Femstaches & Hot Asses

First off, today is my 35th birthday. 
I'm not going to ask you all for naughty photos because then they wouldn't classify as being "unsolicited" and I couldn't claim ignorance . . . but ya know, you do what you gotta do . . . mmmk? Ahem.

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I haven't done a Writer's Workshop for a long time, and I don't even know if this overly qualifies, but I saw that one of the topics was: Something that made you laugh this week — and I couldn't pass up the chance to share this piece of journalistic brilliance with everyone.

I was in the waiting room at my doctor's appointment, minding my own business and reading one of the manky, out-dated women's magazines from the pile. I usually choose the one that has a famous woman on the cover that I detest the least, which isn't always easy. After flipping through page after page of advertisements for all the ways I can make myself a better woman, I found an article with a huge Frida Kahlo self portrait.

Ooohhh, art. I can read about that.

And then I read that the article was essentially about women with mustaches. Whatever. Fine. I've already invested my attention and I likely wouldn't find anything better, so I read further down the page and found this . . .

I had to take a double take and then I back tracked some reading and took a third take before I burst into laughter. I think I jump-started an elderly man's heart that was sitting across from me. You're welcome, sir, by the way. Mona Lisa, Mariah Carey, Tina Fey . . . and JUSTIN BIEBER.

That is hysterical as hell.

Bravo to Elle Magazine Canada and Joana Lourenço for that hilarious dig on the popstar. Loved it!

And since I have a plethora of useless art knowledge stored in my brain, I feel compelled to also share with everyone the amusing tidbit that Duchamp's L.H.O.O.Q. is actually a French pun that when said out loud, the sound of it translates in English to say, "She has a hot ass."

You go, Mustache'y Mona . . . and Lady Bieber!

Have a fabulous weekend, everyone! I'll be off stuffing my face with pizza and ice cream cake.

A blessing in disguise

There was hurt, betrayal, nausea, panic, and the feeling that my life had been ripped right out from underneath me. I imagined an obnoxious douche muppet laughing at me while he held the edges of the rug as I fell, but make no mistake, his identity was clear. Very clear.

Now it's been a few days and I have finally been able to catch my breath. That nauseous pain of looming dread has subsided. I have even been able to sleep a couple nights without angry words swirling around my mind like a screaming motherfucking tornado.

After all that had calmed down, I began to think.
I thought about all the long nights I stayed up to 3am working with no compensation.
I thought about how even working as much as I did, I was still being paid about 20% less than I should have been earning, and had been refused a raise twice.
I thought about how I was guilted into coming off my maternity leave early because they "needed me".
I thought about how I was paying so much for childcare that I could barely afford other essentials, like groceries.
I thought about how I haven't been able to switch off even once since 2007, even on holiday - even on my trip to Australia in 2010, I worked on my laptop every night when I could have been, oooh, I don't know, enjoying my friends that I traveled 22 hours on a plane to see? . . .
I thought about how I even began seeing a therapist because I feel like I was unraveling. Me! The one in the group who "always had it together".

Yes, I have been thinking about all of that and wondering why I had let it go on as long as I did.
Fear, most likely.

But now this fear has been made my forced reality, and do you want to know something? It's not so bad.

I've been angry and stressed out for so long that this fear is nothing more than the sickly little runt of the litter . . . box.

And for the first time since my children were 8 months old, I've been able to play with them -- I mean REALLY play with them -- without all the shit I was going to have to deal with at work the next day running through the back of my mind. Distracted.

After putting up with 5 years of bullshit, my mind in finally clearing and it's pretty damn spectacular.

Scratch is for suckers!

This is the first time I've ever posted a recipe on this blog (or anywhere, ever) for one main reason - I fucking hate cooking. I pretty much suck at it, except for the odd dessert. Imagine that. Ahem.

I'm actually not bad at taking a mix or instant food and altering it into something fabulous. Whether or not that can be deemed an actually skill or not is probably open for debate. In what will be most likely a VERY rare event (and because I've made this particular dessert 3 times now) I am going to share it with you; I call it . . .

"Better than a blowjob pumpkin cake with butter cream that makes you scream"

The first thing you'll need straight away is one of these puppies . . .

Shameless? Most definitely.

As it says on the back of the box, you'll need:
3 eggs
2 tablespoons oil
And even though it says 1 1/3 cups water, ignore that shit and only use 1 cup.

Why, you ask? Don't ask questions, just do it!

You will also need:
1 cup canned pumpkin puree (Because really, like I'm going to get fresh pumpkin. Pssfft.)
2 teaspoons cinnamon (Plus a little extra for sprinklage on top of the icing.)
3 teaspoons nutmeg (I love nutmeg, but obviously you can use less if you didn't come out to play with the big kids.)
1/2 cup golden raisins (Raisins optional, although don't be a pussy and just add them, mmk?)

