Don't you just hate...

- When you forget to clean your teeth in the morning and spend all day not opening your mouth from the paranoia?

- When the delightful neighbours next door sit outside at 5:30am in the morning and talk loud enough for sleeping beauty next door to know the intimate details of their night on the dance floor?

- When people bring their (teenage) kids to work on a school curriculum day. Haven't you got shopping centres to hang around?

- When you can't grow nice nails so that you can wear some HOTT orange nail polish?

- When you can't decide between green & red astro boy underpants?

- When you see that ad for all the coloured balls bouncing down the street and get all excited, then get to the end and realise it's an ad for a TV?

- When your boss takes annual leave but announces he'll be 'popping in from time to time" thus ruining any chances wearing thongs in and drinking beer at your desk for fear he might walk in on you?

- WHEN THE FUCKING TAX OFFICE DECLARES THAT YOU NOW HAVE TO 'PAY' THEM $400 BECAUSE AS IF THEY DON'T RAPE YOU ENOUGH DURING THE YEAR. FUCKING HECS. AND BOSSES THAT CAN'T WORK IT OUT PROPERLY.

- When you can't decide what to have for lunch?

I'm getting so wet....

The best part of the day? The shower. I do all my best thinking in the shower. I probably waste water at a rate so alarming that Steve Bracks would personally come tell me off about it, but I'd just tell Steve to fuck right off. A girl's gotta think somewhere.

It's all totally random shit too. And I'd like to impose share my thoughts with you. Lucky kids.

- Orange & Passionfruit Primas are little boxes of liquid-y goodness.

- I'm not impressed that they've changed the shape of Bacon-in-a-biscuit.

- Who the fuck is letting Vince Vaughan marry Jennifer Aniston?

- I really need a pink laundry hamper

- Random singing: coming in halfway through songs like "All these things that I have done" by The Killers. "I've got soul but I'm not a Soldier". Profound.

- Haven't been to the airport in a while.

- Day dreams about me wearing a black bikini and looking teh hottness and walking past the Ex-Fucker with a 'you had your chance look' on my face and him falling into a pool or something equally as stupid and embarrassing.

- It would be nice to have some new shoes to wear today

- Fuck! I hate looking at the fucking toilet while I'm in the shower.

And so on.

My random thoughts get worse too. I might sit at my desk and day dream about going kite surfing in my black bikini and lo and behold the Ex-Fucker just happens to be strolling along the beach. Or that I need some more sandwich bags and shouldn't have thrown the old ones out - there's nothing wrong with them. Or that my sticky-tape dispenser is QUITE FUCKING UGLY and I want to hurl it down the stairs. That's only after I've spoken to some fuckwit client though. Most of the time Sticky & I are on the level. 'Yo.

So now over to you - where are your most ridiculous thinking places, and what ridiculous things come into your head? We're not trying to come up with a solution to world poverty here - I think Stevey-boy would be pretty pissed if we wasted that much water - just stupid random things that prove I'm not the only normality-impaired person in town.

Hmmph. Write an entire post about how much I hate toilets, then spend half the night with my head in one.

Here's a tip: Never mix vodka & orange juice and kahlua & milk, especially if you are going to be drinking rather fast after being accused by a certain ex-fucker that you've given him AIDS*; spread (true) rumours that he has been harassing you to all of your mutual friends; and then get told by him that he now has another girlfriend.

Don't mix your drinks if you just gone 10 rounds with a concrete wall (wearing the only boxing gloves that you could afford that wouldn't even knock out a 10 year old) after being told that "we can still be friends".

Don't drink vodka and kahlua (except of course if you are going to partake in some white/black russian drinking) at 12am on a school night if you just been told "everyone knows now so I better tell you before you find out from someone else" then proceed to throw your washing around the room. It's not conducive to cleaniness and visitors do not want to see your g-strings as window decorations. And you'll only have to pick them up in the morning, when you have a hangover.


Milo milkshakes are good hangover cures.


*NB - Accusation was made purely to hurt me. The Ex-Fucker has never been tested for AIDS, and in the last blood test I got when I first starting dating Jungle Boy, my tests came back clean.

