Monday, March 13, 2006

Martie....at the movies

Hello, and welcome to this end of holiday-day post.

Unfortunately, I have no exotic tales of drunken-ness or sex fuelled romps to report - life's like that when you're still all banged up and unable to walk long distances and cause fuck off long queues to get on escalators at Chadstone. PATIENCE, FUCKWITS, PATIENCE.

Ahem.

Ok, so I like, totally joined the 21st century this weekend instead. I bought a DVD player.

After years of resisting, I finally realised my efforts were futile when I went to my local Blockbuster a couple of weeks ago and the only VHS related product I could find was an ancient copy of Chuck Norris' Good Guys Wear Black for $1.50.
There really is only so many times one can watch this, despite all the Chuck Norris goodness.

In honour of buying said DVD player, which I bought totally because it was able to seduce me with it's sleek silver and black looks, I....watched some DVD's! Yatta!
Allow me to now review these DVD's for you (PATIENCE! I probably won't use it for the rest of the year, thus saving you from my crappy movie reviews), in my own, Martie style (read: grumpy & disinterested).

The Island:
The first movie I have seen with Scarlett Johansson, and my, didn't she just captivate my attention. She reminded me of one of those 'perfect' people, blonder than blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect skin, etc. However, the highlight for me was everytime Sean Bean was on camera, where I giggled somewhat uncontrollably to myself about his name "Seen Bean". Bahahahaha. Geddit?

Crash:
Unfortunately not the one where people get off on car crashes, this was the Academy Award winning one. Whoa. A more depressing movie I have not seen. Although I was kinda glad to see Sandra Bullock playing a bitch, the whole purpose of the film for me, was to highlight the fact that Ryan Phillipe is a total loser and he will be career will be stuck in reverse forever. Go for broke on the settlement, Ryan.

Deuce Bigalow: European Gigalo:
Fuck me. Even more depressing than Crash.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind:
It cuts like a knife that the disc buggered up just when things started to happen, and NOW I'M LEFT HANGING as to how Jim Carrey goes in a 'serious' role.

Harold & Kumar go to Whitecastle:
Why do we not have these Whitecastles in Australia? Little cute baby hamburgers - awwwww. And Doogie Howser, pretty much playing himself in real life. Because I imagine that's all Neil Patrick Harris has to do these days in the failed life of a child star: coke up and fuck anything with a hole. And oh, the movie was American Pie: Version 4289.

At least now that I have my DVD player, I will be able to get all down and dirty with my Carmen Electra Striptease series. Oh wait. No, I can't. Fuck.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Not so way cool after all

Ok, my bad. My very very bad.

It seems that not only will my Blogging Crush think I'm a nuffy, but he also won't think I'm very smart either. I honestly forget that TV & radio, etc are different in each state, and that half the people reading would have no idea who the motherfucking Tint Professor actually was.

1000 apologies to all.

In other, more National news, it is my great delight to inform you that today is the JOINT BIRTHDAY of two of my most favourite men.


Tim Fisher

and


Tony Lockett.

Hurrah. If I wasn't on crutches still, I'd...bake 'em a cake or something.

Lastly, don't you think it's a spooky co-incidence that the two guys that I fantasised the most over during high school should be born on the same day? It's a sign I tell you. They don't call me Mysterious Martie for nothing you know. But wait, there's more! Stay tuned for that one though.

The Nutty Professor

Do you ever catch yourself introducing words and phrases into your normal everyday conversation that you garner from our mainstream, and sometimes not so mainstream, forms of media?

Do you surf a website and find yourself calling every second person 'mang', or similar? (Thanks, Caz).

Do you hear the 'Counting the beat' song on the radio, and immediately think of what you need to buy, immediately, from K-mart?

Do you find yourself going to discotheques, and singing "Get out on the floor", from the Dancing With the Stars tune when your crazy mates are trying to decide the 'right' moment to cut a rug? No? Ummmmmmm, ok, let's move on shall we...

Anyway, I now find myself in this position again.

Ask me how I am; how something is; answer my question correctly, or agree with me, etc, etc and for the answer in the affirmative, I catch myself saying "Way cool with the Tint Professor". Seen the ad? You know what I'm talking 'bout then. Dot com dot AU.

So, everthing's fucking way cool with the fucking tint professor then. I'm sure it's driving people nuts. It's a bit like several years back, whenever you would ask someone "Where you going", they'd reply "Australian Lighting", like it was the wittiest thing on earth. Funny, ha ha.

So, ask me to describe something. It's way cool eith the tint professor, mmmkay? It's all way cool; my blogging crush is even way cool with the tint professor, in his own, slightly offbeat way(!) Which of course, leads me to deduce that my Blogging Crush, if indeed, he reads this post at all, will think I am some sort of nuffy, and will run through cyber space in the opposite direction at 100 millions miles an hour. Is it really such a good idea to be laying bare all these disturbing, slightly peculiar facts about myself on the interwebs for my Blogging Crush to pick up on?

So. One for the boys. And the girls too, because you always give good head answers too:

"If you were my Blogging Crush, would you mind being described as 'way cool with the tint professor'?

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

And the winner is...

I know that google searches can be somewhat of a blog filler hilarious way to pass the time, but I just had to bring this one to you.

World's Best Ever Google Search

So to visitor #13977, no, I don't think she is a real mother either. And I think I love you. Can I have your babies?

Monday, March 06, 2006

Housekeeping!

Because I am scared of the dark, I have been fucking around with the blog, so you might notice some changes to titles, the name, picture, etc, etc. I wish I had the know-how to change other aspects, but you know, I can't be a fucking genius at everything.

It is my full intention to fuck around with it every month or so, to showcase exactly how hip and down with it I am. Or probably to reveal that I have the attention span of a Mintie wrapper, and I get bored easily. Whatevs.

You might also notice my links are back up. Due to an unforeseen AC adaptor incident, I lost my whole list, so there might be some missing. If so, I apologise - please comment or email me and I will add you back up.

Meanwhile - I am back in my blogger crush mode!!!!!!!!1!

You missed a spot & you're also dumped.

I'm back in my little house again, all by my lonesome. Waiting for the big nest of spiders that obviously would have gathered without being disturbed all week, to jump out and attack me. It's unfair to attack cripples.

Needless to say, the spray and wash is sleeping next to me tonight.

Anyway, I am kinda feeling down after leaving the mother(and father)ship's tonight. I miss having the company, and obviously someone to get me a drink (SO FUCKING THIRSTY). I don't miss not having my own space though, and peace & quiet, & the opportunity to walk (crutch) around in my undies.

The MasterFucker is all "You need to remember I have lawns and cleaning to do". Congrat-u-fucking-lations if you scrub the shit out of your shower every week. I don't. And I'm not grubby, or dirty, or slobby, or even dead yet.

I've planned the 'talk' with him for this weekend BECAUSE THAT'S THE ONLY TIME HE IS AVAILABLE. And that's if he gets all his housework done by the weekend. Dude, they're called cleaning ladies.

Meanwhile, I have to concentrate on going back to work, and being busy like fuck, because no one else knows how to operate anything in there. Should be interesting trying to put clothes/shoes on tomorrow.

