Stand By Thy Self.

So much stuff has happened in my life in the past 7 months. For the normal hob nobbin chap, head totally blown off.




Me, it beats me down on occasion, but I never stop fighting.




I can thank my life experience for gifting me the giant pair of lady nads I've needed to get through this mad time in my life. Because without it, & some pretty intense insight into my own self, I would've drowned.




How doth one bounce back after having their entire world turned on it's head?




You just do.




And I did.




Here I shall break shit down for y'all. For future reference. Just in case.

• Move home. I needed to be with my parents. I needed them to love me when the only person I wanted to love me just didn't love me anymore. Be loved. By the people that will always love you no matter what.
• Cry. Ugly cry face like a Boss. Crying is such a sweet release. It's ok to feel vulnerable. It's ok to feel sorry for yourself. And it's A.O.K to cry your goddamn guts out if you are hurting like a bastard. If you don't cry, that shit will fester inside you & become toxic. Like angry snake venom. It will make you do bad shit to yourself & others. I know this.
• Don't stop listening to music. I played my first wedding dance song over & over again until I felt nothing but empty. Deal with the pain. Head up. Eyes forward.
• Reach out to your friends. God knows without mine I'd still be sitting at my parents house hey-ho-ing to my own pity party, crying like a ratfucksonofabitch accepting that my life is over. Go out, laugh, drink, dance & be reckless. Blub into your wine. It's actually ok.
• Leave your house & do stuff. With people. OR fake it til you make it. I turned up to my place of work every dam day. I didn't miss a beat. I turned up when I didn't even feel like moving my carcass one inch out of my bed & leaving my parents house. On the inside I was a broken soul, but on the outside I was fighting that shit hard. Double fisted punches to the guts of it. With a smile on my face. Your inside broken self will eventually catch up to your outside happy fake self.
• Let be what is. The universe always has a plan. Out of respect to the other person involved in the demise of my own marriage, I will not go into detail. However what I will say is, someone (a new friend) has happened upon me. Open your arms & welcome the strange & unexpected. And don't question it.
• Eat. Take care of you. I've lost 17kg since the end of July. Not because my stomach was sad & couldn't eat anything. Because bitches be knowin how I love to pie-hole nom nom nom. I just decided to lose weight. Again. This was my decision. I did it for me.
• Love thy self mad hard. Just because someone else who was a big part of your life doesn't love you anymore, doesn't mean you are any less stellar than you were previously. People change. Rejection is a bloody hard beating to take, but take it regardless.
• Spend time alone. I had a bench seat on my parents deck that had a solitary rock in the garden in front of it. I would sit on this seat, looking out over the bay with my bare feet on the rock. I would sit there & smoke cigarettes. I would cry, but mostly I would think. It became my thinking rock. My head in the sky & my feet planted firmly on terra firma. Getting shit done.
• Don't second guess your decisions. EVER. Go with your gut. Because your gut is ALWAYS right. I call it Ninja intuition.
• Buy yourself nice things. Like shoes & handbags. It's a ladies prerogative to surround herself with beautiful things when she herself is not feeling so beautiful. I did this. I now have a wardrobe full of shoes I will never wear (because faces, namely mine, will be broken) & a maxed out credit card. Those impractical shoes saved me.
• Never lose sight of the big picture. Big picture = life beyond the now.
• And finally.......be grateful. Be grateful that you are breathing & have the power to live on. Some people don't get that chance.

Live in the present, look towards your future & learn from your past.






For the first time in my 34 years on this planet, I am free. Free from putting others needs before my own, free from the restraints & responsibilities that others have always needed from me. I have a good job, I have my own space that is mine & I have a sense of well being that I have never experienced before.






No man's tragedies are greater than another's. I have had plenty. But each one has given me just a little bit more strength, patience & grace to deal with the next.






People are confused by the haste in which I have picked myself up. To them I say this, don't question it. Don't fret or worry about me, because I am just fine. It's your own energy you are wasting.





Accept that I am really ok.






REAL GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING TALK.






Bx


P.S This post is very gappy? I'm not sure what happened but enjoy scrolling x

Where's Your Head At

This year has been a giant bowl of steaming dicks.

Dicks covered in sexually transmitted diseases.

But here I am. Shit together. Still breathing. Haven't murdered anyone/burnt any buildings down. Overall I am winning.

When life gets assy, I like to console myself with the knowledge that there will always be someone out there in the universe dealing with a shit tonne of other assy stuff that's way bigger than my own mountain of shit. I have stood & I have goddam dealt with this. Real talk.

So without further ado, here's what you missed when I was here but not really here.

1. I had a mammogram. I had decided, in the wake of recent life events that it was my due that I would more than likely get breast cancer & die. Because fuck you life. I basically got my tits mashed into skin pancakes because I found a lump & doctor bitches be all serious about boob lumps these days. It wasn't fun. Hell I was actually impressed at how well behaved my boobs were. Short of mounting the machine & riding it like a mule, they had me in all sorts of weird positions. Conclusion of this story: I don't have breast cancer. My tits are GOOD.

2. My marriage is still over. Nothing new to report here. I am in a good place & can only see really awesome shit ahead for me. INCLUDING a trip overseas next year. That's right, come 28th of May I am out of here for 2 months. England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Greece, Croatia, Italy, Spain, Portugal, France, Amsterdam, Germany & Singapore are where I shall be visiting. And I can't fucking wait.

3. I have reconnected with my friends. I'm not sure what happened but one can only guess that I buried myself so balls deep in my married life that I forgot I was fun. And that I bloody love my friends MAD FRICKING HARD. They have saved me from me.

4. I am in the process of moving into my own place. I put my big girl panties on & decided after a few months of much needed nurturing from my parents & baby steps in this whole new post marriage life shebang that this bitch be needin her own digs. I am now moving forward in leaps & wildstriding bounds.

5. I am feelin AMAZE y'all! Like hella good. I am losing weight. My hair is shiny & smells like coconuts. I am wearing colour & lipsticks that make my face explode all over other peoples faces. I have nice lady shoes on my actual feet, not sitting in my wardrobe looking pretty & never getting worn. I have a new found confidence. My magic juju is back. The old fun parts of myself are returning one day at a time.

6. Summer is beckoning me. And do I have a shit tonne of stuff lined up to do. YES I DO SIRS & MRS'S. I am doing the Colour Run in Wellington end of March. I won't be actually running but that's neither her nor there. I plan on wild striding. With the unicorn head mask on. Yep.

