Hello old friend... it's been a while.
I'm sitting here at my desk halfway through the first week back at work after the big Christmas and New Year hoo-haa and there are so many things I should be doing, I could be doing and I'm not. I don't want to, I can't focus or think properly and I feel like I've aged 50 years and regressed 20. By the way...
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
I think I missed wishing you this leading into 2010 AND 2011 so consider it back payment for old Auld Lang Syne moments that could have been.
Hmmm... rather weak opening statement and quite frankly an epic fail on my part considering it is now June 2012.
Yes it's sad but true - it has taken me almost 7 months to write those two sentences. Let's start that again shall we? Ready? Come on... I know you're feeling a little vulnerable and slightly used but trust me... it will be worth it... here we go................................
Gidday Mate - HTF hv u bn?
Yes that's much better...
I'm sitting here at my desk midway through a Friday and looking forward to a long weekend thanks to an awesome company directive... the rostered day off policy. Don't be jelly... its just how we roll.
It's true I lost the gift of the blog for a while [I'm here, I'm lazy, get used to it] my bad - if it is any consolation it hurt me more than it hurt you. I should have kept in touch... its amazing how 'un-mental' you feel when you spew out your guts on a regular basis - metaphorically of course but by golly I put in a marvellous effort pushing the limits on the literal meaning of the phrase just quietly.
One of my favorite punch lines at the moment that always gets a delightful guffaw from an eager audience is "if you squeezed me like a sea-sponge I swear I'd drip beer" potentially flat beer of course and a bit warm but pure Corona none the less - minus the lemon, mixed with a bit of Heineken for good measure, Bourbon [well that's a given] and maybe a couple of ciders - the berry ones. True story. I might have dried up a little in the last month or so but tell you what... I think I consumed more alcohol during the first half of 2012 than during my entire mid-to-late 20's early 30's - consequently I have conveniently forgotten the last two decades - thank you damaged frontal lobe.
Drinking to forget - oh my god does that statement scream volumes. You don't actually forget the pain you were hoping to dull with a dozen Cody's - honest - but its times like the 'remember when' stories that you find you're brain has suffered major anal leakage thanks to someone's brilliant idea of the neurotoxin marinade that is ALCOHOL.
But oh I do remember laughing...
I may have lost days, names, details, stomach contents, undies, friends and dignity but I do remember mostly having a lot of fun on the piss... there is a moment for me during the process of 'getting ya booze buzz on' that I am alive... oozing wit, charm, humour, sex appeal, confidence, talent and control... but all this attention does is get one a little too excited and I drink faster... therefore drowning my previous peak of awesomeness within a matter of about ooh... half an hour, depending on whether they are 5 or 8 percenters of course...
Funny how at that precise moment... your physcial appearance is altered by what seems a ghostlike presence - within a matter of microseconds your mascara has melted down your nose, freckles, zits and wrinkles are blasting their way out of a thinning wall of foundation faster than a bull run in Spain and your hideously expensive frangrance now has a strong funky moonshine undertone to it. The bags under your bloodshot eyes resemble a coupla black puddings (in size, colour and texture) and your beautiful hair that you spent an hour sweating and fighting achy arm syndrome to get it looking just like a freakin Kardashian... now hangs lank over your greasy forehead, droopy, knotty, daggy and makes you look like you live at a trailerpark. The inside of your mouth feels like a used pull-up... and your breath ain't far behind. Not to mention you have to dangerously negotiate (and remember) your way to the loo every 3 minutes due to fear of LBL or BBS..WWIP (burst bladder syndrome.. woops wees in public) and there's never ANY freakin toilet paper left and well that's just gross. If you're on beer you're bloated, top shelf you're chundery and wine... well for me I know I'll be suffering bum wees and its not a matter of maybe but WHEN. It's not attractive and its not fucking fair I tell you.
All of this pales in comparision to the winner of the top gajillion list of "things I can't stand about gettin smashed"...
#1 Dumb shit.
- paranoia
- crying
- aggro
- shagging in a toilet
Oh ALL SORTS.
And would you bloody believe it but THAT's the shit my frontal lobe refuses to evacuate. And when you've got a backlog of about a quarter of a decade's worth... she's a hard road finding the perfect colonic for the psychi.
Flashbacks are a bitch in technocolour baby I shit-you-not.
NB: You know its bloody hard to forgive yourself when some of your finest moments are replaying in HD on series link mode every day from around 11pm to 3am. 'Fear Factor'? More like 'Cringe' factor and epic 'Wipeout' re-runs mixed with a little dose of 'Desperate Housewives' minus the calefornication (but also including it). When all you want to do is bring back 'Happy Days'.
AGE... its not a word I throw around lightly because it makes me nauseous. I still feel in my early 30's and that's about all the norty I can handle about being 40. But I have to admit... begrudgingly... that I have done quite a bit of growing up this year. Not to the point where I'm retiring my girlie bits, embracing upper lip hair and growing fond of second-hand tracksuits... no way man... but I AM trying to avoid the dumb shit... while working on forgiving myself for the fun I had getting to DO the dumb shit.
Because some of it WAS fun... in fact a lot of it was awesome :-) much of it was dodgy and bits of it many of you would have a really hard time believing - shit even I do and I was there! Parts of it were top secret... where even names changed wouldn't protect the innocent...(Noo Zullind is SUCH a small place) not that there was anything remotely 'innocent' about it or it wouldn't be a fricken SECRET - duh! So those ones are best keep in the classified section of my X-files. Sorry to dissappoint.
I don't expect the last time I got inebriated and did something dumb will be my last...I'm hoping for a slightly bigger gap between idiotic episodes. But the last time a huge amount of good came out of a moment of sheer stupidity. Now kids I'm not saying that just because "Monique thinks your dumb" nek minit something choice will happen [first and last time I promise that's why I used them both at once!] - I just happen to have hit the lowest of the low while being the highest of the high and achieving the bestest of the best.
Fuck knows how. That doesn't even make sense really... but it does to me and that's what counts.
Alright you lot - now that I've broken the ice maybe ya'll come back now and for any newbies... have a read and a giggle at me lil stories from yesteryear... you never know you just might enjoy it. I recommend "Don't mention the C-Word", "0 Comments", "Inspiration is the new thin" and "Lightening Crashes an Old Mother Cries" coz they tickle my funny bone.
Luv yaz...
Stylz - back!
Lock up your Woodys :-)
xoxo
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Sunday, November 15, 2009
To process is a process with a plan
Hello lovely bloggees...
So sorry its been a while but I've been full on... oh baby... drama drama drama I tell you.. on stage and off...
Feeling a wee bit weird tonight.. nooo it's not the 15 pinot gris I inhaled... yeah okay maybe that might have SOMETHING to do with it but mostly I reckon it's just life.
So I've invested a lot into the last couple of months. Professionally, personally and creatively. I've gone through challenges in all aspects of the above and I can say honestly for the greater part it was o for orsum. But some have been (to use my favorite termanology...) ARSE.
My baby is flying the nest. My little boy whom I have struggled through this maze of a world I call my life is going flatting and I'm kinda gutted by it. I feel so ripped off... Did I do enough? Was I a good enough parent that he will exist in this septic pool we call the world safely? With enough life skills to get him by, sensibly and safely? Oh shit... I don't know. I only hope that he survives being I guess a lot like me in the survivor sense but not in the emotional sense. I hope I showed him enough honesty to give him the tools to get through but not too much that he feels he can't be all that he should.
Oh christ this is heavy.
