Help... I'm a fallen woman.
My bum hurts.
Its my own damn fault really - Mr Chemicals told me its because I'm always in a rush... and its true. I clunk, clang, bang, bump and trip my way through life because I'm goin' "full tit". Which confuses me really because I'm a self-confessed lazy-arse. Go figure.
I cut corners which is dumb because doorways aren't corners and it freakin hurts when you smash into them. I'm constantly whacking my toes on large objects that have always been there but for some reason have a subconscious bulls eye on them that my trotters are drawn to at speed.
Whomever invented elbows was a wanker. I figure with the amount of times my funny bone gets hammered I must do the chicken dance when I walk and lately it seems I have been having issues trying to extract the fingers of one hand out of a drawer before the other hand commits digit GBH.
Honestly what is my brain on?
I know there are people out there that would say that I'm lucky to actually have the abilities to experience clumsiness and for that I have the deepest empathy but far out man the truth is I'm shit scared of all of it...falling, pain, being broken, hurts, boo-boos, owies. Faaark that Freddy.
So to my story... Today... after a night of torrential downpour soaking the ground to ugg-boot unfriendly slickness, I decided that since I was running around 15 minutes early in my mish-mash pre-work routine (if you can call it that) I should get the rubbish out because I forgot last week and its startin' to funk up the neighbourhood...
So I, in my fluffy purple dressing gown, over sized boots, fresh out of the shower so all glory and no modesty underneath, grab me two bags of steaming household waste and aim to head out to the front gate... as I have done thousands of times. Let me paint you a picture of the events that followed. Here is a step-by-step and I MEAN descending each-actual-step, account of my greatest fear - falling down stairs:
Step One...
Speed: minimal
Balance: 40-60
Concentration: fuzzy - "What am I gonna wear to work? No idea. OK will start with undies and work up from there"
Feet: left - landed, right - in transit...
Step Two
Speed - air born
Balance - horizontal
Concentration - "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck"
Feet - waving to bus going past. Nice.
Step Three...
Speed - negative
Balance - irrelevant. Flat on arse
Concentration - do NOT cry out for your Mum
Feet - useless betraying tiny piglet good for nothing ugly sausage bits... well that's a bit harsh because its my fault for trusting that size 8 ugg boots have traction control. Fool.
Once the bus had gone by and my inner Godiva was shoved back into my dressing gown I peeled myself off the steps and hobbled inside all the while holding in the silent scream of pain threatening to alert the neighbours that I was a fallen woman (yeah right... like they didn't know THAT already ha ha ha - oh sorry, I digress).
Within the sanctity of my living room, in true Hollywood style I sank to my knees, put my face into an armchair where many butts have been before and howled like a banshee one lone cry....
"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..."
Then a quick sob.
A hot flush.
A wave of nausea.
And then back out to the evil steps for attempt two. Wednesday - rubbish day. It had to be done.
I figured some smart arse statistics geek somewhere had spent literally TENS of DOLLARS and most of his first month in Uni researching the likelihood of a klutz falling down the same stairs on a post-injury-immediate second-run. And that a 47,000 thousand word thesis paper on the subject, paid for by my over-inflated SuperShitty rates would result in minimal risk of repetition - or just crappy luck and doofessness if it did.
Suffice it to say I remained statistically boring and the stinky garbage successfully made it to the roadside. But I know by the end of the day I'm gonna hurt. I told a male colleague that it felt like one of my kidneys was trying to explode out of my arse. Graphic but honest. Sharing is caring.
Of course what followed was the obligatory "you think THAT's bad well listen to this..." ('my story's better than your story' moment). Much more intense involving (of course) an ENTIRE stairwell, its evil nemesis footwear 'socks' AND (here's the kicker) heroism involving a small child. Yes. He happened to be carrying a 2-month old baby who remained completely unharmed during the ordeal. Now due to his entire body taking the full force of the fall, he was laid out flat for a week whereas I... with my budget injury of busted-arse-bruised-back-fat...just look like I've shit my pants when I walk. Score is even stevens though I reckon... 1pt to He-man (only because of the bubba), and 1pt for me for flashing the Hendo bus... at my age. Rockstar. A for effort.
I have an intense dislike for stairs.
In fact I come rather close to having a real-life phobia about them... I DO. I even googled it and found a name for my condition - hold on to your hand rails coz its a big bastard...
CLIMACOPHOBIA
Yup. A fear of stairs. A fear of climbing them, a fear of falling down them... and that's definitely me coz I'm packin' jobbies everytime I venture down stairs and woe betide if I lose concentration - case and point this morning's flight of the big purply bird.
However I'm pleased to announce that although I suffer Clima... Climax... Climbatree... oh crap... umm 'SSCS' (stairs scardy cat syndrome) I am so not 'BATHMOPHOBIC' which is like a total relief because THAT would be some serious shit. (FYI... nothing to do with baths... google it).
When I was little I remember I had no fear. I used to stand proudly at the top of our internal staircase at home, my little piglets shoved into Ma's size 8 platforms, usually dressed up pretending I was Marie Osmond, massive earphones wobbling on my head mostly cranking my brothers old school rock 'n' roll records and Dads 45s, shakin' my pudgy little butt and lipsyncing into my Andy Gibb microphone.
It gave me great joy... and immense pain. On a regular basis my over-enthusiastic performance would over power my balancing ability and my basketball belly would be the tipping point and off I would go... bouncing down the stairs like a human zorb in high heels.
Bump-de-bump-bump-bump-de-de-de de-bump... bump... crash. Silence. Then a tsunami siren.
"WwwwwwwwwwwwwwAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
And my older brother's bored voice barely audible over the wail...
"Maaaa-ummm... Flicks fallen down the stairs again."
Alas... my fear was borned. But not a bone done broketh in all my tripsy, whoopsy, roly, poly, crashy, bangy fuckups. Just my pride and always a sore arse.
I get knocked down, but I get up again - not bad for a chubba-wubba... but if given an option... I'll be in the elevator bitches.
Have a great day.
Stylz - out........................on her arse. Again.
xxx
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Fifty First Drinks... Fifty Shades of Arse...
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
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
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
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