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

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

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

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

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

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

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