And of course, Duncan Hines Butter Cream Ready-Serve Icing.

1. Do all the shit it says on the back of the box. For real, I'm not re-typing it out.
2. Then add the pumpkin, spices and raisins.
3. Pour it into whatever tin you have available and follow the cooking times on the box.
4. Sit your ass down, watch TV and enjoy how your house gradually starts to smell seriously fucking awesome.

I feel you've pretty much got it from here, but anyway . . .

5. When it's done, let it cool down. Obviously.
6. Spread that butter creamy goodness all over the cake.
7. Eat the leftover icing straight from the container.
7. Sprinkle some cinnamon on top for a little pizzazz.
8. Stuff your face with way more than what's considered the recommended serving.

And there you have it!

Please let me know if it does, in fact, live up to its namesake and it gets you out of having to perform any oral favors. If it's anything like my house, the pumpkin will win. Every time.

I've Made Up My Mind

I have been slowly coming to the realization that I need to make some serious preventative measures in my life, particularly when it comes to my health, for a long time. A couple years ago, I discussed the basic root of my body and self esteem issues that I've had pretty much my entire life. Factoring in getting older, having a sedentary career and having twins all being thrown into the mix, it's just getting worse.

And I'm getting tired.

People will nonchalantly talk to me about lifestyle and exercise and eating certain foods and drinking more water and using more will power like it's an easy fix, but I can pretty much guarantee they haven't been hungry all their lives. So, to them? Thanks for caring, but please shut the fuck up. Until you've experienced the gnawing pangs of hunger only 1/2 an hour after you've JUST had a full meal... for your entire life... you don't know what this is like.

And I've seen my future if I don't do anything about it. My grandfather lived to be 83 but he was over 400lbs when he died. I cannot have that for myself; I refuse to accept that fate.

I often usual the visualization of myself leaning up against a giant dam that is holding back HUNGER. It's a fucking huge dam and I'm sweating, aching and exhausted trying to hold it up. And it's cracking everywhere. Bits of Hunger are leaking through. Diets and band-aids aren't working anymore. I keep pushing it back as hard as I can but it's just too big and angry. The Hunger is so fucking pissed off and it screams constantly.

Every moment of every day, it taunts me.

One of the reasons I started this blog, which is also the same reason why I'm slowly gathering certain stories for my elusive book, is that I wanted to show young girls that aren't a size zero that life can still be an amazing adventure and that they can be big and beautiful and rock it!

And it is so damn true; I wish more women knew it.

I don't feel like by making this decision I am becoming a hypocrite. Why? Because this was me 15 years ago...

I was sexy and confident and also happened to be 200lbs, and THAT'S OK! The thing is, is that I am a lot more today, but I want to be her again. I want to be her for myself and for my children. (I'd say my husband too but the last time I lost 80lbs he didn't even notice. Uh huh.) I need to do it NOW before I wake up and find myself at 45 being 400lbs. So, she's inside me... somewhere; I just need to find her.

I just don't want to be hungry anymore.

I want to have half a sandwich and feel full and satisfied. Even the thought of that makes me giddy. I know it's not going to be easy and that I will have to make some massive changes in my lifestyle. But just dieting and exercise doesn't calm the screaming in my stomach - in fact, it makes it so much worse. I'm going to need help to achieve my goal, once and for all. I feel so much better just by discussing it with my family and finally making a decision.

I've made up my mind; I'm having weight loss surgery. 

And the years go by.

I haven't participated in on of Mama Kat's World Famous Writing Prompts in a while now, but that's not to say I don't read them all the time. Something about this one caught my eye: "Dig out your high school yearbook and share a message a friend wrote that stands out to you." 

Uuuhhff.

Call me masochistic but I thought it would be interesting to dust off the old book and take a quick nostalgic trip down that tumultuous high school lane, but it turned out to be much more than that. It was full of love. Or rather, memories of love once felt by a special person in my past, and for a brief moment in my life, I reciprocated his love. I had forgotten that he wrote this - it's been so long. But even now, after all these years, I feel warmth, affection and love when I read it... and that's a wonderful thing.

Dear Steph, Well here I am writing and where shall I start, because is has been such a fun time knowing you. We started out not knowing each other's names and we ended up having such a good time - for example that fantastic Halloween to that exceptional Christmas, with many things said, which I might add were meant then and now nothing. Who knows, in another time and place there might be two people just like us that end up together. As the time has gone we have both changed - it could only be expected. With everything said and done, I've had a great time and I wouldn't change my time knowing you for anything. In that time I have changed for the better and because of you, I view things in a different light. It is not easy remembering all the good times we had together and writing about them because they make me feel so happy but equally sad. And you know why because all the things we love come to an end eventually, which is the hardest thing to face but it will slowly get easier in time, but never forgotten. One other thing is that you frustrate me at fuckING times and don't forget to drag out the "ING" when you say it. You drive my insane, woman! But all joking aside, no matter what we do, or how far away we travel, or how old we get, my memories of you shall always be with me. I could have written forever. All my love, L

An Ode to Twenty-Five

If I could go back to any age,

it wouldn't be any time during high school;

what a fucking awkward stage.