Okay so let's get into the lighter side of Vikki Stylz. Jaysus I've been busy. The months and weeks are blurring into one and I'm quite frankly... farking dizzy. Nope that's the pinot gris. Dammit. And its wearing off so forgive me if this gets boring as arse.
I have to re-visit Mr Chemicals because I know that's been a hot topic for the avid fans of "Condensed and Edited". Alas. As with most of my trysts it fizzed like a roman candle in a hurricane. What did I tell you guys??? Too good to be true, too intense to be for real. Now there is this polite funk that quite frankly pisses me off. Ah fark. What can you do huh? Suck it up and store the vibe away for another time, another place, another chemical reaction that you hope comes your way.
Why? What the fark? Come on guys I knew ALL along this was a fantastical surreal feeling. And I was right. So my question to you all is... why was it there? Why did I, despite the gut feelings, persist with the momentary buzz. Now I just feel like a dick. Especially when you get proudly and unshamedly introduced to the 'partner' and the child whom is paraded in front of you like some performing doll. Fark me. This is a place where I'm supposed to give hilarious anecdots of my joke of a life. Now I just feel like I'm a fraud. Especially after reading through my past posts. I was to be honest... absolutely gutted and so very very embarrased because I FELT IT. I believed it and I INVESTED in it. And true to form... I was completely wrong. OK. Can someone just say something funny before I tear myself another asshole for shits and giggles? Aw well... I do... I promise you... I do vow to make sure that one day I shall enter into a relationship that covers all the weird aspects of my life in a way where you will ALL... COLLECTIVELY... breathe a sigh of relief and say "yeah, that's the one. About farking time". Especially me.
You ALL get me. You all know that I'm strangely free but quietly secretive. I bet not many of you know every little detail of who I am and yet I've heard more than once that you envy my life. How naive are you - ha-ha. And yeah I'm happy to keep it that way. Can't have too many of you knowing that I'm a fruitloop in need of a serious labotomy. I'd much rather you all see that as 'talent' or 'humour'. The truth is... I'm scared.
Now that my baby is leaving home I am entering into a phase of my life that is unknown. There's an element of uncertainty that I just can't get a grasp on. I have no excuses now, life is supposed to start for me and I don't know where, just quietly, to begin.
I run through my past trysts and they seem so... so... adolescent. So... (for want of a better word) skanky. What was I thinking? How... pray tell oh bloggees... do I finally listen to my gut instincts and just, well, AVOID. Oh farked if I know.
To quote a writer that has given me joy for the past 8 weeks but isn't intenstly profound or anything... "I feel so... empty. I don't know what to DO with my life. Do just... CARRY ON? The world is spinning out of control and all I can do is... [insert latest Vikki Stylz momentary craze here]. And that is my life... a series of random efforts to fit in... to someone elses world because it seems just so much better than my own... but I guess that's all part of being me huh?
It's a big deal. Just as my boy is growing up and finding his way, I now feel obligated to do the same. But I'm confidently challenged. I was told the other day that I should train as a consellor... yeah okay granted it was advice given to me by a wonderful friend who, as most of my friends do on a regular basis, was experiencing a moment where they weren't quite in their er... right mind. But apparently I was orsum. I'm not surprised. The one thing I can claim as a talent is the ability to listen, disect and decipher everyone elses issues into a very astute mature piece of advice, that in turn, works out marvellously for them and I'm left trudging home to pick up the pieces of my disshelved world, feeling bitter and pissed off that they get what they want and I am still trawling through my trash. Just like the weekly washing it piles up in the corner of my mind, ignored and purposely avoided... because that's what I do best.
I think I need love. I think I need understanding. I think the reason that even though I have a small but marvellous selection of weird and wonderful beings that I call my besties I still come away from their amazing company feeling slightly short-changed is that... well... I'm alone. I have been for a very long time if I'm being honest with myself. Accepting my life and my world and sure... TOTALLY making the most of every day. But as every day goes by I wish for more. I have my selfish moments... where I take the dream lover fantasy and turn it into a completely self-indulgent time of despair. Forever holding on to the fantasy but never quite believing in the ability.
I am the perfect single female. The life of the party, the quintesential hostess, the picture of a perfect guest (when the woodies haven't catapulted me into psychotic oblivion of course) someones bestest bestie. But they all have their lives, and I'm still me. Still the third wheel, still go home to an empty bed because I choose to, still listen to their problems when inside I am silently screaming. But they don't know because I won't let them - maybe sometimes... Just a little bit... just so they know I'm human but without them thinking I'm not cool. But inside... deep deep inside. I ache. I have for many years and I'm afraid I'm past the point of discovering a cure.
Paracetomol moments.
The temporary relief of pain.
My friends are my nurofen plus. And dull the pain they do but its up to me to find a suitable cure and just quietly... I'm starting to think that perhaps its my journey just to be that pain-killer friend to others, and suffer in silence my own shortcomings.
Sometimes there's a quick blast of internal combustion from me and my god do people freak out about it. It's always a build up of many many things that I've swallowed like a hunk of cardboard because even though I might have gone to a situation with the intention of asking for help... I always divert to the other side. "Enough about me... how are YOU doing?" and those kinds of moments just build up. I guess this is a quiet apology, for all those times where people have thought "holy exorcist batman... where the fark did that 'Regan' impersonation come from????".
It's because I care. About you. About what you think of me. About the fact that I need you in my life for a reason. Like someone who will always be an addict no matter what treatment they get or how reformed they are... I will always need my paracetomol moments. I will always need to be needed by you so that my own problems seem... superficial. So I can deal. So I can continue. So I can get up in the morning and carry on. You have been poinient in my survival. Many many times.
Well none of this was farking funny and for that... I'm truly apologetic, but I'm going through a time in my life of huge change, huge challenge and indescribable lonliness of which I can't articulate, but if you read this, don't feel you haven't done enough or should do more because hey... its not you... its me. And I love you for who you are... I'm just trying to find the love in me.
Aw man.
Life can surely suck more arse than a gay man at a mardi gras sometimes. But tomorrow... I'll wake up and wonder what the fark possessed me to post this shit... but I'll feel better for getting it off my chest and think "well fark... that was SOOO last week".
Today is another day, and make it count I will.
Goodnight my beautiful codeine addicts... and no matter how lonely and unfufilled I feel... I will ALWAYS have your back. Just try and stop me.
Peace out.
Stylz
xxxx
So sorry its been a while but I've been full on... oh baby... drama drama drama I tell you.. on stage and off...
Feeling a wee bit weird tonight.. nooo it's not the 15 pinot gris I inhaled... yeah okay maybe that might have SOMETHING to do with it but mostly I reckon it's just life.
So I've invested a lot into the last couple of months. Professionally, personally and creatively. I've gone through challenges in all aspects of the above and I can say honestly for the greater part it was o for orsum. But some have been (to use my favorite termanology...) ARSE.
My baby is flying the nest. My little boy whom I have struggled through this maze of a world I call my life is going flatting and I'm kinda gutted by it. I feel so ripped off... Did I do enough? Was I a good enough parent that he will exist in this septic pool we call the world safely? With enough life skills to get him by, sensibly and safely? Oh shit... I don't know. I only hope that he survives being I guess a lot like me in the survivor sense but not in the emotional sense. I hope I showed him enough honesty to give him the tools to get through but not too much that he feels he can't be all that he should.
Oh christ this is heavy.
Okay so let's get into the lighter side of Vikki Stylz. Jaysus I've been busy. The months and weeks are blurring into one and I'm quite frankly... farking dizzy. Nope that's the pinot gris. Dammit. And its wearing off so forgive me if this gets boring as arse.