7. I am going to see a couple of my favourite bands play live over summer. Nothing rings my ding more.

8. I am playing music. In public. Again. Because I remembered that I actually love to do that.

9. I love everyone. Like love the ever loving shit out of every one's faces. For loving me when I needed to feel loved the most.

10. I still hate Christmas, but I am looking forward to being with just my family, away from the madness of city life, no Facey, phone or technology for 2 whole days. We are going down the sounds to just be with each other. (Truth be told the thought of not being able to connect with the real world makes me feel slightly clammy & sick but I will handle it somehow).

11. I got a new tattoo on my finger. With my best friend of 24 years. It's beautiful & meaningful & I love it as much as I love her.

Some of you may be wondering how Blake is doing? If not I am about to tell you anyway. Blake is ok. He's dealing with this too. And I don't forget that, but I can't be sad with him. I've become quite selfish. For the first time in my life I am allowing myself to be selfish. This show is about me now.

I still get sad that my marriage ended. I like to win at everything.

I still get sad that things didn't work out for us.

I also get sad sometimes as we cut away each tie from each other. He was my best friend & I loved him the most I have ever loved another human. I will always love him, just in a different way now.

Yet she stands & she deals. Because drowning in the fire is not an option. She is happy.

Concrete Birds.

When I was 12 years old, after a long day at school, I spent the night at home with my Dad & sister while my Mum worked.

While laying snuggled up on the couch with my Dad & sister, he disclosed to my sister & I that he no longer wanted to be married to our Mum & that he would probably be leaving our family unit soon.

I had sensed for over a year that all was not well with my parents marriage, but I was 12. I didn't have to worry myself about their business.

1 month later, I got home after school one day to find a note from my Dad saying that he loved us both, but he was leaving.

And just like that he was gone.

I phoned my Mum at work to tell her that I had found a letter from Dad & read it out to her over the phone.

Her sobbing, still to this day lays buried deeply in my head. That kind of human emotion, pure devastation & heartache, sticks to you.

I had to step up BIG TIME. My role in my family went from being an eldest daughter to that of the protector & caretaker for my sister, & my Mum.

The years that followed really sucked. My Mum moved my sister & I away from our hometown, to start a new life in Nelson.

I said goodbye to my childhood friends.
I said goodbye to my Dad.
I said goodbye to my entire 13 year old life.

My teenage years weren't easy either. My mum had spinal surgery & wasn't around a lot due to her long extended stays in hospital. My Dad remarried another woman 3 years after my parents marriage ended. He married a woman who had been a close family friend.

It took my Mum forever to get over that hurt. And I lived through her pain.

Onwards into my twenties, I hit it the ground running. Drinking, gambling, abusive relationships, you name it, I probably did it. It was a delayed rebellion. I spent my teens being a grown up & since I was no longer required to take care of others, I decided it was time to get myself into some shit. Learn some lessons per say.

My pain & hurt for my lost youth & broken home had manifested itself into some toxic evil concrete birds that clung to my shoulders. They dug their talons in hard.

While buried deep in my own grey bird cloud, one day mid September 2005, I met a boy who had his own flock of concrete birds on his shoulders too.

Together, as the bestest friends in all of the lands, we ninja kicked the shit out of each others concrete birds, & everything became a little less heavy.

Fast forward another 2.5 years, that boy & I decided we loved each other & we wanted to be together, forever til the end of time. I'd never felt love like that before. That free & easy kind of real love that we all wish to have in our lives.

From the very first moment that this boy confessed his undying love for me, & I in turn chose to walk that path with him, I knew that he was the one for me.

I have been really happy for the last 6 years. Truly ridiculously stupid happy. Finally free from my wild & haunted past.

I am no fool when it comes to marriage & love. I know that marriage takes A LOT of hard work. I know that it takes two people to make all aspects of marriage work.

When we decided to stand in front of all our family & friends & promise to love, honour & cherish each other for the rest of our lives, I meant every dam word I said. Through the good shit, & the bad shit, right to the end. I told him right from the get go, I am a fighter. I don't give up when shit gets tough, because I won't repeat history.

Divorce is too common these days & it makes me sick. My generation seems to think that marriage is something that you can just wipe off your shoes like a freshly laid dog shit.

Sometimes you really don't see stuff creeping up on you.

My marriage is over.

Like DONE done. As of just over a week ago.

After 2 months or so of heartache for both of us, it was a mutual decision to seperate. He has grown up & wants to explore the world. And I have lost myself in our marriage & I need to find myself again.

If someone had of told me back in April this year, that this was going to happened, I would have snort laughed all over their face. Because it's so ridiculously unexpected.

The people I have told have been all like WHAT THE FUCK? I know guys. I am having fleeting moments of what the actual fuck quite often. We were meant for each other? For a short while it seems. But as it turns out, we make better best friends & suck at being married people together.

My concrete birds are back. Just for a little while as I figure things out & piece my world back together.

Right now, I am an emotional zombie. I know that I will be ok, mainly because I am undoubtedly awesome, but in this moment, right this very minute, I am a little bit broken. I never wanted this for myself. I loved being married & I was proud to be married to him. Moral of story, shit does happen.

Thank you to my friends & especially my family for lifting me up the last few weeks.

Love your people. But most importantly, love the ever loving shit outta yourself. Because when those concrete birds come swooping to weigh you down with life's troubles, YOU are all you have.

Bx

P.S Look out world. I'm back! Starting with my dear chums in the Isle of Wight, Emily & Kev. See you next year in June. I'm buying my tickets tomorrow & this bitch is hitting the UK & Europe for a couple of months. Whoop!

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
 

Weekly post postponed.

Someone I love is dying. I'm too sad to write anything at the moment.

I will be back soon.

Bx

Whats Grindin: The Weekly Wrap Up

I know it's only Thursday, but I thought I'd get in early before my brain fully shits itself (you will be surprised how frequent this happens), & I forget that I promised to post once week.

I've got a dilemma.

Well it's not really my problem per say, but it's pissed me off so hard that I just can't seem to let it slide. I want some advice. Your advice is basically choosing from a multi choice list of scenarios below on how I deal with the bullshit I am about to tell you.

There is a lady, a lady that from this moment onwards will be named 'Dog shit lady'. Every day Dog Shit Lady walks her ugly ass dog down the marina where we live. Her dog is a giant horse poodle.

If candy floss & miniature horses mated,
this right here would be the by-product. Ick, get away.