I also would not be a young girl.

I just agonized about everything

to the point where I would almost hurl.

Forever twenty-one is getting closer

But I wasn't quite taken seriously.

In fact, I was likely an obnoxious poser.

I wasn't overly impressed with thirty.
I spend the majority of it being unsatisfied,
bloated, chafed and dirty.

Of course, it's been down hill from there.
Getting jigglier by the minute
And Cheers! to watching me not care.

I cannot see myself choosing any older age.
The damage has already been done
And I've securely bottled up my rage.

So let me celebrate when all the stars aligned;
when I had barely a care
and my metabolism was kind.

Twenty-five's the year to watch.
I was finished with school
And my skin? Nay a blotch.

I could hold my booze
And, oh, what's that?
I don't give a shit. I'm taking a snooze.

Did I mention that at twenty-five
car insurance went down a lot?
Oh yes, and so did my boyfriend.

I know that stanza didn't rhyme,
but holy fuck, it was pretty funny.
Yes, twenty-five was truly my prime.

I travelled a lot and took birth control pills.
I didn't have a high interest mortgage,
Or stacks of overdue bills.

I had few responsibilities whatsoever.
And if I had the option
I'd likely be twenty-five forever.

Hey Mama, Just My Luck

It's time for a workshop prompt - "a time I got lucky" and just to prove Mama Kat wrong, I'm NOT going to recount a story about my skanky sexy times... for now. Sorry.

The summer between University and my post-graduate studies, I landed a job bartending at the 4-star restaurant just around the corner from my house – great score! On my first night, I was out having a smoke on my break and one of thee hottest guys I have ever met came to join me, and he was friendly.

Right then, I really, really, really liked my new job.

He was like a version of Ray Liotta with his piercing blue eyes, but with softer features, better skin and a whole lot of sex appeal permeating out of his every pore. Even MY MOTHER had a hard time sucking back her drool when she came into the restaurant one day and met him.

Yes... he was THAT hot.

In my usual fashion, Carter and I hit it off right away and we even started spending time together outside of work. I dropped shameless hints about my true feelings and he never responded. I kept hanging out with him for a while but it was difficult to not come off as ‘stalkerish’; he was like a drug and I constantly wanted a fix. Just being in his presence made me wet my panties.

Surprisingly, this story isn’t actually about him, but I had to set the scene. Ahem.

We had been working together for about 3 months at this point, and there was a summer-end staff party at one of the employee’s farm. It wasn’t a huge gathering – maybe 20 people at the most – and the handful of us "herbal enthusiasts" easily found each other as we gravitated to this fantastically quaint twin hammock set that were hung between 3 trees. I had brought my lucky Zippo with me (as it had been everywhere else with me for the better part of a decade), and rested nicely in my back pocket.

Carter and I cozily shared one of the hammocks like 2 stoned peas in a pod. Guuuusssshh. Others came and went, but the two of us stayed there for a long while, together. In my fantasy universe, it was actually a pretty romantic setting and all it needed to be complete was for him to lean in and plant a big juicy one on me – but of course that didn’t happen.

When I got home I realized that my Zippo was gone. SHIT! I really loved it. It had a magic mushroom on one side and my name was even engraved on the back. Yes, I was THAT pretentious smoker. Shut it.

It must have fallen out of my back pocket when we were on the hammock. I quickly called the host of the party the next day and I was slightly taken aback as he was able to complete my sentences.
“Did you happen to find a Zippo by th...”
“By the hammocks? YES! And I’m afraid that I ran over it with my ride along lawnmower and gave me quite the fright!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! By any chance did it happen to survive the lawn...”
“The lawnmower? Are you kidding? It’s in about 4 mangled pieces.”
“And just to make sure that it’s mine, can you make out what was on it?”
“Yes, it looks like it used to be a mushroom of some sort. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Thanks anyway. You can just throw it out if you haven’t already.”

I was dejected; it was one of the few objects of mine that I truly loved and felt a genuinely strong owner-to-object bond with it. I didn’t want to buy a new one; my Zippo days were now done. I needed to quit smoking anyway. Pssfft.

