True or False?

Because it's the festive season, and it's about fun, etc, we're going to play a little game down here in Martieland.

I will tell you a story, and you will have to guess if it is true or false. You could win some crappy x-mas present cast off that I don't want, so pay attention.

And, begin:

Once upon a time, a week before Christmas 2006, Martie & Jungle Boy were sitting down enjoying a meal. Jungle Boy then asked "What was happening Christmas day?"
Martie: "I'm not sure"

JB: "Well, I'm having lunch at my parents' house"

M: "So am I"

JB: "Do you want to come over and have dinner at my parents' house on Christmas night?"

M: "Well, yeah, but normally we (MARTIE FAMILY) have a few drinks at Christmas, so I might not be able to drive"

JB: "Hmmm. Ok. What about if I come and pick you up, say Hi to your parents for Christmas, etc, and then drive you back up and we'll have dinner then?"

M: "Sounds good"

Fast Forward to Christmas Eve, 4:30pm

JB: "So I'm still picking you up tomorrow afternoon"

M: "Yep, cool, see you then"

Fast Forward to Christmas Day, approx 3pm

JB: "What's happening? Are you drunk?"

M: "Only a little"

JB: "So you'll be able to drive later? Drive up here? We probably won't have dinner"

M: "Nah I don't think so. I feel okay, but don't want to chance it"

JB: "Well don't rush it"

M: "Rush what?"

JB: "Rush whatever you're doing. Come up when you feel like"

M: "What happened to you picking me up?"

JB: "So full at the moment...Who wants to drive 2 hours on Christmas Day...Oh well, if I have to come and pick you up, what can I do about it?"

M: "Don't come if you don't want to come"

JB: "Ok. I won't. Who would want to drive all that way on Christmas day?"

Fast Forward to 11:30pm, Christmas night

JB: "Are you pissed off?"

M: "Yes"

JB: "I thought so. Don't be like that"

M: "Well how come you didn't come down and see me? You've disappointed me, and you've disappointed my parents. Didn't you want to see each other? It's Christmas!"

JB: "Well...I just couldn't be bothered. Plus, me and my parents had lunch, then we were talking, then doing stuff, so there really wasn't an opportunity to come down"

M: "So you couldn't be bothered seeing me? On Christmas day?"

JB: "No, it's not that. Christmas is just a day to me. But it means a lot to other people, like my parents. Besides, we're seeing each other now"

M: "It means a lot to me. But you couldn't be bothered seeing me. Surely your parents wouldn't have minded if you were away for a little while. After all, I was going to be spending Christmas night with your family"

JB: "Yeah, well, maybe not. I don't know. I just didn't want to go down. I wanted to stay up here with my parents".

M: "What an awesome Christmas"

***

SO. Did this actually happen? Or is it just a figment of my overactive imagination?

Look kids, a post!

Heh. One big Christmas kiss for whoever clues on to which tv show that line (only substitute 'wall' for 'post') is from.

I have a ridiculously stupid last week before Christmas happening. So much to do, so little time. What's the answer? Go shopping for myself! Hurrah!

So I'm in between all the meeting & greeting and working and drinking and clients and wrapping and shopping and washing and cleaning and test-kitchening and kick-boxing, and, I'm fucked.

So...because I probably won't get around to blogging before the 25th, in the tradition of last year's christmas card:

I'd just like to show you my new Christmas outfit



And wish you all a very sexed-up Festive Season.

M xxx

Marriage is imminent

Yes. Through all the doom and gloom, rises up a wedding. And who doesn't love a good nuptial knees-up?

The object of my affection:




Just can't get enough.

On a happier note...

Because the best friend stuff is too DEPRESSING at the moment, especially after I called and left a message tonight saying 'let's talk, I don't want to lose you as my best mate, etc, etc' and then didn't get a call/text message back. So instead, to celebrating my achievements!

***

Achievements, you say? What sort. Well, it's not quite climbing Everest or finding a cure for alzhiemers, but for me, they're big.

1. Went to kickboxing. The first, non-sexual form of physical activity I have done in the past three weeks.

2. Put some washing on mid-week and hung it out. Because normally I end up with piles of it on a Saturday, then combined with my crappy 1&a half wash cycle and almost-zero line space, it never gets done.

3. Watered my plants. They were thirsty.

4. Bought myself a roast chicken from Safeway (Hi, Mars), cut all the breast meat (mmmmmmm, breast meat) off the bone, and stored in container ready to make sandwiches for lunch tomorrow. Why buy my lunch every day, when I am trying to save for a couch>

5. Made a list of the all things (Tissues, bottle of water, etc) that I have to take to work tomorrow. Because I'll be rushing, and at least I won't forget anything.

6. Used some tanning cream disguised as moisturiser, and now am starting to develop and lovely brown glow. And patchy areas around my ankles & feet. Alright, not quite the achievement I was looking for, but it puts me one step closer to girly-ness, non?

7. Changed a light globe. Scared of the dark.

AND

8. Made an appointment to get my hair cut. Fingers crossed; I want a full fringe with longer bits on the sides, a semi-permanant glossy chocolate brown put it, darker & lighter brown foils put in for a bit of depth, and a couple of random blonde patches around my fringe for something interesting. If it works out okay, I'll post a picture.


So. Congratumalations to me. 'Dere's some might fine achievements in my life right there, nothing exciting, but with all that's going on, it's good to know that the organisational part of my brain can kick in, and I'm still a fully functioning member of society.


For now.

The root of the problem (PS - OMGWTF LONG POST AHEAD)

Firstly, I will address the comments on the previous post (really only 'cos I'm lazy)


* Yes, Jungle Boy & I had broken up

* That is correct, we got back together

* Jungle Boy is smart, attractive (to me), funny, sexy, placid (to my sometimes hysteria) and has goals & ambitions. I stick with it because A) - we have a great time when we're together, no pressure on B) - The sex is great & C) - I'm afraid of being lonely, which sort of counteracts all the 'relationship shit' that seems to pop up.

* Yes, having someone say 'Do what you want', to me is like saying, 'I don't care either way' - IE - you're not important enough for me to care enough.

*****

However, let's forget Jungle Boy for the moment, for men are easily replaceable, friends are not.

My best friend & I have been mates since we were wee lasses, spending our Saturdays at Netball.

We've got wasted together, we've cried together, we've picked up together, we've lived together, etc etc.

I was maid of honour at her wedding; I am godmother to her son.

However, lately, our relationship has really been deteriorating. She spent a year in QLD, then came back at the start of this year, to give a relationship with what possibly may be her perfect match a go.

She's a very vague kind of a person; as much as I love her, she has no direction in life, and at times can be very selfish. When I say no direction, I mean she knows what she wants, but she's constantly shifting the goalposts around, and changing the aim every so slightly.

She tends to break plans easily; or becomes vague about stuff she's not really interested in. I don't know if it's deliberate, or if that's just how she is. I 99% sure it's the latter, but I have seen the deliberate side once or twice, however, I'm always giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Since she's been back in Melbourne, and with NZ (her man), this stuff has happened a touch more frequently.

Then sometimes, when she wants to do something, and I've already got plans (with Jungle Boy most of the time - she hates him), she'll get all sulky with me because I'm not just dropping what I'm doing. Arghhhh!

In August this year, NZ went overseas. All of a sudden, we're back to seeing each other again, nearly every day of the week. We were exercising together, watching tv together, cooking together, having our girly chats, etc. It was like old times.

She then went to meet NZ overseas for a holiday. When she came back, she was like a different person. Despite me ringing, and texting her, she didn't get in contact with me for about a week, put off (in her vague way) having dinner together so I could get all the holiday goss, and similar.

I found out what had happened; NZ & her had, despite all her statements to the contrary, that she wanted to take things slow, etc, decided to move in together. I was apprehensive. Sure, they'd known each other for years, but had only been a couple for not even six months.

At this point, I would like to state that I was possibly jealous, as well as geniunely concerned. Only because the chances of me moving in with a boy at any stage in the near future, are slight to none. Hmmph.

I also must admit that her breaking our plans, or just not contacting me, was starting to get on my nerves, so I started to do the same back, or just say that I was unavailible in the first place. Again, even if I had genuine plans that I'd made two weeks in advance, she'd still sook if I wouldn't go out with her.

With my best friend, it's always Her first, second & last.

I won't go into the whinging; suffice to say, she's never happy with anything. With work, the hours are either too long, so she changes jobs with shorter hours; not enough, so she changes again for more hours, and so on. But I've probably done my fair share of Jungle Boy whinging, so the point is moot.

However, the last straw came when she didn't wish me a happy birthday a month ago. Not even a text message. People I see once a year, or not even at all, could be bothered to send me a text message, but she even rang me, and didn't say anything at all. Only to go on about her's & NZ's latest fight ("I'm moving out", etc).

Really really hurt by that. Really hurt.

And then last week, after telling me to keep the Saturday night free for her birthday, she goes and changes it to the Friday and sulks when I can't come, because I have my Christmas Party to go to. Didn't return my texts or calls all weekend, and tonight, after I rang her to see what she was doing, found out she was at dinner, and I wasn't invited.

Really hurt again.

People I know say that it's just her, I have to deal with it if I want to be friends with her. Some people won't associate with me if she's with me (that is how many people she's put offside in the past). Jungle Boy can't stand her. My Mum & Dad, who have long been like a second set of parents to her, don't really want to see her anymore.

It's killing me because I can literally see our relationship slipping away. However, she seems to be quite content playing happy families with NZ & her son, and doesn't have the time for me anymore? Or am I just being unreasonable? I probably could try harder, but how much shit should I put up with?

