I don't have any children yet. But I do want to be a mum one day in the future. Cos I reckon I'd be a kickass mum. My kids may be slightly unhinged, with a penchant for setting native shrubbery on fire & fucking kicking people in the backs of their knees, but mark my word, they will be awesome.
And you can bet your ass that I will love them fierce. Even when they hate my face so hard & think I'm a bit of a dick. I will teach them to laugh & appreciate every moment of their life.
I also want to teach my future crotch rockets that it's completely okay to cry & feel compassion & sympathy for strangers suffering their own tragedy.
Kinda like I did this morning.
There was fire in a mall in Qatar. 19 people perished. 3 of these people that died were 2 year old NZ triplets, Lillie, Jackson & Willsher Weekes. They were in the care of a child care centre located within Doha Mall.
As I sat on the couch this morning, applying my outside face & getting ready to tackle my outside world, I watched a news report of an impromptu vigil held in nearby park in Qatar for those that died in the fire. 1500 people attended. Including some ex-pat kiwis & Martin & Jane Weekes, the devastated parents of these 3 beautiful babies.
As 2 ex countrymen stood holding a large NZ flag, a group of New Zealanders stood before a sobbing Mr & Mrs Weekes & sung a waiata & performed the Haka. In times of darkness we rely on each other for love & support. To lift each other up. Ya know, like the Lion King. You can watch the news report here. For a full version of the Haka please click here.
This ripped me to pieces. I cried so dam hard.
I don't know these people from jack, but I am completely heartbroken for them. Cos babies shouldn't die. Not before they've had a chance to share their spark with the world & experience the joys of life.
I don't really have much else to say today. Except wherever you are in the world today, spare a quiet thought for Jane & Martin.
You don't know them, but that doesn't matter. Cos it's okay to cry & feel compassion & sympathy for strangers suffering their own tragedy.
And this my friends, is a tragedy of epic proportion.
Hold your babies close people.
Peace & love
P.S I will be back with Fun Becky & Asshole Sessions Part 3 later this week. It's going to be a cracker.
There's this guy in my city that spends all day every day riding on a bike around town with a ridiculous black motorcycle helmet on & a dirty army jacket. I call him dirty Harry. He sings quietly to himself, riding around in his own private universe, & always says hello when he sees me. He is dirty, but he has sparkle.
There's this other guy, he's about 80, tall & skinny with no fixed abode. He walks around town holding his life possessions in a supermarket bag while he hunts through council rubbish bins for something special. Food probably. I call him Skinny Jim. I see him everyday. Skinny Jim always says hello to me. He has sparkle too.
This other dude, called David, he has a greying ginger afro & I have never seen him wear anything else except a royal blue tracksuit. Every day. The blue tracksuit. And his little black man purse. David is shy. He has a mental illness. He whispers when he talks to me. But when he does talk to me, his eyes smile & sparkle.
I wonder sometimes how they got to this. The journey they travelled to get to this. Something deep inside me, buried in the left ventricular artery gets a little achey as I remember that I am blessed with so much, while they sparkle on with so little.
They are shining examples of what we normal comfortable folk should be. Happy & content with what we have.
Sickness is rife in my life at the moment. I don't know what's going on but people are starting to drop like flies.
My best friends mum is dying. Every day cancer is stealing a little bit more of her sparkle.
My sister in laws mum has cancer too. She pretends to have sparkle so those people that love her most don't worry too much.
Blake's Uncle has just been diagnosed with stomach cancer. He is only in his 40's, has two young kids & is such a cool guy. We love him to bits. And I just don't get it? Why him? He's got so much sparkle it's blinding.
My step mum is dying too. My Dad loves her so hardout. Her sparkle is being taken from her by a horrible disease that I just can not except.
My dad also has cancer. He had surgery while I was in Mexico & they cut away a big part of his man sparkle. The doctors are stuck & don't know what to do next. So my Dad, the man who helped create the essence of me, sits & waits for someone to help him carry on living.
My Dad & his wife are doing it together. She is not winning. So fucking sad.
We all get so caught up in our own shit. We get lost & disorientated in our shit. And we forget how blessed we are to be given the ultimate gift of being able to wake up every day & take a big breath. To suck in life's purest element, the one true thing that keeps us ticking on.
Instead we choose to let the small insignificant things break us down & drown us. Stop us breathing. We complain about the sore back, busted car, lack of sleep, not having enough money to buy stupid shit we don't really need, toxic relationships we walk into eyes wide open time & time again. We complain because it's our human condition. We want people to stroke us & say that every thing will be ok.