In my previous life, I was a chamber maid

Toilets


Conveniences


Loos


Dunnies


Thrones

I don't care how you want to dress up the name - I HATE THEM. I'm going to have a total Jessica Simpson Tuna/Chicken moment here, but I wish toilets had never been invented.

Why? I hate the aethestic of them, for a start. They are poorly designed, stick out from the wall in an unfashionable way and are just generally ugly.

I'm also a bit of a germ freak when it comes to toilets; you should see me trying to clean my stupid toilet now that I'm living by myself: rubber gloves, longest toilet brush I can find, half a bottle of pine-o-clean, half a bottle of harpic gel, a mask and a hooded top with hood pulled down (I don't know the fuck why either). It takes me longer to get ready and psyche myself up to clean it, that it does to actually clean the thing.

And bad luck if you're building a house. Nearly all new houses now have ensuites.

Eww. I don't want to try and clean myself in direct view of a toilet. It just sits as unhygenic to me. And yes, I now have an ensuite. Showering with your eyes closed is fun, kids!

However, after all this toilet hoo and hahing, it's best left to the latest 'celebrity' on 'celebrity' overhaul, Anthony "It was either me or Casey Donovan" Sumbati to sum up toilet experiences for us all. For apparently, when the Big A goes poo-poo, he can't wipe his own arse, for his girth. The fuck? Do we have to now give him the nickname 'The Dag'??

I think there's something in that for all of us, don't you?

Of games and minds and boys...

Right, seeing as none of you bitches came over today for my blender party, I've been forced to wallow in self pity on such a beautimaful Saturday afternoon.

Actually, I'm not really. I'm just cranky because I've barred myself from macadamia brownies. And I just finished building what is sure to be hailed as master craftswork by future generations:

The Oppli.

Of course, now I know why we had to do 'woodwork' as a subject at school.

So while I wait for some van-age to help transport my latest aquisition, I just have to bang out about Jungle Boy or I will go insane. Sorry, yes I know I've moved on from moving out posts to boy posts, but suck it, I'm still cranky.

We played a cat and mouse game last night. He didn't text me until 8pm, which obviously meant he wasn't coming over, but an earlier message would have been appreciated.

So I didn't text back and went back to reading my history book (Fuck right off, I KNOW it was Friday night last night) I then text him this morning, then he text me and said he would come over this afternoon, and I text back that I was busy, yada yada blah blah blah, suck my fridge Jungle Boy.

I know it's childish to be playing games like this, but I think I'm just stalling the inevitable: The Talk.

And that brings me to you, dear lovely fuckers: HOW can I break up with this guy????

Mixed Bag End-of-Week

Another weekend, another trip to sweden-y goodness. Huzzah chaps!

I'm going because my new toy needs a house. And because I really can't afford the jizzed up white/matt silver low line entertainment unit that I've had my eye on.

I'm going to get it ALL BY MYSELF and assemble it ALL BY MYSELF and put said TV (all 70kg of it) on it ALL BY MYSELF. Why? Well judging by the amount of Mrs Field's Macadamia Cookies I'm devouring lately, there's trouble in Jungle Boy/Martie paradise. Nothing is official yet, but soon it will be Splitsville: population: Me.

Reasons?

I can't compete with his mother. Last week he spent Thursday & Friday night at my house, but then had to go home Saturday and be with his Mum all day because she thinks he is 'neglecting her', by not seeing her for two days. Oh. Fuck. He's a 26 year old man. Then he tells me that she just bought him his 'summer wardrobe' and made a hair appointment for him 8:30am Saturday morning. I just can't cope with that. Obviously, a close relationship with your parents is great, but there has to be a time that you cut the umbilical cord, surely??

Second reason? He has the constitution of an 18th Century woman. He's so delicate. He takes the day off if he has a headache, or if he something he has eaten the day before 'doesn't agree with him'. Said delicateness affects our relationship too. Can't do this because he's feeling poorly. Can't see me because he's got a headache. Before you all flame me for being a biatch, I am obviously aware that people get sick, but he's had more off days in the time that I've known him than I've had hot dinners.