I know that I probably need to sit down and talk to her about all of this. I'm just scared of the outcome. She's the type of person that could just say, 'Fuck it, I don't need this shit' and let it end there and then. I don't want that to happen; she's my best mate, we've seen each other through all sorts of crap, and it shouldn't end over a guy.

Sometimes I think I'm too gutless to dump Jungle Boy, because it means I'll be the one by myself, and no one to lean back on when she's off doing her own thing. I've said previously on here that friends don't come easily with me know; after some really harsh bitchiness, it takes a lot to gain my trust and that can often make me seem aloof.

What do you think? Am I being too harsh? Am I justified in sitting her down and telling her how I feel? Or should I just let it be? I miss our drunken nights out, I miss our shopping sprees, I just miss hanging around her. But with a child, and now a live-in partner, am I being too demanding of her time?

Who the fuck knows, but I know one thing: This is causing me even more sadness than the whole Jungle Boy saga. As I said, guys aren't the end of the world, but losing a friend is everything.

I should just be sleeping or something.

I really shouldn't be going out with Jungle Boy.

I left my work's Christmas party at 10:30pm on Friday night.

I think I'm afraid of people.

I'm contemplating just heading into the city on NYE (SO EARLY, I KNOW) to watch the fireworks by myself.

I have a disastrous money situation, and I'm not sure how to get out of it.

The only positive thing in my life right now is work (not Bendigo Bank work either). Work, I can excel in, work gives me a purpose, I'd rather stay at work, where there are boundaries with people, than go out, where there are not.

The only thing I seem to have the energy/enthusiasm for is to read books.


******

Ok, so thinking about what brought this on. I was speaking to Jungle Boy earlier tonight, regarding the possibility of going to Europe/Egypt next year. I want to go, I want to make it a goal, but it depends on so many things; selling my car, getting payrise, etc, etc. An excerpt from the conversation:

Martie: "I don't know when we will be going"

Jungle Boy: "It all comes down to your finances"

Martie: "Yeah, I'm hoping for it to be this time next year"

Jungle Boy: "Well I've got my money and my leave sorted. So it's up to you"

Smug & arrogant? Or Factual? His comment made me feel really bad. And I told him so too. Yet:

Jungle Boy: "I didn't mean it like that"

Oh Lordy.

******

You wanted a saga, you've got it. Perhaps I can make this in to a study of dating really inappropriate men? The life & times of my relationship with Jungle Boy. I'm excited already.

Not.


So many people have told, and tell me to "dump his arse". The question is - why can't I? Pathetically weak springs to mind.

But not much else, because I really should be sleeping.

Goodnight.

DOUBLE CENTURY

THIS IS MY 200TH POST. I'M JUST GOING TO POST THIS AND MOVE ON.

I just didn't want to make my 200th depressing, which it will inevitably be.

THE END

I ask two questions, you give me two answers:

Ok. First up. This first question is probably better posed to someone like Lillian Frank, but dear old 'Lil has been giving me the shits lately, so I'm going to ask the wider audience to confirm:

When going to a restaurant, (NOT a cafe, not a 'casual' eatery, but a real-life, grown up restaurant), and you're asked to wear something 'nice', is it appropriate for you to wear; black skate shoes with white socks, jean shorts, and a T-shirt with the words 'STFU University' on it?? Discuss


***


Secondly. Can you be 'attracted' to a number of people, without ever wanting to be with them, or even grab* them, or rip their clothes off in a fit of passion? I realised today that I am attracted to my team leader, but I'd never go there, for a whole host of reasons, the least of all that he is my superior. I just felt funny when he touched me. Discuss.



*Grab - apparently what the kidz are calling kissing these days. CAN SOMEONE PLEASE CONFIRM - I FEEL SO ANTIQUATED.

Martie: Diary of a crazy person

Emergency, Emergency!

The other night, I found that I was unable to masterbate to crappy resolution free intermanet porn until I cleaned my teeth.

What is with that?

Am I some sort of sick, hygenic freak?

Help me.

***

I was reading my archives from this time last year. I was solidly on the detox path, and still pining for the Ex-Fucker.

I'm not quite detoxing at the moment, but still choosing the healthier eating options. At the moment, I'd have to say my favourite part of my body is my shoulders.

I'm not pining for the Ex-Fucker, but must admit I was EXTREMELY FUCKING DRUNK the other night and actually text him. After all I went through to change my number.

He actually guessed it was me, and I text back telling him I was sorry, it was a drunken mistake, and it wouldn't happen again. Seems like it did the trick.

I'm actually not pining for anyone at the moment. Is this good? Yes, yes I think it is. I'm still having casual sex (albeit with the same person), which has graduated into a 'meal' thing (AS IN EATING A MEAL TOGETHER GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER), but it's not going to go anywhere. Reminds me too much of Jungle Boy.

***

OK, FUCK! It is Jungle Boy. It's a whole sordid story and another post and now I feel embarrassed for admitting it.

Just enjoy your weekend, and join me in congratumalating Desci for the handing of the thesis in today. Hurrah for her. And not about Jungle Boy.

Another hyped-up random question brought to you by Ribena Berry Juice at 12am

Do you think that I could be a brickie?



They make lots of money



They get really tanned

tradies lifestyle, etc.


Apparently we are 'crying out' for brickies; skillz shortages, etc, etc. I need to make a quick buck, thanks to my friend, the Australian Tax Office, and my previous boss' inability to deduct the correct HECS payment.

So, bricks + me = perfect relationship? What do you think?

Cons?


Early starts



Carrying these fuckers around all day



Bricks are generally boring.



Fuck, not such a good idea after all.


Although...


I would give good builders' crack

Such is the way of the world...

An interesting conversation with my boss last week, saw me declaring that I wasn't going to get married, or have babies any time soon.

A)-not worth the hassle - Divorce, etc &
B) - need to find the right partner.

What's the bet that I find the man of my dreams and totally fall in love/get married/start talking kids within the next 12 months? I'm picturing a New Years Eve proposal, non?

That shit always happens to me.

***

Slutty Slut Sluts

Hi,

I recently came to a startling revelation;

Calling someone a slut in the derogatory sense, is not cool.

Sure, in high skool, if Tiffany kissed one boy one week at a party, then kissed another boy the next week at a party, it would be OMG, SLUT! *whisper whisper whisper* "OMG HERE COMES THE SLUT" "Hi Tiff, how lucky are you to kiss..." "SLUT"*

But saying it now, is just...meh.

Most people don't even use it for its original meaning - IE - A girl that sleeps around (NB - Not a dictionary definition. Also, obviously, Boys are Not Sluts, etc). So someone just kissed a guy you liked? Not a slut. Please correct.

Besides, a woman's sexual liberation is growing and growing all the time, to a point where the true meaning of the word slut is growing redundant.

So. I would like to apologise to anyone that I have called a slut. I'm unreservedly sorry.

Especially directed to the young lady that I called a slut in my head about half an hour ago; I don't even know you. Also, my motivation was most likely jealousy, not because you slept with 100 guys in 100 days, etc.

Excellent. I feel better already.

Would you like to take back any slut-calling?


* WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS SCENARIO???
When I was at high school, 'OMG' hadn't even been invented yet. Bad re-enactment, Martie.

Numberzzzzzzzzzzzz

Shit. I give to you...shit, motherfuckers.



1 - is how many times I wore my bathers.

2 - is how many hotdogs I had for my birthday dinner.

3 - is how many failed boxed trifectas I had on the dogs @ Shep before I pulled the pin on Saturday night.

4 - is how many poos I've done today (Tuesday)*

5 - is how many alcoholic units I consumed over the course of the entire weekend (SEE HOW CLEAN LIVING AND SOBER I AM???)

6 - is how many drunk teenagers you need to hang out in the main street, before it can be officially known as the 'drunk teenagers drinking & hanging out spot'.

7 - is the number of times I cried on my birthday because the weather turned had turned crap and there was no sun to be seen for days and it was ruining my 'perfect' holiday.

8 - is the number of goes I had trying to call my mum on the payphone, before I gave up. It has been YEARS since I used a payphone.

9 - is quite possibly the number of years since I used a payphone.

10+ - is the number of hairs left on my vajootz after Thursday night's wax & tan.

23 - is the number of clean pairs of underwear that I took away with me.

16 - is the number of clean pairs of underwear that I brought back with me.

9,999,999 - is the number of flies I had to deal with.

Infinity - is how cool I looked in my 'holiday hat'



* See - I told you I'd give you shit

What WOULD you do for coins???

This girl, apart from being my 'homie', has come out with possibly my favourite line ever in response to some slut who left a retarded comment on her blog:

"It's not like I'm doing anal for coins"

G-old! Not exactly sure what it all means; not all that au fait with the sex industry. BUT. Love it all the same. I think it's the combination of the word 'anal' & 'coins' in a sentence. Heh. 'Coins'.

Anyway. Go visit her. And experience the glory that is anal & coins & trolls. Despite what some grogbloggers spies cunts say, she IS teh hottness!

Hmmm.

Martie's Dad: "Martie! Stop drinking so much!"

Martie: "But Dad, it's not like I'm doing anal for coins".

-

Martie's Boss: Martie! Stop looking at the internet during work hours!"

Martie: "But boss, it's not like I'm doing anal for coins during work hours".

Oh. Slighly obsessed.

***

I should apologise for the confusion (Sorry Enny with my previous posts.

I had intended to post about my bathers buying adventures where it appears that chocolate and aqua lycra renders one's bra size three sizes larger than normal and I attempted to try on this

and after the saleswoman pulled back the curtain, her first comment was "They're a bit in your face, aren't they?".