The truth is, & I hate to be the one to say it, we are fucking lucky to wake up & only have to deal with that stuff. So lucky. Cos on the grand scheme it's nothing man. Nothing in comparison to what others are fighting right this very minute.
Yesterday I found myself having a bitch slap fight with a coke vending machine. It hurled my Coke Zero down the chute of death so dam hard that upon landing at the bottom it furiously rolled from side to side in a coke coma. And then when I opened it & it exploded in my face.
I was so angry. Like raging piss mad angry.
10 minutes later I sat at my desk & it dawned on me, a glorious revelation, you know what, if this is the worst thing that happens to me today then I am having the best fucking day ever. And then I sparkled at the coke machine & said 'hey man, no hard feelings'. Because I'm a bit crazy like that.
Then I went home & kissed my husband. Like really kissed him. And I told him I loved him so much & that this life time will never be long enough with him.
No funny post from me today. I just want to remind everyone how lucky we all are, cos it's easy to forget. I forget. I also know too many;people who forget how lucky they are every single day. And I listen to them moan & complain about everything. I want to punch them in the mouth. Hard.
I think the point I'm trying to make is that even though sometimes life can suck a big festy ball sac, most of us still have a choice of whether or not to let it break us. There will always be someone out there who's fighting a bigger harder uglier fight than our own. Trying to keep that idea in the fore front of our minds may help make us stronger? A little bit more kickass perhaps?
Go hug a stranger today. A ginga maybe seeing as it's hug a ginga day in NZ & all. Although I do recommend you ask for permission to hug first to prevent a rape whistle being blasted in your ear.
Tell someone in your life that you love them & really mean it.
Smell a babys head, cos it really is the best smell in the world next to KFC. Unless of course it has a fungal infection.
Reassure someone who clearly needs to hear it that their life is good, buy them a coffee or just listen.
Cos life IS good.
I'm thinking about starting a weekly kindness mission.
I really want to try keep the momentum going with The Asshole Session. History has proven that I am not very good at sticking with anything but hey, I'm human. And forgetful. And it's not really that hard because many many things are worthy of a genuine asshole title.
I have a new car. I am in love with it so hard. Basically when I am not working, I am sitting in it, stroking it or staring lovingly into it's headlights. It's my bestest grown up toy to date. If I could park it inside my house I would. It's been distracting me from my blogging duties but bare with me, I will get bored of it in due time.
Behold, this weeks Assholes.
Writing on Ass of Pants Assholes
A whore just walked past me in fuchsia pink sweat pants with the word HOT in capitals, with an exclamation mark, plastered across the ass of her pants. I don't know for a fact that she was a real whore, but her whore pants were made entirely of whore. I could tell.
Now I'm all for radiating positive body image.......within reason. But this girls backend was so big she could actually sell shade if she got desperate for money. It was also so dam saggy that she was basically butt punching herself in the back of her calves.
In my pre-meditated defence, I'm not really being mean. I got visually assaulted by her whore pants!
Where in gods universe did she get the idea that her overzealous pant eating back fanny is indeed hot? Then force me look at it by having writing on the back of her pants exclaiming hotness of the posterior. Bitch please........that ain't hot.
Big Ass Pants Girl, if you want to keep it real, buy a pair of highviz horror pants with PIES written on the ass. Cos then I will totally get it.
Word Pants are not cool. Please don't get sneaky with the contradictions & force me to read them off your bottom. Because I really don't want to.
NB: Same rule applies for statement/quote t-shirts. If you walk past me & your t-shirt says "I'm sexy & I know it" & you're clearly not, then I have two words...... fuck you.
And three more........ better start running.
I'm better than you Assholes
There are many types of better than you assholes. But the one I detest the most is the reformed smoker better than you asshole.
Nothing makes me rage more than having a holier than thou reformed smoker frown upon me for being a slave to the dirty habit.
One elderly man nearly received a vicious verbal beating one afternoon a few years back when I was sitting down the main street of my fair city chaffing on a death stick. Happily minding my own business, he approached me & asked if I knew how bad cigarettes were for me & that they can possibly give me cancer of the lungs. He proceeded to regale me with his life story & how much more awesome he is now because he no longer smokes. He had major tude. Like big bitchin old man tude.
So I told him that I choose to smoke because I've always wanted to get a big hole bored through my throat so I can have a robot voice & walk around scaring small children. I also told him that it would be rad to have a portable microphone with me at all times because dang it I like to be heard.