About 6 months had past and I was going through my ‘junk drawer’. I rarely went through it – it was like all the crap that I didn’t use but still didn’t want to throw out just yet. I can’t even remember what I was doing in there to begin with, but while I was sifting through it I found an old blue bandanna – I hadn’t worn it in a few years and it was tucked away in the back. Underneath the bandanna WAS MY ZIPPO – completely intact and as shiny as the day I bought it. I have absolutely no reasonable explanation as to what happened. It really freaked me out but I still believe to this day that it truly was my lucky Zippo.

Duh. Duh. Da–Duhhhhhhh....

I never used it again.

My Backbone? Whoomp! There It Is!

I've never really revealed much about my time as a teacher or why I'm not one anymore. I thought I'd take this opportunity with Mama Kat's "A Memorable Day at Work" theme, because I don't think I will ever forget this day.

A few weeks before, I had been brought into the Headmaster's office with my colleague sitting in the corner with pursed lips and a smug face. It was explained to me that my teaching skills weren't "up to their school's high standards" and that I would NOT be asked back for the following year.

I was devastated.

I loved that school and most of the kids in it. It was my first full year teaching. What they "expected" from me was a load of fucking bullshit. I was (and still am) a perfectionist and I put my heart and soul into that job. I never did anything half-assed. I spent mornings, nights, lunches and weekends helping any student that needed it. But here's the thing...

The morning of my FIRST day on the job, I was asked to take out my eyebrow piercing and I refused. They had 10 weeks of meetings and training with me to ask me about it before that morning. It's not like it was something I could hide. So, of course, I was pretty upset about that. I told them if they had asked me before, I would have taken it out so it would have had time to heal. I wasn't going to have two holes in my face on my first day on the job.

And I thought that was the end of it. But it wasn't.

My colleague, who was more than pleasant at the beginning (she was only a few years older than myself), began being terribly passive-aggressive towards me. I just ignored her. I don't have time for bullshit behavior like that at my work place. And it got worse and worse, to the point it became full out bitchiness and cruel bullying; not to mention she did this in front of the students which was so fucking unprofessional.

So on this particular day, the NEW teacher that was going to replace me came for a visit. I had nothing against him. I welcomed him into what was soon to be his room; I had a class currently underway. I showed him around; where things were kept, et cetra, et cetra. It was a fairly uneventful interaction.

After class, my colleague stormed into my empty room, "How DARE you speak to the new teacher! You have no right!"

And here's right about where 10 months of her under-handed psychological tormenting came to a really big ugly motherfucking head and I exploded:

HOW DARE I? LAST TIME I CHECKED, I WAS A FUCKING HUMAN BEING AND I CAN SPEAK TO WHOMEVER I WANT TO. I AM LEAVING, YOU GOT WHAT YOU WANTED, SO FUCK OFF AND DON'T SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT EVER AGAIN. YOU'RE A BITCH AND EVERYONE KNOWS IT AND YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS OF ME BECAUSE ALL THE STUDENTS CAME TO ME FOR HELP INSTEAD OF YOU AND THAT'S THE REAL REASON WHY YOU HAD ME FIRED. YOU'RE A PETTY AND PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A TEACHER.

Oh yeah, I went there, and it felt so gawd damn amazing. She stood there, stunned. I had taken her abuse and snide remarks all year. It was the last thing she expected from me, I'm certain of it. Then, she attempted to rebut: "And you with your stupid damn eyebrow ring. You're the unprofessional one. Do you have any idea how much of a disappointment you are?" Oh, right... we're rehashing THAT up, are we? OK...

YOU SAID YOU WERE PROUD OF ME FOR STANDING UP FOR MYSELF, YOU FUCKING TWO-FACED BITCH. YOU KNOW HOW UPSET THAT ISSUE MADE ME. AND WHILE WE'RE ON THE TOPIC OF UNPROFESSIONALISM, LET'S BRING UP THE FACT THAT YOU DIDN'T EVEN SHOW UP TO YOUR OWN ART SHOW AND I COVERED FOR YOU. AND THAT WAS JUST...LAST...WEEK. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT DISAPPOINTED ME. YOU WERE MEANT TO BE MY MENTOR AND FRIEND BUT INSTEAD, YOU TURNED OUT TO BE A SELFISH COW THAT TOOK SOME SICK PLEASURE IN TORMENTING ME. WE ARE DONE HERE.

And you want to know something? That night was the first good night's sleep I had had in months. Sure, I had lost my job, but I said my peace and didn't go out with my tail between my legs. It still breaks my heart that in the end, it was the kids that lost out. They even started a petition to try to get me to stay... which of course, was also my fault that caused "a very awkward situation".

Karma is a sneaky bitch though. That colleague had a nervous breakdown and split from her husband over that summer holiday and she was off work until Christmas. They didn't even get a long-term supply to take her place! I emailed the Headmaster and offered my services once a week to help the students with their projects, since I was already more than familiar with them. And that I would gladly do it FOR FREE.

He never replied.

I win.