I have to re-visit Mr Chemicals because I know that's been a hot topic for the avid fans of "Condensed and Edited". Alas. As with most of my trysts it fizzed like a roman candle in a hurricane. What did I tell you guys??? Too good to be true, too intense to be for real. Now there is this polite funk that quite frankly pisses me off. Ah fark. What can you do huh? Suck it up and store the vibe away for another time, another place, another chemical reaction that you hope comes your way.
Why? What the fark? Come on guys I knew ALL along this was a fantastical surreal feeling. And I was right. So my question to you all is... why was it there? Why did I, despite the gut feelings, persist with the momentary buzz. Now I just feel like a dick. Especially when you get proudly and unshamedly introduced to the 'partner' and the child whom is paraded in front of you like some performing doll. Fark me. This is a place where I'm supposed to give hilarious anecdots of my joke of a life. Now I just feel like I'm a fraud. Especially after reading through my past posts. I was to be honest... absolutely gutted and so very very embarrased because I FELT IT. I believed it and I INVESTED in it. And true to form... I was completely wrong. OK. Can someone just say something funny before I tear myself another asshole for shits and giggles? Aw well... I do... I promise you... I do vow to make sure that one day I shall enter into a relationship that covers all the weird aspects of my life in a way where you will ALL... COLLECTIVELY... breathe a sigh of relief and say "yeah, that's the one. About farking time". Especially me.
You ALL get me. You all know that I'm strangely free but quietly secretive. I bet not many of you know every little detail of who I am and yet I've heard more than once that you envy my life. How naive are you - ha-ha. And yeah I'm happy to keep it that way. Can't have too many of you knowing that I'm a fruitloop in need of a serious labotomy. I'd much rather you all see that as 'talent' or 'humour'. The truth is... I'm scared.
Now that my baby is leaving home I am entering into a phase of my life that is unknown. There's an element of uncertainty that I just can't get a grasp on. I have no excuses now, life is supposed to start for me and I don't know where, just quietly, to begin.
I run through my past trysts and they seem so... so... adolescent. So... (for want of a better word) skanky. What was I thinking? How... pray tell oh bloggees... do I finally listen to my gut instincts and just, well, AVOID. Oh farked if I know.
To quote a writer that has given me joy for the past 8 weeks but isn't intenstly profound or anything... "I feel so... empty. I don't know what to DO with my life. Do just... CARRY ON? The world is spinning out of control and all I can do is... [insert latest Vikki Stylz momentary craze here]. And that is my life... a series of random efforts to fit in... to someone elses world because it seems just so much better than my own... but I guess that's all part of being me huh?
It's a big deal. Just as my boy is growing up and finding his way, I now feel obligated to do the same. But I'm confidently challenged. I was told the other day that I should train as a consellor... yeah okay granted it was advice given to me by a wonderful friend who, as most of my friends do on a regular basis, was experiencing a moment where they weren't quite in their er... right mind. But apparently I was orsum. I'm not surprised. The one thing I can claim as a talent is the ability to listen, disect and decipher everyone elses issues into a very astute mature piece of advice, that in turn, works out marvellously for them and I'm left trudging home to pick up the pieces of my disshelved world, feeling bitter and pissed off that they get what they want and I am still trawling through my trash. Just like the weekly washing it piles up in the corner of my mind, ignored and purposely avoided... because that's what I do best.
I think I need love. I think I need understanding. I think the reason that even though I have a small but marvellous selection of weird and wonderful beings that I call my besties I still come away from their amazing company feeling slightly short-changed is that... well... I'm alone. I have been for a very long time if I'm being honest with myself. Accepting my life and my world and sure... TOTALLY making the most of every day. But as every day goes by I wish for more. I have my selfish moments... where I take the dream lover fantasy and turn it into a completely self-indulgent time of despair. Forever holding on to the fantasy but never quite believing in the ability.
I am the perfect single female. The life of the party, the quintesential hostess, the picture of a perfect guest (when the woodies haven't catapulted me into psychotic oblivion of course) someones bestest bestie. But they all have their lives, and I'm still me. Still the third wheel, still go home to an empty bed because I choose to, still listen to their problems when inside I am silently screaming. But they don't know because I won't let them - maybe sometimes... Just a little bit... just so they know I'm human but without them thinking I'm not cool. But inside... deep deep inside. I ache. I have for many years and I'm afraid I'm past the point of discovering a cure.
Paracetomol moments.
The temporary relief of pain.
My friends are my nurofen plus. And dull the pain they do but its up to me to find a suitable cure and just quietly... I'm starting to think that perhaps its my journey just to be that pain-killer friend to others, and suffer in silence my own shortcomings.
Sometimes there's a quick blast of internal combustion from me and my god do people freak out about it. It's always a build up of many many things that I've swallowed like a hunk of cardboard because even though I might have gone to a situation with the intention of asking for help... I always divert to the other side. "Enough about me... how are YOU doing?" and those kinds of moments just build up. I guess this is a quiet apology, for all those times where people have thought "holy exorcist batman... where the fark did that 'Regan' impersonation come from????".
It's because I care. About you. About what you think of me. About the fact that I need you in my life for a reason. Like someone who will always be an addict no matter what treatment they get or how reformed they are... I will always need my paracetomol moments. I will always need to be needed by you so that my own problems seem... superficial. So I can deal. So I can continue. So I can get up in the morning and carry on. You have been poinient in my survival. Many many times.
Well none of this was farking funny and for that... I'm truly apologetic, but I'm going through a time in my life of huge change, huge challenge and indescribable lonliness of which I can't articulate, but if you read this, don't feel you haven't done enough or should do more because hey... its not you... its me. And I love you for who you are... I'm just trying to find the love in me.
Aw man.
Life can surely suck more arse than a gay man at a mardi gras sometimes. But tomorrow... I'll wake up and wonder what the fark possessed me to post this shit... but I'll feel better for getting it off my chest and think "well fark... that was SOOO last week".
Today is another day, and make it count I will.
Goodnight my beautiful codeine addicts... and no matter how lonely and unfufilled I feel... I will ALWAYS have your back. Just try and stop me.
Peace out.
Stylz
xxxx
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Don't mention the C-word
Baaaaaaaaahummmmbugggg!
Who was the retard that sent the fricken memo out that the C-word is to be crammed in our faces barely half-way into ROCKtober?
It's just arse I tell you. Now I'm not strictly the cliche 'grinch' but I am over the hype have been since November 2000-and-something.
Now I don't want lashings of criticism over this but I have to admit... last year I didn't even put up a C-word-tree. Nope. Didn't have time. Re-freakin-fused I did. Instead I plugged in a neon Surfin' Santa which kept me mildly amused for a couple of weeks and didn't require burn out on the vacuum cleaner. Ha-ha! Sadly tho he had to be returned to the place I pinched him from. Too bloody honest I am.
Oh holy crap... what to do THIS year to avoid the trappings of tinsel trash and blinking bulbs? I don't even NEED decorations... the flashing blindness of the neighbours' 3 gajillion wattage of C-word bling can be seen from space. So! I shall celebrate vicariously off their exorbitant power bill. However, all I want for C-word is a sleeping mask... it's like fricken Antartica in reverse... 24 hours of daylight. Drinking helps.
So you guys saw the good news huh? Yep... mono-ab, shrinking, rapidly. Bloody orsum. Frigging HARD YAKKA tho! Mind you I do chalk it up to all the exercise I have been doing, and the lack of Angus burgers - nope not a one since my last bitch about them haunting my dreams... speaking of dreams... its amazing how you can burn off calories by just repeating a thought over and over and over in your brain. No, not "think thin, think thin" or "you eat, you explode" or "the fridge is full of maggots" or "chocolate tastes like poo" no, no... not that. One word my friends... obsession.
