1000 Apologies Master

Apologies for lack of blogging activities/commenting.

I'm more taped up than a bitch at a bondage club.

I 'appear' to have some sort of spinal injury and reading/typing with laptop on knee whilst in bed is not conducive to my convalescence.

Hopefully normal activity will resume when I am able to hold my neck up for any decent length of time (IE - longer than 10 seconds).

In the meantime, please enjoy the following image in honour of baby brother coming home on Sunday. Yes I know it's grainy but I am not in possession of a scanner and trust me I am still fuck off cute under all that...grain.



See you on the flip side bitches

M xx

Ding! I've been tagged

Many thanks to the lovely Miss Rigo (call her 'Rye-go" and she'll punch you in the face) for this one, but yep, is was all nasty Dollop's fault.

He He He

Oh my gosh, look at the time I am posting this! So early for someone with the day off! I'm actually just getting all my shit together before it turns into a 9000 degree day, and I go to the Mothership's to leech the air-con.

And so on with the meme (fucking stupid name):

What were you doing 10 years ago?

Lusting after my high school crush, Tim Fisher. I think I believed in love enough, that for Valentine's Day, I bought him the new Red Hot Chilli Peppers CD, wrapped it up, and put it in his schoolbag anonymously. Only to have his best friend and my arch enemy, Ben W, tell all and sundry that it was from me (my crush was no big secret to anyone; the secret admirer thing might have been a waste of time), so that I couldn't even look him in the eye after that. In short, this is why I have hated V-Day since.

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Still google-stalking Tim Fisher. This is as far as I have gotten. Also, I was getting my heart broken by the Ex-Fucker again, as it is very close to the day that he tricked me into having sex with him, by telling me that he wanted to get back together with me. Cunt.

Snacks you enjoy:

I think everyone knows this about me already. Microwave popcorn. Peanut M&M's. Cashews. Smash your head biscuits.
Luckily I have seen the light, and I now enjoy almonds, fruit and corn thins.

Songs to which you know all the lyrics:

'Cherry Cherry', by Neil 'I am not a cubic zirconia' Diamond

I could be here for days listing the songs that I know. So here are some ones I prepared earlier:

'Harpoon' by Jebediah
'Paradise by the Dashboard Light' by Meatloaf
'Maggie May' by Rod Stewart

Things you would do if you were a millionaire:

Where do you start? Houses, cars, etc for everyone. A fuck off expensive pink diamond ring for myself. Constant extermination of spiders at my house. Money to charities like the Lost Dogs Home and the Save-a-Dog scheme, etc. Then I'd put the rest in the bank, and live off the interest while I took myself back to Uni to study History.

Bad habits:

Finding the wrong men; using my Visa card; buying sunglasses; mindless snacking on 'bad' food (it adds up) and being too lazy to take my dogs for a walk.

Things you like doing:

Taking my dogs for a walk; kickboxing; buying sunglasses; washing; planning things.

Things you would never wear, buy or get new again:

BAHAHAHAHA! A dressing gown.

Parts of your heritage:

Apparently there's Chinese in my Dad's line, but I've never seen any evidence of that. So, I'm just plain old boring convict-y.

Things that scare you:

Spiders. Crawl-y things. Rabbits. People that dress in those oversized character suits and walk around shopping centres. The dark.

Fears you overcame:

Nothing. I'm still a scaredy cat.

Your everyday essentials:

Sunglasses. Talking to my best friend.

Things you are wearing right now:

This is a bit '1900', isn't it???

But for the sake of the meme, I am wearing fuck off cute pyjamas. And my glasses (not of the sun variety).

Things you wore too much last year:

Thongs (of the feet variety). And Black.
And I'm not about to change my habits this year either.

This year's favourite bands or musical artists:

Hmm. There's a song on the radio called 'Gabrielle' or at least it mentions the name 'Gabrielle' a few thousand times. I like that. I haven't had much exposure to anything else, so can I just say Neil Diamond and be done with it?

Things you want most in a relationship:

Communication. Honesty. Great conversations. Hot sex. A secret understanding. Acceptance.

Your favourite movies of the year:

The only one I've seen so far is Harry Potter. Anything with Vince Vaughn or Oliver Platt that's coming out. Oh, I can't wait to see 'M' either.

Best movies of all time:

Gone with the Wind. Romper Stomper. A Night at the Roxbury. Dodgeball. Die Hard II. Delta Force, or anything with Chuck Norris. Very highbrow, I know.