Anyway, she parks her car, & goes for a leisurely walk with her horsedog companion. Then every time she returns (no lie, every dam time), she saunters all whore-like over to the wheelie bins by our bedroom window, & dumps her horror bag of dog shit in the trash.

Most of you are probably wondering what in the actual fuck is the problem here Bex? It would seem that Dog Shit Lady is dumping her dogs dumps in a very proper way & not leaving it for some clumsy bastard to unknowingly step in then trample through their home. Or leaving the dog shit to sun bake for eternity until it turns chalky white & crumbles into the earths core. Respect lady. NOT!

Im a good neighbour. In fact, I'm a straight up gangsta hoe of a neighbour. If theres a problem in my hood or I find someone abusing someone else's facilities, I am on it. Like a vigilanty neighbourhood server of thee moral justice.

My one issue with this woman is that she is putting her dog's shit in a rubbish bin that is owned & paid for by someone else. It would be like me walking into the restaurant next door to our motel, taking a massive mud in their toilet then leaving without so much as a tipping of the hat & a 'good day to you sir'.

I am obsessed with this. It's unhealthy how obsessed I am with this. I hide behind the safety of our net curtains watching her dispose of the dog poop while yelling expletives through the small opening in the window where the fresh air comes.

Fuck her. Seriously. (Just in case you were feeling a bit sorry for this lady because of my obvious distaste towards her, I need to take her down another peg on the shame scale by revealing that she also smokes in her car while her horsedog is sitting all ugly in the back seat. This is basically the same as smoking with a small child in her car. This is another life crime I have been known to verbally abuse people for).

I've come up with a list of things I could do. I feel the time has come where I need to put an end to this.

• Covering over the 'no broken glass or hot ashes' sign on the bin with a crafty handmade sign saying 'no filthy dog shits'.
• Go bin diving after she has deposited her shit bag each day, collect them for a month, then mysteriously leave them in a black rubbish bag on the hood of her car with a note saying 'fuck you'.
• Hide in the bin & when she opens the lid, sling shot her in the face with her own dogs feces. I would be wearing my infamous wild striding horse mask so she wouldn't know who I was. I would also be armed with a well timed judo chop to her esophegus just in case she tried to smack me.

The wild striding horse mask. For the ultimate disguise.

• Find out where she lives, break in & leave a steaming bag of poo in her rubbish bin with a note that says 'fuck you'.
• Hide the rubbish bin.
• Make Blake do all of the above. Because I'm not really fond of diddling with anything poo related. He also has gag issues with shit, but he's younger & more nimble than I am. Therefore by default he wins at having to do it.
• Do nothing.

Your wise council would be much appreciated.

Before I go, I just wanted to let you know that I just watched her dump a fresh one right this minute. I will take a secret squirrel evidential photo tomorrow & post it. But for now, I will just sit here & try not to breath in the smell of fresh dog crap that is seeping through the window & into my bedroom. Fuck my life.

Peace, love & gagging so hard right now.......

P.S What's Grindin' will be a weekly post (yep I'm gona bust my tits trying to keep up with this one) about whats been grinding my chops hard each week.
P.P.S There is a lot of 'fucks' & 'shits' in this post. And I'm not sorry. I really hate dog shit.
P.P.P.S I do not own or pay for these trash bins. They belong to the restaurant next door. But it's the principal. She needs to take her dog shit home & dump it in her own bin. Nuff said.

What you missed while I wasn't here.

Hi. How are you? It's been a while I know but hear me out.

In November last year, my whole house was swallowed into a giant sink hole. I was in the house at the time & I have spent the last 4 months trapped underground, surviving on nothing but 3 packets of girl guide biscuits & my husbands expensive & very thick Merck medical journal. Yes I ate the book. It was delicious.

Luckily I was rescued yesterday. Thank god because I had run out of cookies & book! I have lost about 40kgs due to my Girl Guide biscuit/paper diet & I have also partially torn the radial ligament in my left wrist due to spending 4 months trying to judo chop my way out of the bosom of the earth (aka hell).

Actually the above is a lie. I donkey kicked my way out. And now my legs are nothing but one mangled stump, kinda like a dolphin tail.

Seriously guys, I've been lady balls deep in ALL of the stuff. And I have not forgotten you.

I pretty much fire on all cylinders all of the time. I attack everything with vigour & enthusiasm times about eleventy billion. Last year in July, I was inspired to start my own little jewellery business. At first I was just kinda getting a feel for the market & as it turns out, my jewellery is so muthaeffing awesome that everyone wants it. This means that when I'm not working, I'm making pirate treasure for the masses.

If you have not checked out my jewellery Facey page, we can't be friends anymore. Just sayin. Go there now & like my shit please & thank you.  www.facebook.com/justagirljewels.

Now I also work full time. My job is hard & demanding. Yep, cry me a river you say.
My husband & I also look after a motel. He does pretty much everything but that's besides the point. I am there, therefore I will stake claim to having aome involvement.

Music exploded back into my life over christmas/new year. It was fun to play a few gigs but I've reigned that shit back in again for a while because quite frankly, I can not be fucked singing to drunk people in bars every weekend of my life. Rock n Roll isn't as glamorous as everyone has been led to believe.

So now that I have my half assed apology & list of below par excuses out of the way, I would like to summarise what y'all missed while I wasn't here.

I am still riding my red road rage machine aka 'The Red Bike'. As the early hours of the morn get darker (fuck you autumn you big fat bastard), I have been forced against my will to purchase a fluro yellow high viz vest & bike lights. Now I get the bike lights, a bitch has gotta see where she's going, but the yellow horror vest is not on man.

Blake explained to me that I need to wear the vest or he will be have to scrape my body off the rode after I have been hit by a log truck. And he faints when he sees blood & he doesn't want to embarass himself in front of the general public. Because I love him, I have agreed to let my backpack wear the yellow vest. I have the incredible hulk on the back of my helmet & a voluptuous back end, the people in the motorcars will see me.

Riding my bike to & from work each day is kinda like being in the Hunger Games. It's brutal & stressful. Luckily I'm so good at riding my bike that to date I have not been hit by any passing vehicles. Y'all know I would just fuck them up with my mighty fists anyway.

In Feb I went to the Wellington series of the International IRB Sevens. Basically two days of drinking yourself to death & sometimes watching rugby. You also HAVE to get dressed up. It's a pretty big deal.

I bought a shark costume. (It cost me $100). But as I began to don my awesome Shark costume for the first day of Seven's madness, I realised with that the Shark costume was a massive bastard fail. It had a floppy head. No matter what I did, I could not get the dam shark head to stay erect. (I will probably never use that sentence again in my life).



