Hatin' on: Hands

Granted, hands are vital tools for our human survival. But like any useful body parts, some people choose to abuse or misuse their hand power. I often find myself resisting the urge to hack someones hands off with a samurai sword, just because they displayed some sort of dickish hand behaviour that twisted my insides with hate rage.

Behold, my top 5 rage list of tit ripping hand abuse.

Sweaty Hands - Followed closely by my deep embedded phobia of peoples feet, my sweaty hand phobia reigns supreme. If you shake my hand, & your palm is secreting moisture of any kind, I will projectile vomit in your face while administering a swift fuck kick to your shins.

Last Thursday, my personal trainer decided to put me through a rigorous boxing session. I had left my own gloves at home, so he kindly offered me a pair that he uses for some of his other clients. Normally I would flat out refuse, but I'm proud & don't like to fail in front of him.

So I inserted my hands in to the black holes of death bacteria. Upon doing so, my hands started to auto sweat like a bastard. As I quietly began to freak out, I morphed into what can only be described as a rabid panicky eyed wolf dog & proceeded to crazy smash the bejesus out of his padded  man hands & in turn practically fractured all my own hand/forearm bones. I wanted to chew my own hands off.

Heart Hands - I have it on good authority that tweens/teens internationally are forming an underground secret society of little assholes. I call it the International Terror Society. When they aren't loitering outside their society meeting house, Burger King, & terrorising the elderly with their foul mouthed confidence, shanking bitches for One Direction concert tickets or texting strangers & telling them to go fuck themselves (this happened to me yesterday), they jack their Facebook photo albums with scores of photo after photo of their society hand sign.

I present to you, the very deadly & deceptive Heart Hands......

OMG it's the evil harlot herself.

Heart Hands was created by the ITS's very own presidents, Taylor Swift & Justin Beiber. Those blond, blue eyed minxes lead the youth revolution with their evil lyriced songs of lost love, baby baby baby oh & mean high school bullies. Play any of that shit backwards & you will hear Satan himself.

Upon viewing a freshly uploaded Facebook Heart Hand photo, it's very easy be overwhelmed with a sense of love & peace & that everything evil in the world has skipped a generation.
Do not be fooled. Because approximately 5 minutes after seeing this photo, those very same hands will be sneaking into your lady bag & stealing $10 to go up town & see a 'movie' but secretly being used to stuff themself stupid with addictive substances such as BBQ Bacon & Cheese burgers.

I'll see your bloody heart hands & raise you a finger TaySwif. This is how we do it old skool! BEEEATCH.

Hobo Hands - Prior to our grand night of love confession, Blake & I spent 3 years doing the mating dance. One night, while sitting in his car smoking cigarettes & people watching, we were approached by a homeless man asking if we had a cigarette lighter he could use.

Before we could answer him, he lurched his stink fist of horror through the car window & snatched the lighter out of Blake's hand. His hand, was covered in crusty scabs, dirt & green huey food remnants. And it smelt like it had been buried firmly in his anus for an entire decade.

As Hobo Hand Man proceeded to return the lighter, Blake began to wind up his driver side window in a speed I had never witnessed before. If there was an Olympic sport for manual window winding, he would be a good bet on the gold medal.

Blake then flatfooted it out of there, while retch vomiting into his own hand. The car was filled with the stench of poverty & grime. Apparently neither of us can stomach Hobo hands as evident by the duel vomit session we had in the half hour following.

And then I got a rash on my pinky finger & convinced myself I had somehow inadvertently contracted Hobo Hand AIDs. Shortly before preparing to amputate my infected finger with a blunt pocket knife, I smothered it in roid cream & the rash subsided. Huzzah for roid cream!

Neither myself or my husband have forgotten this near death experience. And these days when sitting in the car people watching, we would rather have the windows firmly shut & bake like a tinfoiled river trout than put ourselves in the firing line for possibly contracting Hobo Hands.

Rape Hands - For those of you that have not read my epic tail of Bus Tranny Hand Rape, don't worry, I will provide you with a short breakdown in the following paragraph.

Basically, a drugged up Lady Boy attempted to Hand Rape me on a bus in Auckland when I was on my way to class. This involved some clothed vulva cuppage (no actual jiggery pokery but so not the point here) & me breaking her/his nose with a well time terror punch. It all happened so quickly that I had no time to prevent the hand rape from happening. Before I knew what was going on, her/his hand was firmly nestled between my thighs, on my banger. I was young. And naive. A small town girl making it happen in the big city. I was ripe for the picking.

This Tranny crime scarred me for a long while. My boyfriend at the time basically had to crow bar my legs apart to get any fanny cupping action.

Hands are a weapon people. Dirty rape weapons. I have fully educated my eldest niece on the dangers of rape hands & idle rape hands on buses. My message to her is, if in doubt, judo chop your way out.

Carny Hands - The word 'Carny', in the Old Testament of Becky, means Murderous Thieving Bastard.

While the initial gloriousness of a Carny Gala may lead you to be overcome with joy at the prospect of biffing table tennis balls in the scary clowns mouth, or shooting tin ducks with a faux rifle, the sneaky hands of a Carny have one aim only. To sift as much small dollar bills from you as possible.

And when your back is turned, after losing yet another game of Bullshit Darts, they will throw an angry wasp nest at your head & pick pocket your iPhone.

I once dated a man with Carny Hands. Every time he went to hold hands with me, I would LOL. And sometimes, if I had a couple of beers & a special cookie, I'd even ROFL. While my own hands are not large at all, they were mammoth in comparison to his stubby midget phalangicals.