The end.

My Own Apartment

After enduring years of living with people that...

• hung their gun club targets in their room
• used their money as psychologically demeaning terrorism
• licked microwaved chicken fat off plates
• played Vox by Sarah McLachlan exclusively on repeat for 2 months straight
• followed me around with a bottle of disinfectant
• let varying colours of mold grow on almost every piece of food they didn't consume
• owned a rat that had a tumor... and then it gnawed it's own tumor off and still wondered around the apartment, festering and diseased
• constantly breaking their bed due to vigorous sex between two rather large individuals that sounded like rhinos trying to kill each other for dominance over their herd
• was not so secretly in love with another roommate, so began a sociopathic hate campaign against anyone else (a.k.a. Me) that befriended said other roommate
• tried to kill themselves
• would spill a quarter of a pound of sugar on the counter and floor and then walk away and leave it
• had "Therapy Thursdays" so we all had to avoid them at all costs after those wonderful sessions
• claimed to have trudged through the swamps in Vietnam with a gun even though she was only nineteen
• spit-shined their boots every morning and wore camouflage... FOR FUN
• blasting gangster rap while chilling in his fitted Ralph Lauren khakis and collared Lacoste shirt
• gave Single White Female a run for the title
• instead of emptying the garbage, they (and this is more than one) would just throw garbage in the general vicinity of the garbage and letting it pile up and fester
• got pregnant but decided NOT to tell her family, because we all know a skinny skank that suddenly wears XL overalls and sweaters is completely subtle and sneaky
• having 3 boyfriends that were not aware of each other and we were expected to keep track of their names
• sleeping with two brothers that DID know about each other (ewww)
• was a cutter
• would lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling for hours and not say a word or fall asleep
• insisted on watching "CSI Whatthefuckever" and then commenting on how inaccurate it all was because they knew everything about forensic science
• almost going postal because I asked whether it was cool or not that we rotated garbage duties
• talking with her boyfriend between the hours of 1am-5am, which sounded like Charlie Brown's mother reverberating through my wall every fucking night
• constantly living in fear of their cat swallowing tinsel and having to pull it out of its ass
• ran a phone sex hotline from their room...

I decided it was time I lived on my own.

The first paycheck in which I earned a relatively acceptable salary, I told the current nut jobs that I would be leaving in 30 days from that moment. And I would NOT be hitting my ass on the door on my way out.

It was a beautiful blue, single dormered two story house in the heart of Greek Town. The ceilings were high and light blasted through skylights in both the kitchen and living room. The walls were white and clean, and the hardwood floors were freshly polished. The smell of varnish and paint filled the tiny apartment, and it made me smile.

It was perfect.
It was all mine.
I could be alone, finally.
Quiet.

And then 3 months after I moved in, the landlords had a baby. Colic.

FUCK. ME.

Birds are Assholes

Whomever said that getting crapped on by a bird is lucky can lick it up!
I've been the landing target for those feral creatures.
Not once.
Not twice.
But on THREE separate occasions.
All three were shocking and disgusting in their own right, but the final time was at high school, during lunch break. The timing was less than convenient, to put it lightly.

I was walking along the sidewalk when something came at me, not from above, but horizontally. It hit the side of my face and brushed against my hair. I thought it was a rock.

Some dick smack just threw a rock at me! What the fuck?

It startled the living hell out of me. It probably didn't help that I was stoned as well. I looked around, ready to tear a strip off the guy (most likely a guy, I assumed) that almost took my eye out. Both my paranoia and adrenaline were spiking hard.

Then, my friend's facial expression recoiled in horror as she backed away from me, "Umm.. it wasn't a rock. You have shit all over your head!"

ACK!

How the fuck did a bird shit on me sideways? It was like a motherfucking dive bomb stealth attack. This bird dropped a curve ball -- of poop! How could they possibly have that much control over their bodily functions... and gravity, no less? It's just not natural. In fact, I'll take that sentiment one step further and say that Mother Nature can suck my tit! I say that pretty much every 28 days, but this time I am expressing it for an entirely different reason.

It was mortifying having to walk in to school with my hair and neck covered in shit splatter.

And I didn't receive any extraordinary luck.
Or get lucky.
It's just bullshit.

And birds are assholes.

The end.

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...

My Seven Wonders

This week's prompt from Mama Kat's is to list Seven Wonders that I've seen with my own eyes. There are two very different ways I could take this, emotional experiences or geographical. Since traveling is very near and dear to my heart, I'm going to focus on geography... for the most part.

7. Seeing Les Demoiselles d'Avignon by Picasso at the MOMA in NYC actually reduced me to tears. It was one of the two most powerful artistic experiences of my life. I was with my "homo-hubby" who then claimed that I was the one being a drama queen. Sure, sure, my beloved poof -- Shut it!