You wanna lose those friendly rolls that have prevented you from cutting your toenails since you were 19 then GET OBSESSED. Not stalker obsessed... just... loser obsessed. The sad lonely obsession that sits in your brain clogging your ability to do the simplest of tasks with any form of decorum or clarity. Even ablutions take twice as long. You realise, only because you're bum is freezing, that you've been sitting there daydreaming for half an hour. You wonder why there's no hot water... you've been in the shower since Tuesday but you still climb out, all zombie-like, your hair encrusted with the shampoo you forgot to wash out...LAST Tuesday. And quite remarkably... YOU... FORGET... HUNGER.
Gone. Disappeared. That growling empty hole is now a different void and no amount of anything can fill it. Plus of course if you do weaken and decide that maybe a 'Double Lust' might just take the edge off you immediately squash that pathetic epiphany and replace it with mildly psychotic threats of self harm if you break and allow that poison access to your vessel you've worked so hard on... of course 'Double Lust' can also be referred to as a completely different need which is handy - not so with 'Kiwi As Chips' or 'Burger'.
So all in all I see my new found version of weight loss as working pretty bloody well just quietly. Piss on the experts. Obsession is good for the mono-ab. Which is now I am proud to report... more of a 'mini-mono-ab'. I tell you guys... my brain is more interesting since I developed this obsession than freakin SKY and Freeview put together. I've got chick flicks, perfect endings, soft porn, comedy, drama and reality TV playing 24/7. Plus I know the producer, director, writer AND actors quite intimately. Of course the only difference is on MY TV channel I am farking gorgeous. Slight over-exaggeration but hey, what the hell, its my head, my show, my obsession.
So with all this exciting brain activity I am literally shrinking. I reckon I'll write a best-selling diet book... and I think I'll call it ...umm...
"Free from fat through fantasy: A chubber's guide to obsessing your way to styly collarbones"
Chapter One
"Mono-ab Anonymous is for Anorexics"
Chapter Two
"Say no to camel-toe"
Chapter Three
"Defining your obsessive boundaries around your mono-ab"
Chapter Four
"Beware the fake obsession - Mono-ab Sabotage"
Chapter Five
"When mono-abs go bad"
Chapter Six
"The do's and don't's of DIY Obsession"
Chapter Seven
"Falling off the wagon..."
Chapter Eight
"Losing the wagon in your mono-ab"
Chapter Nine
"An obsessor's top ten"
And finally...
Chapter Ten
"Fantasy, reality... the blurred line of the obsessor"
Epilogue
"Thin, but slightly bonkers... who cares, I'm thin"
Fark yeah... I think I'm on to a winner hear folks... hmm... anyone want to finance me?
Peace out my friends
Oh and don't worry... er, no offense but I'm not obsessing about any of you... well maybe just for test obsess purposes but I promise... no inappropriate touching.
Bye!
Skatty but skinny Stylz
xxxxxx
Who was the retard that sent the fricken memo out that the C-word is to be crammed in our faces barely half-way into ROCKtober?
It's just arse I tell you. Now I'm not strictly the cliche 'grinch' but I am over the hype have been since November 2000-and-something.
Now I don't want lashings of criticism over this but I have to admit... last year I didn't even put up a C-word-tree. Nope. Didn't have time. Re-freakin-fused I did. Instead I plugged in a neon Surfin' Santa which kept me mildly amused for a couple of weeks and didn't require burn out on the vacuum cleaner. Ha-ha! Sadly tho he had to be returned to the place I pinched him from. Too bloody honest I am.
Oh holy crap... what to do THIS year to avoid the trappings of tinsel trash and blinking bulbs? I don't even NEED decorations... the flashing blindness of the neighbours' 3 gajillion wattage of C-word bling can be seen from space. So! I shall celebrate vicariously off their exorbitant power bill. However, all I want for C-word is a sleeping mask... it's like fricken Antartica in reverse... 24 hours of daylight. Drinking helps.
So you guys saw the good news huh? Yep... mono-ab, shrinking, rapidly. Bloody orsum. Frigging HARD YAKKA tho! Mind you I do chalk it up to all the exercise I have been doing, and the lack of Angus burgers - nope not a one since my last bitch about them haunting my dreams... speaking of dreams... its amazing how you can burn off calories by just repeating a thought over and over and over in your brain. No, not "think thin, think thin" or "you eat, you explode" or "the fridge is full of maggots" or "chocolate tastes like poo" no, no... not that. One word my friends... obsession.
You wanna lose those friendly rolls that have prevented you from cutting your toenails since you were 19 then GET OBSESSED. Not stalker obsessed... just... loser obsessed. The sad lonely obsession that sits in your brain clogging your ability to do the simplest of tasks with any form of decorum or clarity. Even ablutions take twice as long. You realise, only because you're bum is freezing, that you've been sitting there daydreaming for half an hour. You wonder why there's no hot water... you've been in the shower since Tuesday but you still climb out, all zombie-like, your hair encrusted with the shampoo you forgot to wash out...LAST Tuesday. And quite remarkably... YOU... FORGET... HUNGER.
Gone. Disappeared. That growling empty hole is now a different void and no amount of anything can fill it. Plus of course if you do weaken and decide that maybe a 'Double Lust' might just take the edge off you immediately squash that pathetic epiphany and replace it with mildly psychotic threats of self harm if you break and allow that poison access to your vessel you've worked so hard on... of course 'Double Lust' can also be referred to as a completely different need which is handy - not so with 'Kiwi As Chips' or 'Burger'.
So all in all I see my new found version of weight loss as working pretty bloody well just quietly. Piss on the experts. Obsession is good for the mono-ab. Which is now I am proud to report... more of a 'mini-mono-ab'. I tell you guys... my brain is more interesting since I developed this obsession than freakin SKY and Freeview put together. I've got chick flicks, perfect endings, soft porn, comedy, drama and reality TV playing 24/7. Plus I know the producer, director, writer AND actors quite intimately. Of course the only difference is on MY TV channel I am farking gorgeous. Slight over-exaggeration but hey, what the hell, its my head, my show, my obsession.
So with all this exciting brain activity I am literally shrinking. I reckon I'll write a best-selling diet book... and I think I'll call it ...umm...
"Free from fat through fantasy: A chubber's guide to obsessing your way to styly collarbones"
Chapter One
"Mono-ab Anonymous is for Anorexics"
Chapter Two
"Say no to camel-toe"
Chapter Three
"Defining your obsessive boundaries around your mono-ab"
Chapter Four
"Beware the fake obsession - Mono-ab Sabotage"
Chapter Five
"When mono-abs go bad"
Chapter Six
"The do's and don't's of DIY Obsession"
Chapter Seven
"Falling off the wagon..."
Chapter Eight
"Losing the wagon in your mono-ab"
Chapter Nine
"An obsessor's top ten"
And finally...
Chapter Ten
"Fantasy, reality... the blurred line of the obsessor"
Epilogue
"Thin, but slightly bonkers... who cares, I'm thin"
Fark yeah... I think I'm on to a winner hear folks... hmm... anyone want to finance me?
Peace out my friends
Oh and don't worry... er, no offense but I'm not obsessing about any of you... well maybe just for test obsess purposes but I promise... no inappropriate touching.
Bye!
Skatty but skinny Stylz
xxxxxx
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Short. Sweet. Slim.
6.7kgs in just over a month.
Pretty farking styly.
Monoab fighting its last fight - losing.