I knew, after our third date, when he tried to brush my hair out of my eyes & I choked on my tomato soup & it came out my nose as I exploded into a Carny hand induced ROFHCSWDL (roll on floor holding crotch small wee dribble laughing) , that things weren't going to work out for us. I could not risk procreating & spawning a carny handed vag puppet. That would be a death by stoning human crime.

Such a shame cos the rest of him was really really good looking. Call me shallow, but I like a fella with hardy strong man hands to protect me from stalkers & serial killers with mad throat punching skills.

United we stand. Divided we fall. But if you touch me with your Sweaty Heart Hobo Carnie Rape hands, I will throw an angry wasp nest at your head then double kick smash you in the banger.

Have a rockin weekend bitches!

Peace & love

P.S Just so you know that I do actually have a soul, my list of things I like about hands completely outweighs the list of things I don't. Like punching people. Itching my groin eczema. Feeding fish. Eating KFC. Playing with my beautiful Loretta (my guitar). Touching my husbands buttocks. Front fanny self pleasuring. Banging on bongo drums. Exchanging money for shoes (Holla!). Using the Sky remote. And of course, writing to my sister wives & BFF's on the internet. ILYHHO (I love you ho's hard out).

Boobs are awesome. Can I get an amen?

My Aunt has had a double mastectomy. Some time ago, but I remember very clearly when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a big ass bunch of suck. But she survived. And I really love her so this pleases me.

Unfortunately there are many women out there that aren't as lucky. And being a lady who has a rather large pair of luscious boobies, & also enjoys owning said pair of boobies, Breast Cancer is one plight I'm always willing, without hesitation, to wave my flag proudly for.

Here are 10 reasons why I really dig having lady lumps.

• I can hide things down there. Like my cellphone. My credit card. Snacks. Jewels. Guitar Plectrums. Flick knives. Tazers.
• When my hands get cold in winter, I can bury them in my cleavage.
• My husband can use them as a comfortable twin pillow to cushion his weary head on a long haul flights.
• My husband can also utilise them for other fun 'activities'.
• I can use them as a bullet proof chest if someone wanted to shoot me. I am 65% certain they would protect my vital organs.
• When I do eventually lactate, the NZ Government could send me on a Humanitarian mission to Africa where I could nourish thousands of starving African babies. Cos I know my girls are gonna be epic when I sprout a crotchling.
• When I lose an earring, & all you whores know what I'm talkin bout, & you end up unknowingly walking around all day with one earring in like a pirate, I always find the escapee earring buried deep in my cleave when I take my bra off at bedtime.
• Apart from feeling like someone has stuffed a bag full of cornflakes down my cleavage every time I eat crackers, it's a great hiding place for food. It gets hot down there so chocolate, or anything melty is no good. Sometimes, when I remove my bra before I go to bed, a 3 course meal falls out on to the floor.
• My boobs are well behaved. Except for when I am at the gym. Then they begin to behave like two escaped mental patients. I can't control them. And much to my personal trainers embarrassment, I spend most of my time during my work out sessions trying to keep the girls inside my shirt. It's hard work. Especially when I'm trying to slam a right hook into Mike's left spar pad & with each punch, I get punched in the chin by one of my own tits. It's like taking a pair of naughty twin convict children to play in the park. I can not relax because as soon as my backs turned, one of them escapes.
• Much like not wearing pants at home, not wearing a bra also feels awesome. You give me 20 years, & I will be that old bird standing in her kitchen naked stacking the dishwasher.

Some girls in my blog hood are doing something tres rad to show their support & help raise awareness/money for those that suffer/have suffered from Breast Cancer.

What better way to raise money by posting various photos of fellow Bloggers with their boobs out. Of course it's anonymous, but if you want to be a part of the first annual Whose Boobs - Bloggers for Boobs event, then go to Angie's page & find out wha ya gots ta do.

If you are brave enough, take a photo of your girls & get them on the website. Mine are there in all their awesome glory. You might even win a prize. Holla! Follow this link to find out more about what I'm crackin on about.

I've been quiet this last week.

I'm too sad to write. Heartbroken even.

My best friends mum is dying. I have sobbed uncontrollably many times over the last few weeks. Overwhelmed with sadness for my beautiful soul sister Kylie, & for her lovely mum who has been like a second mum to me for a very long time.

Kylie & I met by chance when she was 7 & I was 10, in a little pokey ass NZ town called Reefton. Over the better part of a couple of decades, our friendship has flourished into something so amazing that I can hand on my heart say, I will NEVER have a connection like I have with this girl with any other human being on this planet. Not even my own husband. Me & Blake have a different kind of connection. Just as powerful, but different.

You see, the thing with me & Kye is, we get each other. We have this unspoken understanding. She may live in another part of NZ, but dam do I know when she's having a shithouse day. I feel it in my core. And vice versa.

We have seen each other through the respective deaths of my step dad/her dad, health problems, weight issues, addictions, miscarriages, marriage/relationship dramas & all of life's other bullshit. She stood beside me & cried happy tears on my wedding day while I promised to love my husband for the rest of my life. She stood in front of all my friends & family at the reception & told them how much she loves me.

She is my golden girl & the love I possess for this girl is so fucking massive I can't even put it into words.

And right now, she needs me. Maybe not in a physical sense, but she needs my emotional strength, & the strength of others to help her through what is going to be the hardest thing she has ever had to go through.