6. Walking (slowly) up the Eiffel Tower because my then boyfriend, now husband, is terrified of heights. Lesson learned? Don't go when you're a student and save up for the god damn, motherfucking elevator. Aside from that, it was amazing to see all the iron work up close and the views of Paris were gorgeous.

5. Although not nearly as touristically (yeah, I think I just made up a word) famous as the Parthenon, when arriving at the Temple of Poseidon just outside of Athens, I knew I was somewhere special. Perhaps it was because it wasn't so over-run with people, or under intense restoration efforts, but those ivory columns overlooking the sea were simply incredible.

4. Although I actually found The Louvre to be pretty boring (how much Rococo art can one actually stomach, I mean, really?!), I then... THEN, I found the Musée d'Orsay, which is the home of many of Manet's works, including Olympia. Oh my darlings, I cannot express how much I love that painting. She's a sexy, scandalous bitch! Once again, tears.

Olympia {Source: Wikipedia}

3. Reaching the top of Ayers Rock was visually amazing and also an impressive accomplishment for me. I have short legs, and I really fucking hate climbing pretty much anything over a 10degree incline. At some points the angles were quite terrifying. Once you get there, the view from the top is surreal - looking out into the absolute flat nothingness of the outback.

2. The Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) is my Mecca. I can remember the smell of the crisp air and fresh grass; the sounds of the crowds cheering; and the tastes of fresh meat pies and warm jam donuts. It's the only place I've actually fell in love with a sport, and the city that holds its heart... and mine.

1. Going up to a small island in Georgian Bay where my father had written in giant letters his name and the year, 1968; he would have been 15 at the time, and it's one of only two things I've ever seen in his own handwriting (the other being a doodle on his school desk). I felt more close to him floating in a boat in front of that rock face than I ever have at his grave. It was faded by the sun and weather, but still clear enough to take my breath away.

22 Things I've Done

I've been a little slack with the writing prompts lately, but since reading MultitaskingMumma's version, I thought I'll step up to the plate and take a swing at it. Besides, it's a post all about me - how can any good self-proclaimed narcissist turn THAT down? Sheesh.

1. I have lived in 3 continents.
2. I have driven an Army Hummer on a beach.
3. I have eaten kangaroo.
4. I have been to Ayers Rock twice (likely once too many; it's a big red rock in the complete middle of fucking nowhere, between hell and nothingness).
5. I have done Ecstasy three times; it did nothing for me.
6. I managed to hide a fender bender from my father for an entire month, then I just blamed it on the high school parking lot. Phew.
7. I made a plaster cast of my mother's breasts for a sculpture about breast cancer. It was mother/daughter bonding at it's most awkward.
8. I have been in love with probably 3 men that could have all been "the one", maybe 4, depending on circumstances.
9. I have attended SEVEN universities and/or colleges. I like school.
10. I was arrested when I was 14.
11. I have eaten an entire box of Reese cereal whilst being extraordinarily stoned.
12. I have done #11 with a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch as well. I may or may not have been stoned that time; I have no defense, really.
13. I have cheated.
14. I taught high school for 3 years; turns out I hate other people's hormonal children, but not nearly as much as I hate red tape and jumping through hoops, all in the name of "education". It's a bullshit broken system.
15. I have dropped my camera in a toilet full of my own pee.
16. I have been pregnant more than once.
17. I was a competitive public speaker; my most successful speech was entitled, "People are strange".
18. I got H.P.V. when I was 19.
19. I had to be escorted by a security guard through the gates when I left Australia the first time. I was completely fucking hysterical. If it was today's social climate, I have no doubt I would have been put on the "no fly" list.
20. I have traveled internationally for both softball and basketball.
21. I got my very first speeding ticket this year. I almost passed out from the terror of being pulled over by a State Trooper (yes, it was in the States, fucking help me). It was a woman; I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Still, the whole time, I wanted her to show me a photo and say, "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY?"
22. And although spanning over the last 4 days, I have managed to eat an entire pumpkin cake all by myself.

Dance, Dance, Dance

One of the writing prompts for Mama Kat's this week is to write about a slow dancing experience. Good gawd! Just one? Seriously? I can't do it -- but what I can do is a Top 10 of kerfuffles that I lived through at various dances and proms. In addition, I also can usually remember the song that surrounded any given said teenage train-wreck. Good. Fucking. Times.

10. Getting kicked in the face from some asshole that was crowd surfing... at a prom. I had a sexy L-shaped gash on my forehead which coordinated nicely with my wine-colored dress. (Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana)

9. Leaving half way through the dance to give my boyfriend a blow job behind the balcony bleachers. (I Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston) There's humming music if I ever heard it. Ahem.