Nearly half way there... baby steps, baby steps...
Yay me!
xxx
Pretty farking styly.
Monoab fighting its last fight - losing.
Nearly half way there... baby steps, baby steps...
Yay me!
xxx
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
0 Comments
Well that just rips my undies.
The ONE time I pour out my soul, cry for help louder than a huckery old whore with a broken stilleto... you guys decide to dissolve into the ethos. Hello? Am I resigned to the pathetic echos of a 'Nigella-no-friends' cyber life again? Are my literary splurges now SOO predictable that you have lost your interest? Or...God forbid... you have all (all 5 of you) found a life beyond fibre optic pleasure? You bastards... I'm so jealous.
Anyhoo... the delight of chemicals is still running rampant through my inner void but I fear, like a drunk diagnostic worker, I have missed the vein and come out the other side with a sad-sack sounding 'woops'. I have realised that age and too many bar-leaner romances have thwarted my inner romantic. I suck at chemicals. I did EXACTLY what I didn't want to do... ran faster than a coyote on crack. I drifted back into the blur of the wallflower... and stayed there kicking myself. What a loser.
The doubt and paranoia and unknown consumed me and I spent the last few encounters keeping my distance. Thus the electricity has subsided ever so slightly... until... tonight. Great. So... that means... another 3.30 wake-up... with a croaky "aww farrrrrk!". Then a bathroom excursion, which, as I am housesitting at present and have yet to master the 'sleepy walk in the dark to the crappa' journey without injury, does present even more challenge. And then there's the excruciatingly long wait till the alarm goes off just playing ridiculous 'shoulda, woulda, coulda' lamo fantasy situations in my head. Nooo... not THOSE kind of fantasies!!! For some reason my avid readers... sleeping in someone else's bed has this anesthetic effect on a woman's libido.
So... in short, I am this pathetic mess of a day-dreaming, sleep-deprived-fridgid-nana who's only current excited associated with bush and any alternative meaning connected with the term is watching the wood pigeons get drunk on berries and fly beak-on into tree branches, amusing... yes - fricken hilarious actually. Other more 'sensually-insensed' people might find the hum of the natural native Waitakere wildlife invigorating and... strangely arousing. But me... although it is peaceful and relaxing and beautiful it is so highly inconvenient. I've been novocained by nature and its... quite frankly... pissing me off.
Other than that... life's just freakin peachy actually. I AM staying in a Titirangi hideaway that is just bloody marvellous and is really doing my scarred and skanky soul quite a bit of good actually... even though I've only been here a few days. I still feel a little out of sorts... it's a pain in the arse that its so... temporary. Story of my life really... always a temporary thrill - limited real-life fantasy. No wonder I can't farking make my move on Mr Chemicals. I'm always believing everything is temporary and I shouldn't get too attached because its (oh wait for it... I feel a song coming on) OOOOOON-LY... MAYYYYKE...BEEEEE-LEEEEIVE.
Yeah you can put the tiny violins away. So I'm feeling a little sorry for myself...SO I'm smackin' myself up a bit for being chicken shit. So I'm completely insane but hey... that's how I roll. It's so funny... I am on my upmost BEST form around Mr Chemicals... I hit every one-liner with precision... I have 'em all hooting with laughter and I'm having fun... but the downside of the up is the down, and the downer is everyone is up and I'm... shit... I lost my point. So the downside of being up is everyone else is up and I'm thinking... I feel so down when I'm up... and when I'm up is when I shine so the come down from up is a reeeeal downer. But I shouldn't BE down because I REALLY TRULY am UP at the time. So I'm up and down more often than a gynocologist which is started to trip me out. But its an ORSUM up and the down isn't like a REAL down... its just a little.........
Lonely.
It's very quiet out here.
Even the fridge has stopped creaking. The owner PROMISED IT WOULD CREAK.
There's not even any spooky 'past-life' vibe or anything here. Nothing goes bump in the night. Except the cat. Now after many years of living alone (apart from my darling son) a purring cat climbing all over your head in the wee smalls kinda freakin' sucks. "Fluffy" is old. Constantly hungry. Is a 'mute' meower... (I've never been able to lip read, or speak 'pussy' so communication between us is, understandably, suffering). He has the loudest purr in the world. I thought cats only purred when they were content, happy, settled. OOHHH NOOO... Fluffy purrs just to piss me off. "PURRRRRRRRRRR... yes I'm climbing on your face...PURRRRRRR... smell my ass..... PURRRRRRR... here comes THE CLAW BABY...PURRRRRR... you like that don't you?....PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR... hmmmm... if only my balls were still there this would feel AWESOME.....PURRRRRRRR... ooooh I'm so hot right now I'm dribbling... all over the side of your head.... yeaaaahhhh...PURRRRRRR..."
Fluffy is old. He dribbles... a lot. He purrs.... a lot. He eats... a lot. And he's now just discovered that he can not only fly but still land on four paws - who said I can't teach and old pussy new tricks? Case and point. When he's good... he gets an egg in the morning with his bickies... when I am wretching while cleaning cat-drool out of my ear at 2am... yeah-nah... it's not looking too good for the old fuzz ball.
Well this post went nowhere fast... and I'm not even drunk. Dammit. Perhaps I should be? Perhaps I should be drunk with Mr Chemicals coz then NOTHING would faze me... except the following morning when I have to explain why he has a cat stuck to his face... yeah... not the same thing. Sounds similar but rooooollly different.
And on that strangely disgusting note... I shall retire. In hopes I make it past 3am - drool-free, and without the dizzy scent of chemicals sending my last three functioning braincells into frenzied turmoil.
Goodnight.
Wish me luck with my pussy. Metaphorically speaking.
Stoopified Stylz.
It ain't easy being green.
xxx
The ONE time I pour out my soul, cry for help louder than a huckery old whore with a broken stilleto... you guys decide to dissolve into the ethos. Hello? Am I resigned to the pathetic echos of a 'Nigella-no-friends' cyber life again? Are my literary splurges now SOO predictable that you have lost your interest? Or...God forbid... you have all (all 5 of you) found a life beyond fibre optic pleasure? You bastards... I'm so jealous.
Anyhoo... the delight of chemicals is still running rampant through my inner void but I fear, like a drunk diagnostic worker, I have missed the vein and come out the other side with a sad-sack sounding 'woops'. I have realised that age and too many bar-leaner romances have thwarted my inner romantic. I suck at chemicals. I did EXACTLY what I didn't want to do... ran faster than a coyote on crack. I drifted back into the blur of the wallflower... and stayed there kicking myself. What a loser.
The doubt and paranoia and unknown consumed me and I spent the last few encounters keeping my distance. Thus the electricity has subsided ever so slightly... until... tonight. Great. So... that means... another 3.30 wake-up... with a croaky "aww farrrrrk!". Then a bathroom excursion, which, as I am housesitting at present and have yet to master the 'sleepy walk in the dark to the crappa' journey without injury, does present even more challenge. And then there's the excruciatingly long wait till the alarm goes off just playing ridiculous 'shoulda, woulda, coulda' lamo fantasy situations in my head. Nooo... not THOSE kind of fantasies!!! For some reason my avid readers... sleeping in someone else's bed has this anesthetic effect on a woman's libido.
So... in short, I am this pathetic mess of a day-dreaming, sleep-deprived-fridgid-nana who's only current excited associated with bush and any alternative meaning connected with the term is watching the wood pigeons get drunk on berries and fly beak-on into tree branches, amusing... yes - fricken hilarious actually. Other more 'sensually-insensed' people might find the hum of the natural native Waitakere wildlife invigorating and... strangely arousing. But me... although it is peaceful and relaxing and beautiful it is so highly inconvenient. I've been novocained by nature and its... quite frankly... pissing me off.