Best TV shows of all time:

The Late Show. The Office.

Things you hate:

Spiders. People who are 'fake'. Skipping. 9000 degree weather. The list could go on and on...

Your favourite hobbies:

I always feel like I should write stamp collecting in this bit. But no.

Reading. Interior design. Sport.

Things you learned last year:

That you never quite see every side to a person, until adversity. That I never want to open my heart up to anyone again, for fear of it getting pulverised like the Ex-Fucker accomplished. That I missed my brother far more than I thought I would. That I must eat protein with every meal.

Accomplishments you are proud of (from last year):

I lost 5kg in the last 7 weeks of the year (party season). I kissed a 19 year old boy, who thought I was 21! I made the first move to patch things up with an old friend; it didn't work, but I'm proud I tried. I started eating breakfast.

Things you want really badly:

My teal Oroton wallet. A new job. A tan. Sunglasses.

Things that many people do and you don't:

Smoke. Never, ever, EVER tried it.
Take Holidays.

Interesting places that you’ve been to:

I've been nowhere. It's embarrassing when you meet up with old friends and they ask what you've been up, and you say, 'working and pissing it all up again', and they say 'Well, I've been here, here, there, here and even here!'

Places you want to go on vacation:

Vanuatu / Tahiti / Bora Bora / Cook Islands, etc. Then, for travel, Europe, and America.
Oh, and also Perth, and Mallacoota.

Things you want to do before you die:

See above question. Find Tim Fisher and tell him that I had a crush on him for all six years of high school and can I please just have one little kiss so that I can die a happy girl? Design my dream home. Find the ultimate sunglasses. Finish this meme.

Ways that you are a stereotypical example of your gender:

Bitchy. Scared of Spiders. Know my way around every shopping centre & shopping strip in Melbourne.

Things that make you stand out from your gender:

Ummm, I have great boobs?

Strengths you’re particularly proud of:

Anything work-related. My sporting ability.

Strengths that are also weaknesses:

I find it hard to say that I need help

Things you normally wouldn't admit:

I sometimes use act 'ditsy' to get what I want.
I enjoy going to work.
I like hairy men.
That the reason I'm finding it so hard to break it off with Jungle Boy is because I sometimes think I'm in love with him.

Goals for the New Year:

Lose the rest of the weight I need to lose & get really fit again. Get a new job. Save some money. Find ultimate sunglasses. Continue quest to googlestalk Tim Fisher.

I tag:

No one. An hour and a half later, and I'm broken.

Renovation Rescue & the sound of wedding bells...

In exactly two weeks time, my little brother will be coming home.


Look at him, isn't he cute?!

(Many moons ago, I wanted to marry my brother, all policemen and goats. Luckily for me, I had a big fight with my brother; my ex-boyfriend became a cop and I learnt, through baby jebus' christian followers, that bestiality is wrong, boys and girls).

He is bringing with him his girlfriend. AND her mother!! Is an engagement on the cards? Jeepers! Who knows!

Whatever is going on, it has now turned the parentals into DIY fiends. Dad is painting like a man possessed, and doesn't it give him the shits, that everytime I go over I manage to find a huge spot that he's missed, etc. Of course, I have offered to help, but ever since the Great Painting Incident of the 80's, where i painted myself, the footpath, the cat, the trees, BASICALLY EVERYTHING EXCEPT THE ACTUAL HOUSE, I have been banned from picking up a paintbrush.

The Mothership is also getting into the spirit of things, although her catchcry is not "To Bunnings we go!"; it's more "New Carpet! New Lounge Suite!". Admittedly, new carpet is desperately needed; the 1960's commotion there now would go very well in a student bedsit, but it is rather headache inducing for the oldies.

A sneaky suspicion that someone is trying to impress the potential in-laws, hmmm?

Whilst mulling this over with a few friends, one of them asked me: "But won't it just kill you if your brother gets engaged before you do?"

Kill me? Probably not. I've been thinking lately that maybe I'm not the engaging type. Certainly not the marrying type. Well not now anyway. I'm more interesting in my career and sorting myself out, to be planning weddings and babies etc. My my, how things change. Once, I wanted to have EIGHT babies.

I also think I'm too much of a control freak to get engaged/married, etc. As I've stated before, the guy would have to propose with a fuck off huge bunch of hot pink balloons, in one of which would be my platinum ring with an emerald cut pink sapphire and an emerald cut diamond on either side.

