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