Kylie, if you read this, I am here for you babe & my heart is so heavy with sadness for you right now. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I got your back. Surround yourself with people who love you. And know, when the time comes, I will be standing beside you squeezing the shit out of your hand.

Close your eyes, listen to this song. It's from me to you. Let your heart hear it.

I love you my china x

If any of you out there in the world have some spare time in the next few days, say a little quiet prayer for my soul sister & her Ma. She needs to feel the love right now, more than ever before.

Peace & love

This one goes out to the one(s) I love. Prepare to vomit in your own hand cos I'ma bout to gush like that bottle of cola I dropped on my office floor yesterday.

Fuck guys. Really. Fuck.....Never in my entire life, apart from the day this hot guy stood in front of all these people I know & vowed to love the shit outta me for the rest of his life while shitting his own pants with pure blind fear, have I experienced such a bevy of international love bombing.

Yesterday morning, I woke up & while putting my outside face on (make up) in preparation for my working day, I went online. Upon discovering everything below, I blubbed hardout. Big happysadlove tears avec slight nasal dribble. My eyes weep, my nose follows suit. Awesome.

First of all,  I hit Facebook. Where I discovered, my dear friend & fellow wild strider, Mrs Johi Unicorn from Colorado, had created a Facey page in my honour, Get Bex A VISA!. Strangers have joined this group!! And people I know. All with the same goal of either emailing the shit outta the US Embassy in Wellington to tell them how wrong they are or just to stand vigil with me in silent but proud support.

When I first meet Johi online, I was flawed by her beauty, balls & her way of taking the piss out of the mundaness of every day life in the country as a mother of 2 GORGEOUS boys & wife to equally hot piece of man ass husband. Bitches please, his name is Brock. You know what that rhymes with.....let me break it down. B is short for BIG, Rock is short for ROCKIN' & then I add on the end the only other word I can think of that rhymes with rock. It begins with C. Ya dig?

Johi I love you so hard. I am preparing a 'how to' DVD on Wild Striding to mail to you. By the time I get to Colorado you will be a pro babe. We must map our route. I am thinking the League of Unicorn Wild Striders road trip?

Next there was Jen. She dedicated this post to me yesterday. HOLY SHIT on a pancake. Cue agape mouth & more tears/snot.

I brag about this woman all the time, cos I am not so secretly in love with everything she is & stands for. Her & I have bonded like the extra strength Super Glue I once glued my sisters hand to the phonebook with when I was 8 years old. She inspires me to be the best Becky. She inspired me to come out with my own story of battle with addiction. Her spirit, her fight, her big fat love underneath the snark & funny as fuck wit is what makes me love her so dam much. There are no hidden agendas with Jen. She is real.

If we lived in the same city, I'm not sure the world could handle our combined awesome. But one day, mark my word, I will get the chance to embrace this woman & tell her how much I admire & love the shit out of her. Right to her face.

And then we will cry with happiness. And I will insist she give me a hip hop lesson because clearly I would win at that. And then we would laugh like freaks & I'd probably piss my pants because I have terrible bladder control for one so young & barren. And then she would take me to one of those awesome Portland restaurants she writes about in her weekly Foodie Friday posts. Or Taco Bell. Not fussy. Just know it will be glorious.

Misty is the last part to this epic trio of greatness. She too, dedicated a blog post to me yesterday. Misty is another fellow Blogger friend & I am so grateful for all her help in the last few days. Misty is a lawyer.She is smart, sassy & street savvy. She spends her working days sitting in court watching the crims of her city lay their shit out. Also she secretly & legally takes photos of peoples less than aesthetically pleasing apparel then puts it all online in her Weekly Whacked post for the universe to judge.

I have atleast a dozen pictures on my iPhone that I am planning on emailing her. We need to help these people!

I dig this chick. Her & I share a passion for shoes. And anyone that loves shoes as much as I do & openly piss takes people for their bad fashion choices is my friend for life.

To these 3 woman, I thank you from the depths of my heart. I can not express to you in words how I feel about you for your compassion & willingness to fight for me. I really love you guys.

I wrote you girls a song poem. It can be sung to the tune of 'What do we do with a drunken sailor'. Actually it must be sung to this tune or it won't work. Youtube it if you don't know the song.

This is my re-lyriced song poem for Johi, Jen & Misty simply titled 'What do we do with a De-nied Visa'.

What do we do with a de-nied visa
Given by a douchey asshat geezer
I didn't get a chance to try & please him
And show him my great boobies

My boobs are large & white as snowy
Smokin hot like Jen,Mis-ty & Johi
If they had peens I'd give them a blowie
Just for being awesome

Yo whores give me a visa!
I can roundhouse kick like an angry beaver
Yo whores give me a visa!
Or I'll poo on your back doorstep

Jen is a babe, & I'd  love to meet her
Hang with her boys & teach them expletives
Grind to some WooTang & eat some pizza
Then stake out Nathan Fillon.

Yo whores give me a visa!
I'm hot piece of ass from tiny New Zealand
Yo whores give me a visa!
I can throat punch like a ninja

Misty is the balls & a kick ass lawyer
She is so rad & I'd like to pash her
But no hugs cos she just might punch ya
She's an anti hugger

Yo whores give me a visa!
I wana go to Cancun & see Chichen Itza
Yo whores give me a visa!
I'm really not a bad girl.

Johi is so hot I can barely stand it
My Unicorn mask donning wild striding bandit
I wanna eat her children cos they so dam gorgeous
But she probably will not like me

Yo whores give me a visa!
If I can't go then Blake can't either
Yo whores give me a visa!
I'll buy you some jewels & presents.

