Dec 30, 2011

My year, according to Bridget

I was going to do a long winded explanation of my journey towards the downward spiral this year, but then I thought illustrating it would be much more effective. Bridget agreed with me; she's been there.

At the start of the year, I was feeling pretty good. I broke a VERY long dry spell in the climax desert, I got freakin' published, and I dedicated an entire month to my love of music that was fairly successful, except for my ex-boyfriend publicly commenting that I was a disgraceful bitch. I was a fucking writer - bring it on!

As the year went on, it became very clear that I was missing some of this in my life...

And a whole fucking lot of this -

As I've mentioned this year, even though I'd been shown the gift of ultimate self gratification this year, it still doesn't take the place of affection, attention, and a warm, loving body... or anyone with a pulse, really.

Oh, yeah! I also did this on both trips to the U.S. this year, and now I really, REALLY fucking miss this as well.

And because I miss smoking so gawd damn much, I've begun eating more. Copious amounts of food that would rival most 16 year old boys, actually. So, when I wrote about me quitting dieting and being OK with my body, I take it all back.
Sorry. I suck. 
And my underwear looks like this now...

Struggling with this situation doesn't help matters much either, I'm sure. Hummm...

So, these days, I've been feeling more like this.

And all I want to do is this.

Oh, wait. Thanks, Bridget... I almost forgot the fucking ice cream. 
That's more like it! Yes!

So I will be heading to see someone in January, hopefully to help me make sense of all my chaos. 
And if that doesn't work, prescribe me something so I can feel like this:
(although preferably NOT actually a hallucinogenic - unfortunately, this lady has gotta work, yo!)

So, cheers! Here's to hoping that 2012 brings some good shit.
Or at the very least, I can purchase it from a licensed pharmacist.

Happy New Year!

Dec 28, 2011

Holiday Twittertainment

Because of family visitors, preparing food to the point of exhaustion, and having a couple fairly fantastic meltdowns (both me and the little people), these are what sporadically put a smile on my face over the last few weeks. Here are my Top Ten Tweets of December... and because I'm a self-proclaimed narcissist (and others have proclaimed it as well) I will start with 2 of my own special holiday tweets. At least I didn't favourite my own tweets, so you have to give me some credit. Enjoy!

This one was especially for Carri Brown, because she's so lucky that way:

The more I think about it, he likely did it on purpose.

We'll leave you two alone then ;)

Yes. This...

That would be divine. Or chocolate covered bacon balls.

Every time I see a car decorated like a reindeer, I want to crash into them, so... agreed!

This? Was just nerd-tastic and awesome.

Hulk laugh.

Make that a baker's dozen, darling!

And finally, the #1 sentiment that sums it all up...


And now I must get through my husband's birthday AND our anniversary, both of which are this week.
By a thread, people. 
By. A. Thread.
Fuck.

Dec 26, 2011

Sweaty... what?

Guess who had a birthday?


Here's to also wishing everyone a fabulous holiday.  See? Birthday AND festive wishes in the same post - I'm a mutherfucking cheapskate, right? Deal with it, yo! (Yes, I mean you... and you, but not you.)

I will be currently experiencing a severe meltdown, as it is my very first year hosting both Christmas and Boxing Day dinners. Pray for my family that I don't poison them all, because, really, they're probably fucked.

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Photo Source: The Feisty Goat Pub

Dec 23, 2011

A Festive Parting Gift

Mark and I had been having brief encounters for the better part of a decade, off and on. Perhaps it was because there was no continuous affair as to why our 'Friends with Benefits' arrangement always worked so successfully. There was never any emotional attachment beyond our friendship, nor was there any jealously when one of us entered into a relationship with someone else. We just stopped having sex for that length of time and then when said relationship ended, it was understood that our sex would reconvene.

And so it was also understood among our other mutual friends that we had this special 'arrangement' but it was never acknowledged out loud or a part of any passing conversation, et cetera... until one Christmas. At this particular point in time, Mark and I hadn't had sex with each other for quite some time - I cannot remember if there was a particular reason or just because I lived a fair distance from him.