The fail Shark. I am still mad about this.
image source

Luckily my BFF had a spare costume. So I went as a referee. I felt like a fat zebra but I rocked it with a smile.

That's Blake in the Blue man costume. It's from an x-box game? Every one loved him & he felt famous.
To date I still have no idea what the hell he was meant to be.

Blake & I were Seven's virgins. We went along with my best hooker, her husband & a couple of friends. And for the most part we did enjoy ourselves.

However, after about 2 minutes into finding our seats, I remembered that I hate people. Especially really messy drunk people. Combined with really hot burny sun. Both days I had to be escorted from the premises by Blake before it finshed because I had urges to fist pound some faces.

All of the people. Ick.

Apart from my inner rage monster trying to bust outta me (due my high level of anxiety when stuck among sweaty crowds of assholes), we did have an awesome 4 days in my nations capital city. We shopped, ate, drank & had some time away from the demands of life in Nelson. We needed it.

Blake & I had our 3 year wedding anniversary on Feb 28th (Go us!). We went out to our favourite restaurant for dinner. I'm pretty sure Jesus himself invented Little India in Nelson. I highly recommend the Paneer Aloo Tiki. And the Butter Chicken is off the hook yo! I know my Indian food & this place delivers every dam time.



I gave Blake this fun card for Valentines Day.
It basically sums up everything I feel for him.

Before I leave you today, I need to let you all know that I do appreciate you coming here to read me. I can't promise you that I will post every day, because I just don't have the time. However I do promise that I won't leave it another 4 months before you hear from me again. Maybe once a week? I can do that.

Also I did bugger my wrist. It's currently bandaged up & I can't use it at all for 3 weeks. This post took me 2 weeks to type. I hope you treasure every tasy morsel.

Please tell me what you've been up to my little whores. Oh how I've missed you so.

Peace & love

Rock Bottom. I've ripped it a new one.

In my thirty three years on this planet, it's common knowledge I have done some ridiculously stupid shit. Yesterday however, I sank to a brand new low. Even for me.

I haven't told anyone about this until now, mainly because I am ashamed, but I thought hey if I was going to share it with anyone, it may as well be all you hookers. To be honest I feel like a bit of a dick. Like if you took all the dicks in the world & sewed them together to make one big giant dick, I would still be a bigger than that dick.

I know you have all been wondering where in the hell I have been lately. I haven't posted in about eleventy billion years. My lack of posting comes down to two contributing factors, I have been deeper than balls deep in my busy life (work, the motel, my jewellery business, birthday parties, leaving the house to socialise, other stuff) & honest to god I have not been able to think of a single fricking thing to write about. I am an empty vessel.

In my drafts folder, I have at least 20 half assed posts that I couldn't finish. None of them were up to my usual high standard of awesome so I chose to take a short leave of absence.

Moving right along........ a few weeks ago, I bought myself a bicycle. A red raging road demon that is yet to be named. Now I love my bike. I love it so goddamn hard that it actually takes up residence inside my house because I don't want no thieving bastard to thief it. It has also kept me company these last 3 weeks while my husband has been away overseas.

Every morning I get on my bike & I ride the fuck out of it to my place of work or anywhere else I feel like going. I have been experiencing a new sense of freedom I have never felt before. Me & the bike, we are the modern day human/metal framing with wheels version of Milo & Otis.

It has been many years since I have placed my voluptuous sized booty upon the seat of a two wheeled transportation device. But just like riding a bike, it was like riding a bloody bike.

(I specifically chose a bike with a decent sized seat that my ass wouldn't try to eat. I have a constant hungry bum. It's like  my own personal venus fly trap hanging off my backend. Pants, underwear, outdoor seating, you name it, my backside has probably tried to eat it. It's an uncontrollable force)

As many of you know, I work in an office. Working in an office requires me to wear presentable office attire with tidy non tranny makeup, tidy hair & suitable lady shoes. Since becoming a bike rider, each morning I have to dress in workout gear & put my office clothes in my back pack. I don't know if anyone has tried riding a bike in skinny jeans before? Let me tell you something for nothing, you may as well ride your bike with your legs cling wrapped together because it's basically the same thing.When I arrive at my office each morning, once the sweat has evaporated off my face, I get changed into my office clothing & carry on with my working day.

I have been doing this now for 3 weeks. It's not ideal but I've got it down to a fine art.

I'm not sure what happened yesterday morning. One can only assume that I was riding my bike so fast that I created wind. This wind speed velocity caused my left eye to leak non-crying tears. The non crying tears caused my beautifully drawn liquid eyeliner to drip down my face. Even upon arriving at work & changing into my work clothes, it still kept on leaking.

Upon inspection in the work bathroom, & to my horror, the effect of the wind raped leaky eye caused my left eye makeup to look as though it had been drawn on my face by a 2 year old blind child.

I don't bring my makeup to work, because I am not an asshole. So I was left with two choices, I either cleaned all the makeup off my face, letting the world lay it's eyes upon my breathtaking beauty underneath the mineral foundation & mascara, or I could freak the fuck out, panic, then do something stupid.

I don't think you will be at all surprised to learn I went for the latter option.

Do not ask me why I did what I am about to tell you, because I can't quite believe it myself. I have clearly, & finally lost my freakin mind.

I strolled back into my office, grabbed the black permanent marker off my desk, & I drew my motherfucking eyeliner right back on my left eyelid.

With permanent black marker.

Just like a goddamn office MacGyver.

I stood back & admired my handy work in the mirror. No worries mate, good as new. It looked like a replica of my right eye. Right on!!

Once seated back at my desk, I took stock of what I had just done to my own face. Because obviously I am completely insane. Then it struck me that yes, I am a 33 year old adult woman, who had just actively defiled my own left eyelid with PERMANENT marker. Ding dong crazy lady!! Who in the hell does that?

Because I have a 10 second Tom memory, I soon forgot about my pen eyeliner & got on with my day.
It wasn't until I got home & attempted to remove my makeup that I sheepishly remembered what I had done.

In my head I figured that because eyelid skin is magical & delicate, the permanent marker might not be permanent at all. I held my breath as I wiped away the mascara & crusty eye shadow away, only to be disappointed. The pen was indeed permanent just like it said on the pen.

So I did what any normal modern day lady would do, I Googled how to remove permanent marker from skin. I had a few options, Turpentine or Janola. Neither of which I was willing to bosh on my face.