What do we do with a de-nied visa?
Not much now, going through Argentina
I get to eat Tacos & slug margaritas
And shit my pants from drinking their water.

The End.

Out of this whole experience, I have discovered something truly amazing. Underneath all of the hate, war & poverty that often leaves me feeling negative, sad & hatin on the universe, there lies a strong united group of people. Compassionate strangers who are willing, without hesitation, to take a chance & support a girl from New Zealand they have never met before.

You have no idea how much this humbles & overwhelms me. And I can not say thank you enough to all of you. My friends, my family & every single one of you. You see ME. The real me. And quite frankly, no visa will ever replace that wonderful feeling of acceptance.

If I ever make it to the US, & you all know I WILL get there, you can choose from one the following multi choice options of gracious thanks.

a) A beer
b) A non alcoholic beverage
c) A Hug
d) A pash with no tongue
e) A sneaky quick fondle of the posterior cheek region. Strictly no front bum touching due to laws laid down by my husband.

If you haven't already been informed, I am now going on my trip to Cancun. The kick ass dudes at DB Brewery who I won the trip through have decided to fly me solo through Buenos Aries. Although the idea of flying through South America on my own is daunting, I am SO goddamn happy right now.

This is so not over though. I sincerely believe I had been wrongly denied of the travel visa to the US. Don't get me wrong, I beleive everyone should be accountable for their actions. But I've done that. Ten times over & have moved the fuck on. I was not given the opportunity, that cost me $600, to plead my case. It was an interview, yet I did not get interviewed at all.

If you feel like supporting my cause, scroll back up & click on any of the girls links. You will find the details you need to help a bitch out.

"Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes".
- Mahatma Ghandi

Peace, love & sloppy thank you kisses,

P.S To the new followers, welcome. And thank you for joining my mad crew. You will not be disappointed x

Why simply being the BALLS awesome sometimes just isn't enough.

A couple a weeks ago, I got a letter in the mail saying I'd won a trip for 3 to Cancun. Awesome. I fist pumped till my arm fell off. I have never won anything & being able to go to Mexico for free is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Little did I know the Pandora's box of bullshit it was about to open for yours truly.

I have a criminal conviction. If you want to know all about it then read here.

I rarely think about that shit time in my life anymore. I never went to jail & I paid my dues. Where I am now, compared to where I was all those years ago, couldn't be more of a contrast. And it's never stopped me from travelling in the past, because it was never an issue.

However, travelling to the US has become a whole other ball game.

My husband, mother in-law & I have to stop over in Los Angeles for ONE night on the way to Cancun, then one on the way back. Sounds pretty simple right? Unfortunately for me, it's not.

I had to apply in person at the US Embassy in NZ for a travel visa. Due to my criminal conviction I am not automatically eligible for a Visa Waiver so I had to go the long way round.

Now I could have lied on the Visa Waiver form & quite possibly got through to Cancun with no problems at all. But I'm not a liar, & chose to go the honest route & put all my shit out there. I didn't want to risk being stopped in LAX & sent home. Worse case scenario, I would be put in jail for lying in the visa waiver form. I am not jail material, even though I can roundhouse kick like a machine.

I have spent the past 2 weeks getting together every piece of documentation possible to take to the interview.

I was a Girl Guide once. Albeit a bad ass rebellious Girl Guide. But the one thing I took away from it was to always be prepared. That, along with the fact I am a ridiculously organised person in my normal everyday life, & have busted my ass the last 8 years of my life doing everything I can to redeem myself, I thought I had this in the bag.

It's protocol. I get it. And I have been extremely willing to do whatever I have to do, to go on my holiday to Cancun.

I paid $200 for the visa application & paid another $400 for my return trip to Auckland.

My appointment was yesterday morning at 8:45. I didn't really know what to expect because I haven't had to go through this sort of thing before. I had spoken to a number of people who had been through it, many with convictions way worse than my own, & they'd had no problems. Easy. Based on all the info I had to present to them, I should be a shoe in.

The interview with the American consulate officer took about 3 minutes. It went something like this.

Him: 'Rebecca Brooks, come to window 2' (Brooks is my maiden name & name on my passport).

Me: *walks to window

Him: 'Why are you wanting to come to the States?'

Me: 'I won a trip to Cancun & it requires myself, my husband & my mother in law to spend a nights stop over in LA on the way there & back'.

Him: *looking at my Ministry of Justice Criminal Record report...'What was the reason behind your offending?'.

Me: 'I had a gambling addiction'.

Him: 'Do you still gamble now?'

Me: 'No I haven't gambled since the day I was arrested'.

Him: How much money did you take?

Me: $XXXXX

Him: *stamping my application.....I am sorry to inform you I will not be granting you a visa today. Thank you.

Me: *standing there like a stunned mullet.

WHAT THE FUCK MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He didn't even look at any of my supporting documents. And the guy before me had been granted a visa no problem with several drug convictions. (You have an attentive audience of potential visa holders sitting behind you the whole time. They can hear everything you discuss with the officer).

I walked out, went & sat at a bus stop down the road, & I cried like a baby. Not ugly crying pounding the ground with my fists crying, more like silent I feel real fucking sorry for myself tears.

I did everything I could. I've been through a roller coaster of emotions in the last 24 hours ranging from blind hate rage to shrug my shoulders defeat. What can I do? The answer to that is, absolutely nothing.