8. Getting together (Everything I Do, Bryan Adams) AND breaking up with Marcus during the same night. (My Prerogative, Bobby Brown) It's definitely a record for my shortest relationship... approximately 7 songs. I never even got to feel his junk.

7. Having Justin slow dance with me was bliss in itself, and then he started squeezing my ass. I was so excited, I almost passed out from the euphoria. I thought this was it... we were finally going to hook up. Oh my god, Stephanie! Keep your fucking cool! ... Ummm... nope. He was just ridiculously drunk and ended up with some random girl that resembled a Treasure Troll later that night. (End of the Road, Boyz II Men)

6. Making out with my first 'real' high school boyfriend during the entire length of Stairway to Heaven, which I recounted in a previous post, describing how we both looked at each other, smiled and then we partook in some rather shamelessly sloppy PDA in the middle of the dance floor... for the entire 8 minute epic. It was a long time not to come up for air! One of the senior girls from the basketball team slapped me hard on the ass while yelling really loudly, "Way to go, baby skank!"

5. I was asked to dance by one of the older guys from the basketball team. I couldn't really say no, politics and what not, so off I went to the middle of the dance floor with him. As soon as he brought me close I smelled it - his fucking putrid stale body odor. Holy shit, it was noxious. Oh yes... and his giant boner poking into my pelvic bone didn't help matters much either. And the song? Fucking November Rain by Guns N' Roses, which I should mention is NINE MINUTES LONG. I decided to NOT focus on the stinky penis burrowing into my stomach and rather on not vomiting instead.

4. Upon hearing Welcome to the Jungle at our Senior Formal after about 6 Bacardi and Cokes, I located a Mike's Hard Lemonade baseball cap (its origins is still a mystery) and squeezed it over my $80 up-do and proceeded to throw myself into a drunken mosh pit. The hat didn't exactly match my velvet and satin mermaid gown... which also ripped. Classy.
*I should also mention our year was the LAST year they "legally" allowed alcohol at the formal. Oops!

3. I did mushrooms at a MuchMusic video dance party and I-HAD-A-BAD-EXPERIENCE. Lasers, dry ice, crowds of people and Marilyn Mason's The Beautiful People video did NOT mix well when hallucinating. I'm chalking that one up to a hard-earned life lesson.

2. In grade 10, the first major public appearance of myself with my latest boyfriend was at a school dance. When we started making out on the dance floor, some people were aghast and noticeably offended. As it turned out, a majority of the student body assumed we were brother and sister because we had the same last name. Nope, just coincidence, people! Nothing to see here but two completely unrelated horny teenagers. Thanks. (With or Without You, U2)

1. Slow dancing with one of the older 'jocks' that I had an unhealthy fascination with. We had both been drinking and he started to put the moves on me. I was currently in a fight with a freshly ex-boyfriend, so I was also feeling all 90210ishly vengeful and slutty. I started making out with him, feeling his sweaty upper lip smear all over my face. I thought I would have enjoyed it, but I was disgusted with his 'over enthusiastic' tongue which was like a pointy slug having a seizure in my mouth. It's important to also note that he was only 5'1". It is most likely that this night marked the turning point that began my downward spiraling and paralyzing aversion to little people. (Closer, NIN) Ugh.

And in honor of this post, I couldn't resist!

Hoarding Is As Hoarding Does

I've been meaning to expose this dirty little secret for a while, so I thought I'd take Mama Kat's Writing Prompt to help me get it going. Here it is... I'm a hoarder. But not in the A&E television show kind of way, that's for damn sure. I can't even watch that show; it's repulsive. I have limited myself to manageable Tupperware boxes that either reside in the basement, garage... or still at my parent's house. I'm sure I'll be acquiring those boxes in the not-so-distant future as well, but I'm prolonging it as much as possible. It's not that I necessarily have to have the boxes close to me, but I can't part with them either.

I have trouble letting go...
Of everything.
Of everyone.

I would consider myself a sentimental hoarder. I know, I know... all hoarders impose some kind of sentimental value on every item they acquire, but I *think* mine is slightly different because they are items that are specifically connected to times or events in my life.

Here are the top 5 things that I currently possess and will NEVER throw away... not ever.
So, fuck off, Dr. Tompkins, I don't need your fixin'!

1. In grade 1, Paul gave me a perfectly heart-shaped rock. I keep this in my jewelry box.

2. In grade 5, Kevin bought me a can of pink Cream Soda at Friday night skating (which was a huge deal at the time, by the way). I kept the can - it's in one of the Tupperware boxes.

3. I have every single letter from Paul, Jason and Luke - who were my main correspondents during my teen years. The letters vary between friendship and grand expressions of love and longing. They are all in a series of Doc Marten boxes at my parent's place. I just saw them last week and was reminded that I'll have to read through and share some of the best ones... but of course.