I am scared to go to sleep, because what happens if a burglar gets in, and tries to attack me, and I can't fight back or run away because I only have use of one leg? It's times like these I need crispy mint M&M's and god damn diet coke, if only to keep me up all night.

Clearly, I am scared of the dark.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Ponder...

Okaaaaaaaaaaay.

I've been told countless times before, but y'know, humour me, and HAMMER IT HOME. For the love of god.

The Scenario:

* You've been laid up; unable to drive, travel, or pretty much walk even.

* You've a got a 'partner', who lives 45 mins away in off peak time, and who is very hard working during the week.

* You've told your partner previous that you have to rest and keep affected body part elevated.

* It gets to the weekend. You then adviseyour partner that you're able to get 'out & about'.

* You even ask you partner what he/she is doing on Saturday; to which he/she replies "Oh not sure. Think I have to do something with my Dad" (keeping in mind that you and your partner had planned a trip to Port Fairy this weekend).

* You go all day Saturday, until 7pm without hearing a word from partner, until he/she messages you to see what you are doing. IE - nothing, as you have given up chance to catch up with some mates at a BBQ because you thought the two of you would be doing something together.

* You find out that he/she has been fishing all day - obviously would have been planned ahead and he/she says they are too tired to come and see you.

* You get upset, because you have been sitting around all week, injured, and you would have thought that your partner would come and see you at some stage.

* Rather than apologising, partner gets defensive and says "I should have just stayed home" and "Sorry for ruining your weekend", which co-incidentally, are great names for country music songs (TM Martie).

* In the end, partner dismisses the whole thing and says "I'm tired and drained, I'm going to bed" and you haven't heard from he/she since.

The Questions:
- Do you have a right to be upset about the fact that your partner hasn't been to see you when you are injured/unwell/etc?

Or, in other words, am I just an hysterical drama queen?


Discuss.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Alternative uses for frozen peas, carrots & corn & FREE TEST!!!! DO MY FREE TEST!!!! NOW!!! DO IT!!!! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!!!

Wah. Bad news: I'm now a cripple again; for the first time in 2.5 years, since my calf injury, I decided to see how I went playing netball again. It was only vegie stuff, but I guess you have to start somewhere, right?

BUT I DIDN'T EVEN GET A START! I played one half, then at the start of the second, I felt a big fucking POP in my calf, and folks, it's all over. I'm unable to walk - I'm just hoping it's not the same as last time ("there's a chance we may have to amputate").

So it started me thinking about all the injuries I've ever had: I probably should have invested in my own set of crutches or something, as I seem to spend a great deal of time on them. Maybe I'm being punished because I was meant to be playing squash with Jungle Boy last night instead, but as soon as I got the call, I ditched him like a hot potato (or whatevs).

Damn Damn Damn. It seems like whenever I turn a corner (financially, health, happiness-wise), I always seem to run into a fucking brick wall. I didn't break any mirrors, I swear. But I'm still lying here in bed, with the vegetable contents of my freezer melting away on my leg. FUCK! There goes $4!

Anyways, the delightful Ms E. Pen tagged me but alas, I have already completed her lovely meme. So, in honour of staying in bed all day, I have created my own meme, or rather, 'Martie's fabulous-ness personality-slash-sexuality-slash-chinese horoscope-slash-what kind of animal are you test!'

The test: Simply note your answers in the comments section, and I will analyse for you and advise what sort of personality you are/what animal you were in a different life. For free! Bonus!

START:

What sort of M&M are you?
a) - plain chocolate
b) - oddly shaped peanut
c) - M&M minis
d) - crispy mint
e) - whatever promotional flavour they are running at the time

If you had to be an animal in your next life, which would you choose:
a) - Tiger
b) - Horse
c) - Cow
d) - Rabbit
e) - Paris Hilton's pet

Favourite day of the week:
a) - Friday
b) - Monday
c) - Wednesday/Hump day
d) - Saturday
e) - None of the above

Favourite sexual position:
a) - On top
b) - On bottom
c) - In the middle
d) - In the grandstand at a packed football match
e) - In front of the TV

Favourite Number:
a) - 4
b) - 1
c) - 16
d) - 7
e) - 99

Okay, so who is going to be my first victim customer?????

Monday, February 27, 2006

Morons = Minty Goodness

Ok, so I'm over the whole 'woe is me' thing in respect to the Ex-Fucker. I spent a week all mope-y about it (and excused you the dreadful lame morose posts that would have gone with it - THANK ME BITCHES) and the final straw came last night, when he asked me:

"Should I take drugs when I go out with the people from work, because they do?"

*cue jaw dropping*

So yeah. I didn't really have anything to say. I still don't. Just behold the dickheadness, and move on.

So anyway, in the midst of all this, I discovered Mint Green M&M's. Good product, bad promoter.

Why did Pamela Anderson need to come all the way out here to promote something that will probably never pass her lips anyway? Oh, that's right. Because the Australian consumer loves to buy stuff endorsed by a haggard old Barbie doll, yeah? (Exhibit A - check out the Video Shits interview with Axle. Does this inspire you to wank?).

Anyway, maybe there should be a reality TV show for people who get sucked in by advertising the most, because I would win. Then I would be invited to appear on Friday Night Games, and be the first person to give Mike Goldman a wedgie, or melt his makeup or something (punching or killing him just seems too violent). Hurrah. Then the world would thank me.

And you too would thank me. You could say "I used to know that girl when she was a blogger", and we could get all six-degrees-of-separation on each other's asses.

Yes, truly, a great week was had.


PS - Much thanks to the people that identified with the Ex-Fucker situation with their Ex stories in previous comments. Apologies for not replying individually to each comment, but I really now just want to move on. Much appreciated though.

Monday, February 20, 2006

And that's the sound of my heart breaking all over again...

As we speak, I am currently in the midst of texting the Ex-Fucker.

Yes, yes, I know. Dangerous territory. But there is no one here; everyone is off doing stuff and did not reply to my 'Help!' texts, so I kinda got sucked in. Willpower is so not my forte.

It's just basic stuff, 'Hi; How are you?; What have you been up to?' but already my heart is racing at a million miles an hour, and I just know that I will not be able to sleep properly tonight.

Looks as though my 'NYE Freezer' trick didn't work after all.

For the uniniated, I read somewhere long ago that if you write a person's name down on a piece of paper, and place it in your freezer, then it 'symbolises freezing a person out of your life'. Neat trick, huh?

Anyway, I'm not really a superstitious person, but I really want(ed?) to have a hassle free 2006, and try and move on from the hurt and pain I went through with the Ex-Fucker last year.

So on NYE, I wrote the Ex-Fucker's name down, gave a short little speech in my kitchen, which was more of a 'letter' to him, and placed it in the very back of my freezer, with indifferent expectations.

And for the first month and a half of the year, it was working. I had not heard anything from him since NYE, and then a couple of days after, when he text me asking how my NYE was. I did not reply. God, GIVE ME THE WILLPOWER I HAD BACK THEN.