Other than that... life's just freakin peachy actually. I AM staying in a Titirangi hideaway that is just bloody marvellous and is really doing my scarred and skanky soul quite a bit of good actually... even though I've only been here a few days. I still feel a little out of sorts... it's a pain in the arse that its so... temporary. Story of my life really... always a temporary thrill - limited real-life fantasy. No wonder I can't farking make my move on Mr Chemicals. I'm always believing everything is temporary and I shouldn't get too attached because its (oh wait for it... I feel a song coming on) OOOOOON-LY... MAYYYYKE...BEEEEE-LEEEEIVE.
Yeah you can put the tiny violins away. So I'm feeling a little sorry for myself...SO I'm smackin' myself up a bit for being chicken shit. So I'm completely insane but hey... that's how I roll. It's so funny... I am on my upmost BEST form around Mr Chemicals... I hit every one-liner with precision... I have 'em all hooting with laughter and I'm having fun... but the downside of the up is the down, and the downer is everyone is up and I'm... shit... I lost my point. So the downside of being up is everyone else is up and I'm thinking... I feel so down when I'm up... and when I'm up is when I shine so the come down from up is a reeeeal downer. But I shouldn't BE down because I REALLY TRULY am UP at the time. So I'm up and down more often than a gynocologist which is started to trip me out. But its an ORSUM up and the down isn't like a REAL down... its just a little.........
Lonely.
It's very quiet out here.
Even the fridge has stopped creaking. The owner PROMISED IT WOULD CREAK.
There's not even any spooky 'past-life' vibe or anything here. Nothing goes bump in the night. Except the cat. Now after many years of living alone (apart from my darling son) a purring cat climbing all over your head in the wee smalls kinda freakin' sucks. "Fluffy" is old. Constantly hungry. Is a 'mute' meower... (I've never been able to lip read, or speak 'pussy' so communication between us is, understandably, suffering). He has the loudest purr in the world. I thought cats only purred when they were content, happy, settled. OOHHH NOOO... Fluffy purrs just to piss me off. "PURRRRRRRRRRR... yes I'm climbing on your face...PURRRRRRR... smell my ass..... PURRRRRRR... here comes THE CLAW BABY...PURRRRRR... you like that don't you?....PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR... hmmmm... if only my balls were still there this would feel AWESOME.....PURRRRRRRR... ooooh I'm so hot right now I'm dribbling... all over the side of your head.... yeaaaahhhh...PURRRRRRR..."
Fluffy is old. He dribbles... a lot. He purrs.... a lot. He eats... a lot. And he's now just discovered that he can not only fly but still land on four paws - who said I can't teach and old pussy new tricks? Case and point. When he's good... he gets an egg in the morning with his bickies... when I am wretching while cleaning cat-drool out of my ear at 2am... yeah-nah... it's not looking too good for the old fuzz ball.
Well this post went nowhere fast... and I'm not even drunk. Dammit. Perhaps I should be? Perhaps I should be drunk with Mr Chemicals coz then NOTHING would faze me... except the following morning when I have to explain why he has a cat stuck to his face... yeah... not the same thing. Sounds similar but rooooollly different.
And on that strangely disgusting note... I shall retire. In hopes I make it past 3am - drool-free, and without the dizzy scent of chemicals sending my last three functioning braincells into frenzied turmoil.
Goodnight.
Wish me luck with my pussy. Metaphorically speaking.
Stoopified Stylz.
It ain't easy being green.
xxx
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
It's totally full-on chemicals...
No I'm not on drugs. What... are you retarded?
No... you won't find a recipe for mind-altering substances encrypted into this blog post. That's not how I roll. And roll I would if in fact I DID. Roll right into the gutter dribbling on my own kneecaps. No folks I'm talking the natural high of human chemical reaction. That's my buzz today. And buzz I did :-) Like a humming bird on E.
I really do understand what people go on about with the myth that is instant electricity. It's quite freakin intense actually. What's so hard about it is in this day and age of political correctness, coupled with the sad female to male ratio in my age group - I really don't know what the fark to do with it when it hits me anymore.
The self-doubt is incredible. The obsession quite disturbing. But the feeling is totally surreal and overpowering. And the second-guessing is driving me nuts. My other self, the bitchy narcissist kill-joy keeps piping up and pissing on my cheap thrill... here's some examples from the obnoxious cow...
"Did I just feel what I think I thought I felt?"
"Mayyyte... ya dreamin'"
"But I feel so sick and jiggly and nervous and... flushed"
"Ya haven't had a drink in 24 hours whaddaya expect ya westie booze hag"
"But surely... I mean... there IS a connection... you can almost smell the chemical reaction from here, see it like bolts of lightening flashing between us."
"Geesus even Mills and Boon fanatics would puke at that."
Okay so I'm calling out to the experts... yes... yoohoo! YOU LOVELY LOT. For god's sake help me here before this stuff fries my brain and I completely miss an opportunity... or not.
I guess what I'm very inarticulately trying to spit out here is..."how do you talk to boys?" Boys that you... ya know... LIKE 'n stuff. Coz right now I'm going down the road of "must remain further than 10 feet away at all times for fear of the ferimoans (?jesus how DO you spell that word?)knocking the poor guy out - not to mention everyone else within a 1km radius". "Whatever you do... DON'T LOOK HIM IN THE EYE... DAMMIT! I said DON'T look him in the eye. Christ you never listen...". "Okay, polite conversation, I can do this... [insert foot in mouth disease pandemic here] DAMMIT!"
I suck at this. I really really do. And I don't WANT to suck...er... I mean I would really like to feel comfortable because it makes me... tingle. Yeah, I said that... tingle. I don't think I've 'tingled' in a looooong time. So okay blogees, love guru's, Aunt Agony's... give it your best shot... dating advice for the chemically challenged. THAT my friends is your mission. Well I guess not so much 'dating' as yet... but more 'communicating with style' because seriously... I'm not Miss Stylz when the butterflies are performing Riverdance in my mono-ab. I'm more Miss Smilez... looks away... Smilez... scratches her bum...Smilez... runs hand through hair for thousanth time...Smilez... trips over... Smilez... runs off...Smilez... lil bit of wee comes out. Plus with all the sucking in of my mono-ab... I haven't breathed properly in like a week which makes any conversation useless because it comes out in this horrible squeak like a ballon deflating or fingernails on a chalkboard - soooo not attractive people!!!
I need help. I know the chemistry is there... and perhaps it might be a deadend after all but... no harm in trying to find out is there? I just wish I could do it without feeling like I'm gonna puke all over his gorgeous thighs... DAMMIT. Now I'll never get those legs outta my head!
Over to you guys. Come on, I can take it... okay so it's true I'll most likely do the exact opposite because I'm a klutz and forget all my lines... but there is a glimmer of hope and at the rate I'm going... I'm gonna pee all over it till its just a smouldering pile of wet "coulda, woulda, shoulda" ash.
I'm doomed but baby it feeeels soooo goooooood.
[insert big heavy sigh here]
The thighs have it. I'm so not going to be able to sleep tonight. Ratshit.
Sleep sweet...
Smitten Stylz
xxxx
No... you won't find a recipe for mind-altering substances encrypted into this blog post. That's not how I roll. And roll I would if in fact I DID. Roll right into the gutter dribbling on my own kneecaps. No folks I'm talking the natural high of human chemical reaction. That's my buzz today. And buzz I did :-) Like a humming bird on E.