She also told me to get a spray tan. So guess what I'm doing Thursday night.

***

And this is all in aid of what?? My holiday! I leave Friday, 6am, for the South coast of NSW. Please pray for nice (new-bathers-wearing, spray-tan-showing-off) weather for me.

HAHAHA.

And, to make things even more exciting - MONDAY IS MY BIRTHDAY!

A balloon to celebrate.

So it's birthday holiday of beach, sun, pubs, chicken parmagiana and greyhound betting.

Enjoy!

Come fuck with me now, Anonymous

Right. I've spent a great deal of time trawling through the archives of Dietgirl.org, as provided to me by the nice anonymous a couple of weeks ago. Or maybe it was the same anonymous, Jekyll & Hyde style? Who knows, they were ANONYMOUS.

Ahem.

So, for nothing if but my sanity, I'm now giving myself until the end of the year to lose 10 kilos.

"Again?"

Yes, again.

I am going bathers shopping on Saturday (FEEL THE EXCITEMENT, ONLY NINE DAYS UNTIL MY HOLIDAY), and am already loathing it. See, I haven't had new bathers since...1998, and when I tried those on the other night - OMG CAMEL TOE.

Hott in porn, not so hott on public beaches.

Also; I am far too pretty to be wasting away as a blob.

So, starting tonight:

- I'm going to sleep at 10pm, no later. Internet - off.

- I'm getting up at 5:30am, and going for a walk/run.

- I'm going to drink water all day, and TRY to use the toilet at the place where I'm currently working off-site, at least once. (I said TRY. This is going to be the hardest bit).

- I will buy my lunch tomorrow, and it will be my standard, roast chicken, baby spinach, tomato & cheese on Rye. I will cut out the margarine, but the cheese is going to be harder.

- I'm going to Safeway (AND NO I DID NOT WORK THERE, I WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR THEM WHEN I WAS 15; NOW LOOK AT ME, CUNTS), and I will buy salad ingredients to make up a zesty salad with ham lunch combo for the rest of the week.

- No pizza on Friday night.

- No alcohol

- NO MORE SNAKES ALIVE. Even if the 'green snakes' perk me up at 3pm.

- Why aren't I on one of those overhaul shows? I'd totally be prettier than that Fiona from TBL, but with better boobs, and I'd refuse to write a crappy column in the Sunday Herald-Sun, all about the boyfriend that dumped me, etc. Although, maybe I'd go on Dancing with the Stars.

Ok. So, I'm not going to be teh fucking hottness by next week. But by the end of the year, I will be well on my way. And you anonymous, will have to deal with that, especially when I pass you on the street, without even a glance.

50 Minutes Until Bedtime. OMG. So much porn to look at to do.

Movie Review by Martie: The Departed

I 'won' some free movie tickets at work, and used them as an excuse for my first time out in ages.

GOD DAMN, no one wants to see 'M' with me; I wanna tingle in my underpants everytime Mick Molloy is onscreen. So it's The Departed instead.

Don't know why. I hate Matt Damon. I hate Leonardo DiCaprio. But it seems like a cast of Hollywood 'names', so I think better than The Devil Wears Prada why not, and hand over hard won tickets.

Now, the fella I dine/watch with (LOLLOLOLLYPOP) wants to eat before hand. Cue, first place next to movies, the ubiquitous TGI Fridays (do they have these anywhere outside Melb??). Cue, a mini review. Their vodka is shit; the nachos are fucking amazing and I'm full before the movie starts.

This fucking pisses me off, because I like to buy a few ice-creams (as in the lollies, not choc-tops), some popcorn, and liquid crack a diet coke. But I'm too full. So into the movies we go, empty handed. Already the ULTIMATE MOVIE EXPERIENCE is starting to unravel.

Also, we are seated on the aisle. This also pisses me off. I like to sit on the side section, right up near the wall/curtain. But the Village Bimbo obviously misundertood me, and put us on the side of the main section.

And you know why this pisses me off. Because after the movie has started, and we're watching intently for the background story, some cunts walk in late, and proceed to a)make lots of noise b)get in the way c)step on my foot or d)all of the fucking above. Yeah, you know the answer already.

I hiss "surely it's not that hard to come in on time". Fella I'm watching with elbows me. Fuck decorum.

Anyway, this is my type of movie. They say Fuck a lot. Marky Mark says Cunt. Lots of people get their heads blown off. Matt Damon is as wooden a pine furniture manufacturer and Jack Nicholas says Pussy.

There's twists and turns and Alec Baldwin, as a bit part police detective-y type man, is my favourite character. It would help the storyline, if both the lead males (Damon & DiCaprio) didn't look like they were 15 years old, and should have still been in long shorts, than shooting people on the mean streets of South Boston. There were plenty of laughs, but not enough of the black strap-on Jack Nicholson donned. Gee. It's so hard to get some black strap-on action in movies today, isn't it?

NB - Movie goes for very long time. Was starting to get hungry half way through.

Did the movie engage me? Yes. Although they needed to stop fucking around with the girl character. I KNOW she tied it all together (sort of), but there was not enough time to develop her relationships with Damon & DiCaprio, and shoot cops/bad guys/visiting mafioso from Providence.

Incidentally, wasn't there a TV series called Providence? The one with the chick with the curly hair, and she's doctor, and she comes back to her hometown; has hometown romance, gets hometown job, etc. Very Gilmore Girls, but with no 's' on the end. I can't imagine Mafioso being in a place where there's autumn leaves blowing down the street every day of the year, and the town is so sleepy, it makes Perth look like a thriving metropolis.

So, lame research there, Departed writers.

I digress though. I need to tell you how good it was when Marky Mark tries to punch Matt Damon. Almost as good as Mick Molloy. Almost.

And now, the conclusion of my review. Don't go see this movie if swearing offends you. Go and see this movie if you like blood spattering everywhere. Don't go and see this movie if you are still holding onto the 'Good Vibrations' Marky Mark - his haircut is abominable. Go and see this movie if you like Jack Nicholson doing what he does best - playing a bossy, psychotic cunt, slighty unkept, but apparently still able to get the pussaaaaay.

I for one, am going back to see it, just to count the number of times they say fuck/fucking. If you come with me, you can count the 'cunts'.

NB - Had Swiss Mountain Malt from Pancake Parlour after movie. Mini review; was good, generous serving NOT ENOUGH FUCKING WHIPPED CREAM.

The End.

Love, kisses, treasure hunt, etc

Yeah well, fuck, I'm back.

Apologies for the NSFW title; I will change it, but for now, it was too good to pass up. Shame it didn't come back. Awwww.

Anyway, fuck off. I mean, not literally, but I've found myself a hot little leather chaise lounge, and it's fucking hot. I wish to save all my money to buy it; sit on it; fuck on it.

And, I'm selling my car. I *would* link you to the ad, but you know, THE INTERWEBS ARE A HAPPY AND ANONYMOUS PLACE, YO, and besides, I'm waiting for *someone* to find it anyway. Howevs, if you are in the market for a luxury small car (OMG A CLUE!!!!1!), email me, and we'll talk turkey.

Or you know, I will tell you what I've learnt by reading "He's just not that into you" (either way, great email conversations abound).

In other news, coral is the new black, and to date, I own two coral items. Hurrah.

And....I'm done. Before I go, here is a (NSFW) picture of what we're trying to achieve here at Arseholes Inc.:


Come join the chocolate starfish brigade.

Itsy Witsy Teenie Weenie

You've probably noticed an abundance of

these


sort


of


pictures

on my blog lately.

Yeah. I have bad body image. B.A.D.

Ever since oh, let's see, 1988, when I was in Grade Three, and my teacher did a weight graph of the whole class, and mine was the 2nd highest.

Ever since all through high school, in particular one comment from a cunt in Year 8 who promptly informed me (via messenger - AS YOU DO IN YEAR 8) that he didn't date girls over 50kgs.

Ever since Ex-Boyfriend No 2 dumped me in part because I was fat (SO WHY GO OUT WITH ME IN THE FIRST PLACE?).

Awesome.

Now, I don't neccessarily find myself to be grossly overweight a la the above pictures. Although, I have my days where I consider myself to be a pretty good representation.

My best friend tried to set me up on a blind date about a year ago; part of the description she gave my potential date was "she looks top heavy, but only because she has big boobs".

So I've got the curves. Years of netball have conditioned pretty good legs. But still, I fight every day with myself; every bit of food that I consume; everytime I look in a full length mirror. I'm depressed.

Not outwardly. Outwardly, I'm friendly, intelligent, happy. I'm 'smashing through glass ceilings' & wearing 'power suits' and shit (Hello-Hi!) as I climb the corporate ladder. I'm occassionly sexy. It stands to reason really; I've not been without a boyfriend for more than six months since 1997 (ALTHOUGH IF YOU'RE REALLY GOOD AT PSYCHOLOGY/MIND SHIT, YOU MIGHT SAY IT'S A SELF ESTEEM ISSUE AND I LET MYSELF GET TREATED BADLY BECAUSE I'M SCARED OF BEING ALONE - WELL DONE YOU). Regardless, people still want to have sex with me, in the daytime, with the lights on, sober. And thank god for disco pashes.

I've tried Weight Watchers at least four times; I've tried my own at-home version of Weight Watchers with some friends (who still have my $10 entry fee). I've tried Jenny Craig. I've tried a nutritionist. I've tried a personal trainer. I've tried exercising with friends. I've tried making the psycho ex-boyfriend act as my personal trainer, and get up at 5am in the morning, and drive to my house to go walking with me. I've tried exercising by myself. As a team sport. In a gym. I've tried hiding my wallet so I'm not tempted to by junk. I've tried making my mum my food nazi. Fuck it, I've tried everything.