(Update: He just asked me "Are you still living by yourself?")

Anyway, the last couple of weeks, people started asking me (most people around me know of the drama) had I heard from him. I was very pleased (but on the inside, kinda sad) to say that I had not, and that this was going to be a good year, rah rah rah.

Until now. Fucker had to go and mess up my day month year life again by texting me. I should know better; the only way to heal such a broken, broken heart is to let sleeping dogs lie, but I just can't help myself. I am a bad, bad Martie. No smack required.

Anyway, I know most of you have probably been there and done that before - please regale me with your tales of woe, so I can feel a teensie, tiny bit better about the whole deal, please. Also, if you have any superstitions you think might help, don't be shy.

Friday, February 17, 2006

If it's good enough for Flick Scully...

100th post for me! Let's hope it's as shit as all the others. Consistency peoples is thy name of the game.

A DILEMMA! Yesterday, I went to a shopping centre & bought a cheeseburger because I was in a hurry and I was hungry. Whilst acquiring a bottle of diet coke, however, I dropped said cheeseburger on the floor (it was wrapped). As I really had no time to stand in line again, I invoked the Holly Valance Three Second Rule (TM) and picked it up, unwrapped it, threw offending pickle away, and ate it.

Was this the correct thing to do? Do I now have diseases (well, more than I already 'have' anyway)? Should I have 'blown' the germs off it? Please help, oh lurking doyennes of social ettiquette.

It's just occurred to me that I did this in front of an entire food court of people. Should I be embarassed that I ate food from the floor in front of the general public? Does it matter that they were all bogan single mothers under the age of 22, with bad peroxide jobs, wearing tight black pants and parachute motorsport jackets?

Anyway, as this matter of great importance plays on one side of my mind, another matter has intruded into my thoughts; I have a blogger crush* (totally hetero though LOLZ!!!!1!).

What is the etiquette in this situation? Can I still have a crush and be quasi seeing Jungle Boy for the moment? Do I have to advise my crush that they are the object of my affection? If I were to grow a backbone (oh, the irony), and make a move, how would I do that? A carefully worded email? A hint-laden post?

I wonder what Holly Valance would do about this?



*Like fuck I am telling anyone who it is.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

No orgies for me, please.

Fuck me dead and bury me pregnant.

The interwebs are bitchier than the backstage of 'Dancing with the Stars' at the mo'.

I say, that if you want a good site to troll, head on over to here (bitch stole my blog template) and somebody please tell me WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON???

Anyway, tally ho, keep up the good work, etc etc.

Love

Martie & her human hair beaver

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Order Now: "Mr Horse Cock: Down in the hole 2"

Even the most discerning of readers would be surprised to find out that Jungle Boy came through with some sweet Valentine's day goodness!

No, it wasn't my teal Oroton wallet, but then again, $200 bucks is a lot to spend on a day that well, is just a day really.

Anyway, so imagine my surprise when this morning at work arrives a HUGE box marked fragile, addressed to me! In it:


How a-fucking-dorable!

If you know me, then you'll know that roses really aren't my bag - too cliched.
Now, I don't know if Jungle Boy actually knew I felt this way, but he didn't get me roses because he felt they were too cliched too. An excellent indication, no?

Anyway, we decided that we wouldn't be spending tonight together, as weekdays are just so hard when you have to travel, and get up for work the next day, rah rah rah. So we're holding off until the weekend. That's when he'll receive his present (wink wink, nudge nudge).

So, I thought I'd be bunker down with some $8 dollar ice cream and catch up on some reading, until I opened my mail (well actually not MY mail, just the guy who lived here before me) to find this:

Porn DVD catalogue, containing such memorable titles as:
"Das Sex Hotel"
"School Bus Girls"
"Ping Pong Pussy"
"Japanese Jaw-Dropping Sex Acts" (One for my brother, I would imagine)
and of course my personal favourite, "Mr Horse Cock: Down in the hole 2" (as per my title).

Then we get to the GILTF (Grandma I'd like to fuck) section, and it all just gets weird for me.

Anyway, snaps to Matthew Stafford, and his luddite-ways of ordering through mail order catalogue, not from the internet or brought back from Canberra by a travelling friend 21st Century ways. Oh, the irony of receiving this on Valentines day.

And to you all: hope you had a good Vday and that you didn't discover a message in the Herald-Sun with YOUR EXACT NAME from YOUR EXACT QUASI-PARTNER'S NAME, and jump up and down and get all excited, then thank said partner for message, only to be told it "wasn't me that put it in. What a strange co-incidence" and just slink under your desk, embarassed as all hell. No, I certainly hope you didn't have to go through that.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Icecapades with Ricky Gervaise

Over the next couple of weeks, I will be obsessed with ice-skating. So much so, that I will beg ANYONE to take me to the 'ice disco', which runs every Saturday night, at a local skating rink. Romantic much? Think about it, in nine out of ten romantic comedies, they always end up at an (mainly outdoor) ice skating rink, where they'll be all cutesy with little scarves on, and the chick will stage a fall into the ice-man-hotness, and they'll kiss, and.... WHERE OH WHERE, IS MY ICE-MAN-HOTNESS??

Of course my inspiration stems from the currently showing Winter Olympics, during which I MAY be glued to my couch watching the ice-skating, and perhaps offering up bitchy critiques of each skater's costume. Maybe.

Went to Jungle Boy's last night and we ended up watching The Extras. Please, if you haven't already, it is a must-watch. Even email me for a dvd copy of all the episodes if you have to. I heart Ricky Gervaise so much, and even though he loses some of his appeal without the David Brent facial hair, I still want to make the hot sex with him. And again.

Two days of work for me this week. In my spare time, I plan to: get my giney waxed, sleep in, read my Louis XIV biography, a Christmas present to myself, and be swept off to an ice rink by Ricky Gervaise in the name of Valentines Day. Hopes and dreams people, hopes and dreams.

Speaking of Valentine's day, ugh. I've half done the breaking up deed with Jungle Boy, but half not. I'm back to thinking I don't want to. It's fun, I will admit that much.

Try as I might, I am unable to think of any suitable Vday presents to get him. Except of course, giney waxing (I'm getting sex, dammnit!), which he has been harping at me for AGES to get. Of course, I've resisted because I know he wants it, as part and parcel of the bitch that I am. But I'm kinda sick of having to do my home maintenance all the time, and cannot wait to ball my fists up and rest my ass on them 'to get better light'. No, seriously.

Anyway, apart from that, I'm not really into the Vday commercialism, but don't want to let the day pass by without some sort of acknowledgement. I suspect if I was maybe a little more receptive to the whole idea, maybe my romantic ice-man-hotness would appear? Who knows.

So guys, and clued up girls with guys, here's the brief. The boy is into top level technology; computers; sex and...well...that's about it. I want something that's not gushy (considering we've never exchanged 'I love you's'), but something that is on a romantic-enough level. If you were the subject of my affections, what would you like to receive?? Indeed, what do boys like to receive on Vday?? Unfortunately, things like DVD's and chocolate body paint are already out of the question - so WHAT is it that I can buy him?