I really do understand what people go on about with the myth that is instant electricity. It's quite freakin intense actually. What's so hard about it is in this day and age of political correctness, coupled with the sad female to male ratio in my age group - I really don't know what the fark to do with it when it hits me anymore.
The self-doubt is incredible. The obsession quite disturbing. But the feeling is totally surreal and overpowering. And the second-guessing is driving me nuts. My other self, the bitchy narcissist kill-joy keeps piping up and pissing on my cheap thrill... here's some examples from the obnoxious cow...
"Did I just feel what I think I thought I felt?"
"Mayyyte... ya dreamin'"
"But I feel so sick and jiggly and nervous and... flushed"
"Ya haven't had a drink in 24 hours whaddaya expect ya westie booze hag"
"But surely... I mean... there IS a connection... you can almost smell the chemical reaction from here, see it like bolts of lightening flashing between us."
"Geesus even Mills and Boon fanatics would puke at that."
Okay so I'm calling out to the experts... yes... yoohoo! YOU LOVELY LOT. For god's sake help me here before this stuff fries my brain and I completely miss an opportunity... or not.
I guess what I'm very inarticulately trying to spit out here is..."how do you talk to boys?" Boys that you... ya know... LIKE 'n stuff. Coz right now I'm going down the road of "must remain further than 10 feet away at all times for fear of the ferimoans (?jesus how DO you spell that word?)knocking the poor guy out - not to mention everyone else within a 1km radius". "Whatever you do... DON'T LOOK HIM IN THE EYE... DAMMIT! I said DON'T look him in the eye. Christ you never listen...". "Okay, polite conversation, I can do this... [insert foot in mouth disease pandemic here] DAMMIT!"
I suck at this. I really really do. And I don't WANT to suck...er... I mean I would really like to feel comfortable because it makes me... tingle. Yeah, I said that... tingle. I don't think I've 'tingled' in a looooong time. So okay blogees, love guru's, Aunt Agony's... give it your best shot... dating advice for the chemically challenged. THAT my friends is your mission. Well I guess not so much 'dating' as yet... but more 'communicating with style' because seriously... I'm not Miss Stylz when the butterflies are performing Riverdance in my mono-ab. I'm more Miss Smilez... looks away... Smilez... scratches her bum...Smilez... runs hand through hair for thousanth time...Smilez... trips over... Smilez... runs off...Smilez... lil bit of wee comes out. Plus with all the sucking in of my mono-ab... I haven't breathed properly in like a week which makes any conversation useless because it comes out in this horrible squeak like a ballon deflating or fingernails on a chalkboard - soooo not attractive people!!!
I need help. I know the chemistry is there... and perhaps it might be a deadend after all but... no harm in trying to find out is there? I just wish I could do it without feeling like I'm gonna puke all over his gorgeous thighs... DAMMIT. Now I'll never get those legs outta my head!
Over to you guys. Come on, I can take it... okay so it's true I'll most likely do the exact opposite because I'm a klutz and forget all my lines... but there is a glimmer of hope and at the rate I'm going... I'm gonna pee all over it till its just a smouldering pile of wet "coulda, woulda, shoulda" ash.
I'm doomed but baby it feeeels soooo goooooood.
[insert big heavy sigh here]
The thighs have it. I'm so not going to be able to sleep tonight. Ratshit.
Sleep sweet...
Smitten Stylz
xxxx
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Inspiration is the new thin...
Holy shit balls.
After a gruelling 24 hours I just had to go to the pub for release. Not good for the mono-ab I know but FANTASTIC for the soul!
You know when you have one of those conversations and connections that you wish could last longer than a brief chat at the taxi-rank? Yeah I had that tonight. Words that flowed probably free-er than you'd like to admit but what gives you the push again to believe in your spirit.
It's random and it's unexpected but it's awesome. It's true to assume that I am a nerd of words. Seduced by the power of the conversation. Turned on by the freedom of speech...
It's all about connection. You meet someone that has solidified their passion and their place in the world and they don't give a rat's bollocks what anyone else thinks. Jesus I crave to be that confident.
Okay so I might be just a little pissed but a wise man once said that that was the juice of creativity... opens the mind. Hence my verbal squirts here.
So.. to update you... had this fantastic splurge of inspiration, got it all down here, exposed my soul, bled my heart dry, even signed off all heartfelt and true, ran naked along Albert St (metaphorically) and what do you know? I lost the rest of my ramblings in the unstable environment that is the online world. Aww shit.
Now I'm too far gone to remember all the awesome things I said. Maybe it's for the best and they weren't that awesome after all. But not one to give up... I'll try and recap... just like a Sunday night Dukes of Hazzard episode... but without the tight jeans :-)
I have always wondered... why have I not had a relationship with a creative??? They GET me, they INSPIRE me, they talk like a song I could listen to on repeat and they bring laughter and reality to my world.
You all know me... I shirk the problems, am great at advice but shit at taking my own... then... when I finally emerge from hobbiton, I remove the invisibility ring of the real world, shave my feet and re-surface into the world of the unknown.
The life of the lonely creative. No wonder we drink.
So I'm sitting in my little study on my Friday off in my mis-matched jarmies listening to the rain... yes once again its raining on my cheeky long weekend and I'm feeling ever so slightly flat. No not FAT... flat. Almost a juxtaposition but not quite...
I'm a bit disappointed in myself to be honest. I started this wee story with such passion and commitment and fresh inspiration and yeah a little too much Pinot Gris last night and I was on fire. Fingers flying over the keyboard with the speed of superman, ideas and anecdotes flowing like perfect rivers from a fountain of literature... I was in writer's heaven... the perfect post and then...
It all went horribly wrong.
If there is such thing as an afterlife... could someone scrap up my lost words and dump them back in my brain because that's the only place I can think of where they went. They just... disappeared. Like the hot guy I had a crush on for ooh months at high school and finally ended up snogging in a dark corner of the school ball. Only to have him suddenly wipe off the pink lipstick, stagger off to the loo never to be seen again... leaving me sitting alone at a table, feeling more of a loser virgin with every excruciatingly long passing minute and wondering how many people saw my cheap undies while my legs were flailing about like a windmill in a hurricane.
Yes that's how I feel this morning. Gutted. And I know that it was just a little bit my fault. Being slightly pissy-eye (yes the downside of a lifestyle change is that booze hits your brain at warp speed and reacts with it like Woodstock-strength LSD.) I wasn't functioning as well as I usually am on this thing and didn't really take much notice of the non-responsive 'save' button until it was too late. As much as I rebel against the "do not get pissed and blog" rule - coz that's when it's really magic, the ramifications of blogging while smashed can be gutting - and I do feel like a tool. Because it WAS magic.
Okay sure you guys (all four of you) are smart cookies and can tell when Miss Stylz has had a wee too many drops from the jungle joose jug because her stories are insane... but that's why you're here and that's why you're my friends. Embrace the freak within :-)
Maybe I should have a drink... okay so its only 8.20 in the morning but what harm can come? It might re-ignite that particularly glorious creative flame I had blazing at 9pm last night until I passed out with my jarmie pants on inside out and a random twig stuck in my hair (I have no farking idea... if I can't find my words how the hell am I supposed to know how I got the ability overnight to sprout branches from my head - just another hidden talent I reckon).
Anyway... this wonderful story last night... it was all about me. Hehe. Actually it was about you lot, and creativity and love and the spirituality of being special and......... yeah okay I definitely was hammered but it was cool and very well written for someone that was typing on dual keyboards thanks to double vision. (Yes, yes I know... another talent - they just keep surfacing... like jobbies that won't flush).