I can apply again, & hope for a different officer, but to be honest, I just can't be fucked anymore. I don't want to spend the money & the whole thing has been a cluster fuck of disappointment. And I am quite frankly emotionally drained from it. I am going to walk away, much to the dismay of my husband who believes I need to fight this, & get on with my life.

However, as you can imagine I am feeling a bit poo today. I am taking a couple of days to get my head together before I crack on with life. I am allowing myself that much at least.

Looking at the big picture, what have I really lost? Apart from $600 & a large dent in my pride, I haven't lost a dam thing.

I have a great life. I have kickass job. I am healthy & I am married to the love of my life. There are people out there going through horrible tragic stuff right now. For example, I can think of at least 5 people I know, 2 of them family members, who are attempting to fight the crap out of cancer & not winning. That right there is BIG SHIT. My problem in comparison is nothing.

This post is not a cry for sympathy. However, from the depths of my heart I want to say thank you to all those that have supported me through this. Whether it be by text, a Facey/Twitter comment or a phone call or just a big ass hug (anti hug ban has been lifted temporarily), thank you for caring about me. It feels nice.

I may be able to travel to the US in the future, but for now it's not going to happen. So BlogHer 2012 is not on the cards. And if any of my hookers from the US want to meet me, for now, you gotta come to my hood, or meet me halfway. Literally.

Johi, if you want to go wild striding with me through the neighbourhood, spreading our awesome magic with our horse/unicorn head masks on, we will have to do it in NZ ok? It will still be good here & if we get lost in the wilderness we don't need to worry about having our faces eaten off by one of those bears you folk have lurking on your forests. Although I am quietly confident with our powers combined we could probably beat his ass anyway.

Johi & Bex. Horse friends 4 EVA.

People have been asking me a lot of questions. I am going to answer them here.

Q: Can you not go another route & avoid the US altogether?
A: Yes I can but it will cost me a fortune & will take me about 60 hours flying time all up. Two words, Bugger that. And I would have to fly alone as Blake & his mum will still fly via the US. AND I would arrive about 2 days after them & only get 3 days in Cancun. Again, no thanks.

Q: Could you get an exempt Visa Waiver processed through Washington?
A: Yes I could. But it takes up to 60 days & I don't have that time. There would still be no guarantee that I'd get it & we have to go on April 12th. There is no refund for the accommodation in Cancun & it's already been booked & paid for.

Q:Can Blake & mother in law still go without you?
A: Not sure at this stage. Waiting to hear back from the Brewery we won the prize through. Will find out on Friday whether they are going to re-draw the prize or whether Blake & Bibs can still go & someone that I nominate can go in my place.

To be honest, I am in 2 minds about this. Part of me wants him to go. At least one of us will get something out of it. The other part of me doesn't want him to go. It was something we were looking forward to together. I won the prize. If I can't go then neither should he.

Q: Do you hate America now?
A: No. I have some beautiful American friends. This in no way reflects badly on them. However if they want to write a letter to Obama telling them that one of their NZ US Embassy Consulate officer is a judgey judgerson twat then by all means, go ahead.

Q: Can't you just go anyway & risk it.
A: No. I must have some sort of Visa. Even if I scrapped the layovers in LA & just transited through LA. I could fill out the application form online for a Visa Waiver & wing it but now that I've been denied a travel visa my passport will be red flagged in the US customs database. There is only one of twos places I will end up. On a plane back to NZ or in jail being finger assaulted by tattooed butch lesbianess (I'm pretty hot so that's inevitable really).

Q:Can you sell the trip?
A: Nope. It's in the terms & conditions that I can not do this. Otherwise I would.

Q: Can you go somewhere else instead of Mexico?
A: No. Fleur, the travel agent has been amazing. She has tried everything possible but it's now out of her hands.

Before I was called up for my interview, another one of the consulate officers started his shift. Please note this is not the officer I had my interview with. Anyway, he came over the microphone & said the following....

'Right we have a lot of applicants to get through today so I need everyone to go in order from best conviction to the worst. So if you robbed a bank you need to go right to the back of the cue. And I've just taken my medication so you will probably all get a visa granted today'.

While I admired his attempt at humour, the whole application process is dam stressful. Even getting in to the embassy is a gigantic song & dance. Not funny bro.

And when I walked out of that embassy, defeated, I wanted to march back in & punch that not funny man right in the mouth. But the law abider in me thought no we don't want assault added to our criminal record. So I fantasized about it instead. And it was just as satisfying.

Adapt & overcome. On it.

Peace & love,

Summer stood me up.

Summer is my navy boy. He visits town once a year for 3 months & when he gets here, it's on bitches. He smells nice, makes everyone stupid happy (especially me), he's hot as hell & he makes me sweat like a $2 hooker at an big black penis party.

Blake doesn't get jealous cos he loves summer too. We often have threesomes with summer. Vag spasms galore yo! Summer bangs me so hard that I have to sleep with the fan on every night sans blanket. And I don't even care that he always gives me a burny skin rash. He can't help that. I am careful & always use protection yet I'm still allergic to his love rays. He is so worth the itchy peely pain.

Summer makes me feel young again. We spend endless hours at the beach getting sand in our crotches, we attend countless BBQ's, & we drink a shit tonne of whatever ends up in our glass. He is the life of the party, everyone smiles like a goon on Ecstasy when around him & gags for a piece of his hot lovin action.

Summer is a real good time. And every year I love him just a little bit more.

We agreed that we would meet again December 1st 2011, & I couldn't have been more excited. I was frothing at the gon burger at the prospect of seeing him again. I sat & I waited with eager lust for this sexy season to grace me with it's presence.