Answers, please. Stat. I need help.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

A little on the serious side...

Yo.

Something is making me sad at the moment. Actually, my 90 year old woman's back is making me sad too (would anyone want to pick up a 90 year old woman at the D&D ball?), but it's a different sad.

RU486.

A very important little pill that has the potential to affect thousands of Australian women. However, can the right decision be made about it's introduction without politics or religion clouding the issue?

Let's get it straight. The REAL issue here is whether Tony Abbot or the TGA gets to decide if RU486 becomes available. I admit that I haven't read enough about the actual pill itself, and its side effects, so I'm not going to bang on in support of it being introduced willy-nilly. However, when it comes to such a sensitive issue, one that, let's face it, has very strong religous hallmarks, shouldn't the decision be made by a religion-impartial body, not a health minister who's views on abortion are well documented?

The usuals are of course lobbying for RU486 to be banned on the back of the abortion - right or wrong? issue. However, when there is not ONE SINGLE PERSON IN THIS WORLD that can pass the judgement as to whether abortion is right or wrong, the issue regarding the introduction of RU486 should be null and void. There never will be anyone that can answer the right or wrong question. And while faith can guide someone as much as it likes, not everyone subscribes to the same religion or indeed any religion at all, and therefore SHOULD NOT be subjected to someone else's fanatical views, and forced to live by them.

Support choice. Support someone's right to say "I don't agree with abortion on ethical/religous/personal grounds, so I would never have one", but also support someone's right to say "I can't have this baby at the moment, for whatever reason, so I am going to abort it". Don't get picky with reasons: that 'career woman' may be selfish for choosing to terminate her pregnancy so it doesn't interfere with her career, but don't give the right to choose to some and not to others. Besides, how many selfish acts do you see in the world everyday anyway?

My argument is probably going to lose all eloquence right now, because I'm going to give a great big FUCK YOU to Margaret Tighe and the Right To Life band. (Sorry, no link. Too angry). You infuriate me when you wax lyrical about how women just need to have counselling, and they'll 'come round' to the idea of being pregnant or adopting the child out instead. Because it's that easy. You make my blood boil when you almost condone violence or abuse hurled at abortion clinics - their staff and the people who use them - and degrade women who have made possibly what is the biggest choice of their lives.

I sit and wonder if you think of the bigger implications of banning RU486, and abortion, and everything else you stand for. The unloved, unwanted kids? The ones that languish in daycare/creche/after-school care or worse still, are forgotten when it's time to be picked up? The ones that end up on drugs and alcohol because that's what they were born into and know no better? The ones who constantly want to tear their heads apart, because they can't quite get them around why their mother gave them up? And the adoptive parents, who go through the heartbreak of their children denouncing them once they've found their birth family?

Do you think about that Margaret? Do you think about the disastrous effect banning abortions would have? We'd go back to medieval backyard abortions, or secret packets of 'herbs'; where no women would be capable of making an informed decision, even though it would intelligent, capable women that would be forced to use the back door method. Is that what you want Margaret? Australian women being uninformed and misled, and ashamed of the choices they make? For them not to have access to pre or post abortion counselling, thus endangering their mental health? I don't think I even need to mention how downright dangerous and unsafe it is too.

Think about it Margaret. Think about it while your minions run around and lobby the members of parliament for the tomorrow's vote. And while you're thinking about it, remember that you DO NOT and CAN NOT definitively answer whether a human's rights begin at contraception or at birth. Again, no one can. By all means, have your opinion, and stand up for it, but respect the women that don't share your opinion, and make choices that don't agree with your personal beliefs.

If you spent half as much energy in supporting and lobbying for a better future for all of the kids that are on the streets, or going through the DHS system, or the ones that are abused; the ones that actually HAVE rights beyond all reasonable doubt, as you do denouncing a woman's right to choose, you might find that there's a whole nastier world out there and children that COULD use your help. You'd probably be more at peace with yourself too.

Quickly back to the issue at hand; Tony Abbot, do what you know is right. Give control to the TGA and let them decide if it's safe to be sold on the Australian market. Dispense with tomorrow's vote, and search past your Catholic heart, to YOUR conscience, and make the right decision on behalf of Australian women (and men), the ones that elected you to do the very same thing in the first place.


NB. For the record, writer strongly believes in a women's right to choose (obviously). For the record, writer would have an abortion given accompanying circumstance. For example, if writer's unborn child was shown to be carrying a genetic disorder, such as severe downs syndrome, or similar, then writer would think long and hard and most likely* choose to abort the child. Or, in the case that write was to fall pregnant at this present stage of her life, given her unstable financial/relationship circumstances and the fact that she is completely aware that she would be mentally incapabable of bringing a child into this world at this time, then she would most likely* choose to abort it too.

* - Use of the phrase 'most likely' is not a cop out. Rather, as writer has not been in the situation where she is pregnant with the above scenarios, or rather, not pregnant at all, she is unaware of exactly how she would act. Obviously, that's why one would attend counselling, and inform themselves thoroughly, relative to one's feeling at the time, as to whether abortion would be right for them.



Apologies to anyone from my reader base that may be offended by my views. I can understand why, however I don't apolgise for having them. I respect your opinion, please respect mine. Although, healthy debate in comments/email is always welcome.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

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

Thursday, January 26, 2006

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.

Monday, January 23, 2006

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.

Friday, January 20, 2006

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*

Thursday, January 19, 2006

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").

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

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.

Friday, January 13, 2006

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

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

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.

Monday, January 09, 2006

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

Saturday, January 07, 2006

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.

Monday, January 02, 2006

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.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

2006 is 'even', so I don't know why I've got my hopes up

Hurrah for the ass end of 2005! Hurrah for reflection of crap year by some beautiful water! Hurrah for lazy posting! Suck it up, bitches.

19 Things about me (because even numbers are bad luck):

1. I am absolutely terrified of Rabbits & people that dress up in the life size costumes at shopping centres, etc. I'd never be able to visit Movie World / Disneyland.

2. I believe that a well fitted bra is the most important part of a girl's outfit.

3. I'm currently feeling lazy because I haven't done any serious exercise since last week.

4. I am a secret aviation enthusiast, but I only like the big jumbo jets. You might often find me out the back of the airport, getting all jizzed up when the big internationals take off over my head. If a boy took me on a date to have dinner at the airport, then some plane watching, I'd be his forevs.

5. My job doesn't challenge me anymore and I know that I can do a lot better. However I seem stuck in my comfort zone. I aim for 2006 to break out and get that job that I deserve.

6. I hate my nipples.

7. My heart has been broken twice, all in the same year (2005). Once was the Ex-Fucker, where he tricked me into sleeping with him, by telling me that he wanted to get back together. The other was The Athlete - subject of my long but unattainable crush - who finally confessed his feelings, but out of deference to the Ex-Fucker, proceeded to 'take it all back'. No wonder why I'm thinking of locking up my heart in 2006.

8. I'm scared my brother might move to Japan permanently.

9. I'm fastidious about cleaning my sink. I heart Ajax.

10. I never really fitted in at high school. I wasn't tight with any one particular group - even though I had many friends from all different groups, I was sorta transient. I also prefered hanging out with the guys, rather than the girls. Less bitchiness.

