stairs but it looks suspiciously like carpet burn - of which it is not I can assure you. My lovely friend however came of worst of all - appparently during our passionately portrayal of middle eastern beauties she came butt-to-armrest with one of her chairs (so reported the only sober attendee of our soiree - her partner) so with her broken bum and my scraped knees we then cringed at the photographic evidence of our drunken shenanagans... but oh it was worth it... so very worth it.
Suffice to say the Saturday evening was fairly quiet - as was the Sunday. Sleeping was appauling - dreams of evil spirits and strange encounters disrupted my plan for a refreshed relaxed look and attitude coming back to the office. One particular dream involved some form of dancing but all the people involved were big round air-filled balls - not unlike Voilet the human blueberry from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I remember being half-awake and half within the strange twilight zone of the state of alpha slumber and rolling back and forth in my bed over and over until I was semi-strangled by sheets and had to wake up to avoid death by 70-count cotton.
Monday was awesome. I hit the office with gusto. Prepared for the onslaught of what I had walked out on in disgust way back in 2008. By about 2pm I was knackered, my brain hurt, my eyes were dry, my vision wobbly and my feet were killing me - why oh why can we not wear our shorts and jandals to work???!!! I then get a call from my Sister - come over tonight for the Monday night special - its the one night when they and all 4 kids get together, open door policy, food for Africa - "come, come! Haven't seen you since New Year's Eve Eve... bring the boy" so we go. And we enjoy and we eat and I drink and we sing Kareoke and then we come home and I am so thankful that I have an 18-year-old who is awesome and everyone loves and who can drive me home...
So that's the week so far. Have made it to Wednesday and am slowly coming to terms with things. Goal for January 09: declutter. Just a few things that are well overdue for a tidy-up. Including ME!!! Gotta go - my 9.30 is here!
Ciao!! Wish me luck!
xxx
Its 8.30am and I just can't be arsed diving into work mode just yet. Probably something to do with the anxiety attacks I've had since Friday about having to come back into the stale air-conned environment and losing my tan (coz brown fat looks better than white fat and I'm still in disguise mode... no, no I HAVEN'T found those extra 5kg that my other colleague seems to have evaporated off... no its just because I'm so BROWN you see the er... SHADING gives the illusion that I am more CURVACIOUS...) Oh who AM I kidding.
Despite some crazy sleep patterns over the last few days (and OUT-OF-IT dreams!) I'm doin okay. I broke my 'back at work lay off the piss' rule fairly quickly. Monday to be exact. But it was worth it. Just a little squiffy to get me through without people noticing how bad my DT's are.
Anyhoo... I digress... I was going to fill you in on how the opera pool party went and how I spent my last few days of vacation. Well suffice to say when I finally crawed out of the 'playhouse' Saturday brunchtime and took a look at the night captured in all its digital photographic glory I was... quite frankly... horrified. I now see how the whole 'scared straight' tactic works. Althought the night was one of the best times I've had in ages I obviously lost all inhibition and decorum. It must have been the beautiful Waitakere bush setting, the lovely day, the good wine, the fine fine company, great conversation and belly laughs galore. And opera... for a little while... although that was quickly replaced by middle-eastern dancing... which was awesome - especially when you have a cape that you can fling around passionately while doing moves you thought were lost a decade ago. Totally totally awesome.
Fast forward to the morning... yeah so I wake up in the little cottage sleep out (absolutely gorgeous) that we affectionately christened 'The Playhouse' because it was just like the one my Dad made me when I was a little girl. Feeling a little stiff, foggy and with really sore knees. Turns out at some point I fell up the stairs but it looks suspiciously like carpet burn - of which it is not I can assure you. My lovely friend however came of worst of all - appparently during our passionately portrayal of middle eastern beauties she came butt-to-armrest with one of her chairs (so reported the only sober attendee of our soiree - her partner) so with her broken bum and my scraped knees we then cringed at the photographic evidence of our drunken shenanagans... but oh it was worth it... so very worth it.
Suffice to say the Saturday evening was fairly quiet - as was the Sunday. Sleeping was appauling - dreams of evil spirits and strange encounters disrupted my plan for a refreshed relaxed look and attitude coming back to the office. One particular dream involved some form of dancing but all the people involved were big round air-filled balls - not unlike Voilet the human blueberry from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I remember being half-awake and half within the strange twilight zone of the state of alpha slumber and rolling back and forth in my bed over and over until I was semi-strangled by sheets and had to wake up to avoid death by 70-count cotton.
Monday was awesome. I hit the office with gusto. Prepared for the onslaught of what I had walked out on in disgust way back in 2008. By about 2pm I was knackered, my brain hurt, my eyes were dry, my vision wobbly and my feet were killing me - why oh why can we not wear our shorts and jandals to work???!!! I then get a call from my Sister - come over tonight for the Monday night special - its the one night when they and all 4 kids get together, open door policy, food for Africa - "come, come! Haven't seen you since New Year's Eve Eve... bring the boy" so we go. And we enjoy and we eat and I drink and we sing Kareoke and then we come home and I am so thankful that I have an 18-year-old who is awesome and everyone loves and who can drive me home...
So that's the week so far. Have made it to Wednesday and am slowly coming to terms with things. Goal for January 09: declutter. Just a few things that are well overdue for a tidy-up. Including ME!!! Gotta go - my 9.30 is here!
Ciao!! Wish me luck!
xxx
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