As each day passed, I soon came to realise the inevitable, summer wasn't coming. He stood me up & I'm really pissed off about it. My fan sat in the corner of my room for 3 months, sad & unused.

I have my theories of what happened to him. Please read on.

• He ate too much while on holiday in the northern hemisphere. He got so morbidly obese & sad at the prospect that I might become a judgey bitch & not love him anymore. Overcome with shame, his heart jacked in & he died.
• While hunting foxes in the English forest, his horse tripped over a log. Summer got thrown off & got crushed like a bag of corn chips by his own horse. It crushed him & he died. Never trust a goddamn horse. It's death on legs.
• He went shark cage diving off the coast of Cape Town. As the 7 metre great white was approaching he got so excited & forgot to breathe from the oxygen piece in his pie hole. He swallowed water & drowned.
• He got caught by Balinese customs officers with marijuana in his surfboard bag & is now serving a life sentence in a Balinese men's prison.
• One of his fellow seaman went overboard. In a pure act of heroism he jumped overboard to save his friend. He got sucked under the boat by the propeller & minced like yesterdays chili con carne.
• Some sicko got so jealous at his impending departure to my side of the world, so in an act of desperate love they poisoned him. He died.
• Because he's such an epic man whore, he contracted the AIDS virus & died.
• He has holed himself up in a basement somewhere, succumbed to the universal allure of World of Warcraft.
• He was kidnapped by Somali pirates. They are now using him as a wing man to score mammoth amounts of poon tang with the local Somali ho's. He's good like that. He makes everyone horny.
• He just doesn't like my voluptuous piece of Becky ass no more. Even though I am clearly more good looking than last year. So he decided not to come.
• He died & has been reincarnated as racoon. A racoon that's having too much fun with kittens. Creepy AND weird.

Now it's Autumn. The only words I can think of off the top of my head that rhyme with Autumn is Post Mortem. Because I feel dead inside at the very thought of you Summer.

The leaves on the once green trees have began turning orange. And falling dead to the ground. Orange is the ugly older sister of Red. Nothing good can come from orange. Except for orange juice & Oompa Loompas.

And then comes winter. It rhymes with splinter. And no one likes splinters. They hurt like buggery & are a bitch to get out. And if they get infected shit gets real nasty.

I welcome winter with the same enthusiasm as shitting in my own hands & clapping like a spastic.

Winter. Le sigh. A thorn in my side. And let me tell you I aint' no fan of Mannie Lennox. See what I did there? Man-nie. She may be married to her male counterpart but I ain't no fool cuz. She has a man voice.

While I drown in disappointment at the impending doom of winter, my warning to you folk on the other side of the world........don't expect big things from summer this year. He has let us down. And if he tries to text or phone for a late night booty call or to fill my head with more lies, I will most definitely not probably will give in to his protests of undying love for yours truly. Not this time bucko. He has diddled with my heart one last time.

I will wait, with baited breath, to see if summer can redeem himself in December. Til then, he is on my list of things I don't like very much.

In fact he is at the top of this list in my little black book. It's not your usual black book........

Nothing is more frightening than a Becky scorned. I know some Becky's. We are all pretty unhinged in a good but scarey way.

In happier news, my winner of February's Winner Wednesday prize is Jayne at Ach Du Lieber. Can I get a WOOP WOOP up in here!!

Jayne pulls random thoughts out of her ass (that's what she said) & puts them out there for the world to read. I like this woman. And right now she is suffering from writers block. Jayne I hope this awesome prize taints your day with some happy happy joy joy & unleashes the writing fury within.

Please flick me an email at bexstard@yahoo.co.nz with your address & I'll get the pirate booty in the mail to ya.

Oh yeah I spose I better tell you what you have won. Today you have won, one 'People I would like to punch in the face' Little Black Book. See photo above. ALSO a pair of these.....bad ass bang bang earrings!!

Check out more kickass NZ made jewellery at www.cassiejadedesign.com

I have a pair of these which I am wearing right now. I really hope you have pierced ears. If not, I just unknowingly gave you a friends next birthday present. My pleasure.

I have decided from now on I am going to keep the monthly winner Wednesday prize a surprise. Everyone likes surprises. Especially when Summers done a no show & you're feeling a bit poos.

Have you seen summer? Is he lurking in your neighbourhood? I am offering a reward of nothing but my love if you bring him home to me.

Peace, love & wanky seasons,

I am going to set the world on fire: My Musical. With no music. Or dancing.

Disclaimer: You should know that I would never actually set the world on fire.

Because it's illegal & it would hurt. 

For a very long time I have wanted to put my shit out there. Bare it to the world. Be accountable for my actions & then move the fuck on. But me, badass Becky, was too afraid. Because I was ultimately scared of what people would think of me.

Slice my hand with a kitchen knife & chuck me in a tank full of tiger sharks & I would be on that shit. Be honest & open with people, & I'd hide like I did all those years ago in the casinos rooms.

I realised while laying in bed on Wednesday night that it was time to lay down my guns, punch that dark cloud I've let hang over my head for so dam long in the hairy scrotum, & tell it too piss right off. I feel liberated. I feel proud. And I am chained no more to that thing I did that I have been ashamed of for so long.

The comments. Oh my god the comments. I couldn't reply because I was overwhelmed. I was tearing up reading all the comments from you bitches on all of my chosen forms of social networking.You guys.You knew what to say. Each & every single one of those comments hit me right in that centre point of my chest but slightly off to the left boob side, in my heart. Thank you. A million times over.