It was a party celebrating both my best friend's birthday and Christmas, at her parent's house. (Another sucker with a birthday too close to Christmas to separate the two) We had all been dipping into the Christmas cheer that night and things were winding down. There was about six of us remaining and it was decided to commence a card game of alcoholic Asshole.

Mark was sitting beside me, and therefore following after any card I would lay down before him. After a few rounds, I put down a hell of a cruel move (like an Ace on a Nine or something like that), to which Mark flared his nostrils, turned to me and said, "YOU'VE JUST FUCKED ME!"

Another one of our tipsy friends immediately replied, "Tell us something we don't know!"

There was about 2 long seconds of complete silence.

And then roaring laughter. From everyone, including Mark and myself. Finally it was out in the open, and it only took 7 years.

Perhaps it was that burst of comical tension release, but after another group had left, Mark and I decided we were "too drunk" to go home. My best friend crashed in her old room upstairs and Mark and I had the basement rec room to ourselves.

I need to also explain that although Mark and I had had sex on numerous occasions, I had never climaxed. As I've said before, it wasn't easy for me in the past (until this year, actually. Ahem), and most of the times were just hot quickie fucks after a party; sometimes in the forest.

OK, so this time? After carefully clearing a spot on the carpet to lay down a few layers of blankets, he went down on me like a starving animal. It was fan-fucking-tastic, and nothing like he'd done to me before. Wild. At one point, I could have sworn I felt his tongue tickling the bottom of my rib cage! The only shitty thing was the fact that my best friend's parents were asleep upstairs and I didn't exactly want them (or my friend, for that matter) to hear me screaming. He put his hand over my mouth while I proceeded to achieve a HUGE orgasm while doing my best to stay quiet.

It was the first time he'd got me to climax in 7 years. And it was the last time we would ever be together.
I met and started dating my would-be husband 3 weeks later.

Well, Mark, we'll always have Christmas. Or rather, the weekend before.

Same diff.

Dec 21, 2011

It's the thought that counts, not the nuts.

This is a semi-Wordless Wednesday. I say 'semi' because it's almost impossible for me to NOT crap on about something, even just a lil'bit. I have mentioned my 90 year old grandmother before when she gave me a sewing machine, but since Christmas is all about family and crap, I thought I would share with you the gifts that I have received from her this year... because they are pretty darn fantastic.

My first installment landed me this.


That is actually my Sharon, Lois & Bram cassette. I have no fucking idea where she found it. 
Then, I got another bag of goodies on Sunday that topped it off, and now my cup runneth over.


I like to think there's an ink bomb inside that will go off if I open these bags.


I don't believe this photo does the shape and size of these slippers justice.
I'm pretty sure my pug can fit into the top one like a sleeping bag.
They. Are. Rockin.

Thanks, Grandma. If nothing else, you're keeping it interesting!

Dec 19, 2011

Christmas is coming...

Christmas is coming,
My ass is getting fat.
The kids have all gone mental
And the dog just shat. 

I'm oddly rather horny —
Just a quickie shag'll do.
If you can't put out for Christmas
Then really, fuck you.  

Christmas is coming,
I don't mean to be a crank,
But get your shit together
And then I want a spank.

There's so much crap to do
And I hate to be so blunt.
But after all the chores are done
You need to lick my cunt.

Your folks are staying over 
A tiny piece of Hell.
I think I've more than earned
For you to ring my bell.

This time of year is when
I really start to twitch
'Cos Christmas is coming...
Ain't she a lucky bitch.




Dec 16, 2011

Tonight's Special: Torture with a side of masochism

One year ago, I traveled back to the only place I've lived where I really felt a deep connection and belonging - Melbourne. And if you haven't been reading my crap blog for the last 2 years, I should fill you in on some of the back-story from my time there.
It goes a little something like this...
Yes. Okay. All caught up to speed now? Fantastic.

So, needless to say, I have had a somewhat "strained" relationship with those host parents. This is something I've always been a little sad about, since they were/are good people and we got along famously... until they learned I was sleeping with their son. Sometimes, I think the whole thing got blown way out of proportion, because, really, they should have been proud their son snagged a catch like me.