Hence to say, as of right this minute, I have one eye with eyeliner on it, & one fully clean normal eye. My face looks odd. I look like Sloth from the Goonies minus the kickass Superman t-shirt.

I am considering wearing a pirate patch today when I go & meet Blake at the airport. He will think I am just being quirky & weird & maybe a little overexcited to see him. Little does he know that while he was away I fucked up my own face. I am hoping he will be too jet lagged to notice.

To me 14 year old niece Paris, I am not a role model whose examples you should follow. Just sayin'.

Peace out homies!

P.S UPDATE: Somehow during the night, the magic sleep fairies made my eyeliner disappear. OR the story I wish to go with, Simon Baker crept into my room while I slept & licked it off. Holla!

Thank you Simon.

5 reasons why you should come visit me.

It's common knowledge that I am a fun time. But contraire to popular belief, I do not have a bevy of friends at my beck & call. Because of this I am forced to spend my leisure time hanging out with myself or my husband. Don't get me wrong, I like my husband. But a bitch need some hookers to hook with.

I know we repeatedly love each other from a distance in Blogland & various other social networking interweb sites. And while I thoroughly enjoy it, it's just not the same as having you bunch of weirdos right here in the warmth of my Teradactyl wing sized arm flaps.

So, I'm holding out my virtual hand (Teradactyl carni hands KAKAW KAKAW. My hands don't match my gigantinormus upper arm wings) to all you's fullas & sayin hey man, stuck for some shit to do? Come visit your old mate Bex in New Zealand. I will show you a real good time.

Stare off yonder & day dream of how awesome we could be together.........

We could be Pirates together - I live by a marina. Which means there are a shit tonne of spensive marine vessels at my disposal. From a young age, I dreamt of sailing the sevens seas with a rad crew of hoes, hunting for treasure & jewels & just being a bunch of rad dicks. I have one problem though (apart from the fact that I don't actually legally own any of those marina boats & can not drive a boat). I don't have a crew. My crew is a crew of 1.

Rule 1 of being a pirate: You can not have a pirate ship with only one pirate. While I do enjoy wearing many hats in my day to day life, having to be the captain, first mate, galley crew & lookout guy up the big boat pole thingy would prove very time consuming. And I just don't have that much time. Plus I just get really tired between 2-4pm every day & often require a Sims power nap. I couldn't nap without a crew.

I believe if I could prove to Johnny Depp that I am indeed an accomplished Pirate, he may consider joining us on our mad treasure hunt journey which means I could have sex with him in my mind every day.

We could act out the knife fight scene from WestSide Story -While I am not a fan of musicals, I fell in love with Westside Story before I got old & started to hate everything. So by default, as hard as I try, I cannot hate Tony & Maria's epic love story.

Beside my work is an alleyway aptly named Hobo Alley. Jackloads of weird ass shit happens up in there out of my office hours. Sadly I'm never there to witness any of it because I don't live at my office. (You should know that I am about to go off on a tangent now. Tony & Maria will be back soon).

Just this morning I found blood. I pretended not to notice because then my head would make up stories about slasheresque murderers & I would spend all day locked inside my office too scared to come out just in case the murderer came back to cut my face off & use it as his new face so he could get away with his heinous crime. Just like Travolta & Cage. Lets not go there.

This alley ain't like no other normal alley let me tell you. There used to be a friendly hobo alley cat that, to my absolute horror, enjoyed fur jizzing all over my leg every morning, but he went missing. *que creepy x-files theme music.

My work alley is the Bermuda Triangle of alleyways. For example, a couple of weeks ago, I had just lit a cigarette when the courier walked into my office to pick up a bunch of whothefuckcares. Anyway I stubbed my just lit cigarette out & laid it on the top of my cup of tea & ran inside to grab the stuff for the courier guy. I was gone for a whole 30 seconds. And when I returned for my fag & lady tea, some bastard OR POSSIBLY POLTERGEIST (*cue x-file theme music again) had stolen my cigarette & my goddam cup of tea? WHAT THE??!!!!

Because I don't care much for material possession (I'm lying), I never bothered to search for my cigarette & cup of tea. Plus I'm just really lazy & I have plenty more good cigarettes & tea cups inside my office.

Back to the Westside story knife fight...........if you came to hang with me, we would do a midnight stake out at hobo alley. Drunk people come to get a taxi from the push button phone outside my office when the clubs close at 3am. I was thinking we could set up a portable ghetto blaster & play some danger music. Something dramatic preferably, like Firestarter by Prodigy . And then we could pretend to knife fight each other with our flick knives & freak the shit out of the drunk people. And possibly find the cigarette/cup of tea stealing poltergeist bastard. And lay their shit out. For reals.

I promise not to stab you. Just pretend. I am currently in training for a raw egg throwing/catching competition with our local radio advertising company. I have become quite good at hurling & catching the egg from a great distance. Yes I have been practicing. So if I can do that without smashing it, I can definitely not stab you while we pretend to stab each other.

Shooting Seagulls - I fecking hate seagulls. I would rather dowse myself in petrol & light a match than have to listen to their constant hungry squawking. Because I live beside the ocean, I am privy to manic screaming gulls every day of my life. In summer, their squabbling gets so bad, I am awoken by Seagull fight club right outside my bedroom window where the neighboring restaurants rubbish bins are located. Or seagull porn during mating breeding season. This normally begins at 5am.

It's no secret that I want to shoot them all. But it's not a task I can complete on my own. In order to do this I need at least 3 marksmen who can sit on the roof of the motel with me & help me rip these birds a new one. We could use BB guns, or slingshots. Or machine guns. I'm not fussed. And if the Armed Offenders Squad or I love Nature Brigade turn I can bribe Blake to be our alibi. He will tell them we were all inside sleeping & dreaming about Unicorns & rainbow fairies.

You should also know that our NZ Seagulls are deadly & show no mercy. Thank you Kevin for this photo.

 

I was thinking of hiring the naked samurai fatties to do the job for me, but I don't like fat naked people. Plus his sword doesn't look sharp enough for what I need.

 



Wild Striding - Is a sport I made up. It takes a lot of inner strength & elegance to wild stride. Neither of which I have. Basically you have two choices of head wear. You can either be a Horse or a Unicorn. And then you gallop, full tit, past any window where there sits an unsuspecting human. Kinda like a flash mob except pretending to be horses. Most may find this quite immature. I do not. I think it's genius.