AND - I can't go the Caulfield Cup tomorrow either. All of my friends are going, but because the Ex-Fucker already 'got in first', I can't go. So I'm going to sit at home and watch it on my new TV in it's new house, and put imaginary bets on and become an imaginary millionaire and I'm gonna do it ALL BY MYSELF.




Anyone wanna come? We can have a blender party...with Vodka...

Lovely Lady Lumps - 2005's 'small and humble' mammories.

Oh, she's back. Fresh from showering us with her body juice, she's now back singing about humps and lumps and exactly what she can get a guy to spend on her because they are so 'lovely'.

Oh boy. Is this song for real? Not only is it annoyingly repetitive ("My hump, my hump my hump my hump. My hump my hump my hump, my lovely lady lumps"), but why should we have to endure a song all about Fergie's tits and arse? Which I'm sorry, aren't even that good anyway - I wouldn't do her in a (literal) pink fit.

I'm no prude, but this is not the kind of thing I want to be hearing on my radio. Obviously, since the BEP are such a sell-out now, they are catering expressly for the 13 year old market, who can now skank around telling all and sundry about their lumps and humps at the shopping centres.

It concerns me that Jungle Boy actually downloaded their new album, and has a thing about her. If you get a chance, check out this week's issue of No Idea - and the pic of her. She's a MAN! And she sweats like a man too! I apologise friends, but I couldn't find that pic anywhere.

I did however, find some pics that supported my MAN theory:


Man.


Oh yes, lovely 'lady' lumps there. Sure you can't get them any further up your chin??


Here she is, accepting the award for best male Carmen Electra impersonator.


Pick which is the father of Britney's baby

So tell me, does this song annoy you as much as it annoys me? Does it make you wanna smash your car radio in frustration, hurting your hand and causing a 10 car pile up change the radio in your car whenever it comes on? Or maybe you like it, and want to get sprayed with Stacey-juice up the front of the stage at the BEP concerts? I don't know, you tell me - or any other song that drives you insane?

Martie & the Teevees....

No, unfortunately, not the little box of malted chocolate sticks. It's not even the name of my new band I've hastily put together to play a few gigs to drunk teenagers. Even better. I've got a new baby:



Me and Toadie from Neighbours are going to get a whole lot better aquainted. Yee-fucking-har.

My newest asset is the product of an intensive three week search, in which time I learnt that time is actually flying past me at the speed of light, or something akin to not owning a DVD player yet. Sometimes I can be such a technophobe, that I actually wonder if I'm not a 70 year old living in the body of a twenty some year old woman. Fucking scary.

But now, I'm so down with the lingo of plasma and high definition and wide screen and rear projectors, that I could sashay on down to the Good Guys and get a job, just like that. And maybe even the chance to crack onto that nerdy guy with the coke bottle glasses. I'm so hot for him.

Like, did you know, if your TV is only 'AV stereo', it means that if you don't have a DVD or video hooked up to it, then it will only play mono sound out of one speaker? I didn't know this until this weekend. Thank fuck the dodgy most accomodating salesman pointed me in the direction of a 'full stereo' Teev, or there would be a code red tonight. Like, close call dudes!

Unfortunately, Teevee (it's new official name) won't be arriving until next week sometime, so I'll just have to make-do with my little 34cm on top of the dryer for now. Not that I'm watching anything but 'Australian Princess' at the moment anyway (I'm sure that bush chick, given half a chance, would trade Teevee in for a 'sweet ute'). Not a chance, sweetcheeks. He's all mine! The only thing left to do is work out where I'm going to house the little bugger. Back to the Ikea catalogue for me, I feel.

And while I'm at it, check out the newest apple of my eye, sure to be taking its place in Cucina di Martie very soon:



I am jizz-filled already.

I'm doing it for the love of vodka, I swear...

Lemme get it straight - I'm only doing this because this vodka comrade tagged me, and I too, cannot resist the Big V or chocolate either. And possibly because even though I have a fuck off attitude, I think it would rude if I got tagged and didn't do it. But fuck off anyway. With love, of course xxx

Seven things I plan to do before I die

1 - Travel to England / Europe to study the history & complexities of the Royals & Aristocracy.