I wasn't going to put it on Facebook because I have 375 'friends' & some of those people I didn't want to know about it. Then I thought, do I really care what those certain people think about me? The answer to that is hell to the NO. The purpose of it was to set myself free. How can I truly set myself free when I still wanted to hide it from certain people? So I put it on Facebook. No more shame. I have nothing to hide.

Adapt & overcome. Thank you Jana for putting those words in my head. I don't know you, but those shared words will now be my mantra too.

Let me tell you, after baring my soul to the world, I feel exhilarated. And goddamn loved to a point of ugly crying face happy tears.

I accept that there will be times in my future that my conviction will still mean I have to go the long way round. And that's ok. The difference is that this time I will do it without mentally stoning myself & letting the shame drag me down.

Adapt & overcome. I'm on it.

To Jen. You my girl are a shining muthafucking star. And I know for absolute certain that if you & I ruled the world, our souls combined would make us unstoppable. Thank you for inspiring me to deal with my shit out loud. Sharing your own story of addiction gave me the cracker under my ass I needed to put my own red superhero cape on & power punch through my life's nasty scrotum. I love you whore. Big time.

Right, now moving along, I have received an award. A blog award doing the rounds called the Liebster Blog award. I am not 100% exactly what Liebster means, but it's an award & I'm all over that shit like an itchy groin rash. I believe it means 'I am awesome'. However my German is non existent so I am tres happy to roll with my translation.

The award was gifted to me from my old mate Barfly over at SSS Porch Party. Just between you & me, I am pretty certain he wants to touch my boobs. I am willing to oblige of course but the oceans are keeping us apart**. Anyway, his blog is unique in the fact it's actually run by a group of neighbours that like to socialise on occasion. Barflys regular real life musings & posts dedicated to international hot bitch blogging divas is really something to read. Seriously, need some ego stroking blog ladies, go see Barfly. He da man.

** Babe I promise he won't ever touch my boobs. They are all yours. Promise.

Anyway here are the rules.
1) Thank the person that nominated you on your blog and link back to them. DONE.
2) Nominate up to 5 other blogs for the award. DONE.
3) Let them know via comment on their blog . PROBABLY WON'T DO THIS.
4) Post the award on your blog. DONE. LIKE A BOSS.

Without further ado, I am awarding the 'I am awesome blog' to the following. I recommend you check all of these people out.

SocialAssassin - My English geezer brother Kevin. If he wasn't married to the stunning blond bombshell Emily, I would marry him myself & become a wife with many many international husbands. He can eat fire, cook a mean feed & pens a rockin' blog post. Oh & he is very tall. I would come up to his bellybutton. I plan on visiting this fine gent & his lovely wife one day in the future. He sent me candy on my birthday & never fails to make me feel ok with the world. It's rarity to come across a good bloke like this. And I plan on being his mate for life.

Fat-Be-Gone - Initially when I came to Blogspot I was going to have a blog about losing weight. Instead I decided to write about poo, naked rugby, masturbating to shark docos on the National Geographic channel & punching people in their scrotums. I did some blog stalking & stumbled across this hot Canadian bitch called Bonnie. I held out an olive branch in the form of a witty comment, & since then we have been real good mates. I love her. She loves me. In another life with a different sexual orientation, I am certain we would've banged fannys on a regular basis. I am working on my weight loss in the background & she inspires me to keep on keeping on.

Jen e sais quois - she has already had like a thousand of these. And  you already know how I feel about this woman. Not only is she a battler, she is also funny as hell. Her undying love for Nathan Fillon, her short people & bacon keeps me entertained on a tri-weekly basis. Respect! When I eventually meet this woman, & you know I bloody will, I will be bringing her a fine selection of hot NZ rugby poon to get balls deep in & we will fist pump til our arms fall off. I'm am pretty certain that Nathan Fillon is quietly planning his mass frenzy love attack on Jen any day now. Or procuring a restraining order. I am rooting for the former.

Edenland - Eden is from Australia. And she is a proud ginger. I have never once left a comment on any of her blogs because I am in awe of this woman. She never fails to render me speechless with her stories of life's goodness & bullshit. I have followed her from the very first day in Blogland & I have never not read one of her posts. She is funny. She makes me cry sometimes. She is a rare gem feeling her way through shit & beating the ass off addiction. And I love her from afar. She epitomises to me what blogging & life is really about. Honesty. I wish her nothing but love & I hope one day I can shake her hand & say 'you did good mate'.

South Florida Filmmaker - Dan Perez would've been the cool film boy at school that I would have vag spasmed over from afar. I would have left love notes in his desk & maybe stalked him. Dan is from New York, & he knows how to make a good film. He's won prizes & people know who he is. He's smart, good looking & funny. And I really like him. I have been honored to be pimped by him many times on Twitter but also to be one of his many all time favourite riot grrls as he so fondly calls it. His kickass Pug dog Buddy features often on his blog & I never miss a beat with this guy. Check him out.

Pass it on. Or don't. Just know that I think all you 5 bloggers are the balls. Same goes for all of the blogs I follow. I follow you because I dig what you do, what you have to say & more importantly for all the good shit you stand for & what you put out into the universe.

Anyway enough of this gushy love fest, I have work to do.