If there is one thing I really enjoy doing more than eating chips, it's weirding people out with my weirdness. My issue is that I don't have the confidence to be weird on my own. Plus one lone wild strider just looks shithouse compared to a whole gang of wild striders.

I have a long list of places we could go wild striding. Mainly past any restaurant window. Everyone is just way too uptight & serious about all their life problems. They need to witness the joy of seeing grown women/men gallop around town in equine head wear.

P.S Regardless of the fact that both are equally as terrifying, I claim head Unicorn.

The Magic Horse



image source



The Horse



image source

New Zealand is a really beautiful country. And you should come here at least once during the course of your lifetime. Just because. - We are a bullshit free, safe & friendly nation & every day I wake up, I feel so grateful that I get to live here. We don't claim to have sex with miniature stallions & post videos about it on Youtube like David Bowie & his crazy wife here. (WARNING: There is no actual horse sex in this video but equally disturbing hearing them discuss it. YAK!! Please watch it sans children).

We are a laid back bunch of happy folk who love our rugby team more than fish n chips Fridays.

We have power, telephones & even modern motorcars.

We don't have little goblin folk called Hobbits living in our forests. Nor do we have Orcs. (Thank fuck).

We don't have man eating bush animals lurking in the darkness waiting to rip our faces off, just possums. We also don't have deadly snakes, scorpions, seagulls or spiders. (Thank fuck again).

We have a sense of freedom here that I have yet to experience in any other country I've travelled to.

So if you are considering a vacay, come here. It will cost you a billion dollars but we will take care of you & show you how good life is at the ass end of the universe.

And together we will wild stride into the sunset.

Peace, & love

P.S I am about to go & compete in the egg throwing thing. I am shitting in my pantaloons with nervousness. I have performance anxiety. Especially when it involves lobbing hard shelled chicken periods like an epileptic mountain bear in full attack mode (That's what Blake says I look like). Fuck my life.

P.P.S If there is anyone from the Popo or FBI reading this, I will not shoot any birds, steal a boat or pretend to stab my friends with a flick knife. However, one day I WILL wilde stride. You can bet you fat naked samurai weilding ass I will.

Everybody was Kung-Bee fighting.

Not much has been happening in my hood of late so surprisingly I've had nothing to say. Spring is here, I accidentally watched elephants bone on a nature channel doco & I concocted quite possibly the best apple crumble ever in the history of the universe. And I'm still whackin out my bomb digz earring collection.

Something happened to me yesterday guys that I believe requires some discussion.

It's no secret that I am pretty tough. There's not much in the world I am afraid of. Except for the possibility of my cigarette lighter exploding in the back pocket of my jeans & melting the denim to my ass cheek. I'm also scared of gas bottles, Robocop, the Stephen King IT clown, people dressed in gorilla costumes, slipping on the pedals of a bike & breaking my vagina, & spiders crawling in my ear while I sleep, laying eggs, & the baby spiders eating my brain.

The one major mindfuck terror that stands out from all of the above is BEES. Bees, wasps, hornets. Basically anything that can fly, & sting me at the same time.

Have you ever seen a chubby blond girl fuck kick a bee mid air? My guess is probably not.

Anyone that knows me, mainly my friends, will tell you how scared I am of bees. I once jumped out of a moving vehicle when a bee flew in my window & attempted to rape sting my face. The vehicle wasn't moving fast, but I panicked & did the only thing I could do to escape. I flung the door open & commando rolled the hell outta that car.

I hurt my leg, but I would rather deal with a bung leg for eternity than a swollen bee stung face.

FYI & sorry in advance for this shithouse photo, but I needed to ram home why I hate bees so much & I'm all about using visuals to get my messages across.

This photo haunts my dreams.

This is what a bee face rape victim looks like. 

This is what I see in my head when I am bee fighting, hence why I am so powerful.



Someone told me once that bees are attracted to the colour blue. Personally I think that's bullshit. I think they are attracted to the colour skin. Or the colour rainbow.

I enjoy the ocean, & try to spend as much time at the beach as possible in summer. However, whenever I do go to the beach, I spend the majority of my time there running up & down the beach like a woman possessed as I am chased by a bevy of flying stingy insects. It rips my tits so. dam. hard.

Blake says it's because I always try to fight them. Something within me will not let me just sit & take shit from a bee or wasp with the possibility I might get bitten. FUCK that. So I throw some punches & Usain Bolt it outta there, or I try to smack them with a stick. And if that doesn't work I hide under a towel or go & sit in the car.

I don't know why the flying insect population of the world are always trying to ruin my life?

Maybe in a past life I was a real bitch queen bee. And I made all the other common bees clean my feet. Or maybe I was psycho bee killer that roamed the lands with a cigarette light & an aerosol can burning bees going about their business?

If this is the case, bees/wasps/hornets of the world (cos I know y'all read my blog), I very am sorry for any violence committed upon you in any of my past lives.While I understand you are probably not all about gettin one up on the humans, it is obvious you have two major advantages on us. You have the ultimate superhero power of flight. And you have a prick on the end of your ass that can break through human skin & cause ridic amounts of pain & unnecessary swelling. You should know that I will continue to smoke you at every opportunity if you do not except my apology. I have held out the olive branch of friendship between man & bug, but this is how I roll. No matter how hard I try to mentally will myself to sit & take your shit, my body will not let me. I am an uncontrollable force. For this I cannot apologise.

This brings me to today's story.....

If only there had been a camera in the alley beside my work yesterday.

It's no secret, I'm a smoker. Some people like to masturbate to shark porn or steal sandwiches from babies, well I smoke. The world keeps on turning.......tie me to a pole & stone me if you want. But you should know that I will burn you with my mind powers for being a mean judgemental hater.

Anyway yesterday afternoon, whilst enjoying my mid arvo cigarette break, a fat ass whore bee decided he wanted in on my quiet time. Now I ducked & dived from that little bastard like a fatty blond Mohammed Ali, but due to the bee only weighing 0.1 gram & being able to fly, he matched my rapid movements without missing a beat.

It soon became apparent to me that I was on the shit slide to loserland with this dick bee. He had no plans on leaving me alone until he'd rammed me with his death venom. So I did what any normal panicking human would do........I threw my cup of tea at it.

Alas, to no avail. I had achieved nothing but waste of a good cup of tea.

As the bee continued dive bombing me, I decided to bring out the big guns & attempted to stab him with my lit cigarette. I'm not normally one for burning harmless insects with cigarettes but when needs must, a bitch gotta do what a bitch gotta do. Plus this insect was obviously not harmless.