2 - Learn how to speak French

3 - Have a 69 on my 69th Birthday

4 - Meet Jonathan Brown

5 - Live by the sea

6 - Lose enough weight to become totally fabulous & buy a Tiger Lily bikini. Parade in front of the Ex-Fucker & anyone else that has been cuntish enough to give me shit over the years. Lots. (Petty I know, but these are MY seven things)

7 - Master the art of skipping

Seven things I can do

1 - Spend money

2 - Visualise interior design concepts and decorator ideas, albeit with no formal training

3 - Throw a right hand punch or hook. Hard.

4 - Drink as much Vodka or Baileys as I like, and not have to do wee. Excellent skill for crowded bars and vomit-y toilets.

5 - Send totally incomprehensible text messages when I'm drunk, but be able to decipher them when I'm shown them the next day

6 - Be generous to the people I love

7 - Enjoy my own company

Seven things I cannot do

1 - Forgive easily

2 - Tell the Ex-Fucker to fuck off for good

3 - go without showering twice a day

4 - Skip.

5 - Stand to see any animal suffering or in pain

6 - Say no to microwave popcorn

7 - Fashion my hair into a 'style'

Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex

1 - Dark hair

2 - Someone who understands emotions

3 - Looks good IN underpants

4 - Looks good in jeans

5 - Able to make me laugh

6 - 'Gets' women's problems!

7 - Can treat me like a princess, but can treat me also like an equal

Seven things I say most often

1 - Fuck off

2 - What the fuck

3 - I hate skipping

4 - I don't know what's wrong with your computer (insert name of incompetant colleague here). I don't work in IT

5 - Check out the mancandy over there

6 - Look at my new shoes

7 - I'll have a vodka, lime and soda, thanks

Seven celebrity crushes

1 - Jonathan Brown

2 - Tony Lockett

3 - Oliver Platt

4 - John Cusack

5 - Chris Chaney from The Living End

6 - Vince Vaughan

7 - Sam Worthington

People who need to do this

I'm breaking the chain here! So it's all bad luck for me, but I will leave you with seven 'tips', so you can have good luck. It's up to you if you want to continue...

Seven tips to get through life (thus far) by Martie

1 - Never forget what your parents did/do for you. And if they didn't do much or anything at all for you, learn from their mistakes and don't repeat the past with your own kids

2 - Don't leave your underpants on the front lawn after a big night. Especially when your Mum is the first up the next morning

3 - Never take anything at face value. Trust your instincts

4 - Learn to accept critiscm, but don't take any shit from anyone

5 - Drink Vodka

6 - Lobby for microwave popcorn to get its own food group

7 - Don't let people think they have control of you. (IE - Ex Fucker). Tell them exactly where to fuck right off to, and don't weaken to them.


Now, if only I could take my own advice re: No. 7....

Questions and Answers with Martie

***Just for you Hambo, I have turned on word verification in the comments. I am up with de times, mang!!1!!

Okaay, just for a bit of fun and because I'm feeling particularly cheery today, let's have some question & answer time. In which I will attempt to answer all your questions that you, dear readers, have emailed to me over the years months I'm making them up as we go along period of time I have been blogging, in an attempt to reveal more of the 'true' Martie.

1. Why is your blog called 'No Talent Time'?

Well, I'd been reading blogs and other such sites on the intermanet for ages before I decided I'd 'ave a go at it. And most of it was pretty bland, boring stuff like; 'I got out of bed and went to have a shower but ran out of shaving cream, so had to go to shops looking like shit, and per chance ran into my ex-boyfriend and' oh, whoops, that was my actual morning this morning, but you get the idea.

If you look around, majority of good and amusing bloggers are actually seriously creative people, who write 'stuff' for a living, or are (past)students of the humanities kind. I myself work in the dreary, staid world of financial services, where the most creative I get is putting a spin on company guidelines to make them sound more plausible to clients, or making up a good excuse as to why you can't speak to so-and-so right now, because he's a) in the conveniences b) in a meeting c) has a client with him or d) out of the office (that old chestnut). And no, fuck off I'm not a receptionist, but we have to answer the chain of phone calls that may come our way. Fuck yeah. So anyway, when I decided to join the big bad blogging world, I decided that I too would be lumped into the shaving cream catergory because I lost my creativity a while ago, so there was no point in trying to advertise otherwise.