Obviously I wasn't being serious, but I was piss mad at him for feeling like he had the right to give me a lecture just because he feels awesome. It's not illegal to smoke cigarettes. Although it should be because it's downright deadly filthy & I know this. Boy do I know this.
I am the master of my own destiny. And regardless of the fact that people care so deeply about my health, shut your piehole. Please.
I have given up before. Many times. I know the feeling of pride & elation that one can be overwhelmed with when you chase away a demon. It feels awesome. All I ask is that you keep it on the inside & don't use it as a guilt weapon for those that still suffer from an addiction. Not just me but others that are still fighting.
You are not better then me. A little smarter maybe, but definitely not better. So stick that in your pipe & not smoke it. Beeee-arch.
*NB: This tirade is not aimed at all reformed smokers. Just the high & mighty king of their own castle type.
Child Abusing Assholes
I think we've already established that I have minor rage issues & am extremely opinionated about basically everything. Most of the time I can keep the rage in check but sometimes I see something that makes me so dam angry that not saying anything would be a crime.
Returning to my office on Friday arvo after completing some work errands, I noticed a woman sitting in the front seat of her car smoking a cigarette. No big deal right? I didn't think much more of it until I happened to spy a new born baby laying in it's car seat & 2 other small children sitting in the back seat of her car.
Then shit got real.
My ears started to ring & I felt my blood pressure go from normal to apeshit angry in a split second.
Without even a second thought to my own personal safety, I marched up to the car door behind the passenger door & ripped it open. She jumped in her seat, looked at me wide eyed & panicky & asked what the hell I thought I was doing.
In a calm yet stern voice I told the child abuser that I was granting her babies their right to breath non poisonous air. And that if she thinks suffocating her own children with cigarette smoke was good parenting then she should have her kids taken off her. And then, I told her I felt sorry for her children, that she was a disgusting asshole & I walked away.
I walked in to my office & sat down to watch what she did next. She got out of her car & finished her cigarette.
I have literally hung out of the passenger window of our car like a wild dog screaming at bastards that smoke in their cars while their kids are in the back. I will not tolerate this. It is child abuse & it makes me very very sad.
When I was living in Auckland a lady got out of her car at a traffic light & threatened to put her fist through my skull after I had hurled verbal abuse at her for smoking while her kids were in the car. She never did put her fist through my skull. Which is good because I really like my face. Although I would just like to state, for the record, despite her largeness & probable methamphetamine fuelled anger, I would have drop kicked that bitch like a tennis ball.
I don't know what will happen to those precious babies in the back of that lady's car. But I hope they make it in life. Statistics say they won't, but underneath my quick draw rage is a shit tonne of hope. Hope is my weapon of choice.
Mood Ring/Mood Pillow buying Assholes
I would just like to say, on behalf of everyone in the universe, if you actually need a ring to tell you how sad you are today, then your psychological issues run deeper than you initially thought.
The only time this rule does not apply is if you are a 12 year old girl purchasing a mood ring from the $2 shop. Youthful curiosity is not a crime. I bought a mood ring myself when I was 12 because I was emotionally confused & needed some devine clarification. Mum banned me from calling the Clairvoyant hotlines after a rather large phone bill, so I did what any normal pre-teen girl would do, I bought a goddam mood ring.
It was only after wearing it for a week & the metal started to eat my finger, I thought maybe the mood ring wasn't for me.
I was sent an email yesterday by an online shop advertising a mood pillow. It changes colours as you sleep.
When I sleep, everything is pretty good wherever my subconscious mind goes to. If my husband wakes up & sees that my mood pillow is black, black basically meaning my soul has died, he would unnecessarily panic & assume his lovely wife has crossed over to the dark side. If the pillow was red, meaning hate rage, he would think yes she really does keep that shit going 24/7.
I don't like to be misleading, especially to the man who lets me touch his ball sac whenever I feel the need.
Also, the main selling point for the mood pillow is that the colour changes on your pillow while you sleep creating a relaxing & soothing ambiance. Well hello stupid fucks, I hate to point out the obvious, if you are sleeping you can hardly enjoy the ambiance?
I am hoping to make The Asshole Sessions a weekly thing. If there is something ripping your tits that you feel needs airing by yours truly, flick me an email at bexstard@yahoo.co.nz & let that asshole hatin' rage fly. I will do my best to hang that shit out to dry on your behalf.
I am thinking of starting my own Anti-Asshole Brigade, with our own secret hand sign & shit. I want this to a universal group of vigilantes ready & willing to take down life's assholes. You would get a t-shirt. And a mood ring.