For another minute we danced together in the alley way. My badly timed & slightly retarded looking stabs at mid air with my fag were wasted effort. And as it came at me one last time, I was overcome with a feeling I have never felt before. Blind poo in pants panic.

One thing I have discovered about me when in the throes of a massive freak out, gravity is my friend.

I must have got at least half a metre off the ground & fuck kicked that dam bee right in it's skull. It flew (not because it could actually fly, but because the force in which I kicked it was basically batman type shit) right outta my personal space & onto the busy road outside my office.

Who knew I possessed that ninja-like power. I do not like losing.

I'm not sure what happened to the bee, but just between you & me, I reckon it probably died. Because I kicked it's ass.

The bad part of this story is, my post fuck kick landing was poorly judged & my old skin bag of meat & bones landed in a dusty heap on the dirty piss stained concrete of the hobo alley. I also put a hole in the knee of my jeans. This doesn't bother me though. It adds to the look I am going for, badass as shit bee killer.

If there is one thing I learnt about me today, that has absolutely nothing to do with what I've just been talking about..........I would never EVER try & force feed my banger the crotch of my purple stocking jumpsuit in a quest to form a cameltoe for photo taking opportunities. This is a yeast infection waiting to happen. And definitely grot.

The Mumble Pants Whore. *shudder

One thing before I go........big juicy love to all those that voted to get their favourite kiwi funny bitch back on the list. Shit yeah!! And Noa you are by far the funniest bitch of all time. It's kinda choice being a part of your elite gang of funny bitches. Merci beaucoup.

Also, because I feel like I need to cleanse your mind of the hungry fanny photo above & I just really really like you bitches, here is some Johnny Depp man poon. (sorry fellas. You will just have to make do with the walking STD above).

Peace & love

.

Breaking News. Well actually yesterday's news but I'm slow. Like a turtle.

WARNING: The word fuck is utilised numerous times in the post. If you are offended by this word, stop reading now. I've been raped by a flu virus. I'm not sorry for the f-bombs.

Remember in my last Olympic news with Bex post, how I had a slight dig at the Belarusian she-man who beat our Valerie at the women's shot put? Well punch me in the throat twice with a bag of marbles, that dudelady has just been done for doping at the London Olympics & lost her gold medal title. Mutha. fucker.

The roid machine, who I have fondly named Ben, was tested twice, before & after the event, both times the tests came back positive for the steroid Metenolone. Naughty Ben!!! Of course Ben is saying that she has been framed & that the tests are completely wrong.

Well guess what my thick thighed questionable gender friend.......that gold medal gangsta chain you be rockin round your sweaty neck cleavage..... we is coming for that shit like a pack of hungry sharks. We will chew it from your neck if we have to. I am not lying.
Ben claims she did not know where the steroids came from.

Maybe while she slept, a magic drug lord fairy biffed some steroid flavoured fairy bread into big Ben's open snoring pie hole. And then she ate it without even knowing because she was too busy wandering the Underworld in her dreams eating small children & kittens.

Or maybe because her English wasn't so crash hot, she walked into what she thought was an London pork pie shop which wasn't a pork pie shop at all. It was a back alley drug den. And then she kept repeatedly falling on a needle filled with roid juice. Which is not like eating a pork pie at all.

Ben, let me refresh your memory. You jacked that shit into your veins buddy! Most people don't forget jamming a needle filled with illegal performance enhancing drugs in their own body. But hey, you got caught up in your undeserved golden glory, so you forgot.

Ben is also claiming that our kiwi girl who got the silver medal, drugged her. He-bitch please!!! You got straight up busted. Life is real tough cuz.

As the story unfolds, Valerie Adams, our million dollar baby shot putting machine, has now been awarded the gold medal. This pleases me. I don't like seeing good people getting doofed by dicks who neglect to follow the rules.

Bummed Out Ben. It sucks being a sucker.

image source

Rant over.

So, I'm still sick. God dam shit fucking sick. Everything went tits up again last Friday night. I was in the kitchen happily constructing a long awaited dinner for my love, glad that I had made it through another working week whilst still feeling slightly below par. Next thing, my face heats up like grandma in the dildo shop & I'm dropping like it's literally a million degrees hot. IN MY FACE. This also included me dropping a whole pot of cheese sauce all over the kitchen floor.

I then proceeded to become delirious & scream out maths timetables & swearwords for the next 6 hours to no one in particular, while my body tried to boil my brain using my skull as the cooking vessel.

I don't remember much of it but I do know that I sweat like I have never sweat before. And I yakked & shat, sneezed & coughed til my brains came out my nose. I was left a weak shaky version of my former self wondering what in the fuck was going on.

Clearly I was sucking hard at life. Somewhere along the line in the last few months, I stumbled on a bad health rock made completely out of shit & festy ball sacs.

It turns out I have a virus. A nasty hell virus that won't shag off & let me get on with ma bizness.

The doctors made me wear this facial horror.

I was not happy. I get they didn't want me hacking my infected spores in the faces of innocent people but seriously, if I am turning into a brain eating zombie, I'm not going down alone.

So when they weren't watching, I pulled my Asian SARS mask down & coughed my ring out. All over everything. Eat my Zombies AIDS every body!!!

Every time I exhaled, my glasses fogged up. So not only did I look like the biggest dick in the universe with the leper mask on, but I couldn't bloody see the high school bitches that were laughing at me on the other side of the waiting room through the condensation on my bifocals. I felt vulnerable & sad.

The good news is, I am on the mend. I am taking a 3 day weekend & I am heading away for some R&R. This R&R 3 day weekend may or may not include staying in a holiday home with 10 other people & getting completely ballsed for my best girls 30th birthday.

I won't be drinking though (Boo). I need this sickness to fuck off. Drowning it in alcohol won't help. But you can bet your sexy asses that I will be fun. It is my duty as best friend of birthday girl to bring the fun Becky.

Before I go I have a couple of things to say.

Apologies for not replying to any of your sexy comments. The zombies aids virus made my fingers fall off so I couldn't type. Luckily the same magic druglord fairies that fed Ben the steroid laced fairy bread managed to re-attach the fingers. And here I am. Ta daaaa!!!

Second of all, I think I need to explain something. One last time. And it's not your fault ok. I get that it's confusing, especially if you've never been to this side of the planet. But for the love of god, look at a map!!

I do not live in Australia. I live in New Zealand. They are two completely seperate countries.

I still love you though.