Either that, or it would have been against some stupid copyright law to call it 'Young Talent Time', which would of course also been a misnomer, because I'm NOT young, and even though my 'going out age' is a 'young 22' just so I can trick those 19 year old boys into buying me drinks because they think it'll help 'em get into my pants, I feel that telling you my blogging age is 22 would not foster an honest relationship with you, dear readers. And now it's time to draw a breath and move onto the next question.

2. So what is your real age?

Fuck off. I'm not actually going to tell you that. Let me just say that I'm probably too old for Jonathan Brown, and too young to go to over 28's. Although I'd hardly knock either of them back. Spank me daddy...

3. Your profile pic is a bottle of alcohol. Guess it's safe to assume you like a tipple every now and again?

Fuck me. Sandra Sully with the late news there, buddy. Naturalmente, Vodka, lemonade and lime is my drink of choice, but the last few times I've been finding it is too sweet, and will now usually just settle for vodka lime & soda. Actually, who I am I kidding - I will settle for anything, I am a vodka slut. And I'll never pass up a glass of Bailey's on ice either. If I absolutely must, I can have a fairly decent go at polishing off a large number of lemon ruskis (s'cool in the late 1990's, that there were WAITING LISTS for them), as they aren't bad on a hot summer's day, and nothing beats a pot of Carlton draught down the pub with a chicken in pyjamas counter meal.

4. Is there anything you won't drink?

Bourbon. Ironic then, that I'm now kissing a bourbon drinker, isn't it?

5. Speaking of which, have you and the Jungle Boy done it doggie style yet?

No, and this damn well pisses me off. My lovely fellow blogger passed on some invaluable tips, because it appears that Jungle Boy is deficient in the kneeling on bed variety, but so far, no luck. I don't understand. The distance between my asshole and ass cheeks certainly couldn't have gotten any longer (not with all the lunges and kickboxing I've been doing lately) and I've done it with smaller dicks than his, so it must be some sort of logistical problem that I can't explain and it's DRIVING ME CRAZY, MISS DAISY. I need to work on my spacial awareness more.

6. You'd obviously never make it as a transport company operator, or warehouse manager, with logistics and stacking not your forte. So, what did you want to be when you grew up?

It was teaching all the way. You might say that I enjoyed school, and I got along well with my teachers, when I wasn't been thrown out of Home Eco (fucking pointless subject) for sticking my finger up at the teacher behind her back or being suspended for fighting. My Uni preferences read something like this: 1 - Commerce 2 thru 10 - teaching/early childhood education, etc. Excellent careers counselling there, Mr Careers Counsellor.

7. So you like kids then? When do you see yourself having them?

Kids? Can't fucking stand them. No, but something like that. I worked as an after-school care co-ordinator as my part time job at school (fuck retail. I hate customers more than I hate kids). I then did heaps of baby-sitting and finally some nannying when I was at Uni. Great kids I had too, but I realised all the running around after piano and ballet and school and tennis and the cooking and the homework just wasn't for me. Yet.

I'm way too selfish at the mo' to have kids - I like having my own space, and I'm just getting used to depending on myself, so having another human solely depending on me would just not be fair to either of us. I also want to do a bit of travelling before I start popping them out, and of course, there is the small matter of FINDING A BLOKE to have them with. I'm a little bit of a traditionalist in that I'd like to be married for a couple of years before I have them, and since there's no chance of me marrying anyone for at least 1000 years, I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm not going to have any before I'm 30. Which kinda doesn't fit in with my original life plan, but then neither does anything else I'm up to, so I guess that's the cards life has dealt me, or whatevs.