It's said that you can never achieve something unless you truly want it. So you might be reading this saying "Oh, she's lazy, has no willpower, etc".

But that's the thing. It's the one thing that I want more in life. Not money, not sex with a fantapants. I just want to be able to fit into good looking clothes. It consumes me. Day & night.

This is the worst time of the year for me. It's the time that summer stuff is coming in & the realisation that winter is over & with it go the (long suffering) jeans & jumpers, and here come the singlets & mini shorts/skirts.

I try to stay away from people in the summer. I don't want a reminder of people wearing cute singlets looking cool (temparature-wise as well) while I'm stuck in my t-shirt to hide my ugly arms & a denim skirt to my knees to hide my upper thighs. Don't even ask me what I do to compound the problem that is my middle section.

I could probably write about try 170,892 at having a go at this diet thing - although I know you're probably all sick about reading about my failed attempts by now. I'm certainly sick of thinking about them - be grateful I don't write about this every day.

Please don't write me off as someone who is too lazy, and who has no willpower. Well actually, maybe I don't have any; I could be picking up, and paying for a bar of chocolate, just staring at it, and thinking of the million & one reasons I should put it down. Even while I'm eating it, I feel nothing but shame, & disgust for myself. To combat these feelings, I'll usually go shopping right afterwards (or the next day if it's a late night binge) and try to fit into clothes I want to buy, just to punish myself.

I need to break the cycle. Permanently. Not for five weeks, like my last big effort last year with my nutrionist, but forever. But how? How do I tell myself to break a lifetime habit, even with all the resources at my fingertips.

It does all come down to how badly you want it. And how strong the catalyst is. But where do I find my catalyst. Can it come soon; I really want to buy some new bathers for my holiday.

OR:

Martie on holiday

*withdraws*

Nothing to be excited about except for hotdogs

Gosh, why aren't you at a pub/BBQ watching the biggest game of the year?

After years of trying to join the 100 club (100 shots of beer in 100 minutes), I feel a little old and a little jaded. I had a choice of watching with a bunch of drunken wankers at a pub in Richmond, or with a bunch of drunken wankers at a BBQ closer to home. Awesome. So I chose to sleep in and cook a hotdog instead.

You sound depressed

No, not quite. Just pissed off at the world. It'll pass. How can it not - it's such a beautiful day in Melbourne.

For a supposed football fan, isn't not watching the GF a little strange?
Fuck no. It's not like I'm not watching it. I was flicking over on the ad breaks between Gone With The Wind, until they inexplicably put some Talk To The Animals rip off show on as the interval. Now I don't think they're going back. Who the fuck programmes like that??? Fucktards.

Anyway, where was I? Yes, I did sit outside and try to get the broadcast on my crappy radio, and eat ice-cream, all the while inducing skin cancer, but it was just a lot of hiss and crackle, so I've succumbed to the TV.

Can you cook us hotdogs too?

Well, when I said I chose to cook a hotdog, it was techically correct. However, this would involve going to Safeway and actually buying one. So yeah, when I actually get around to doing that, it's hotdogs allround at Martie's house.

So what are you going to eat??!!!?

Well, I did have the aforementioned ice-cream - Cadbury' peppermint, if you don't mind. And my parents have very kindly invited me up for pizza tonight. Awesome.

Boring

Well wouldn't you be if your best friend dumped you for a guy; your (completely wrong) crush is too busy with Ebay to see you and you're not really in a drinking mood?

You need to fuck off people in your life that fuck you around.

Tell me about it, stud.

What about Teh Sex?? Tell us about Teh Sex!

It's always about teh sex with you people, isn't it? There are more pressing matters...such as why Barry Hall is having such a dog of a game. I can't think about Teh Sex when I look and feel like this:


Awesome.

I need a nap

I'm such an Ikea slut.

Yesterday, I went to the Lesbian Mecca (or maybe it's just coincidence there's so many chicks with short spiky hair holding hands) and bought a Billy bookcase, and two bedside tables.

$200 bucks later & I'm jizzed up to see my books in their little home; I'd forgotten how calming it is to look at shelves full of books.

All I need now is the couches/lounge suite, and my apartment will actually look fairly grown up (NB - Probably not best to take the alphabet magnets spelling out crazy shit on my fridge into account at this point).

Also, I'm going...on a holiday! Well, not quite a holiday, more like a short break. But I will be driving up the Sapphire Coast of NSW for Melbourne Cup Weekend, going to country pubs and betting on the greyhounds, and staying in a cabin on the beachfront.

I paid the deposit yesterday afternoon, while having sex. Yep, that's about as wild as it gets around here; riding the pony whilst conducting credit card transactions over the phone.

"Would you like a receipt for that?"
"Yes, oh god, YES"

I know, lame.

Speaking of Lame, Australian Idol comes to mind. There are all sorts of interesting-er commentaries about, so I'm not even going to try.

All I want to say is - I hope Damien the Irish Guy doesn't win. Only because I like him so much. Thus concluding this episode of embarrassing confessions.

And speaking of embarrassing - do you think it is at all humiliating to pluck stray pubic hairs in front of another? I just can't figure it out.

JUST BECAUSE SHUTTING YOUR BLOG DOWN IS THE NEW BLACK, DOESN'T MEAN I'M DOING IT

Not up to much. Bought a new pair of shoes. Bought a new pair of thongs. Too poor to go to the show. And my apartment looks like a chinese laundry.

2 loads on the couch waiting to go into washing machine.
1 load in the washing machine, waiting to be put on the line.
1 load on the line, waiting to be brought in.
1 load on indoor clothesline, waiting to be put on chair.
1 load sitting on the chair, waiting to be put in dryer.
1 load in dryer.
1 load out of dryer, waiting to be put away.
1 load in washing basket, waiting to be put in pile on couch.

I seriously think that someone breaks into my house, wears my clothes, and puts them in the washing basket to be washed. How could someone go through so many clothes??

In other, unrelated news, I now have one dedicated shelf in my wardrobe for my Bonds singlets, and two dedicated shelves for my underpants.

Have a fabulous weekend, and if you go to The Show (Melb), please go on a ride, or eat buttery corn on a cob for me. Bless! xxx

Have you been Zinged?

Pet Hate: People that aren't up front.

Example:

A friend of mine went to stay at her boyfriend's house the other Friday night, as they had an event to attend the next day. That Saturday morning, said boyfriend went to have a haircut - 2 hours before they were meant to leave.

Come one and three quarter hours later, boyfriend arrives back home. When she asks where he's been (already fully knowing - call it women's intuition) he says "having a haircut, and I had to pick up my shirt from Mum's house". Zing.

So, she thinks "I'll get you".

Later on, when they arrive at their event, she feigns hunger (actually, not much feigning was needed), complaining she hadn't had breakfast, and was going up to get something from the food bar, and did he want anything? When he said no, she asked why - to which he didn't reply.

"You've had breakfast already, haven't you?"
"Yeah, I was at Mum's and she wanted to make me toast, etc because she hadn't seen me nearly all week."
"Yeah. Thanks very much for that."

If it hadn't been in front of all of his mates, whom she was meeting for the first time, and for the fact that all of her stuff and car was at his house - which was ages away from hers - then she would have walked out there and then.

Why not be upfront about it when he got home in the first place? Why not say "Yeah, sorry, I had breakfast with my Mum, but how about we go thru Macca's drive thru or something for you"? I guess that's just too thoughtful, hey?

It's not just a bit rough, it's plain bad manners. Men are cocks. They never change. And we just get Zinged because of it.

Martie does Flemington

Friends.

You know sometimes when you just get it all together; you're hot, you're on top of your game, and nothing is going to bring your confidence down? Bear with me while I still get over the shock of it all, as I present to you Racing's Unofficial Hot or Not List.

HOT: Cleavage.
NOT: Cleavage; arms/shoulders; legs; cut out bits of dresses; vadge. Ladies, you do not need to get your minge on at the races. Guys will be drunk enough to entice for a quick grope without it. Put it away.

HOT: The Member's Enclosure.
NOT: Not going to watch the actual race. If you want to watch it on a big screen TV, go to pub. It means you can take your jacket off without being told off by men in green top hats too.

HOT: Chicken & 'green stuff' sandwiches.
NOT: Paying $1.50 for a quarter (one triangle) of a sandwich.

HOT: Cheaper drinks than at a bar in the city.
NOT: The Fucktard who did not know how to make a vodka, lime & orange. It is NOT a strange combination.

HOT: Men in suits.
NOT: Men who go out of their way to look like they picked up their clothes from the Op-Shop that morning. Mate, no one was buying your brown checked pants; bottle green & red checked jacket; multicoloured stripe shirt and purple paisley tie. Try. Hard.

HOT: Me!
NOT: Me this morning!

Thoroughly glad I did go. My fake airbrush tan did not render me a human carrot. My tits (despite walking in the door seven seconds ahead of me - curse damn dress) were awesome. I had a win on Race Two, which gave me enough money to bet and drink with for the rest of the day AND I did not have to endure the Pissed Race-goer Parades Around The Casino All Dressed Up Like A Wank scenario. Although I nearly did freeze said tits off whilst waiting for a cab.

I already have my outfit planned for Caulfield Cup. Bring on Spring Racing!

Confessions of a Shopping Centre

Overheard in Kmart tonight:

Girlfriend: "I just bought a really nice L'oreal eyeliner, and it's like, wrecked already. Cost me like, $30."