Then the engagement party (if we had one), would just be a small affair - personally I think they can be a bit of wank. I'd then get married barefoot on a beach at sunset in Vanuatu or Tahiti, with only my immediate family, his immediate family, and our very close friends. After we got back, we'd organise a BBQ celebration in the backyard, invite everyone that actually means something to us (not the obligatory invites that are so common), with Bi-Lo sausages in bread and my Mum's AWESOME hamburgers. And that'd be it. Oh, and plenty of booze.

When I find the guy who actually wants to do it this way, then I will be ready to get married.

So good luck to my partner in crime of childhood past. I hope that he's happy, whatever they are planning on doing. I just might score a trip to Japan out of it too.

Fuckin' Chuck Norris

Whoa! I'm really going to town tonight, aren't I? I'll have to leave those pink marshmallows alone.

Anyway THIS is pure GOLD. Just keep hitting F5 for more random Chuck Norris goodness.

The 'Awards' to beat all awards

Really, why bother with the the Blog Awards, when y'all should get voting for Miss Internet 2006.

I have no idea who the reigning Miss Internet is, or just what any of the candidates think about *World Peace*, but uh, who cares? Spewin' there's no talent section though...


Bonus points if you can guess which one is MY entry...

Maybe just a little while longer?

"You will let me know how your job interview goes won't you, my red foiled baby doll?"




*sigh*

The Gamble

Anyone who knows me knows that a haircut is akin to pulling teeth for me. So, like my annual trip to the dentist - I took myself off to a 'recommended' salon for a new 'do. Now I'm looking all a bit straggly. And violet-red streaky. And...maybe it will be better when I wash it.

And oh - blessed news! I have one job interview tomorrow. Fabulous. One suspects that violet-red is not-so-hot in the corporate world at the mo'.

Maybe these red streaky things, oh-so-hot on coy asians, will give me a fiery redhead (NOT fantapants) attitude that I so desperately need at the moment. You see, I have made up my mind; I'm going to break up with the Jungle Boy.

Yes yes, I know I've said it before (lots), this time I'm oh-so-serious. And it's not about the dressinggown. It's been one looong week of ignoring me...I know that he's busy at work - but it takes nothing to say hi.

He:
* Never asked me how my visit to the nutrionist was on Monday (fine thanks, LOST 0.3 kg's over the 3 week holiday period of eating shit and not training).
* Never responded to my distress call when told of the $2.5B bill that I would be receiving for my car soon. Seems my snazzy little European car, needs some snazzy little European brake discs and pads, and some special little tyres to go with it. I wasn't asking for the money, I was just upset.
* Hasn't asked me anything at all about the job interview that I am going to tomorrow. Nothing. Hasn't even wished me good luck.
* Hasn't asked me anything about my haircut, even though he knew how terrified I was of going in the firstplace.
* Told me that I couldn't get a 'lesbian' haircut (read: anything above the shoulders, or short and spiky), but that he could get wanky blond tips, and GROW A BEARD if he wanted.

Oh gosh, I do sound like a complaining old bag, don't I? Problem is, you could take any week, and it would still be like that, just different scenarios. We have such a brilliant time when we're together, that I keep thinking that it will all 'work itself out'. I am honestly really upset at the thought of it all, but when shit like above happens, while he's professing that he feels 'empty' when he's not with me, I just don't know what to think. I need to have one of those 'chick flick' revelations, where I decide that no man ain't ever gonna treat me bad again. ("I am not a doormat, I am not a doormat").

Passion (killer) of The Chad

Really. Why is everyone getting into such a tizz over these, when there should be more rage and outcry over something like this?

I don't care much for people (god strike me) but show me animal cruelty and I'm the one organising, leading and packing packing up the banners after the protest.

If by chance this sick fuck ever came near me, I would, quite seriously, cut off his balls, bait them, and then force him to eat them - with a couple of fucking blows to the head for good measure. Don't think that I exxagerate about this either. Sure I'm all sparkly things and boys and hardcore pornography for the most part, but this makes me utterly fucking sick and I probably shouldn't even get started about what would happen if someone did this to my dogs.