4. The more I think about it (and knowing myself as well as I do), I'm fairly certain that the condom wrapper that I taped to my school diary was likely from the day I lost my virginity. Yes, almost positive. Ewww.

5. This final item that I'm sharing today is extremely important to me. I had a lot of t-shirts in high school and even now, I am a self-proclaimed t-shirt whore, but THIS one... this one is special. I found it at a Value Village and it still had the original vendor's price tag on it. Now, if you've ever thrift store shopped, you know that's a golden find... and it was INDIANA JONES... HELLO! I'd never seen anything like it, anywhere. This wasn't a cheesy movie t-shirt; this was retro perfection.

This shirt has been all over the world with me. It's been through everything I have been through. I'm going to be super fucking lame and go so far as saying that it's like one of my Horcruxes. Yeah, I said it. Whatever.

It represents over a decade of my life and yet, it's never faded and there are no holes in it. A decade of falling in and out of love
(and back in it again, sometimes).
Of moving and travelling.
Of learning, losing, gaining and settling.
Of growing up and becoming who I am at this very moment, whomever that may be.

And throughout all my adventures, I've always had Indy.

Join or No Bacon!

When the fabulous Carri Brown over at Mommy's Little Monster Blake suggested that one of Mama Kat's writing prompts have to do with BACON. Seriously, how could I resist that? How could anyone, really?

I'll just cut right to it then, shall I?
Here are the Top 10 Reasons why bacon is so fucking awesome:

1. It's likely the only substance that is greasier than my face, so, right there, it's a self esteem booster.

2. Not only is there a type called Canadian Bacon, but it's also a movie that stars John Candy and Rip Torn.

3. When it gets hot, the fat just melts right off - IF ONLY IT WAS THAT EASY! This point makes me slightly jealous of bacon.

4. It is a food item I can easily arrange to have exactly 4 pieces of; this appeases my OCD very nicely.

5. Not very many foods can rock both ketchup AND maple syrup. Preferably not at the same time, but condiment cross-contaminant bleeds are known to occur and yet, it's still scrumptious.

6. It's stripey and stripes are so hot right now.

7. One of the best quotes from Dazed and Confused refers to it: Now fry like bacon, you little freshman piggies. FRY!

8. Did you know George Washington insisted the American flag be made to resemble strips of bacon?
TRUE STORY... well, it's on YouTube, so it must be true, right? Dammit! This has created a rare moment when I wished I was American. Apparently, there's a Bacon Party.

9. There is a company billboard I pass frequently for URBA CON (an urban development company) - but the way their logo is,
(to me) it reads U-R-BACON... I love it and it makes me hungry every time I drive by it.

10. Without bacon, scallops are nothing but fishy rubber marshmallows. It is only when the scallop is wrapped in a blanket of bacon goodness that it truly becomes a divine and delectable h'orderve.

Forever 27? Let me think about it...

Oh, Amy Winehouse. For once, I have little words... but I did make this:

Disclaimer: This is, in no way, a joke about her dying. Succumbing to an addiction is truly an unfortunate tragedy.

It is, however, my opinion that comparing her relevance to the musical community to somehow equal that of

Janis Joplin, Jimmi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain is both laughable and insulting... to them.  

Credit: Original poster by Scott Lobaido.

Happiness In Boxed Canvases

They Said It Best

One of this week's prompts is to list 10 television shows that I would like to bring back. Well, I both love this and find it perplexing - mainly because listing them would just be too easy.

I watched a lot of television growing up. I never thought it was odd or bad or damaging. I still found time to play a lot of sports, ride my bike and take long walks in the forest and return home with grass stains.

Perhaps all the television shows I watched did make a substantial contribution towards my pop culture obsession, but I really wouldn't want to have it any other way.

Here is a poem to express all the values and heart-felt gestures that I learned from some of my favorite shows. The way I see it, if Baz Luhrmann can do it, dammit, so can I! See if YOU can pick out all TEN without cheating.

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Don't know about the future, that's anybody's guess.
Ain't no good reason for getting all depressed.

There's a time for love
And a time for livin'
So take a chance and face the wind.

When the world never seems
to be living up to your dreams
it's time you started finding out
what everything is all about

There ain't no nothing
We can't love each other through.

Here's a chance to make it,
If we focus on our goals.
If you dish it we can take it,
Just remember you've been told.

Everybody's got a special kind of story
Everybody finds a way to shine,
It don't matter that you not got a lot.

Thank you for being a friend,
Travelled down the road and back again.
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confident.

Show me that smile again.
Don’t waste another minute on your cryin’.
We're nowhere near the end
The best is ready to begin.

Our troubles are all the same;
You want to be where everybody knows your name.

According to our new arrival
Life is more than mere survival
We just might live the good life yet.


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An Ode to Summer

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