Boyfriend: "Don't worry. You can borrow mine."

EEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Seriously though, isn't L'oreal a bit mainstream? Isn't there some sort of make-up brand out there that caters for these mizundertood kids with names like 'Death eyeliner' and 'Cut me Lipstick'? Very disappointing. Although the Commerce Student within is thinking 'Hmmm. Market Opportunity?'

***

Teasing me with Rusty Cock.

A crowded peak hour train.

Face to groin with the most FantaPants ever; his skin was practically orange too.

So, so SO hard to resist temptation to pull down his zipper, and take a little peek.

So close to the holy grail of pubes; only a piece of material separated me & it.

Going to see my therapist now.

Do I bother to straighten my hair?

Fucking. Weather.

Just when I've been looking forward to something for weeks. Just when I've fitted into the dress. Just when I've bought my pretty little hairpiece and entered the world of 'girl' by booking in to have my nails done.

It rains. Literally.

And it's going to keep on raining. Until Sunday.

At least I might brighten things up:


"Yellow is so very in, dah-links"

The God For Tarts Who Have A Predeliction For Drunk Men In Suits is really, really mean.


Note: At least all the rain will render the track 'dead', hence giving my 'Colours and/or Horse's names tipping theory a lot more credibility. Hurrah!

Crikey! Obligatory post ahead.

I can't not hey.

Steve Irwin. If you play with fire, eventually you're gonna get burnt. Or stung. Or barbed. Or whatever.

I'm suprised by the amount of vitriol going around about this 'tragic accident'. Sure, the bloke was a dickhead, and over enthusiastic in his animal love, but I'm not sure he deserved to die. Rapists, murderers, dog killers may deserve to die, but someone that was smart enough to build an empire on playing up the Aussie Ocker image, well, it's a little extreme.

OMG!!!!1! I should go to a forum or something. No. While it's tragic, the general consensus around the office was that it would have been more fitting had it been a crocodile. Oh! The so near irony of it all.

Now. I hope this all just goes away and we're not subject to tributes; repeats of The Crocodile Hunter; re-enactments, etc.

It's gettin' hot in herre.........

Heh. I meant to post on Tuesday to assure you that I wasn't taken while I slept by Mr Bad, but I just couldn't be bothered plain forgot.

Anyway, it's a SWELTERING Thursday night here in Melbourne, so much so, that I'm wandering around in my undies; rubbing myself with ice cubes to cool down*, etc. It's also the end of the week, and with it goes my ability to construct whole paragraphs. So for your Friday (unless, like me, you can't sleep because of the heat), here are some more Shorties.

***

My attempt appears to have paid off somewhat. Tonight, I tried on THE dress, and even though I'm going to look like a walking pair of tits, it's not at all the horror I thought it might be.

How ridiculous, that in four years (YES, that's correct. I am wearing a dress that is four years old to the races), I've obviously put on the most weight on my boobs. It should be the last place! At least I have the booty to match though.

Now, it's off to Priceline so that I may try on some red lipstick.

***

11:10pm - it's getting nearer to Serial Killer time again.

***

Uh-oh. I think I'm getting addicted to Idol. Sad but true. Actually, it's the second time that someone I actually know has been in the Semi-Finals/Final 12. I won't say any more, but I'm glad this person didn't get through because ZOMG he/she always thought she was soooo good when they were at high school. Suck it.

***

Father's Day. Sunday. So, little bro & I made the inevitible trip to Bunnings tonight for purchase of all sorts of hardware/hose nozzles/fluoro stanley knives. Anyway, we stood at the employee board out the front, pissing ourselves laughing at their stupid photos (and job titles - PAINT SPECIALIST! When I grow up, etc), and then we happened upon a poor girl with the unfortunate name of 'Che'. (For those of you not in the know, it means 'what?' in Italian (vocab translation only), and quite possibly Spanish too (Puss?).

Anyway, we had more than a few jokes about her name, until we had to actually walk inside, and who should be 'door duty'? Che. Oh Fuck. And I'm tipping she heard every word we said. Awww, I almost kinda feel bad.

***

Remind me to request that the Landlord to install air-con next week.

***

11:24pm OMFG - It's nearly the witching hour AND serial killer time.

***

I do not like boys with long hair. I have finally come to this conclusion. For the most part, it's greasy, it's messy, it's usually tied back with a hair tie, and I'LL BE FUCKED IF THEY SHOULD GET HAIR TIES, WHEN I CAN NEVER FIND ONE. Despite the fact I buy packets of the things. Anyway, despite the hair-tie envy, I still have NO attraction to long-haired guys, which is a shame, because they are probably pretty cool, underneath all that hair.

Long hair is probably the biggest physical feature that would put me off a guy. What's yours (on a girl even)? Are any of you long haired, and want to punch my face in for being hair-est?

***

I never knew how much of a good invention belts were until recently. I thought they were just decorative, I didn't actually knew they ACTUALLY held your pants up. Snaps to them.

***

It's too hot for serial killers tonight. Goodnight & a top weekend (sunbathing) to y'all!




* slight exxageration

Shorties

I had three days off work last week. I had an ear infection. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but I literally could not walk a straight line, or think, or listen to any sounds, etc, my ear was that sensitive. And apparently I may have Vertigo (hello, hello, I'm in a place called...etc, etc). I'm just nervous about going back. I've only been there two months, and I've now had three sick days. I feel bad.

***

I had breakfast in Clifton Hill this morning, and spent the afternoon at Fountain Gate. And I live in Mentone. WHAT PETROL CRISIS??? Nah, but seriously, people of the world, wake up to yourselves. The Drive-Thru queue at Krispy Kreme was at least an hour long - and people just kept joining it. They are friggin' doughnuts, for fuck's. If you really want good doughnuts, go and buy freshly made cinnamon ones, take them home, and smother with strawberry jam & freshly whipped cream. rox0r.

***

No one wants to see Snakes on a Motherfuckin' Plane with me (or, as this household calls it - Ants on a Motherfuckin' Benchtop - fucking rain). No one, apparently, except for my Dad. WTF? Apparently, I'm taking him for Father's Day. Noooooooo! Father's Day is all about a bottle of OP Rum and a 'Daddy' card. The last time my Dad was at the movies was when Rolling Jaffas Down the Aisle was considering the most rebellious thing a teenager could do.

So I tried out some of the lines on him at the dinnertable tonight:
"I am sick of these motherfuckin' potatoes on this motherfuckin' dinnertable"
and promptly got handed some soap (presumably to wash out mouth).
I don't think we'll be going anytime soon.

***

I made teh secks this weekend. A lot. Friends with benefits, friends with benefits.

***

I have really made a mess of my plan to lose weight to go to the races, haven't I? Although I didn't hoe down on the KK's today, I did have ice-cream with ICE FUCKING MAGIC last night, and was eating some pretty serious chocolate last week when I was snivelling with a pissy little ear infection feeling pretty fucking sick.

So I have to take a new approach. I've decided I'm going to have one vice. Yep, you guessed it. Milk & Chocolate Teddy Bears. If I let myself have one thing, then maybe I won't end up having a whole meal of vices.

It's so fucked. Why can't I be determined enough to lose weight? It's the one thing that makes me SO unhappy, and unconfident, and unsexy, and I always like to fuck it up for myself. Bizarre. I've tried all the mental tricks - cut out of body I want on the fridge, food diary, etc, etc, but I start, then don't follow through. Weight Watchers must be littered with an array of old memberships of mine, and there's too many times to count when I've tried to go it alone. Also, my nutritionist that I was seeing last year, has written me off I'm sure, and she is friendly, but really cold with me now. I feel like I've let her down. And my trainer. Why do I bother paying $140 a fortnight? You'd think these would all be GREAT motivating factors, but, meh - I just keep saying, I'll do it tomorrow. It bugs me. A lot*

***

Sometimes I'm scared to turn off the light because I think there is a serial killer looking in through my window.

Which is why this is turning out to be such a long post.

***

For some reason, I watched the bit on 60 Minutes tonight about the woman who was cryongenically (??) frozen until they find a cure for her cancer. This made me really mad; although I'm no believer in God, etc, I just think we're fucking around with something we shouldn't be. Especially after they said that essentially the process sucks out everything from your brain, which will most likely, take away everything that makes you uniquely you. Then they started talking about people who choose to just have their heads frozen, so they can be reattached to new bodies when technology catches up. WTF? I mean, it would be nice to say "Attach me to the body of Catherine Zeta-Jones when I wake up, cryogenic people", but really, that shit is fucked up right there.

SO...then I turned it over and watched Australian Idol, and promptly fell in love with the Irish bloke. Fuck he can sing. The rest are just Wanke**

***

I don't know how much longer I will be at this blogging caper; not that I don't want to, but because my laptop screen is dying a slow death, and judging by the amount of times it's flickered while writing this post, I'd say that time of passing may be hastened. (MAYBE I CAN GET IT CRYOGENICALLY FROZEN?).

Anyway, this is the only 'puter I'm able to post from: work is not like the good old days, where I could do anything and get away with it, for I was the IT master, this work actually has CONTROLS, and INTERNET SPIES LOGGING ACCOUNTS, ETC. And fixing a computer is so far down on my list of financial priorities right now, soooo, we'll see how we go. If I suddenly stop posting, you know where I've gone (To the cryogenics lab).

***

Confession time: I LOVE the new song by Justin Timberlake. Although I hate him in a 'little brother's friend that wouldn't be allowed past the front door way', that song is hot. And HOTT to dance to. As is the 'Permiscuous' song by Nelly. It's times like these when I wish I had a portable music device, so that I might press repeat on these songs over and over again until I feel like a radio station.