But I digress.

I arranged to have a reunion dinner with my student counselor, who happens to be an incredible smart ass, inappropriate man-child, but is also a close friend of said host parents. I thought I would extend an olive branch and invite them as well. I knew they'd HATE to have to sit through a dinner with me, but what can I say? I really do like them no matter what they think of me, after all, they're Jim's parents... and I'm a masochist.

They accepted.

Then cancelled.

Then re-accepted.

Then cancelled again.

Then finally accepted.

See? Tormented. I loved every minute of it.

They arrived almost exactly when I did. The handshakes were deliciously awkward, although I was genuinely excited to see them. The husband looked annoyed, but he often looked like that, so I couldn't be sure if it was caused entirely by my presence.

My counselor was late. Always.

The small talk was fine, mostly because I love talking about myself.. ummm.. hello! It was rather enjoyable on yet another level because Jim and I had arranged to see each other the following day, but didn't want his parents to know.

STILL! 
AFTER ALL THIS TIME. FUCKING HELL, IT WAS GREAT.
I am a dirty, dirty secret.

Finally, my counselor arrived and the rest of dinner went smoothly... like sliding slowly on my stomach over cracking ice to which at any second I could fall through to my freezing death. It had been more than a decade, but even so, I could see the wife stabbing me with subliminal knifes in between bites of her chicken. Would we ever be able to relax and joke about all this someday? Well, if a decade hadn't healed this wound, then not bloody likely. They didn't waste any time after dinner was over and after paying with a "Buy one, get one free" coupon, they left immediately.

My counselor and I moved to the patio for some further drinks, and to recap this bizarre evening.

"Fuck! That was wild! I thought she was going to lunge across the table and strangle me." I giggled with relief between sips of my rum and Coke, "I still can't believe they actually showed up."

He was grinning from ear to ear as he explained, "That's nothing, sugar tits! I was on time, but I waited in the car park and texted him that I wasn't coming at all, just to see him fucking squirm for 20 minutes!"

We both laughed like obnoxious hyenas for a good while and then finally calmed down. He focused on me again and said affectionately, "Darling, it's fabulous to see you again. I've missed you, babe!"

"You are a fucking shit disturber, but ridiculously out of control!" I was still in shock after learning the stunt he had just pulled... and in total awe, I concluded, "I've missed you too. So much."

Dec 14, 2011

Subway Lovin'

My old stomping ground not only made headlines yesterday, it went viral, yo!
Should I be proud? Probably not, since it was caused by two feral scrags deciding to do some skin slappin' on the subway... at 2.30 on a Sunday afternoon, no less. At first, I was thinking that it was 2.30 in the morning, not that it would excuse their obviously high class behavior, but it's slightly more logical if it was late at night and they thought no one was watching.

NOPE. 
Two fucking thirty post meridiem.
Drunk as skunks.
And humping like rabbits.
Animals.

And by gawd, I was laughing so hard. What a fucking tragic spectacle.Yes, that was my subway stop for many years.
Good ol' Spadina Station. That's my girl!

{source: Toronto Sun}

According to the report, they started on the subway and then after initial complaints from passengers, they got off (pardon the pun) at Spadina and finished on the platform. 

It's not porn, but surely NSFW. The best part is the transit worker just standing right beside them, and they are almost completely oblivious to their surroundings. They were arrested and have undergone a psychiatric evaluation. YA THINK?

I'm all for some fun and sexy times, but really... 
REALLY?


Dec 12, 2011

My Humble Dysfunctions? Yes, please!

I've always been a bit of a stationery nerd. I love a new pad of coloured paper, a fresh set of pencils, a funky designed organizer, and I sure do love the fuck out of a brand new Sharpie multi-pack. Oooh, hell yeah! When I was working part-time retail as a student, I never wanted to work in Staples (Business Depot, and the like) because of the whole 'don't crap where you eat' philosophy. I never wanted to lose that lust for good office supplies. So, naturally, when I go to shops that have stationery sections, I get a little lady wood goin' on.

But nothing could have prepared me for the euphoria I experienced when I found these journals in Chapters over the weekend. These diaries have THEE best covers I have ever seen!