*breathes deeply*

Uh, yeah ok. Being on holidays doesn't give me an opportunity to post any earlier. I've got hardcore pornography to download. Speaking of which, a totally unrelated masterbation story:

I was at Jungleboy's house on the weekend; while he tottered off to work, I took the opportunity to have a sleep-in. Of course, nothing ever goes to plan, especially after a hot shagging session just before he left, so instead of sleeping, I let my hands do the wandering. Which was all good, except that I forgot I had the TV on (tuned to Rage - it was early & cartoons are not my bag at that time of the morning). Next thing you know, I'm upping the pace a bit, and just before bad light is declared on the pitch, I've opened my eyes, and there, on the teev, I see this:

"Oh, my goodness Mr Paddlepop Lion. Touch me there. Yes. Yes"

and it's all over. I now know how guys feel when they lose an erection quickly. It was like the vadge had shrivelled up and gone off to be an internal organ for a while. Only through the many coaxings with promises of hardcore porn and tender waxings, did it agree to see the light of day again.

Got the M&M's though.

Wow! That colour really matches your eyes.

Yo. Okay well it was an overwhelming yes, so it seems that Cinderella will be going to the the ball after all. Especially if Mr Hottness himself is going to be there. I've decided that my quasi-single status renders me available for going, and whatever else may come up.* However, as I explained to this fine lass in Canberra, I won't be getting myself set up with anyone. Too much risk of ending up with a guy wearing one of these:

"Mmmmm, baby. Nice vest".

Stay tuned for such exciting posts as: 'Losing booty for dress'; 'OMGWTFBBQ!!!!1! Which colour nailpolish goes better?'; 'Should I really wear that feather boa?'; and 'The night I copped a feel of Hambo (after he'd taken off his vest).** That's quality right there folks.

In other random shit, could the woman above me, who insists on vacuuming her floors at 12:30am on a school night, PLEASE STOP. I'm trying to blog surf intermanet for porn sleep.

Hurrah, just realised that tomorrow is Friday the 13th! Spookfest ahoy. *note to self to check TV guide for lame horror movies* Please remember not to walk under any ladders, or fuck any black cats. Well, you know what I mean. Be vigilant, people!

In more random shit, I need a new wallet. And I've found exactly the one, so if you happen to come across Jungle Boy, please let him know that I DESIRE the teal wallet at Oroton that I drooled over just before Christmas. I'm giving him one last chance on Valentine's day (or anyday really), before I become full-i single.

Lastly, I'm on holidays next week! Hurrah! Not so much hurrah that I'm going away anywhere, but still. No work! Am already so busy though - getting my car serviced; nutritionist (Oh. Fuck.), kickboxing, lunch with friends, etc, etc, so there won't be much time for reading. Which truly sucks, because I was hoping to catch up on some good books that I have lying around enticingly.

Oh, and this weekend, I'm having sexual relations & peanut m&m's. Hurrah!


* - Get your minds out of the gutter. I was not referring to any penises.

** - Completed fabricated and wildly imaginative statement, Caz

A Moral Question

Because you know that I'm no good at the moral stuff. I can't decide if I am immoral, or amoral. Maybe a bit of both. Or maybe I do have good morals, but am just influenced by the dark side on some occasions.

Right. Well, on with the show:

Is it 'ok' for a Girl, that has a 'boyfriend', to accompany her best buddies to this very classy event? Keep in mind, the emphasis on the question is not is it ok to attend this festy meat market stylish soiree, but rather to attend if one has a man at home?

Some parameters for you to consider:

PROS

* Best Buddy accompanied said girl to previous events when she was man-ned up
* Aim is not to 'pick up'; just dress up, drink up, and lap teh hottness up (translation, watch others make fools of themselves)
* Killing Heidi are playing*
* Guys in suits are hott
* Alcomohol
* Get to go on rides (Venue: Luna Park)

CONS

* Attendance by Girl the previous previous year did not make the Ex-Fucker (at the time, just the Fucker) very happy
* Dressing up means effort; drinking up means generally YOU will make an fool out of yourself and 'pick up' a younger guy with a dick the width of a Coke can (NO SHIT)
* Killing Heidi are playing*
* To get alcomohol, you have to pay $105 bucks. There are budget restrictions.
* Chance that while on rides, inebriated fuckers might spew all over you. Noice.

So, what is a Girl to do?



* One of these statements is a bold faced lie.

If only we could get Legs to run...

Dear Bladder,

Look, I know that I haven't been as kind to you as I possibly could have been over the years. I do apologise for practising my pelvic floor exercises just a smidge too early in life, and holding onto your contents for far too long. But surely, you understand? Public toilets, are like, eww, gross. Y'know.