***

Surely the serial killer is starting to get bored now?

***

Match the following words with their appropriate description below:
The Boy, Friends with Benefits, Teh Secks, The Exile, Waking up next to someone:

- May have been with me at Fountain Gate
- Fucking Brilliant
- Comfortable
- Is my way of not getting too close again
- Is now over, on my terms.

***

Excitng Monday Morning Read for you all.

***

The serial killer can get fucked. I'm tired.



* Suggestions, Tips, Tricks (TOTALLY NOT IN AN A.J. FROM THE BIGGEST LOSER IN NEW IDEA WAY) are welcomed - please!

** Keeping with the theme, a Fountain Gate/Narre Warren in-joke.

Somedays...are better than others

I have an ear infection. Cope.

Ta Da! The break up.

He apologised. For reacting the way that he did. Although, my words freaked him out.

However, a week with no contact gives me time to think, you see? And time to not care. And time to develop ear infections. And chat up Men From Adelaide at the bar.

So, as cruel as it may sound - he's the one in limboland. For now.

And for the weekend - suffice to say I'm going to have a pretty fucked up mobile bill next month, Men From Ferntree Gully are fucked up losers, and much hangover foods were consumed on the Sunday.

Also, I was looking at myself naked in front of the mirror this morning, and have decided that I look a lot better with clothes off, than on.

Don't laugh.

When clothes are on - they tend to cut up your body, and anything but black will make you look larger than you actually are.

However, when clothes are off, everything's the one colour (unless you have one of those fucked up stripper tans with the boob lines), and you can see all the curves, etc. Quite nice. I was impressed with myself.

It's just a pity that I can't walk around naked.

Things I should be doing...

Instead of eating chocolate teddy bear biscuits and drinking milk

- Nothing.

There's nothing better than teddy bears and cold milk. Yummy.

Right then. Two Questions for your perusal:

A) DOES THIS MAKE ME A BAD PERSON?

When I was with the Ex-Fucker, he liked to listen to Midnight Oil. I don't mind Midnight Oil, but it used to piss me off that he liked to listen to them so much and I tried to turn them off whenever I could.

However, when I was with Jungle Boy, he HATED Midnight Oil. So...guess what I did? I used to turn it up whenever they came on the radio when we were in the car together. That's mean, isn't it? I'm such a horrible person. No wonder why I can't keep a boyfriend!

B) DOES THIS MAKE ME A BAD PERSON?

One of my goals for losing weight was to be able to fit into a pair of jeans with the button-down pockets on the back.

I live in jeans, I covet those ones with the pockets (so 2004 but I still think it's hot), and I was prepared to spend the big bucks on designer ones when I achieved my goal.

However, one went shopping today. And one just happened to be wandering through Target. And there, on a special rack, was a pair of jeans with button down pockets in my size.

For $15 (NB: not a miss-print)

I tried. I buyed.

They actually are a pretty good fit/wash/style. I quite like looking at myself in the mirror with them on.

The question is - now that my motivation has been removed, will I still continue on with my quest? I don't think that anything else turns me on more than those jeans - so I certainly can't think of anything I want to fit into badly enough. Any suggestions?

I shouldn't have bought them, should I? I have no willpower. No wonder why I can't lose weight.




Coming up - An Uplate Update update on the break-up. Because I know you can't wait*


*Not true.

Martie's Weekend Survival Kit

Let's say you were having a pretty shit week, and now it's almost the weekend.







Instead of moping about home, you can purchase my Weekend Survival Kit, and be feeling better in no time!

Contains:


1. One pair of new shoes!


2. One new top, especially made to amp up the cleave factor.


3. One dodgy pub, that you know will be full of randy guys, to wear your new top to.


4. Vast quantity of alcohol.


5. Handy supply of dancing songs.


6. One disco pash - can be extended if required.


7. Three new mobile numbers to flirt with


8. KFC on the way home


9. One vomiting episode


10. A massive fucking hangover the next morning, but at least it will take your mind off Mr Cunty McCuntburger of the previous week.


11. More new shoes.

And there you have it folks. It's the weekend of I don't give a flying fuck. Let's reconvene Monday*, and tick the items that you used.

And, that was the week that was.


* You know it's going to be earlier if Cunty McCuntburger decides to 'end' the 'time-out'.

AT LAST - A (TOTALLY FUCKING LAME, NO BALLS) REPLY

Le fucking sigh. Hopefully this is one of the last posts on this ridiculous bloody break up, which now looks like it will be drawn out by the stupid fucking notion of "Time Out".

Anyway, A REPLY WAS RECEIVED!!! OMFG. For the ones who are not frustrated as fuck interested, here it is:

"Nah, I don't really liek how you made me feel with the things you said. I need some time out, to think about things. I dislike being pressured into things, and that is honestly how you made me feel. I can understand that might want to look at settling down with somebody in the near future, but that is not part of my plans just yet. If that is how you feel, maybe I'm holding you back, I really don't know"

Possibly the longest feeling-related piece of information that he has ever released. No wonder why it took him three days to send it.

But now, it's painting me as some pushy, wedding-hungry biatch. You know the ones, "Marry me or it's over".

WTF?

Despite being the least pressuring person in the world, marriage/kids are not on my short term agenda. Especially not to him. If I dare say it, if there had been more open communication, then he would have known that we are both on the same page in relation to those issues.

Ok. I can understand how it may have made him feel. And as I have commented, and advised him (repeatedly), it wasn't my intention. I admit I did the wrong thing, but not intentionally. Does that make sense?

However, I think I've got some sort of a right to know where he sees himself going (he can demand this right from me, of course) in the future. At the risk of sounding callous, I don't want to be wasting my time. However, I just should have worded it better. Mistakes. Learn from. Etc. OK, ok.

SOME GOOD NEWS!

You will be most pleased to know that I no longer have the urge to text or call him. The funny feeling in my tummy is slowly disappearing. I guess because I now know, I don't really care much. Have your sook, but don't drag it out, or make it into something that it's not. It's not like I asked when we WERE getting married.

And 'Time Out'? For fucks. If you've ever used this piss poor excuse as a delaying tactic I will come and stab you in the eye with a Derwent. Seriously, I don't know how you see it, but I think that's it's merely a delaying tactic, until you grow some balls.

So, the 'goods' are still sitting here on the couch...I resisted the urge to pick the bag up on my way out this morning, and dump it in the bin...good aren't I?

Normal Restored (Is anything fucking normal around here though?)

Totally don't forget to read the other post, to gain some perspective, and marvel at how strong I am for not texting back anymore (only three days later - MARVEL, DAMN YOU).

*removes tongue from cheek*

Life is now returning to normal here in Martieland (hate to break it to you guys, but I think I might change the title of my blog again) - I have other, more pressing matters to attend to.

* I miss Big Brother Up Late. What the fuck am I supposed to watch now to send me to sleep? I also feel like I'm missing out on a whole new Mike Goldman wardrobe. Never mind Hotdogs, Mike is the shiznit. I think the question needs to be asked: WTF does he do with himself during the 'off season'??? The mind boggles.

* I am totally like an honarary doctor now, yo. I performed some minor surgery on myself yesterday - scrub me up and find me my own McDreamy. Wanna see what I did? Well I would show you, but stupid Blogger won't upload any of my images. Anyway, after 10 years, I've poked my earring through at the top of my ear. SO Rebellious, I know.

* A piece of Nutty Fudge from Michel's Patissiere is sitting in my fridge, taunting me. Fudge is not part of my dietary requirements. But it's oh-so-good. And nutty. Perfect for me.

* Today, I bought a purple pen. Huzzah!

Alright. That's all. I'm not sure when to expect the 'end-of-the-time-out-text-message', but I guarantee you two things; He won't want to 'work things out' and I'm going to be 'sad at first, but happy as fuck not long after'. So stick with me, I promise this won't last much longer.

xx

Raw feelings with Martie

Following last night's Total Smackdown Humiliation (SEE POST BELOW - DON'T MAKE ME RELIVE IT), I still have the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach (or is that just my broken heart sliding down?), however, at 6:03am this morning, I managed to do the following things:

* Collect his (un-maliciously-damaged) belongings and put them all in a plastic bag on my couch. Except for grey jumper, which truly is at my Mum's house and well if she shrinks it, I really don't care. Or, if he doesn't get in contact with me ever again, I guess I've scored a grey jumper with a paper clip as a zipper-upperer

* Delete the 51 saved text messages that I have stored since June last year. Lots of stuff; from the horny stuff, to the "I adore you" you stuff. I re-read them, then hit the button. BIG DECISION.

Stuff that happened before 6:03am:

* I put up a(nother) page on an Internet dating site. I don't particularly want anything to come out of it, but the ego boost would be nice. Getting back on the horse, I think they call it.

* I text a guy I met last year, that, for the fact that it was bad timing, I never pursued anything with. It was a long shot, and I doubt he'll even remember me, but I just mentioned we should catch up for a drink, etc. AT LEAST I CAN FOCUS ON THE REJECTION/NON REPLY FROM HIM, INSTEAD OF THE OTHER FUCKWIT.

* Replied to an email from a Fantapants from my failed Fantapants adventures. Was just checking old messages, and I found a follow up email from him, and he was cute and...well even if I just get a picture of his pubes, then it will be worth it. It's about as much dick as I want/will be getting anyway.

Stuff that just happened right now:

* I realised that I won't have to clean feverishly on a Saturday when he comes over - if I want to leave dishes in the sink for another day, then I damn well will. Although, then I realised, I actually enjoyed the cleaning up for him, not to mention that it made me motivated to do it. Guess who is now going to turn into the biggest slob ever?