I want them all; I must have them.

Santa? Are you hearing me right now? Time's ticking!
Fucking write this down, please.

...But not in these journals. 
Get your own.
Fuck off.

LOVE YOU, SANTA!








Dec 9, 2011

Last Year Ago


This time last year I had reached my limit.
I couldn't breathe.
I had to escape --
Self-preservation at its most desperate.

I needed to go home.
Melbourne.

Approaching the city,
My breaths became heavy;
Fighting back tears of relief,
Of elation,
Of memories,
Of a place so alive.

This time last year I sat on the train,
I laughed and cried openly
As the city revealed itself to me.
Some different; improved.
The important things stayed the same.

I walked through the Richmond gardens
Usually buzzing with people
Dead silent this day --
No football.

I sat on the steps of the MCG.
I shivered and then wept.
Why? I'm not sure.
Relief, perhaps.
I missed you intensely.

This time last year I touched your skin,
I felt your lips,
I smelled your skin,
I saw your smile,
And heard your voice.

This time last year I kissed you goodbye.
AGAIN.

It wasn't enough.
I'm still recovering.
Last year ago, I felt something.

I've been searching ever since...


Mama's Losin' It

Dec 7, 2011

'Cos I'm a model, ya know what I mean

Thanks to The Animated Woman, I was guided toward a post on Jezabel.com that explained how H&M doesn't even use real models' bodies on their website. I had to read it twice, since the WHAT THE FUCK in my head was screaming so loudly. Yes, these 'bodies' apparently display their clothing much better than a 'real' woman could... which leads me to ask the obvious question: Who's meant to be buying these bloody clothes? Apparently not real humans!

I'm sorry H&M, but if your clothes don't look good on real women, even models, you have shitty designers, and therefore, even shittier clothes.

I went to the site to check out this freak show for myself, and it is surely true, and oh-so-obvious. Notice anything that these three women have in common?

It kind of takes the idea of the "cookie cutter" criticism to a whole new depth of hell. Oh, but let's applaud their efforts to at least tweak their skin tones to match the head they pasted on top. Bravo!

I'm fairly certain that my neck is thicker than this digital representation of what a woman's thigh is meant to look like, but hey, at least I know I totally have bigger tits, and they're REAL. Ahem.

I found the entire interactive "let's dress up the droid" part of the website unnerving, creepy and soulless. Click on the different models -- only the heads change. It's gross! I propose that if we can inter-change all the clothes and heads, we should be able to paste on our own heads as well. I'd find the experience much more pleasurable if I was able to see my friends looking back at me. I don't mind that they're in their undies... it's not like it's their bodies, right? Pssh-sha.


SEE? Much Better - So Sexy!
~ Purrrrrr ~

I'd prefer putting clothes on Handflapper, Animated Woman and Ida Homie any day...who wouldn't?!

But then again, there's no way in FC/UK I'd ever buy anything from H&M in the first place.*

Fashion? Fail.


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*Okay. So once I bought 2 AC/DC t-shirts for the twins there. Whatthefuckever. But that's IT.

Credits: Animated Woman for paraphrasing her tweet, the 3D Rendering artists at H&M, Kathy Slamen Photography, Handflapper's fine art talent, and Brandon's mad hotel bathroom photography skills.

Dec 5, 2011

Dear Me, STFU!

This week was a monumental milestone for me on The Twitter -- I surpassed 20,000 tweets. For those of you that aren't on The Twitter, that means I've spewed out over 20,000 useless thoughts and opinions into the interwebisphere. It's both amusing and horrifying. What else would/should I have been doing during all that time? Working? Sleeping? Eating? ...Fucking? 

OK, so that last one is wishful hindsight, but still, you get the idea.

I told everyone I was going to make myself a 'Shut The Fuck Up' cake when I reaching this number, and I may be many things, but full of shit is NOT one of them. Here's my fabulous cake - it was pumpkin with cheesecake vanilla icing... and boobs.
Buddy Valastro? Eat your fucking heart out. Okay, maybe not; it's pretty ghetto. I should stick to graphic design.