And I do apologise for the times when we go out, and drown the vodkas like there's no tomorrow, and I don't relieve you ONCE all night. It's not my fault that I can drink vodka and not have to break the seal. And don't even ask me again to drink beer or wine so you can cop a break. I don't think that Mouth would be too impressed if we vomited entire contents of stomach upon entering the festy women's toilets at various nite-spots around town. Stop thinking of yourself all the time.

But really? Do you have to try and take revenge like this? Revenge is just a fantasy. Shouldn't you, Kidneys and I all be sitting down and trying to sort out a solution to this like the adults that we are? I am already making sacrifices to appease you guys. Even Liver is impressed. Apart from that one slip up on Friday night Saturday morning, Liver said he has been pleased with me, and is going to stick around for another year.

I'm just trying to put us all back in sync. You should be enjoying the 3 litres of water that I'm attempting to drink - it's good news for all of us. IT IS NO REASON TO HOLD ME HOSTAGE IN THE WORK TOILETS ALL GOD DAMN DAY THOUGH, IS IT? IS IT, HUH?

I think I spent more time trying to figure out what that mysterious blue line on the toilet floor was, than actually doing work today. And that's not good for productivity, is it? And when I'm not productive, then what do I get? Cranky. And when I get cranky, what do I do? Drink Diet Coke. Then what are you going to end up with, Bladder? Disgusting by-product from refined sugar. And then I'll hold it in. And in. And in.

So. Hopefully after our little chat you will see the error of your ways, and perhaps put your case forward at regular, evenly spaced out intervals, not like the frenzied piss-fest that I encountered today. I know that we can all live in harmony, it's just going to take some work on all sides.

See you 'round like a Gall Stone (how good is it with those buggers gone?)

Martie xx

At least they didn't fuck the Lion

Yo my homies in da house fucking great night to get pissed as a bitch down at your local, no?

Ok the fuck i'm wasted but vodka and skittles taste sooooooooooooo nicey nice together and this is really not going to make much sense. But fuck who CARES?

I would like to say a big BOO to telstra because my 7min taxi costed $17:30. Rip. Off. But a big cheery to martie's daddy, who supplied taxi money. HURR-FUCKING-RAH.

Anyway, did have a post all about Narnia the movie, but basically the gist of it is, don't go see it, it's full of peodophilia and incestual images. Just like Flowers in The Attic. Ugh. Way to wreck good Christian values, Dis-ney (then again, maybe not).

Anyway, so now I've broken my drunk blogging cherry, I wish you all a super dooper (how good were they in primary school?*) night's sleep, and lots of sex on the weekend.

Love me (martie)


* - I actually preferred sunny boys myself.

A New Year: A New You!

Actually, probably not. More like a little bit of housekeeping:

"I know a good bottle of Ajax when I see one"

Note how I am totally the l33tNESS and put a pic in my header and changed colours, etc? Fuck no, not really: I suck. But you know, it's a new year, let's tweak the blog to the best of Martie's fucktarded computer abilities, stuff like that.

'What I did NYE' has been practically blogged to death and here it is practically middle of the year already, and I'm finally blogging about it, so let me just say this:

My NYE consisted of A Blender; Porn; Fireworks; Vince Vaughn; Baileys; Sex on loungeroom floor & Pancakes. Make of it what you will, bitches.

In other more sombre news, my finances are shot to bits and I am going to have to pull my proverbial head in from now on, unless some sort of tattslotto fairy decides to visit me. Which is bad news for my recently aquired sunglasses addiction, which sees me collecting all sorts of cheap and chic sunnies at no more than $20 a pop. Might not sound like a lot, but when they build up....

(Shut up. I did not chase around any opened shopping centres New Years Day to find a particular pair. I just didn't, ok?)

I'm now making it my mission to find a new job sometime in the early stages of this year. Just so I can get a payout on my annual leave, which will allow me to pay off some debts, and go on a holiday.

I will also have to assess & plan living arrangements this coming year. I hate to say it, but I may have to give up my living-alone-ness and move in with someone, or worse still, move back to the Mothership. Fuck. But at this rate, I cannot sustain my living expenses on this budget, and that's without saving ANYTHING. I feel like I'm first year uni again. Fuck!

Ahh, January, the time of realisation of fucked-up finances for the year ahead. Fucking love it. About as much as I'm looking forward to the Bec & Lley-Lley media circus surrounding the Australian Open. Can't. Fucking. Wait.