Right, I have a quick giveaway. Sorry to my overseas buddys but this one is only for my homies in Nelson. On Sunday 27th of this month my favourite NZ band, The Black Seeds, are playing at the Nelson School of Music. They are touring their new album 'Dust & Dirt'. I have seen them live about 4 times & they are the bomb diggity.
The Rules:
The prize is one General Admission Ticket to The Black Seeds Dust & Dirt Tour at NSOM, 48 Nile St, May 27th 2012.
To win you have to leave a comment on this post. I will draw the name at random & will announce the winner on Sunday night NZ time.
I will be your date. There will be no hand holding, pashing or bump n grinding because I'm married & that's not allowed.
My skin will not be available for peeling off my body to wear as a raincoat. I may do a security background check on you just to be sure.
I may buy you one drink on the basis that is a Sunday & you will probably have to work the next day. I am a responsible host.
I will have 3 bodyguards with me. Hayley, Amber & Katie. They are very good at judo chopping & fuck kicking.
You must be a follower of my blog to win this prize.
You cannot sell your ticket to a someone else because I want to go a date with YOU.
If you do not know who The Black Seeds are, first of all WTF man!! Secondly, I suggest you watch the video below because I will be giving you a pop quiz.
Peace, Love & down with mongrel assholes!
P.S An old school friend of mine has just ventured into the world of Blogging. Her name is Jess & not only is she one creative lady but she is also knowledgeable in the world of beauty, a kickass entrepreneur & a major stunner herself. She can also make one gorgeous small person. Her little boy is delicious!
Jess has just opened an eyebrow beauty bar in South Yarra, Victoria, specialising in Eyebrow Threading & keeping your eye moustaches in check. Aptly named the Play. The Brow Bar.
She has planted her own blog seed, sharing her own unique beauty knowledge.
Check out Jess's blog here. Go show my lady some love.
I am constantly faced with an absurd amount of assholery. Gone are the days of assholism being a rarity. It's now, it seems, goddam everywhere. Sometimes, I just shake my head. Or my fist. Holding a rage weapon.
I've decided to make it my duty & create an Asshole file for future reference. We need to stop the assholes.
'We are the world. We are the children. We are the ones who make a brighter day so lets start stabbing'.
In reality I'm all about peace & love y'all. And sex & drugs & rocknroll. Maybe not the drugs part mmmkay.....but everyone has their limits. Even me. And I'm not sure if it's the years slowly eating away my patience or the fact that I really am just a real macoy lady bastard & function better when I hate on everything. I think a combination of both?
I'm am all over the asshole hate rage like an itchy ball sac rash.
Rest Stop Eatery Assholes
On Monday I was passing through a small rural town on my way home from the WestCoast. My mum & I decided to stop at the rest stop restaurant for a well earnt travel snack. The restaurant makes money from the tourists passing through. Because no one would ever want to actually live there due it being colder than a polar bears anus.
Well imagine my disgust when I discover two wrinkly whores having a tea party out of the boot of their car in the carpark of the restaurant. A thermos of tea & a plastic container of cinnamon buns which they pre-prepared at home.
First of all, who is that organised? Only wankers make cinnamon buns & a thermos of tea & plan on stopping in a carpark of a restaurant to consume said cinnamon buns & thermos tea.
And then, & this was the cherry on the proverbial shit cake, one of them goes in & uses the lavatory facilities of the restaurant! Fucking bitches.
I had to close my eyes & bite down hard on my leather handbag strap to prevent myself from marching right on out there & giving them both a titty bitch smack.
The Asshole Machine
I have one giant asshole machine in the back room of my office. It's a male, aptly named, Prick. He is a printer/photocopier/scanner. While many would be floored by his mad skills & versatility, I know better & hate on him so dam hard every. single. day.
Not only does he suffer from severe mental illness (schitzophrenia) but he also has a constant constipation problem. I find myself fisting his machine asshole at least 7 times a day in an attempt to unblock the paper that he fails to print out. It's dirty job, but due to my lone wolf office status, I am the only man for the job.
I am constantly at war with this prick machine. I have tried the stroke me nicely approach without success. And in recent weeks had to resort to all kinds of violence & verbal abuse just to receive my precious documents.
The IT guys who lease our back office & I have come to a joint conclusion that the only way to fix his problems is with a bottle of gasoline & a match. My inner retarded seal claps with glee at the very thought of this bomb fire.
Little does Prick Machine know, he is to be replaced in the very near future with a bigger, better & sexier female machine. I have pre-warned her that if she does not perform to my high expectations she will die the very same death as Prick Machine. Death by arson.