Lastly, Happy 30th Birthday to my beautiful soul sister Kylie.

You are so much braver than I will ever be.
And I know, out of all the people in my life, you would have sat beside me today wearing the leper zombies AIDS mask so I didn't feel stupid on my own. And when those bitches laughed at me you would have killed them with your eyes.
You make me fun.
You make me cry laugh like a wheezy old cow.
I am happy knowing that when I am 80 & my boobies point south, your boobies will point south too. And we will swing them side to side like church bells & eat dirty bird & laugh about the diabetes that we never got.

I love you so. dam. hard.

Here's to another 20+ years of tomdickery my china xxx

Peace & love folks!!

P.S Apologies for the consistent theme of me banging on about being sick. I promise next week I will be healthy x

Olympic News with Bex

It's been two weeks since my last confession since I last posted. In between turning 33 & my body trying to murder me & being constantly balls deep in busy, I am left with little to no energy when I get home from work. Plus the Olympics is on. I am pretty much non-communicado during the Olympics. Because I love that shit hard.

Here is a list of things I think about the Olympics.

1. Spandex.
Suffocated diddles & lady bangers all over the show. While I don't pay particular attention to the beaves monsters, one finds it literally impossible to not look at the clear outline of ones penis when snuggled tightly in spandex. I look on in wonder at how none of those boys seem overly self conscious that all that stands between their dangly bit & the outside world is a nut hugging piece of cloth. I don't have a problem with it per say. I just don't get how no-ones bothered. If I was an elite sports person representing my country which would never happen due to me owning a pair of uber boobs, I would be covering that shit up. Mainly because my glorious fangina likes to eat my pants sometimes.

2. Funny names.
We have confirmed early on in my blogging life that I am quite immature for my age. While that may be the case, I dare you to say out loud the names I am about to write here & tell me you don't omit a small laugh at at least one of them.

Fanny Babou - swimming, France
Semen Antanov - basketball, France
Andreas Bube - trace, Denmark
Imran Butt - hockey, Pakistan
Yoshie Takeshita, volleyball, Japan
Gavin Smellie, track, Canada
Peter Mankoc, swimming, Slovenia
Carole Peon, rhythmic gymnastics, France
Victoria Poon, swimming, Canada
Werner Muff, equestrian, Switzerland
Dong Dong, trampoline, China
Shitaye Eshete, track, Bahrain

And my all time favourite........Hulk, soccer, Brazil

3. They are all freaks of nature.
I'm not sure what god or whoever invented people (I'm still torn on this one) was on when he invented athletes, but these Olympians are freaks. Whilst watching the woman's 10,000 metre run (aka hellfuckery of the highest order) over the weekend, I had to hold my pillow over my face to stop me from sympathy vomiting for these bitches. It's sick man. Awesome sick. Never in my life so far have I woken up & thought to myself, I might just try running 10,000 kilometres today to see if I'm any good. Because in my world, THAT IS NOT FUN. Same applies for Triathlons (I would rather eat a jar of bees) & the funny duck walk marathon (I would rather be face raped by a camel spider).

4. The Horsey events.
I don't get it. I sat & watched the dressage & I still have no idea what the hell happened. It's a little bit like awkward horse ballet. Then the rider gets all the medals. Which I think is total bullshit.

If I am not mistaken, the devil beast did all the work? Therefore it should get the medal/flowers & stand on the podium doing the ugly crying face while it's national anthem is played.

5. You just won a medal bitch, get happy.
Yesterday I watched the men's lightweight double sculls. Our fullas got 3rd. Right on Storm & the other guy whose name I can't remember!!! Team GB got silver. And one of them cried like a bitch. Because he was sad his seat broke.

While I fully support our competition, especially the Brits cos I got me a whole bunch of British homies, one would think that before the race you would check that all your shit is working? Yes no? Zac Purchase's seat popped off like a midget in a cabbage factory. Hard luck guys. Those Danes road like the clappers & in the end, deserved to win the gold. I'm sincerely sorry you only won a SILVER FUCKING MEDAL AT THE OLYMPIC GAMES!!! Jeeze...... lets drink wine & get depressed y'all.

6. Cry me a river.
Note to self: learn how to cry without looking like I just necked a whole shit tonne of lemons, in case I ever get myself on international TV for being baller at an Olympic sport. This will never happen (see number 3) but it is important to pre plan just in case. Because I ain't going out like this......

I like to call this one 'The Pirate Cry'

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Mace in the Face





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Smelly fingers & Pain in Loins

I just won gold.

Please call me a Waaaaambulance.

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ME SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD.

(said in the voice of Ludo from The Labryinth)

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I like Andy Murray.

He is doing the Pirate Cry as well.



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I would just like to state, for the record, that I would cry too. I have an uncontrollable emotions problem. So it's ok guys, don't feel like a dick about it.

7. Gender Confusion.
I watched the shot put this morning while getting ready for work. Our girl Valerie Adams was competing & I bloody love her. Anyway she ended up getting a silver medal which is awesome, but my issue is that she got beaten by this dude. In the woman's shot put. Tell me I am not wrong?

However, this dude is awesome. Like for real motherflippin kickass awesome. I love all people no matter their gender, race or sexual preference. If you have a dick & like to compete in women's sporting events, fair play to ya. You have a bigger pair of scroti than I will ever have. Literally.

________________________________________

Some much has been happening since we last spoke. A ball point pen exploded in my hand at work without me noticing & I smeared it all over my face like I was about to go duck shooting. No one told me. So spent all day walking around like a cool guy with blue ink all over my mug. Awesome.

For the first time in a month, I felt like cooking a delicious meal for my love. And everything was going well until I was seasoning the dish before popping it in the oven, & the lid came off my salt grinder & salt went goddam everywhere. I couldn't save the food. So instead I chucked a massive wobbly in the middle of the kitchen.

Last week I celebrated my 33rd birthday. However on my actual birthday I was too sick & too busy to acknowledge it. How can someone be too sick yet too busy at the same time you ask?? Well I can. Because in my own way, I too am a freak of nature.

Happy Birthday to Becky.

Cutting my works 50th Birthday cake on my 33rd birthday.

Very sick & slightly ratarsed. Hence the shit eating grin.

I got a swearing tourettes turtle from my lovely German friend Miriam. He isn't a real turtle. And when you press his left turoob (turtle boob) he shouts out all sorts of expletives. She also gave me a bell that I can ring when I fancy a shag from my husband. Ha.

Peace, love & turtle boobies,