Like any over confident person, I sometimes have moments of self doubt. It's a common & rampant bitch problem. Specifically around the time of the month when the hormonies mess with my ability to reason & make sense of anything that's happening in my life. Then other stuff happens that has nothing to do with the hormonies, like people generally acting like an asshole & trying to destroy my good name & others passing comment about how I should stop swearing so much & talking about shit.
WELL, this morning I received a comment from Heather in New York.
"You don't know me, I found your blog about 6 weeks ago and you have kept me snorting with laughter through my fiance's chemo treatments. Literally. Snorting. Loudly. I take my iPad with me and read up on your older posts and weep with laughter. The nurses here give me strange looks. I poke fiancé awake and read him the extra funny shit. We love you. We hate cancer. I am so sorry your stepmom is facing this now, and that your Dad is going through it. Sending hugs from New York. Land of earthquakes ( go figure) and hurricanes. Eep. Hugging you hard in my head".
Fuck. It floored me. The heavens opened & my soul wept, with sadness & with gratitude towards this kind stranger from New York.
The reason I write is because I need to. If I don't write, I will explode. Like for real smash some shit up rage explosion. This is my therapy.
I write because somewhere in the world, someone's soul mate is being kicked in the ass by the ugly fat bitch cancer & my little poo blog is making them laugh.
The reason I write is because I've made it one of my goals in life make you beautiful whores smile.
To Heather in New York - I don't know you either. But I love the fuck out of you & your husband. I've requested on many occasions for a meeting with god himself so I can stab him in the sack for making good people sick. I'm sorry your husband is suffering. And that you have to be in the midst of the cancer shitstorm. No one gave us an instruction manual on how to deal with that. I don't pray often, but tonight I will be saying a prayer for you & your man. I hope with all the hope I possess in my body that he kicks cancers ass. I promise you I will keep being funny.The biggest hugs ever coming out to you & your beloved from across the Pacific. Arohanui, Becky xx
P.S My hugs are pretty awesome. I am like a human beanbag.
Part 2 of my post today is a bit of a mixed bag. 2 things combined in to one short story.
First of all, I think my mum tried to kill me last night. Blake & I went round to her house for dinner. She made curry. And I love me some curry! Specially when I don't have to cook it. However, lately I've been having some gut problems again. Mass fart onslaughts & my bowels are so unpredictable it's frightening.
Anyway I yommed down her curry & it was so hot yo! So dam hot that my nose was dribbling all over my top lip, my face got fricking hot & all I could taste was the intense burn of whatever she laced the curry with. More commonly known as curry. A shitload of curry. I've never been one to step down from a hot curry challenge. Afterwards I swelled up like a full term pregnant woman. I literally could not walk. Blake had to roll me back to the car with a stick like the poor kids do when they play with a car tyre. Fast forward an hour later.......I'm sitting in the lounge playing Angry Birds & booya..... I got a feeling, OOOOOOOO HOOOOOO, that I'm about to shit myself.
I run to the toilet with similar speed to that of The Flash. And I made it just in time before my bowel unleashes it's fury in the most unlady like way ever. The gut cramps had me reeled over in agony while I'm going like the clappers from the other end & I'm thinking Jesus Christ what the hell is going on here. The burny hot mum curry is trying kill me.
THIS IS HOW FAST I RAN.
Meanwhile, back in the lounge, Blake is watching a rugby game & completely oblivious to his dear wife's anal malfunction & possible death by shit emergency in the bathroom.
I was in there for 40 minutes. A whole roll of toilet paper later, I emerged looking like a new woman. Slightly pale, but definitely skinnier. When I told Blake he was disgusted & kept to his side of the bed last night just in case Mount Becksuvius had a manic uncontrollable eruption during the night. It didn't......
Mainly because I was too busy dreaming about how I lost my legs & had prosthetics from the knees down with freaky motherfucking dolls feet. And I'm so distraught because my mum took me to Movie World & was standing across the other side of the street eating a soft serve ice cream (which I LOVE) while I'm stranded on a park bench in the scalding hot sun trying to figure out how to use my stupid dolls legs. And I'm crying because I'm sad I don't have my own feet anymore. I woke up crying,with a one blocked nostril, two blocked ears, my own legs & no poos in my pants. All in all it was a successful nights sleep.
One of the best feelings in the world is waking up from a shithouse dream & realising that every things still good.
Have a safe weekend bitches!
Love ya'll HARD.
P.S POO PICTURE DOWN BOTTOM OF THE PAGE x
P.P.S To my mum. If you read this, thanks for dinner last night. And I don't think you really tried to kill me. Love you x