The best part? My in-laws came over last minute. I smoothed over the writing and ate the nipples. And they were very impressed with its flavouring as I watched them chow down a slice of my boob cake sans nipples. Yummy!

Ooooooh! And speaking of STFU cakes... here is a song by CAKE: Shut The Fuck Up. 
See what I did just there? Oh, yeah!

CRANK IT!
(except if you're at work or have kids around)




Have a fabulous Monday, everyone!
xo

Dec 2, 2011

The Ballerina

Some people will call me a hopeless romantic and that my head is always in the clouds. I get far too emotionally involved with movies and TV shows that are about a love story, whether it's love lost or love found. And it's true. I shovel that gooey crap up with a giant shovel. If I could fling it all into a pile, I'd likely roll around and bask in it like a pig. A love pig. That's me, and today, I will explain why.

This is the story of my Oma

It was the summer of 1940 in Estonia. There was a young girl, not quite 16, and she had two dreams. One was to become a ballerina and the other was to marry the boy to whom she loved. They had grown up as neighbors in their small village, and she had already loved him for many years.

She would often practice ballet in the tiny backyard of her family's house that she shared with her parents and younger brother. Her love would often see her there and watch in silence. Not leering. She knew he was there, and he knew that she was aware of him. No words ever needed to be spoken during these beautiful, unspoken moments shared between just the two of them... and all the while, the rest of the world was screaming.

When they were together, it felt so natural. So safe. So loving. They both knew they were meant to be together. It was understood but never spoken.

One morning, in the early summer mist, soldiers approached their village. They could hear the stomping of their feet following along in time with their hearts pounding. The clanking of their arsenal was sharp. Piercing and approaching.

They were coming.
They were coming for the men. And the boys.

New soldiers for the Soviet Army or death, if you were of age... or close enough to it. Her love was 17 and they both knew what was going to happen. The entire village was crying. Hiding was too late of an option and there was no running. Mothers saying horror-filled goodbyes to their husbands and sons, knowing it was likely the last time they would embrace.

Panic had seeped in to the people. There was screaming, struggling, fighting and running. The ballerina was holding tightly to her love, as tightly as she possibly could, gaining strength she never knew she possessed. They were both terrified and she had begun to openly weep as she could see the soldiers had spotted her love. He kissed the side of her tear soaked face. Then one tender kiss on her forehead as he let the soldiers pull him away, although his body was riddled with tension, anger and hesitation.

She took one last lunge towards his body, clawing at the dirt beneath her, screaming, "NO!"

An officer stood over her and slapped her across the face, Hard. Then he dragged her back inside her home. Her love's anger raged at this offense and he attempted to escape. There was a struggle.

Doors slammed.

Shots fired.

And then silence.

Soon after, she knew she could not stay there. She had knowledge of an acquaintance's brother who escaped to Canada and he needed a wife. Thinking that her love was dead, she escaped and was married the next spring. She was a good wife; a grateful wife. An obedient wife, but she never danced again.

They had a daughter some years later.
Decades had come and gone and then she became a grandmother.
How quickly life can melt away.
One day, her husband became ill and passed.

She was 76 and had not once been back to Estonia since that summer in 1940. With her child grown and her husband gone, she felt it was time to return.

Of course, the reunions shared many tales of family and loss. So much catching up with old friends and family and yet she never once felt tired or old. How much had changed in 60 years and also things that had stayed the same. Then 'her love' had come up in a conversation.

"Oh yes, he is doing just fine. He is a widower now. Lives just down the street."

Her heart raced as if she were to pass out, "HE IS ALIVE?"

"Of course he is alive, and well. He thought YOU were killed, didn't you know... all those years ago?"

"I thought HE was killed! HE IS ALIVE??" She repeated again through tears of excitement and disbelief.

As quickly as her body would take her, she got up, threw a pale blue shawl around her neck and shuffled out the door. She went to his house, trying to make herself presentable along the way. She took out a pocket mirror, looked at her reflection and saw the ballerina shining back at her. He answered the door and it only took one shared look to see, to know, to feel that they would indeed never be separated again.