On the upside... I AM shrinking. Not of old age but actually shrinking. My mono-ab is retreating at a rate of knots and my Angus Burger craving has all but dissolved (until just now.... DAMMIT). It's been just over two weeks and today is the big day of tape measures and scales. I'm a bit nervous but I'm confident... when you can actually sit down in your jeans and still have the ability to breath you know you're doing okay. When you can't cross your legs without your fly simultaneously exploding open due to the gravitational pull and immense pressure of the bulge... it's certainly nice when you can finally rise up from your chair without frantically grappling around your crotch to try and find where the fark the little metal zip thingy has escaped in fear to.
It's nice to peel off your jeans at the end of the day and not look like you've been hacked to pieces when you see the swollen red welt reminder that your body had punished you with for cramming it viciously into pants you have no business even looking at let alone wearing out in public.
It's nice not to have a camel toe.
It's nice not to have to find a top that is more of an illusionist than David Copperfield to hide a life-preserver sized mono-ab hanging over your skin-pinching waistband.
It's nice to put back fat behind me. (hehehe - oh come on that was GOLD)
It's nice to put on a bra for support and not have 14 other pairs of nipple-less breasts pop out around it.
And it's nice to wear undies that do not require a mining crew and drill bit to retrieve at the end of the day.
So all is not lost. Words, yes, braincells, yes, weight, definitely. The balls to get up and start again... never.
One word of advice before I embark on whatever surprises and inspirations the day may bring... SAVE NOW. Okay that's two words but hey I'm a giving kinda girl.
Stay cool, hug a new friend because they don't come around often in this world as we get older, and for farks sake have a bloody good laugh.
Peace
Skinnier Stylz
xxxxxxx
After a gruelling 24 hours I just had to go to the pub for release. Not good for the mono-ab I know but FANTASTIC for the soul!
You know when you have one of those conversations and connections that you wish could last longer than a brief chat at the taxi-rank? Yeah I had that tonight. Words that flowed probably free-er than you'd like to admit but what gives you the push again to believe in your spirit.
It's random and it's unexpected but it's awesome. It's true to assume that I am a nerd of words. Seduced by the power of the conversation. Turned on by the freedom of speech...
It's all about connection. You meet someone that has solidified their passion and their place in the world and they don't give a rat's bollocks what anyone else thinks. Jesus I crave to be that confident.
Okay so I might be just a little pissed but a wise man once said that that was the juice of creativity... opens the mind. Hence my verbal squirts here.
So.. to update you... had this fantastic splurge of inspiration, got it all down here, exposed my soul, bled my heart dry, even signed off all heartfelt and true, ran naked along Albert St (metaphorically) and what do you know? I lost the rest of my ramblings in the unstable environment that is the online world. Aww shit.
Now I'm too far gone to remember all the awesome things I said. Maybe it's for the best and they weren't that awesome after all. But not one to give up... I'll try and recap... just like a Sunday night Dukes of Hazzard episode... but without the tight jeans :-)
I have always wondered... why have I not had a relationship with a creative??? They GET me, they INSPIRE me, they talk like a song I could listen to on repeat and they bring laughter and reality to my world.
You all know me... I shirk the problems, am great at advice but shit at taking my own... then... when I finally emerge from hobbiton, I remove the invisibility ring of the real world, shave my feet and re-surface into the world of the unknown.
The life of the lonely creative. No wonder we drink.
So I'm sitting in my little study on my Friday off in my mis-matched jarmies listening to the rain... yes once again its raining on my cheeky long weekend and I'm feeling ever so slightly flat. No not FAT... flat. Almost a juxtaposition but not quite...
I'm a bit disappointed in myself to be honest. I started this wee story with such passion and commitment and fresh inspiration and yeah a little too much Pinot Gris last night and I was on fire. Fingers flying over the keyboard with the speed of superman, ideas and anecdotes flowing like perfect rivers from a fountain of literature... I was in writer's heaven... the perfect post and then...
It all went horribly wrong.
If there is such thing as an afterlife... could someone scrap up my lost words and dump them back in my brain because that's the only place I can think of where they went. They just... disappeared. Like the hot guy I had a crush on for ooh months at high school and finally ended up snogging in a dark corner of the school ball. Only to have him suddenly wipe off the pink lipstick, stagger off to the loo never to be seen again... leaving me sitting alone at a table, feeling more of a loser virgin with every excruciatingly long passing minute and wondering how many people saw my cheap undies while my legs were flailing about like a windmill in a hurricane.
Yes that's how I feel this morning. Gutted. And I know that it was just a little bit my fault. Being slightly pissy-eye (yes the downside of a lifestyle change is that booze hits your brain at warp speed and reacts with it like Woodstock-strength LSD.) I wasn't functioning as well as I usually am on this thing and didn't really take much notice of the non-responsive 'save' button until it was too late. As much as I rebel against the "do not get pissed and blog" rule - coz that's when it's really magic, the ramifications of blogging while smashed can be gutting - and I do feel like a tool. Because it WAS magic.
Okay sure you guys (all four of you) are smart cookies and can tell when Miss Stylz has had a wee too many drops from the jungle joose jug because her stories are insane... but that's why you're here and that's why you're my friends. Embrace the freak within :-)
Maybe I should have a drink... okay so its only 8.20 in the morning but what harm can come? It might re-ignite that particularly glorious creative flame I had blazing at 9pm last night until I passed out with my jarmie pants on inside out and a random twig stuck in my hair (I have no farking idea... if I can't find my words how the hell am I supposed to know how I got the ability overnight to sprout branches from my head - just another hidden talent I reckon).
Anyway... this wonderful story last night... it was all about me. Hehe. Actually it was about you lot, and creativity and love and the spirituality of being special and......... yeah okay I definitely was hammered but it was cool and very well written for someone that was typing on dual keyboards thanks to double vision. (Yes, yes I know... another talent - they just keep surfacing... like jobbies that won't flush).
On the upside... I AM shrinking. Not of old age but actually shrinking. My mono-ab is retreating at a rate of knots and my Angus Burger craving has all but dissolved (until just now.... DAMMIT). It's been just over two weeks and today is the big day of tape measures and scales. I'm a bit nervous but I'm confident... when you can actually sit down in your jeans and still have the ability to breath you know you're doing okay. When you can't cross your legs without your fly simultaneously exploding open due to the gravitational pull and immense pressure of the bulge... it's certainly nice when you can finally rise up from your chair without frantically grappling around your crotch to try and find where the fark the little metal zip thingy has escaped in fear to.
It's nice to peel off your jeans at the end of the day and not look like you've been hacked to pieces when you see the swollen red welt reminder that your body had punished you with for cramming it viciously into pants you have no business even looking at let alone wearing out in public.
It's nice not to have a camel toe.
It's nice not to have to find a top that is more of an illusionist than David Copperfield to hide a life-preserver sized mono-ab hanging over your skin-pinching waistband.
It's nice to put back fat behind me. (hehehe - oh come on that was GOLD)
It's nice to put on a bra for support and not have 14 other pairs of nipple-less breasts pop out around it.
And it's nice to wear undies that do not require a mining crew and drill bit to retrieve at the end of the day.
So all is not lost. Words, yes, braincells, yes, weight, definitely. The balls to get up and start again... never.
One word of advice before I embark on whatever surprises and inspirations the day may bring... SAVE NOW. Okay that's two words but hey I'm a giving kinda girl.
Stay cool, hug a new friend because they don't come around often in this world as we get older, and for farks sake have a bloody good laugh.
Peace
Skinnier Stylz
xxxxxxx
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