Peace & love

P.S Winner of Februarys prize will be announced in my next post. You should be pre-warned that it is awesome.
P.P.S I lost 3kg in the past week when I weighed in with Mike at the gym yesterday. We high fived. I'm bringing sexy back 1kg at a time.
P.P.P.S Dan, not even the whiskery chaffe of your chin could scare me away.
P.P.P.P.S I know I say this often but I really do love my husband. He is the greatest man I know. Without his ongoing love & support, I'd still be lost.
 

This is me, naked.

"Man is a universe within himself" - Bob Marley

We all have our stories. The stories that mould & shape us.

I've always believed that a past without mistakes is a life unlived.

Everything I have done to date, the awesome stuff, the selfless kind stuff, the evil & bullshit awful stuff, has made me who I am right this very second. I have regrets. But I can't change anything & those regrets can not prevent me from living the shit out of this life the best way I know how.

I am about to share something with you that could well end your love affair with me. And you know what, I completely understand. You owe me nothing. I am not sharing this with you because I am searching for an outpouring of unconditional love & support. Nor am I here for followers or mass hits on my blog. All I ask is that you read on with an open mind & an open heart.

I am also sharing this because it's my way of recognising & accepting that nothing ever really goes away. 

In 2004, I managed a music store. I loved the fuck outta that job. However, while I worked 80 hours plus a week, lived in sin with a pot head manic depressive boyfriend, a step father slowly being eaten away by pancreatic cancer & everything grey & crumbling around me, I found solace in gambling (slot machines/pokies).

Most people ask me how is it possible that someone can be addicted to a machine that is pre-set to eat all your money & ruin your life, I don't have any answers for you but I know it's goddamn possible.

The chemical reaction in your brain, that release of pure ecstasy is similar to that of a crack addict taking a hit. It's bliss. It's an escape from an otherwise shit reality. My world & everything around me had lost it's sparkle & spending hours upon hours sitting in front of a pokie machine was my form of escapism.

I used to be able to waste $100 in one cigarette. It was just paper to me & had no value.

For a long time, I was in control. Atleast I told myself I was. But then it became the first thing I thought about when I woke up in the morning. The need to gamble consumed me. I frothed at the mouth at the thought of it. I would leave work at midday & not return until 4pm. Sometimes not at all. I spent all my money. I gambled my rent. I gambled my phone bill money. I gambled our grocery money. I sold my beautiful white Takamine guitar which was a gift from my parents just for $400 fucking dollars to jam in those stupid machines.

The people in my life that loved me could see what was happening. But they couldn't stop me, god knows they tried. I would just lie. And find some dark dingy casino room to hide in & gamble away my problems. My self destruct button had been repeatedly smashed over a 10 year period. This was my epic dying swan dance.

I started to steal from my employer to finance my habit. I was in a position of responsibility. It wasn't hard.
Over a period of 9 months I stole a large sum of money.

I couldn't stop. Stuck in a vicious cycle of stealing, gambling it all away then promising myself I would pay it back on pay day. So I turned myself into the cops. I was arrested. I pleaded guilty. I was convicted & sentenced. I didn't go to jail. I was given 150 hours community service & 1 years probation.

I went & got help. Not just for the gambling. But for all the sad hurt that I had buried down deep inside for so long for all the things I had lost. My dad. My family home life. A pregnancy. A relationship. My shattered self esteem due to years of mental & emotional abuse. My childhood. And most importantly, ME.

I fell from grace with a mighty thud. But instead of letting it beat me, I got my ass back up & I've spent the last nearly 8 years making everything I stand for count for something.

I found solace in my music. I have earned back trust & respect from my friends & family.

I can not express the huge amount of love I feel for all those people who stood by me through that time. Without them, I would never have got back on my feet.

I haven't gambled since the 24th of October 2004. The day I was arrested.

I am not going to sit here & tell you all the reasons why you should like me. It's taken me a long time to like me again. I have a good husband & family/friends that love the shit outta me. I have a good job that I'm bloody good at with bosses that respect me. I am good with money. I am responsible. I have inner strength beyond my years & pair of shoulders on me that can carry almost anything. Almost.

Yesterday, after a few phonecalls, I was informed that I have to apply to for a special visa in order for me transit through the US & stop over in LA for a night on the way to/from Cancun. Because of that shit thing I did 8 years ago. It's unlikely, but I may not be able to go away to Mexico.

On the Visa Waiver form, for which people on a New Zealand passport are eligible for, there is a question asking if I have ever been committed of a moral turpitude, drug trafficking, terrorism, kidnapping & a plethora of other fucking awful crimes. Much to my disgust I had to tick yes. Apparently 'moral turptitude' means any crime for which one has been convicted.

I sat in my office & I sobbed. Not at the prospect of not be able to go to Cancun. Or the fact I have to fly to the US Embassy in Auckland & spend a heap of money for a special interview in hopes of being granted a visa. But because it's taken me back to that time in my life where I was the worst version of myself.

When we cut ourselves deeply, the scar is for life.

This is my scar. The scar I gave myself that I wear as a reminder of the person I once was. It has healed & the skin is strong but sometimes it still hurts like a bitch.

I will be ok.

While there are people out there dealing with some major suck stuff like cancer, poverty & war, I am allowing myself a small selfish moment to reflect on how far I have come. A moment to feel sad for the old Becky & then be proud for all that I have achieved in the last 8 years.

I like the me I am now. She is a good bastard.

Thanks for stopping by & taking the time to read this. And if you are disappointed because you were hoping to see a picture of me with no clothes on, trust me I did you a favour.

Fun Becky will be back sometime over the next few days & she will announce the winner of Februarys bitchin' prize.

Peace & Love