I should get up now. Go to work. With the bags under my eyes from lack 'o' sleep, and that awful hollow pit feeling in my tummy.

Wow. So many posts; I should get dumped more often.

I appreciate all your kind words; honestly, I do. You are smart, intelligent people, and I know what you are saying is right.

I just can't feel it at the moment.

I vascillate between really angry, that he's taken something like this so personally and won't accept, or discuss my apology; to really pissed off with myself because I'm so stupid and emotional; to really believing that I love him.

I called him tonight.

You know that sick feeling that you have in the pit of you stomach; it just sits there, eating at you? I managed to get through the day ignoring that sick feeling. Despite the fact I just wanted to curl up in my bed and space out, I put on a good face, and was even cheery when I went out to visit some clients.

Except, at 8:33pm, I couldn't ignore it any longer.

I rang. I rang his mobile. It rang out. He never, doesn't answer his mobile.

I messaged him. Again, another apology - 'I just want to sort this out'.

But nothing. Even if it was a 'Get fucked, I don't want to hear from you again', I'd get it. I'd move on. I'd then become that strong girl that everyone's raving about, and move on with my life.

It's the not knowing, the not hearing that's killing me.

And I'm scared. Scared that the longer he ignores me, the worse the outcome is going to be.

I'm lying in bed right now, and I'm wishing I could feel his body against mine. It's such a warm, comforting feeling, and think that I'll never have it again...

For someone to accept me, in all my non-size eight glory, and my non-Miss Universe looks, and all my weird sense of humour, and stupid comments, is one in a million. And I fear I have not the strength to go through this again.


I am so lonely.

Masterful Martie

Alright. Caved.

I text JB - again - to apologise - again - and no reply - again.

So it's time for Martie to pull a little BITCH (or devastated 17 year old) out of her arse.

No more messages.

AND

It seems I'm in possession of a nice looking grey jumper. I might have just happened to give it to my mother/aka - Queen of Shrinking Washing. Whoops.

I might have just happened to DROP his toothbrush into my toilet. Whoops.

Oh no! I might have just dropped the expensive aftershave sitting in my wardrobe on the pavement outside.

And how did all of the packets of Nurofen end up in my desk drawer at work?

Don't even go there with the Mouthwash, or the favourite pyjama pants.


All I need is the keys to my apartment back.



But I can always get the locks changed...

OMG!!!!! IT'S SO MUCH FUN BEING DUMPED

My life is so HUZZAH at the moment.

I honestly couldn't even read all the way through that last post; so I apologise now to everyone that had to endure it.

I've sent two apology text messages (This bloke doesn't deal through phone calls, etc - I KNOW. I JUST ANSWERED MY OWN QUESTION AGAIN), and have heard nothing, so, I'm going to leave it at that.

Thou shalt be left with a smattering of dignity.

And now, I'm off to kickboxing to uh, kickbox it all out. Not that I can really be bothered. I don't know that I will be able to deal with a guy handing out orders to me tonight.

And yes, I'm glad some people concur with my 18 month theory. Thank you ever so much. I'm going to get the lease drawn up tomorrow, and then maybe start planning my (solo) trip to Europe in 19 months time.

A girl's gotta have dreams, AND THIS ONE IS STILL WIDE AWAKE!




omg...

Boohoo. Woe is Me. Etc.

This is probably going to be a long, rambling post. It probably won't even stay up very long. It's probably going to be in mosts parts very poorly written and all 'poor me' but I've got to write it. I've got to get it out of my system. So go eat a bag of dick if you don't like it.

It's so hard when the person who you consider to be the absolute love of your life, doesn't reciprocate your feelings. Or at least you think he doesn't. And he hates you. And doesn't think you're very nice. And won't return your text messages. Which makes you even more desperate and send more saying sorry. Let me explain.

In short, the lease on my place is up in a month. The rent is going up $10, but I have the option of locking it in for six months, a year, 18 months or 2 years. So far, no one has been much help with what I should do. Let me stress, I don't want people to make the decision for me; I just want some considered opinions.

Jungle Boy, with whom I've been going out for over a year now, hasn't been much help in this respect. But I guess what I realise now is that with wanting his help about what I should do, I also wanted some clarity on where the future of our relationship lies.

After having a huge fight with my parents tonight about what I wanted to do (sign for 18 months - I made my descision today), I was feeling all confused again. Especially after talking to my friend Grace, who said I should only sign for six months.

I asked JB what he thought. Honestly, I've never had to make a descision like this before, and, considering the market, interest rates, etc, I thought some advice from people who have their shit together WOULDN'T HURT. Let me stress, that I have never pushed the point about living together, kids, marriage, etc. I've always been quite content to go on my merry way, and wait to see what the future held.

Except, I started talking about the lease - my eighteen month time frame I THOUGHT was pretty good. Enough time to do my own thing, but just in case other things came up, a good enough time to get out. I mooted the possibility of two, or even three years. 2 years, I could nearly handle, but three is not really what I want. Let me now stress again that bringing up the possibility of three years was not solely a test to see how he felt about our relationship; I will admit it was a little, but I was thinking along the saving money by locking in the rent line as well: I do still have to look out for myself too.

To him now though, I probably look like one of those pushy chicks etc. I'M NOT!!! I feel all neurotic, and often lack self-confidence, but the last thing I would want to do is push someone into something. Please trust me on this one. But I am a planner, and an organiser, and it would be nice to have clarity on how someone feels about you (I know he purportedly adores me, but is it adore for 'now', or something that you could maybe feel for the rest of your life?), and where they think the relationship is going.

I know, I could be an adult, and just ask him. But something gives me the impression that he is not comfortable talking about stuff like that, and he has even said as much. Because he is not used to having someone to talk to etc, etc. And yes, I know I am answering my own question, but let's push on hey?

So, in all of my Fucked Up Martie Wisdom, I thought that I could find out while he gave me some help. Because honestly, if the roles were reversed, and he was thinking about signing a lease for such a long period of time, I'd probably say that I had plans for maybe taking the relationship a step further, and it would be within those three years, and maybe only sign it for a shorter period.

So you can see how I assumed that he obviously doesn't feel the same way as I do; when I agreed with me when I suggested the three years. So yeah, in some More Fucked Up Martie Wisdom, I took it as a sign that this was him letting me down gently. And then I told him it was all cool, and at least I know how he feels now, etc etc. Neurotic. Insecure. Yes, I did admit it.

So he basically thinks that I tricked him now, and that he doesn't think what I did was a 'very nice way to go about it'. By that I think he means that it wasn't a very nice way to go about finding out how he felt about things. And yes, I'll reiterate, I should have just asked him straight out. But, here's the next bit...

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what he'll say. I'm afraid of rejection. I'm afraid of putting it out there, and getting it thrown back in my face. With the Ex-Fucker, it was easy. We both knew (or at least he pretended very well) where we were heading, and how we felt about each other. Now, with JB, I feel that very same way, but I don't know how he feels. Again, I'm probably answering my own question (if you can't communicate openly about stuff...), but I'm ridiculously in love with him.

Actually, even as I write that, I think it's a lie. I like him a lot, I think I do love him. But am I just in love with the idea that one day he is going to open up to me, and I'm going to break down all of the barriers he has up? Maybe it's a challenge, which is why I can't see past all the shit, because I think I'm going to crack the code at the end?? Maybe I'm answering my own questions again. I THINK I'M PRETTY FUCKING GOOD AT ANSWERING QUESTIONS, DOES ANYONE WANT ME ON THEIR TEAM FOR A TRIVIA NIGHT??

Maybe it's a distance thing. Maybe we just live too far away from each other's - we've both admitted that if we lived closer to one another, we'd be popping over all the time. Now, the drive is bring a six pack and a cut lunch. Maybe that's why we're not as intimate as we should be at this stage of a relationship? Because we don't see each other that often, so the communication still doesn't flow like it should. Or maybe I should stop comparing to previous relationships, and analyse this one on its merits?

Or maybe I should just throw this laptop at the window (a statement, not a question). This is driving me insane. I know it's nearly half past one in the morning, I know he's not going to text me back now anyway. I know I've probably blown my chance, by acting like a 16 year old.

There's snotty tissues lying all over my bed, and I have big puffy crying eyes, and I have to get up in five hours time, but, we'll push on, shall we?

I honestly, honestly, honestly did not mean to trick him. I can see how it might look that way, but it's not. Then when he really didn't protest against the three years, I just assumed. Maybe assumed wrongly, but what else was I meant to assume? just that he is missing a 'sensitivity chip', or if that's how he truly feels. He's a smart boy, so my bets were on the latter.

You know how I know he's smart? Because when I asked him how he went on his tax, he said 'good' and left it at that. If it was me, I would have said "I got $200 back", or similar. I have no qualms about that sharing that sort of stuff - especially when it's my boyfriend. Also, he got a payrise a few weeks ago - even though I asked, he never actually told me how much the rise was, or even how much he earns. Yet, I do & I have. I have never thought of it as a trade secret - sure you don't go round telling people at work, etc, but what does it matter if you're telling your partner?

Clearly, a lot. I might a have digressed a little, but I was just thinking of it then, and how it may be an indication that he keeps me shut out of his life. Kept at arm's length, except when he wants a root. How crass of me to say that.