11. I could have gone on with my netball career, 'cept I was lazy and more focused elsewhere. Then I nearly lost my leg from having a corked calf 'deliberately' inflicted to try and 'quieten' me during a match, and have vowed that if I ever find that bitch from NSW again, she's fucked.

12. I am a bag and shoe aficionado. Although, due to above injury, my wearing of high heels these days is few and far between.

13. I often will just open my cutlery drawer and look inside. It makes my heart sing to see the knives and forks and spoons all in their little compartments, with a sprinkling of pink cheap handled cutlery from Safeway for some cheer. Observe:


14. My other secret passion is history - particularly European aristocratic history. I am obsessed with their secret societies and protocols and will devour any book about the subject.

15. I have really sensitive skin, and don't wear a lot of make-up because of it. Hence, I perpetuate the tomboy myth surrounding me even further.

16. Balloons make me so happy; they are an instant cheer up for me. Not with things on them - just plain, colourful and helium-ised. I often think about buying a whole bunch and just distributing them throughout my apartment, but can't justify the cost. Again, if a boy was to give me a bunch of pink balloons, I'd be his forevs.

17. I lost a lot of 'friends' because I stood up for myself two years ago. As a result, I've spent a bit of time being lonely, but I'd rather be lonely than have friends that want to cut you up behind your back.

18. I haven't eaten microwave popcorn since I changed my diet for good, two months ago. I will eat it again one day, just when I feel a bit more in control.

19. I'm meant to be somewhere in five minutes, and I haven't even had my shower yet. Fuck. Luckily I'm finished!!


Anyway, this may or may not be my last post for 2005. Happy 2006 to everyone that read my crap this year & be good on NYE. Or if you can't be good, be good at whatever you're doing. And watch the news for drunk girls pashing policemen.

Martie xx

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Are you a Random Policeman I can kiss?

Hope everyone had a terrifically wonderful Christmas and fucking massive hangovers on Boxing Day. Hope your Christmases weren't filled with dressing gowns masquerading as a present from your supposed boyfriend on your first christmas together. Like, the fuck?

Decided to forget all about the dressing gown incident, and spend a few days down the coast, relaxing. So, now, I'm back home to do some washing, then I'm spending another fews days down the other coast for some more,um, relaxing. Not a dressing gown or Jungle Boy in sight. Fuck Yeah!

Don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing for NYE - am I too old to think that going out and getting smashed and kissing randoms is fun (although a bit of policeman pashing is always HOTT)? I can only remember one NYE where I actually enjoyed myself immensely the whole night - every other time I have felt let down that the 'Biggest Party Night of the Year' has failed to deliver.

I know some people threaten to 'stay home' & to boycott NYE, but really it's an empty threat. These are the types who have got about a million things to do, but declare their false intentions in the hope of getting sympathy, and coos of 'but you've got a million things to do' from their minons friends. Ego boosting at it's finest, ladies and gentlemen.

I am not afraid to say that I WANT to do something on NYE, the question is, what? I asked Jungle Boy today if we were doing anything: standard answer "I don't know. What do you want to do?" Should have known, but somewhere in my heart I was hoping for something more like this: "Let's go out and have dinner somewhere; get happily pissy together; run around like little kids banging on saucepans in the countdown to 2006 then make use of all night trains and go home and bonk like crazy to see the new year in".

Maybe my expectations are too high?

Perhaps I am destined stay at home wearing dressing gown and drinking Baileys after all? Insert >but you've always got hanging around dodgy pubs pashing randoms to fall back on< comment here, thanks.

Yippee. Telstra just sent me an MMS wishing me a happy new year. Cunts. Despite the fact that their message really is for subliminal for "happy spending up big on your mobile/home bill and making us rich in 2006", it's arrived four days early. Fucking Telstra. They can never get anything right.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

You're off the list!!!!

I'm not one to put a dampner on the Great Christmas Extravaganza (snaps to my HOTT pink & silver Chrismas tree), but really, who is with me when I say I hate Christmas Cards?!

Before you start with the Ice-Queen taunts and pronouncing me as a Scrooge on the spirit of Christmas (did I mention I put some purple & silver tinsel around my dogs' necks so they could be Pretty Christmas Puppies?), I don't hate all cards. I cherish the ones sent by my close friends and even the one that my Dad, bless his little unable-to-spell-heart, sent me in the mail, even though he sees me practically every day!

I just don't like the idea of them.

I hate the idea of having to sort through last year's; then making a list; then culling some people off the list; then adding new people on; then realising three days before Christmas that you've forgotten to send another 30 out anyway.

It's the most political, non-political thing that I'm aware of.

Christmas card lists are not just a turn of phrase; they are a living, breathing nightmare that can make or break a friendship. And really, probably more than half the people on the list are people that you'd never speak to except in a blue moon anyway.

Then there are the pretentious wankers that send out increasingly elaborate cards each year; to people they don't particularly like much, but with the aim of keeping up appearances and networking behind the guise of Christmas cheer. Bah!

Don't be playing fake niceties with me, just because it's Christmas. You can't make yourself feel better by hiding behind little baby Jesus' birthday. Next time you want to talk about me behind my back, maybe I will just remind you that it's little baby Jesus' 2 & 1/2 month birthday anniversary - then show me your cheer.

Anyway, to prove I'm not a complete bitch, here is my personalised Christmas Card to all of my Hottness readers, a la The Royal Family:





Ho Ho Fucking Ho.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

I, err....Ummmmm

Note time and date of post??? That's right. It's nearly 11pm on a Saturday night, and I'm fucking here on the computer. Fuck.

I've hauled my own ass off to the naughty step; I was a bad bad little girl at yesterday's Christmas party, and I'm spending the night tonight drying out and contemplating the consequences of my actions.

Martie's recipe for disaster:


+

+

which was actually much more like this:


Blend well, then add the following:


+

+ some more

with a very liberal dose of Essence of Ex-Fucker and a shot of Sentimentality-magnified-being-the-time-of-year-that-it-is and you will be well on your way to:


+ some more


Serve over ice, in a tall glass and proceed to block out memory of taxi ride home with (much) older industry colleague. Fucking wrongtown.

Is Monday a public holiday or something????

Monday, December 12, 2005

Amazing Homes I

If you like, I can be Deborah Hutton for a while, and take you on a tour of some of Australia's most fascinating homes.

Or not. I can just be Martie, and give to you what I promised - a guided tour of my very own palace.

Tonight, we're going to start with the courtyard:


Well, there's not a lot to see really, is there kids? Just some pavers, a few weeds, my magnificent gardenia bush that is threatening to bloom any minute now. And oh, what's that in the corner? IT'S A FUCKING SEAL CARVED OUT OF WOOD.

Let's take some time to think about this for a while - I have questions and I need answers.

Firstly, who carves a seal from wood? What fool with enough time on his hands, decides one day that he is going to carve a seal from wood, and flog it as a garden ornament? Goodness knows what else he's been'a carvin'. I might just put in an order for a Walrus - with extra long tusks.