Sideways Fringe Assholes
This ghastly affliction seems to have hit many people aged between 11-14 years of age. They look like they have been caught in the angry part of a category 4 hurricane.
Now I don't know about you, but I can never trust anyone who purposely hides their forehead behind their hair. I can tell a lot about a person from looking at their forehead. And if they hide it, you know what that tells me, they are a twisted fan of Satan's offspring himself, (* cue danger music) DUN DUN DUN...... Beiber.
We are doomed.
And what revolts me even more, apart from the fact that it looks ridiculous, is that these youth manipulate their fringe this way on purpose?
When I was 11, I didn't give a flying fuckflap about hair. I was too busy playing group tennis in the middle of the road, throwing rocks at cattle & cheating on the 40 hour famine by hiding in the school playground eating a bag of chips.
Something has changed since I was a kid. Many things in fact. I told my 13 year old niece if she attempts to design her fringe this way I will commando roll in to her bedroom while she sleeps & hack it off with a rusty pocket knife. I already tolerate the One Direction obsession, weird wolf jersey & hipster glasses, but god help her if she decides to follow the clones & hide her forehead with a wank fringe.
I have not procreated yet. But it's in the pipeline for sometime in the next 2 years. One non-compromise rule on the list of 'Becky's Awesome Crotchling' is NO BEIBER FRINGE. They can punch holes in their facial features or set an asshole machine on fire, but I will not have the asshole sideways fringe being donned by any human child of mine. Not on my watch.
Harmonica Assholes
To summarise how I feel about Harmonica Assholes, I took a leaf out of my funny as shit brother from another mother's blog, Mr Social Assassin, & penned a Haiku.
An aurally assaulting asshole weapon
Harpooning my ears repetitively bleeding ears
Jammed up jacksie without hesitation
During the weekend while judging at music awards down the coast, I witnessed a couple of young people banging out a tune on the harmonica. While it may have seemed on the outside I was thoroughly enjoying myself, it was in fact all a facade. I found myself sitting within spitting distance of the expensive sound system for the entire weekend. The resounding constant shriek of the harmonica performances pierced my ear scrotum & shattered my old lady bones.
These kids were talented yo. Oh my fuck were they talented. They could rip that harmonica like a seasoned pro. While the judgey judgerson within watched them intently with my foot a tappin, my precious ears were dying & crying tears made entirely of blood.
I don't think anyone on this planet can say they haven't at one time in their life blown/sucked the shit out of a harmonica & nearly choked to death when some foreign chunk of something flew in their gullet. Harmonicas harbour chunky bits which when sucked on by a persons piehole become dislodge & go on a rampage with a mission to kill. They are a health & safety hazard. The end.
Tights as pants Assholes
The only thing I have to say about this is that if you willingly choose to commit one of life's ultimate fashion crimes & wear a pair of tights as pants, for the love of god please wear a long shirt that will hide your vagina currently gobbling on the crotch of your tights.
I died a million deaths as I watched 3 teenage girls walk on stage during the weekend wearing tights as pants. They performed an entire song wearing pants as tights. In front of a paying audience. And I could not look away.
Whoever thought it was a good idea needs to be eternally smited.
I wave my flag proudly & loudly for beave monster education.
Vaginas aren't created to consume material. You are screaming out for a yeast infection. And I for one do not want to witness your angry growler attacking your pants like a rabid wolf dog. Just saying.
I've been quiet since I've been back from my vacay.
Balls deep in the bullshit that is work, buying a new car (oh my shitbags I squee in my lady garments just thinking about it's awesome) & doing music stuff.
Plus I was just straight up tired as a hooker for many many days.
But now I'm back. Holla!
While the above ranting may give the impression that I did not enjoy my music stuff filled weekend, that is not the case. Some highlights included watching two down syndrome people sing a beautiful duet. It made me realise that music really does lift us up & unite us.
And I was also privy to a rather handsome man boy with a stupid amount of hair sing the most amazing version of a song I like. He gave me tingles in my special places. I know for a fact that I wasn't the only lady judge that felt magic in the pants region.
Right so we have some business to attend to. The Winner Wednesday prizes. I have missed March & April so today I have 2 prizes to announce. Behold the glory......
Guys if you can both please email me your postal addresses & I will get these bad boy prizes in the mail as soon as humanly possible.
It seems my awesome bought all the boys to the yard. Well done fullas!
If you want to go in the draw for my kickass mystery monthly giveaway, all you got to do is follow my blog. Too easy. Bribery has not failed me yet. Huzzah!
But seriously, it's my way of saying thanks for being a good bastard & for being my secret Internet friend.
