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
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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
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