Secondly, who THE FUCK buys ones of these crazy wooden seals? A crazy landlord that likes yellow benchtops, that's who! My seal friend is sitting there like he's like the overlord and protector of, well, my washing or something. Maybe crazy landlord has fond memories of his youth spent at Phillip Island, checking out all the crazy antics those seals get up to. So he decides to buy aforementioned seal, and place it in his courtyard as a tribute to the fun times? The mind boggles.

Anyhoo, as now I'm obviously going to have to live with the bugger, I have a challenge for you, wonderful readers. I'm going to pull a Melbourne Zoo on your asses, and you GET TO NAME THE SEAL!!!1! Interactive blogging is the future, mang. Unfortunately, I don't have access to a wonderful newspaper like the Herald-Sun to advertise my quest to name the little baby-waby sealy-wealy, so I'm going to have to rely on your word of mouth to get Melbourne Australia The World involved to come up with the perfect name

Here's a close up of Sealbuddy to help with your entry:

("Look! No acne scars")

No complaints about the grainy quality of picture either. I had to run out in my undies while it was raining to get that shot for you.

Start suggesting now. Competition fun blogging activity begins...now!

Sunday, December 11, 2005

You should have just been home in bed

Look here. If you are teenage lesbians, travelling home on the Frankston-line train at 12:30am Sunday morning, here are a few tips;

- If you insist on canoodling for the benefit of the country bumpkins in the next carriage, please try to refrain from putting your hands down each other's pants and rubbing your groins. Some people just want to get home, not watch a full blown peep show.

- Ok, so I know that the country bumpkins were quite rude to stare; given that they had probably never seen lesbians before, let alone teenage ones, you can hardly blame them. However, you were probably within your rights to be pissed off that they kept staring at you when you were originally minding your own business. And when they indicated their disapproval, you were probably well within your rights to wave at them, and exclaim "And they vote!!"

- However, given that you were all 'equal rights for teenage lesbians', I don't think the following was appropriate:

1. When the two Japanese guys got off the train, you obnoxiously waved and spoke in made up Japanese to them. They couldn't have cared less about your PDA. Teenage lesbians are so 1999 to them. So, apart from being quite rude, and somewhat racist, you then had the temerity to turn around to their friends, who were staring incredulously at you, and start talking your ridiculous langauge to them.

2. When the obviously homeless guy boarded the train with all of worldly possesions in a basket on the back of his bicycle, this was not a cue for you to start sniggering and exclaiming loudly that smelly people should not be allowed to board public transport. Imagine the uproar should people start calling for the ban on teenage lesbians on PT. I'm sure you'd put those smart mouths to use should that ever happen.


Now,don't get me wrong; I'm a big fan of lesbians. I'm a big fan of teenage ones. I'd sign a petition to let you ride on trains anyday. However, I think you have to learn that if you're going to get riled because society discriminates or judges you for your sexuality, then you really shouldn't be judging other people. Just because you are part of a 'glamourous' minority, doesn't give you the right to judge other social minorities for who they are.

And luvvies, you weren't glamourous.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

I have standards too, you know!

Celebrities I'd hit hard & good, for free:


The Three Musketeers was like PG Porn. In fact, I had a very hard time trying to pick a google image for you, and ahem, had to take a short break in proceedings to take care of some business.
Although not traditionally 'good looking', his sex appeal and that HOTT 'come fuck me now' glint in his eye, make up for it, and I would be first in line, if he wasn't already married (y'know, cos I've got morals and shit).


Devoted readers of this blog would be familiar with my ardour for the future Mr Aniston.
You did a hell of a lot for yellow t-shirts, Vinnie my boy.


I so wish I was an ice vest right now


Celebrities that I'd hit after a nice dinner and dancing date:


I learnt the true meaning of the words 'sex appeal' whilst watching the The Late Show.


His exterior image, as in the one in the above photo, is so different from his character, so I think the less talking and the more 'dancing' we did, the better.


I forgive you for that disgusting beige suit & sandals get-up in Con Air, just because you're you. But don't fucking wear it on our date.

Celebrities that if you offered me $1M bucks to hit, I'd still have to think about it some:


I've never seen the attraction. Sure, I can see why majority of the world's female population might want a piece of that, but I've never been inclined. I'd like to dress him like my very own Ken doll though - the asthetics are excellent.


I like pool boy fantasies better


Ok, you've proved yourself to be classier than Britney. But even if I was an hysterical teenage fan, I probably still wouldn't chase you down the street to hand over my cherry. Although, being with an older woman has probably taught you a thing or two.

Celebrities who would need to learn the meaning of 'not a fucking chance mate' pretty quickly:


I don't care what you're packing, go pack it somewhere else.


'L' is for Loser, fuckbag


You remind me of a guy that offered me half of his muesli bar, then dumped me, all on the one day, in Grade 5. And you, Leonardo, still look like you're in Grade 5.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Detox Diary #3

The detox was good. Lost two kilos in first week, of which 1.5K was body fat, which is very good.

The past two weeks have been considerably harder.

It's hard to cook for one person.

I can't choose nice apples for shit.

I was so scared to weigh in last week that I put it off until this Thursday thinking I'd be really good. I was wrong.

Somehow I seem to slip into the mindset of having some chocolate, or pasta, and don't really care that I've just paid a nutritionist $350 to fix my diet.

I have a terrible relationship with food. I have a terrible relationship with my self-confidence.

My nutritionist gave me a goal of losing 10kg by Christmas. This has placed considerable stress on me (the only thing that I stress over is my weight), and what do I do when I'm stressed? Look for comfort food.

I feel like I'm a failure because I never can muster up the willpower to stick to something like this. Even moreso this time, because it's not a diet per se, it's simply what I should be eating.

Thoughts of avenging myself in a black bikini when I happen to 'bump' into the Ex-Fucker next time are all but lost, leaving me feeling even sicker and hating myself even more.

I am hopeless.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

There's not a nice bone in my body.

Best. Sex. Ever.

But I feel like a an absolute bitch.

Whilst in 'recovery' one afternoon, I was laying in Jungle Boy's arms, and for one moment, closed my eyes and I thought I was lying there with the Ex-Fucker. Not that he's been in my thoughts much lately, and not that I'd ever lay in his arms again, but the thought was there. And as soon as it came, it went again. That's not the point though - my concern is why it was ever there at al??

It was not unlike the 'crazy' Drew flashbacks that Steph on Neighbours has been having. Stupid life mirroring neighbours plot.

I'm also confused on another point: am I entitled to be a bit pissed at him because he didn't get me anything for our 'anniversary'? I bought him a pair of Astroboy undies & even wrapped them (a mean feat for me); we went halves on the accomodation and food costs, so it wasn't like he was 'taking' me there himself - in fact it was I that organised the whole thing.

I'm not meaning to sound so materialistic; but there's not even any signs of small gestures that I've encountered in every other relationship that I've had in the past. Maybe this is my first encounter with a new-type-adult-relationship; maybe I'm just overly generous to others and expect some of the same back?

