Son of a Fuck (WARNING: As per normal, this post is filled with expletives)

Some ratfucksonofabitch just did a dirty great big shit in my office toilet & DID NOT use the air freshener. Right now, I am unintentionally inhaling his fecal particles as they float through the air into my office. My fists of rage are pumping on so dam hard on this keyboard that if I punched this out any harder, goddamn Thor would be cutting off my hands & using them for a new better weapon than his bullshit magic boomerang hammer.

Hi guys.

I'm still around.

I gotta be honest, the last 6 weeks has been a giant bowl of steaming dicks.

Sometimes, when the universe chooses to ram your face repeatedly into a giant bowl of steaming dicks, you have two choices. You can either hide under the blankets & not do life. OR smash that bowl in it's imaginary man fanny & get the bloody hell on with things.

Shall we go back to the beginning? If you said no thank you, too bad sugar tits. You are so stuck on this pony ride.

6 weeks ago, whilst away in my nations capital for a work trip & mid pie-holing the sugary goodness of a custard creme Donut King, I received a text from my Dad saying that his lovely wife, who had been fighting cancer for 2 years, had finally passed away.

SO frigging sad. Seriously I cried rivers.

I love my dad guys. He hasn't been the best Dad in the history of ever, but he's mine & I love him anyway.

What ruined me the most about him losing his wife, was the fact that she was his great love. My Dad lost his great love.

I really get that shit ya know, the whole great love thing. Blake drives me completely bonks sometimes but Jesus fucking titty Christ I love him.

We don't know how all this life business ends.  And sometimes I spend way too much time thinking about what my end will be like (seriously I am surprised I leave the house most days). All I can say about my end is that I will not go down without a ninja fight. Even if I do make it to 97, I am judo chopping death in the thyroid like a bitch. Double handed even! And when I do go, people will celebrate my life. I want them to dance. Dance like muthafuckers. Real talk.

My sister & I went over to Blenheim to spend time with my Dad the weekend after Mary died. He had her ashes sitting in a beautiful purple box with pink & blue flowers all over it. She chose that box for her own ashes. That does my head in in all kinds of ways.

That box was sitting on her lazy boy in the lounge. Dad talks to her like she's sitting there in her blue lazy boy right beside him, just like she used to. He told me that he knows people will think he's bat shit crazy for talking to a purple box, but he doesn't care. He knows she's listening and it makes him feel not so lonely.

It was at that very moment my heart fell out of my chest & was trampled by a stampede of sad, angry buffalo. For my Dad.

I ring my Dad every Saturday. I've realised in all of this that I have an important job to do now. And that is to make sure he knows that I love him, that I give a bag full of massive shits & that if he needs to cry (and he does. man it hurts), that I'm his girl.

Last weekend when I phoned him he asked me a good question. When does it starts getting easier? Because that's what everyone keeps telling him. That the chest ache pain, grief & loneliness does get easier. And you begin to feel like you're not drowning anymore. Apparently.

Anyway, I couldn't answer that question. And I really hate not being able to answer questions because as you all know, I like to win at everything.

Moving along my little shit nuggets..................

Blake & I have moved out of the motel after 2.5 years of being the live in manager type people.

It's a long story but I am pleased to report we were not fired because I set fire to the dog poo rubbish bins outside our bedroom window. Nor was I arrested for shooting those asshole Satan birds (seagulls) that taunted me loudly with the bullshit every dam morning from about 5am.The owners decided to retire, so they are called on an experienced, mature (apparently this is not us?) couple to fully take over the operations of the motel. Blake and I couldn't do this, because I already have a job.

So we have moved on.

At first I was a bit mad. But truth be told, I had been over the commitment of motel life for a while. I wanted a house. I craved space. I wanted my stuff that had been locked away in storage for 2 & a half years. This included my own bed. WHICH by the way, is like sleeping on a mattress made entirely of angel farts & unicorn fur.

My first & most important goal, upon discovering our time at the motel was over, was to find us a new crib. Cos I ain't rollin under no bridge in cardboard boxes for winter. Hell-to-the-no-effing-way homies.

Searching for a place to live seriously nearly ruined me. Shitty, cold & damp houses being rented for pretty much my entire weekly wage. And I get paid pretty good. We both got depressed. So depressed in fact that we could barely handle the sight of each other. Well thank the Lord fucker of fuckertown, in the 11th hour, we found place that was a good size for the two of us & wasn't going to rape our bank account.

I would like to introduce you to the view from my house at sunset.

Um Hi there panoramic sea views. I want to touch you in your special places..........

The only downside to this vom-into-your-hand-awesome view is the fact that our new digs is up a motherbitch of a steep mountain. As my main mode of transport is my red ninja bike, I have been walking my wheels up this hill every day after work.

Most people would attempt to ride the actual bike up the actual hill, but carrying 100kg of juicy juicy ass won't allow me to gain enough momentum to peddle like a bastard up the mountain. Plus I have watched actual fit lycra-clad insane people bike up this hill & let me tell you, peddling about 52,000 rpms like you are being chased by a pack of rabiefied hyenas, and only moving about half an inch every 45 seconds is not my idea of a good time fun party. No. Thank. You.

So I shall push my bike up whore mountain. Please stay tuned as my ass, my hamburger & my Teradactyl arm flaps waste away to sexiness. (FYI - My hamburger is my stomach. When wearing pants, my belly is cut in two by the waistband of my pants & resembles hamburger buns with my waistband as the meat. It's pretty epic).

The third shithouse thing that happened, the very same day we found out we had to find somewhere else to live, Blake was made redundant. I am so not lying right now.

As it turns out, he's pretty awesome at getting jobs & managed to find a brand spankers full time job about a week after he got his redundancy letter. He is working with plants, which goes nicely with his Naturopathy Degree that he still has to finish.

In summary, this has been a dirty old shit time y'all.

But you know what.......I get to go to sleep every night beside my husband. Whether it's in a cardboard box, the motel, a rental property, or our very own home, as long as my great love is beside me I am the luckiest hooker in all of the lands.

With him, I can pretty much get all of the shit done. Good or bad.

Except for peddle my bike up whore mountain.

Peace & love to all of you sexy bitches. I haven't left you. Just been balls deep in life.
Bex xoxox