8. The cards life has dealt you? Are you into all that cosmic stuff?

Ummmm, I get the Tart to get my horoscope for me on Telstra pocketnews on her mobile, because it only costs one cent, and it gets sent almost similtaneously, which I think is great value for money. Otherwise, unless I'm checking out what NW or No Idea have got in store for me this week, I don't place much value on 'that cosmic stuff' at all. I'd much rather ring up a $4.95 porn line, rather than a $4.95 horoscope line.

9. You're into porn then. What sort of collection have you got?

Well actually, I don't really have much of a collection at all now; I lost most of it in the 'custody' batter with the Ex-Fucker. And most of what I've got now is either only 'R' rated or is totally old-school, and getting around on VHS. I have to buy a DVD player first, then start building up my collection again.

Most of my porn comes from snippets on the internet, from a wonderful site that provides free photo sets and video clips. You sometimes have to wade through bad Bon-Jovi-hair-esque 80's porn, but that only prolongs the inevitable and increases build up, and is usually worth it when you find a video clip of a hot foursome or a naughty cheerleader or something. I stay right away from dildos and all other paraphanelia like that. I just can't get off on the insertion of plastic/metal things, even if they are humming like a bitch and have clitoral attachments. Which is bad, because Jungle Boy thinks it would be hot. Okay, okay, I will work on my dildo/vibrator indifference.

10. Wow. You seemed totally unhinged and a touch Latham/Rivkin-esque during this interview. Are you going to go on to commit suicide or bag out innocent supporting members of your party family blogging community or total randoms that you pass walking down the street?

Um no. Although I may capitilise on my fame and get into the porn industry, or live the quiet life in a teepee in the country. (Wendy Matthews, you fucking wank. And if you find a snake under your blanket - KILL IT. KIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLL. I used to like "the day you went away", but now...)

Um, where was I? No, there'll be no suicide for me, although I totally cannot stand asian women with old Australian guys it makes me want to vomit for all the disgusting creepy-ness I'll-supply-you-with-a-feed-for-the-rest-of-your-life-if-you-suck-my-shrivelled-pruny-old-cock-for-the-rest-of-your-life of it. And anyway, mail-order is more Russian, isn't it??


So, ding my friends, that is it on what was possibly the first and last Martie expose (you'll just have to imagine the little inflection on the end of that 'e'). Feel free to leave any questions you might have in the comments box, and we'll see if we can't saddle up the old girl for another round.

Next Stop: Federal Treasurer

I don't want to turn this into a "I'm renting and now I'm poor" type of a blog, but seriously, I'm renting and now I'm poor. In fact, I'm just working out how I'm going to stretch $150 over two weeks, which includes petrol for the Love Chariot (TM) and a week of holidays.

Okay, I admit. Poor isn't 3rd world poor where there is like only rice and dubious drinking water and bloated bellies. My belly is big enough, thank you. I am still able to afford relative luxuries like my kickboxing sessions and hot pink keys for my apartment. It's just that, having gone from a relatively good income each week to the bare minimum in spending money takes a bit of getting used to.

I'm still in the mindset of seeing a cool top, or some shoes, and just buying them. Now, I have to sigh, and fondle them for a few minutes, then walk on, with just the memory in my head. Imagine going to the Vic Market and seeing 100 cool things to buy but walking away empty handed because 'you're on a budget'. Oh, boo hoo!

In an end to self pity, I've decided to make budgeting fun! That's right. Fun, kids! Fun for me was discovering a pack of 4 pocket-sized notebooks with colourful plastic colours, for $2.99. Pink, Green, Blue and Purple. How exciting. Just like the alternative 'Four Colour Pens' they used to make way back, when the standard blue, red, black and green didn't do it for you. *Sigh* I miss those pens.

I started with purple. I think I'm going to save the pink one for a 'special' budget. I've already budgeted up to the end of January. (Let me tell you, Santa's not going to be 24-hour Christmas shopping at Chadstone). There's a page for every week, and I've accounted for every last dollar. There's allowances for savings (although that might turn into shoe money, see how we go), petrol, phone, spending and if I'm really good, I can order my lunch on Fridays!! Hurrah! See, it's fun already. I only have to learn how to stick to it.

Perhaps cutting out $8 hot pink keys would be a good place to start.