Then I think maybe that with everything that happened with the Ex-Fucker, that this is my lot in relationships.

Sometimes I look at Jungle boy and see a funny, smart guy, with a great attitude and who knows what he wants.

Other times, I look at him and see a selfish, over-indulged little boy, who isn't used to sharing and doesn't want to learn.

Meanwhile, this coming Tuesday will have been one year since the Ex-Fucker would have proposed, if it hadn't of been for those telling events, Grand Final Night, 2004. I've Dr Craned myself, and I reckon I keep flashing back to Ex-Fucker because of the state of play with Jungle Boy.

Anyway. I'm going to try not to think about it again this year. I've already had my heart broken three times this year (two times Ex Fucker, one time the Athlete); I just wanna lay low now and see what transpires.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Van debate? Not here.

Well hello. 'Member me?

I'm back, having wrestled control back from Gabrielle (that was one HELL of a jelly fight). Have had no time to fuck around on computers; can't say that I'm impressed that I'm actually having to WORK during the day now. Etc.

ok, so you're going to shoot me down with bundle of sticks for being callous, but I'm sick of hearing about the 'last ditch pleas' by Australia to save Van Nguyen from the gallows. Instead we should be turning our thoughts and prayers to his family and to his mother, who, if Singapore continues with this hideous 'rule', will never be able to hug her son again. While I don't want to get into the 'abide by the country's laws/death penalty is wrong' debate - far too much of that going on -I will say that it makes me feel ashamed as a human being that she will not be able to say a proper good-bye to her son. They've doled out the ultimate punishment to a criminal; don't dole out the ultimate punishment to his family too. And that's all I have to say on the matter. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE CHEWING GUM.

So....this weekend the Jungle Boy & I are off to the bustling metropolis of....Prom Country. Yeah Yeah, I know that we were meant to be breaking up. Turn around Bright Eyes. Every now and then I fall apart. Can't help but feel a little bit lonely, now that Ex-Fucker has got a new girlfriend and doesn't harrass me anymore, and my wonderful, platonic, first boyfriend is now completely busy with his new partner. Plus, the time I spend with him is always fantastic, it's just that I don't get to spend a lot of time with him. I am way down on his priorities list.

Anyway, the upshot of the whole deal is that I get Friday off. And that's fucking great in my book.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Pleased to meet you.

Hi. I'm Gabrielle Richens. You might also know me as 'The Pleasure Machine'.

No, not that sort of machine, silly. I'm all woman.

You might remember me better from when I pussy whipped some Australian rugby player, forcing him to leave his position on the field for a position between my tits, only to dump his ass and head on back to the UK when I suddenly decided I needed a man with a neck.

I then was asked to host some crappy Austalian tv dating show that lasted about two minutes. Not that I cared, because at least I got a bit more 'exposure' in Australia.

In somewhat of a coup, I got to be on the first season of Austalia's 'Dancing with the Stars'. Fuck YOU, Bec Cartwright. I hate you so much. Your baby is going to be born with greasy hair. You don't even have great tits like I do. I bet you can't make Lleyton give up tennis for you, can you bitch?

Ahem. Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, I was just about to tell you that the reason I didn't make it any further on DWTS was because all the teenage boys ran out of credit on their mobiles. Stupid mothers. Would have been a different story if their dad's had of been giving out the pineapples. (Fuck YOU, Bec Cartwright).

Anyhoo, the reason I'm here today is to say "You found me!" You sure did, you crazy image googlers. I mean this blog is meant to be anonymous and all, and 'Martie' is some sort of moniker for a long lost middle name that I gave up ages ago when I got famous (pleasure & machine being me new middle names now, of course), but you still managed to find me! Bless!

But I have to tell you, and this is where I'm going to get all serious and stuff (*practises new acting techniques*), the pictures you're googling of me kinda pisses me off. Oh sorry, being serious, wasn't I? Ahem. The pictures of me you are searching for on the intermanet are fairly disturbing. (There you go, intermanet is a big word).
When you can have this:

Or this:

Or for god's sake, I'll even give you this one:


Why on god's green earth would you want this one?

You crazy kids, I'm at the FUCKING LOGIES FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

I mean, I had to get my outfit at the last minute, so it's not even a proper dress or anything. Check out the sleeves. Then some Channel 7 cock did some butcher job to my face and I'm just looking so, so, blah. I don't know. I mean I'm flattered that you're trying to whack off to my photos (damp cloth for keyboard and monitor. Don't even try on a laptop. V. Unconfortable), but really, it's just not my best picture. To top it all off, I have to stand next to one of Bec's friends. Who has multicoloured, lopsided boobs. At least I feel a bit better now.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, 'Hi' google image searchers. You found me. If you're not shy, leave me a comment with your mobile no. Maybe we can, y'know, date, sometime. If not, move along, nothing more to see. And please, STOP LOOKING AT THAT FUCKING PHOTO!

Kisses,

Gabs



Fuck YOU, Bec Cartwright

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Detox Diary #2 AKA Where's me fucken diet coke?

Yeah so. I'm up to Day Four. Going really well too, until the Ex-Fucker decided to jump back on the Herpes Train and bleat about he 'has' them, so I do too. Fuck off moron. However, I am the tiniest little bit worried about it, seeing as though the last time I slept with him was July and who knows who he'd fucked (for approximately 30 seconds) before that. So I'm off to the doctor.

Anyway, I jest with you in the title. I can honestly say that I haven't experienced any real cravings for diet coke or chocolate or even Microwave popcorn. The ones at the start were all mental I think - depriving oneself of one's staple drink would cause a mild panic in any event. But I've been so busy trying fill myself up on water, that I don't really notice it. Nice. Glad. Happy with self.

Anyhoo, here's a social conundrum for you all to ponder: What to do if one's Boyfriend asks you if you want to buy his DVD player? This is not the done thing, no? Fair enough if he's just asking a mate, but girlfriend? Wouldn't the right thing to do be to just offer it to me her, then I she could offer him some money, he could accept, no harm done? Or is that far too genteel in today's society???

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Detox Diary #1

Not like a real diary. I'd never inflict that kind of pain on you. I'm feeling jolly good at the moment, but wait until I hit work tomorrow:

- Official Diet Coke cravings began at 12:01am last night.

- Cravings intensified after sex.

- Sex is a good distraction for cravings though.

- I'm sure omelettes are great, but I find they taste too 'eggy'.

- I've done the dishes THREE times today already. Cooking sucks.

- I was allowed a 'small fruit smoothie' for afternoon, so I cheated and went to a juice bar for one. Could. Not. Be. Fucked. Chopping. Fruit.

- Where the fuck do I find 'Performax' bread?

- Concentrating on food makes me sleepy.

- Have only done one poo so far

And there you go. Just some random observations, uh, 18 hours in! Lots more hours to go. I look to them in anticipation.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Bitch? You ain't seen nothing yet.

I'm starting a detox on Sunday. It will be just like Celebrity Overhaul, 'cept I can wipe my own arse. (I reserve the celebrity bit, because I was on 'Double Dare' when I was 11. Suck it up people - I got slimed).