Anyway, the short of it is; he never replied to my last text message, which indicates he is really fucking pissed off with me, especially since the one before that was the "not very nice" one. So I've to assume that it's over; it has to be over after this, surely? It's just one too many dramas when I'm around - I've really got to pull myself together, fuck it. If only I could play it cool - but sometimes I have that emotive voice in my head, and it seems to come out Sundays. Like the blonde thing last week. That stemmed from me being insecure on Sunday night, which led to him telling me that he liked blondes with big tits. Maybe it's because I get all emotional when he leaves - after seeing him for less than 24 hours? I feel insecure when he goes to have his regular Sunday night tea with his parents - after his mum rings him twice - maybe it's because I STILL HAVEN'T MET HIS PARENTS YET.

And yes, again I'm aware I'm answering my own question.

Ok, well now that I've written the longest, crappiest post in the entire history of blogging (see, I knew I'd be first at something) and chewed the ear off the nicest person in history, I'm gonna take my snotty tissues, and head to bed. Or at least, try and get some sleep, even though I'm just going to lay awake thinking about how much of an idiot I am.

Yours truly, etc

Martie.

Arrest me

I've totally decided to steal this idea from Enny, so put me in handcuffs and call me Doreen.

Anyway, on with the show.

Deal is; 'list your blogroll & say something nice about them in one sentence'. Ummm, don't know how NICE I can be, but let's give it a shot.

And just like Enny, I'm too lazy to link, so just check with corresponding order on links (NB: I might just use posting names). Yo.

* Tokenwoman. Happy to hear that she loves Meatloaf as well. Will watch read with interest to see if she moves in with her boy (if I am correct about her last post).

* Under-whimsy Mel. I am FASCINATED that she actually has the (metophorical) balls to post her pics on the interwebs. Not that they're bad, just that they're there.

* Katie-baby. I'm still not sure what it is that I'm supposed to have wanted. But she is ace. And she knows it ;-)

* Culture Strain Sam. I'm so down with the bitch. I kinda want Ian Thorpe to come out, just so I can read the post.

* Dangerous Curves/Janet. Not really posting much anymore, and according to Martie's bloglore, I probably should remove it. But I covet the blogtitle.

* Dawei. See Strain, Culture. I wanna see the bitchfight as to who gets the post out first.

* Dilletante. Who could pass up man looking like Tony Martin?

AM I BEING NICE YET? YES. YES I AM.

* Dot & Mars. A relatively new addition. I like their layout. Truth be told though, I am jealous of their housemate relationship. But not with Emo.

* En Garde. This chick has really bad luck with men. And she just bought a motorbike. But that's ok, because I TOTALLY am liking the way she words her replies to her illiterate suitors.

* Ruby. A tough chick, when she posts. I loved her series on all the guys she's scored. But again, very sporadic now and I might have to remove her.

* Interpret this. My fellow Scissor Sister lover, and hot to boot. Pity he lives in South Australia.

* Hambo. Me & Desci's shared internerd boyf. And he sounds cute on the phone.

* Desci. The original intermanet hotness. And still the best. But we DO want more sex! The second blog I ever read, and my 'inspiration' to start my own. LOLLERSKATEZ!

* Michael on Morons. I don't know about this guy. Sometimes he sounds like he is 15 years older than he is. I want him to have some fun for a change. So serious!

* Not Working to Potential. I like reading about her house dimlemmas, but the black and white template drives me a little bit crazy. And she's just moved blogs. And I have to email her to get the details. And I think I might be too lazy/unmotivated/scared of black and white to do it. But I LIKES the idea though.

* Whatnot Alex. OMFG THE CUTEST FUCKING GIRL ON THE INTERWEBS. I covet thee skateboard!

* Somewhat Sober. Another blog that I got reading because I like the title. Howevs, she hasn't posted since April, so it's probably another one to whittle off my list.

* Dollop. Because I like spa parties?

* DJ. Best stories about drunken Yarra cruises evs. Reminds me of...ME! (Not as a DJ, but as a drunken person on a Yarra cruise).

* Spin. First 'blog' that I started reading. Followed a link posted in the Idle Forums complaining about a recap. FYI - I was trolling, not singing the praises. So, in essence, Spin was the perfect site for me. Although I must admit it pisses me off that I don't get to comment on there as much now - by the time I get around to it, it's too late and I miss all the good threads. Fuck that.

* Ben. My vodka slurpee buddy, despite not ever having consumed one with him. Doesn't post much any more. OMG, all these people and uni and stuff.

* Enny. Cruiser habit is dubious, but this chick is tops, and will kick your ass to boot. And I'm sure she doesn't mind if I steal her blogpost idea.

There are others. I have about three that I read all the time, but I'm still too lazy to add to my links. So sozzie. Especially to Prue, I promise I will get there eventually! How can one pass up pink flamingos??

The Boy is back and I'm not blonde

SAY...you're enamoured of a boy, and the boy is enamoured of you.

HOWEVS.

Boy admits that he is most attracted to girls with blonde hair, and big tits.

And while you've got the boobies down pat, your hair is most definitely the colour of rich dark chocolate, not spun straw.

SO.

Is it something to worry about? Apart from the perve factor, is he always going to be on the look out for a 'blonde you'? Or should you just take it with a grain of salt, and believe it when he tells you that he is attracted to you and adores you?

OMFG Nuerosis!

*****

The GOLDEN CHILD is back! That's right, Brother Martie has returned from the Land of the Rising Sun, after 18 months of drinking teaching english, and is back in his Golden Child status as favourite of the parents.

I've been reduced to attempting to cook COCKTAIL FRANKFURTS and frozen peas corn and carrots.

I hate when those bastards split.

Mind you, I'm still waiting for an Authentic Japanese Souvenir.

*****

Now that GC is back, he's decided to have clean up. FOUND: all my old school diaries! I had a wonderful night reading through them; mind you every second page was "I love Tony Lockett" or "I Love Tim Fisher".

I won't bore you with all the minute details, although I was very colourful and artistic back in the day.

However, I did come across one year that my mate Bubsy saw fit to write a 'tip' on every week of my diary. I present:

* Week starting January 29th: Don't eat scabs from your knees

* Week starting March 4th: Don't put hacksaws up your arse

* Week starting May 6th: Try not to rip out your lungs

* Week starting October 7th: Don't kill your friends with rusty old screwdrivers

* Week starting December 9th: Don't turn your pets into dragons by using spells from the Ashton Scholastic Kids Book of Magic Vol. 1

SHUT UP!

1996 was a bit light on, okay??!!

*****

Meanwhile, I'm off to Target to buy:


This dress.

AND


These shoes.

And possibly:


Dye my hair this colour.

Oooh La Fucking La!

Self-congratulatory

OMGWTFBBQ!!!!1!

Stop the FUCKING press.

You all owe me a thank fuck for that congratulations.

I did it.

I changed my mobile number.

So there will be no more invitations to suicide parties; no more (false) accusations that I am the cause of drug taking; no more announcements of gay sex at male spas in Richmond; no more sticking the knife in about the 'new girlfriend'.

NO MORE!

And the best bit? This was last ever text message to him; my response to him wanting my help with his 'new girlfriend' and his message that her earning more than him makes him feel bad about himself:

"Well, at least it will allow you to stay home and look after the kids"

Fucking SNAP!

I'm so happy, I could post my mobile number on the internet! As long as the Ex-Fucker doesn't have it, I don't care who does!

And the best bit? No more boring sooky posts about him. Everybody wins! SNAP again! It's the weekend! Cheers!

Day 1

Ok, well, feel free to kick my ass...

CONSUMED:

Tall Mocha
Muesli Bar
Mandarin
Chicken & Salad Sandwich
Diet Coke
Cherry Ripe
Spag Bol
Lemon Pudding
Diet Pepsi
Cup of tea

SMACK!

I need to:
Ditch the Muesli Bar (please do not make me give up the goodness of Mochas that I have just discovered)
Ditch the bread, and just have chicken & salad instead
Ditch at least one diet cola drink, if not both
Ditch the pasta at dinner - have at lunch instead (if needed)
I'm sorry, Lemon Pudding??
Undecided about Cup of Tea.

Ok. Let's see how we go tomorrow.

Lastly: A plea for help

"Plea plea. Plea plea"

Do any of you gourmets out there know how to cook a chicken fillet like it has been roasted? You see, I'd make my own chicken & salad (to save some money), but I hate cold cooked chicken fillet - always so tough on the outside. I love Roast Chicken, the meat doesn't go hard, but too expensive to buy when I'm only going to use the breast meat ( DON'T HATE ME 'COS I DON'T EAT MEAT WITH BONES!!). Is there a marinade that I can use? If so, how long?


OMG - CHERRY RIPES ARE NOT YOUR FRIEND, MARTIE

Attempt #1759

You might totally think that I'm all

(Not actual brain. Perhaps try Drainage Pattern: associated with the work of streams, etc)

now that I have been invited to my very first suicide party. Boy, that Ex-Fucker of mine really knows how to party like it's 1999, hey?

But, Like Fuck I Am.

I'm not mental. I may draw pleasure from simple things like balloons and coloured straws, but at least I don't go round slashing people in the face with my stanley knife.

Anyway, for countless times, I've been trying to lose weight. 800 in fact. Just while I have been writing this blog.

But anyway, I know what to do - I just have to do it. And now I have an 'event' that I can use as a kick start.

So. September.







I've got a black and white dress that busts out the BEST CLEAVE in the business, which I want to wear with black tights, a nice pair of rounded toe shoes (if I achieve my goal, I'll buy myself a new pair), and a little black cardi. With red accessories (hairpiece/jewellery/lipstick - if I can pull it off).

So. My task starts today. I NEED to fit into that dress, if only because I can't afford to buy a new one.


GET MOVING FATTY!