Anyway, it's not detoxing in such that I take paste-y stuff in a drink much like this. And I certainly won't be posting poo pictures either. More like cutting out processed foods and eating the right levels of carbs and proteins, and lots of other nutritious stuff that I've totally ignored for the first 20-ish years of my life. However, my nutritionist promises me that if I stick to it for eight weeks, and intensify my kick-boxing, then I can lose about 8 kilos by Christmas. Huzz-fucking-ah!

But you know what that means, don't you? No fucking-microwave-fucking-popcorn. HOW WILL I GO ON?? WHAT'S LEFT IN MY LIFE?? WHAT COULD BE WORSE???

I'll tell you what's worse. No Diet Coke. Bad. DC is my crack, 'yo. I drink it for lunch and for dinner and after dinner and between meals and sometimes if I'm just having one of those mornings I'll crack one open before 12pm. Rebellious much?

My DC addiction is at Betty Ford proportions. I'm already experiencing shakes and sweats, and I'm sitting at my desk drinking the fucking stuff at the moment.

Actually I've been told to expect headaches and tiredness, all of which will make me very irritable. Yay! My favourite. At least now I'll have an excuse when some fuckbag at work asks me a dumb question and I pulverise him to ground yelling "if it's that urgent learn how to use a computer yourself". But who really needs an excuse for that anyway?

Right-o. I'm off to load up on popcorn and peanut m&m's and cheese and bathe myself in DC. Enjoy

Monday, November 07, 2005

On the verge of throwing my fucking mobile off a cliff.

I really need to write this down, or I'm going to scream. So bear with me, and offer to ply me with vodka after I finish, please.

A very smart person remarked in my comments box a couple of weeks ago that I think too much about the Ex-Fucker and I want him back. Hello, reality.

It burns me up to think that he has a new girlfriend. He has even just been texting me wanting to talk, so I told him to talk to her, but 'he already has'. Fuck. I wanna go back to the days when I was the special one in his life and he turned to me first and everything like that.

It pisses me off to think of all the chances I gave him, and then when I fucked up, he wouldn't give me a chance.

It fucks my head in because he is a fucking idiot and I don't really want to be with him but I am INSANELY JEALOUS about him and his new girlfriend and I wonder if it's the Scorpio coming out in me. I think I just hate failing, and I view our relationship as something I failed in.

When I'm alone I want to cry, because when I was with him, I was never alone. We were nearly always together; hanging out; making mischief, talking. I get none of that with Jungle Boy. The emotional side of it, anyway.

For my birthday, Ex-Fucker used to go all out and spoil me and buy me presents - even if they didn't cost me a lot of money - that he'd put a lot of thought into. Jungle Boy bought me a perfume/body lotion set that was wrapped at Myer, and I'd never even heard of it before. If he really knew me, he'd know (or want to find out) that I interchange Hypnotic Poison; Chanel No. 5 & Rive Gauche depending on my mood. A box set is a cop out and shows that you haven't really thought about who the person really is. I'm not a perfume-gift-girl - and I hate when people don't wrap presents themselves.

I did could have had some birthay loving on Saturday night, but instead I drank more then went home and gave Jungle Boy a headjob that I can't actually remember giving. At all. I'm sure it was pretty crap, but seeing as though he doesn't make any attempt to stimulate me, let alone bring me orgasm, I don't care. At least the Ex-Fucker tried. I know he's like learning and shit, but I have needs too, you know.

The boy I met on Saturday night was cute-to-boot, but is now getting clingy, sending me messages calling me 'sweety' (sic) and asking how my day was. Plus, he's already been engaged twice and went to my school, albeit 2 years a head of me. Not cool. I was really fucking drunk. I was also a bit pissed off, because we'd really gone all out to do ourselves up to go out, and all Jungle Boy could say was "You look nice" while keeping one eye on The Mummy on TV. Cute/Clingy boy told me that I have beautiful eyes. Jungle Boy has never said that. Sometimes, the little things like are all I need. Ex-Fucker was great at it.

AND NOW HE'LL BE TELLING HIS NEW GIRL THAT. AYE AYE AYE!


I know jealously is ugly, and this post is ugly and incoherant and 1000 apologies, but I had to get this stuff out of my head and I have to ask if anyone has any suggestions on how to move on, I would be forever grateful. People keep telling me I'd get there - after a year, I don't think I'm anymore than half way there.


Promise much more birthday hijinks when I'm feeling better. And have played the crap out of Gran Turismo (PS2 'on loan' from Jungle Boy), to get it out of my system.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Why was she born so beautiful, why was she born at all?

THIS:


+

THIS:

Makes one little blogger very happy.


THROW IN SOME:


AND A LITTLE BIT OF THIS:

And you've got yourself a party, mofos.

That's right, everyone's favourite vodka slut is turning 22 24 mind your own fucking business celebrating her birthday this weekend. I'm hitting the town in my new g-string and new 'fuck off slut I saw him first' high heels and aim to get as many birthday kisses as possible.

So if you're out and about, pucker up.



Enjoy, M xxx

Thursday, November 03, 2005

The Imminent is imminent

Terrorist attacks are imminent friends, imminent. To the bunkers we go!

I seriously considered not going to work and using imminent terrorist attacks as my excuse, but knowing my luck, they'd think I was going to get my tits out at Oaks Day. No thanks, but I might head up to the pubs in the area to pick up a pissed bloke later. Ahem.

Like the trouper I am though, I soldiered on and went to work. My apartment building would have more chance of falling into a giant fuck-off hole than being attacked by terrorists. Shit hey, maybe the terrorists blew up part of the tunnel which caused the hole. I for one, am grateful to them. They have ridded the world of at least one UGLY bedroom for now.

So assuming that LJH's 'intelligence' is correct, and there are two states under threat, I think it would be safe to assume that Melbourne and Sydney would be the targets. No one is going to bother with Tassie or SA. They would leave QLD alone, seeing as it will most likely self-destruct anyway; there's not much point in blowing up the outback and WA doesn't even have Sunday shoppping, so there's no point talking to them about terrorism, they are that behind the rest of the country. September 11? Speak to WA in 2011.*

And now, with at least four state premiers agreeing to the rushed changes of LJH's anti-terrorist act, I wonder if this includes the 'shoot to kill' law so hotly debated a couple of weeks ago? Threats are imminent, so you never know.

Personally, fuck the terrorists, 'shoot to kill' should be introduced for all walks of life. I know that my Dad would be first in line to shoot to kill Daryl Somers if he saw him walking down the street, such is his contempt for the little man with a penchant for wearing knits such as this:

I'd reserve my shoot to kill licence for the cunt that killed the puppy in its own backyard in Bendigo. Shoot to kill is probably even too good for them, so my second choice would be the Fantastic Furniture chick. Fucking, can someone glass her already, please?

Anyway, my personal vendettas aside, who, given one 'shoot to kill' licence, would you target? The safety of this big brown land we proudly call 'Our Country' depends on YOU!!!!



*NB - WA readers, please don't shoot to kill me. I love your state, I'd love to live there, but I just don't understand why your shops don't open on a Sunday, ok?