Monday, July 17, 2006

Weekend update of death

I was all over the shop this weekend.

Friday night - I wrote myself off watching the sad sad remnants of my favourite cover band, Crazy Haus. OMGWTFBBQ - Terrence cut all of his hair off! Noooooooo. He looks - odd.

Saturday - Father Martie and I took ourselves off to the football, in perfect wintry conditions. HURRAH! I LOVE paying $800 for a warm bottle of diet coke, and a cold hot dog. Good to see some things never change. AND, St Kilda won. Suck it up, Daddy.

Saturday night - Do yourselves a favour, and DON'T go and see Superman Returns. Unless you wanna play Spot the Aussie (apparently it was filmed here?), it is lame, and can't make up its mind if it is a serious action movie, or a highly camp funfest. I did have nice pizza for dinner though.

Sunday - Possibly spent the whole day in bed...possibly watching The Poseidon Adventure...eating sausage rolls...drinking chocolate milkshakes. I love winter.

In other news, I seem to be feeling a lot better now, from last week. You're all gorgeous for sending me your best wishes. I'm still hurting, and still fucking around*, but secretly, the drama is better than nothing at all.



*Not literally fucking. It's Morals July.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

****UPDATED: The one without a title

Kids: take note. Being in love hurts.

It causes you to leave ridiculous comments on other people's blogs.

It causes you to bust out the BBQ shapes at 11:30pm on a school night.

Even worse, it causes you to finish off the Mint Chocolate Baileys on a school night.

It makes you stay up until midnight on a school night.

It makes you sent ridiculous text messages to assholes.

It makes you vote in Big Brother evictions. (SMS 199 EVICT with the message 'Krystal'. Please, for my sanity).

It makes you neglect to bring your washing inside in the midst of gale force winds.

It makes you feel like going running at 12am at night.

It causes you to die just a little inside when the person you love...just doesn't love you back.

It makes you write seventy five hundred morose blog posts that make you seem like a shallow, narcissic bore.




At least it's not about trains.




*****UPDATE*****
It also causes you to forget to title your blog posts

Sunday, July 09, 2006

The weekend that was

I'm not getting any sex. WAHHH

I went to a 30th at a Melbourne pub, where a vaguely familiar celebrity served me free beer until I tortured myself and caught the train home.

I still didn't get any sex. SUCH A WASTE OF A BRAZILLIAN.


OMFG YES. Bring it.
Mint. And Chocolate. And Baileys. Liquid orgasm.

Should drink it, BECAUSE I'M NOT GOING TO ORGASM ANY OTHER WAY.


Purple is the new pink. Remind me for when I finally get around to having my housewarming party.

My best friend made me cry on Friday night.

My extremely lame excuse of a 'male partner' made me cry on Saturday.

A kind (and very drunk boy) cheered me up, even though he was sad himself. (Thanks, H/M).

I bought two new bras, at the NEVER TO BE REPEATED MYER SALE. The two bras that I bought, were both full price.

I've decided that I can never have anything but an Oroton wallet, being the snob that I am. Even though I saw a perfect brown leather one at the NEVER TO BE REPEATED MYER SALE today, at the perfect price, I couldn't buy it because the name on it wasn't right.

No Sex. No Love. No Intimacy. It's all about the Money & Going on Holidays.

Bah.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

"I'm addicted to you, but I know that you're toxic"

Britney Spears is a fucking genius. This is philosphy, 21st century style.

It encompasses so many human relationships; we know they're bad for us, but we just keep on going back. And back.

Take this example:

Girl A finally had it with Boy A's treatment of her, and exorcised him from her life. But soon after, she felt lonely, and craved his on-off attention. So much so, that they decided to spend the weekend together in the city, and she spent all her hard-earned on dinner, drinks and gambling, even when he earns twice as much as her. So desperate was she for his attention, she even bought him a ring to symbolise her feelings, when all he'd ever bought her was...well, we won't go there.

And to think, she did all this, while she knew there was another waiting in the wings; another who would wine and dine her, and buy her jewellery, and give her the sense of belonging that she craved.

Don't you just want to slap her stupid??




On the other hand.....

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Machines with a heart

I don't know if this is indicative of my current state of mind, or if anyone else thinks it is a highly traumatic advertisement but:

You know the ad with the ANZ ATM? The one where he (The ATM) follows the guy around all day, until he finally needs to withdraw money, and The ATM is standing there faithfully, all out of breath, waiting for him?

That ad makes me cry.

I look at The ATM as a dog, ever faithful, and to see it chasing after that horrible man, apparently unwanted, breaks my heart.

To the extent where I now have to change channels whenever it comes on.




So now, when I open up my retirement home for dogs; I think I'll have to open a separate section for ATMS.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Train wreck

Hi team.

Yes, I've been MIA. It's kinda like that when you're minding your own business on a train, and then you get told you're 'too large to be entitled to a seat'.

It seems some random cunt (male, caucasian, early 40's, crewcut, ugly coat) decided to sit right next to me, when there were plenty of empty seats (even one right next to him), and proceeds to encroach on my arm space, pushing against my arm.

Not one to back down, I pushed back against his arm. It was fairly amusing at this point, and I'd imagine we would have looked more at home on a football field.

Finally, he decides to initiate 'conversation':

Random Cunt: "Gosh, you like to take up a lot of room, don't you?"

Me: "What would you have me do, sit in the aisle?"

RC: "Well yes, I mean, you're half on my seat"

At this point let me clarify that when Mr Perfect sat down, he bustled his way onto part of my coat, which was draped over the point in the middle of the two seats. So while my coat was stretched over to his side, my ass was nowhere near his godd damn seat.

But try explaining that to RC:

RC: "You're not entitled to one and a half seats, even if you are large."

Me: "Well, feel free to fuck off to any other seat if you wish."

As the Cocklord was getting off, he attempted to kick me. Me, being a kickboxing 'veteran' had the upper hand, and got a good one into his shin, half tripping him up. Take that!

However once the initial adrenaline wore off, I was quite upset, and spent the rest of the train ride with wet eyes. And, the majority of the weekend quite intoxicated, and quite possibly making a fool of myself in front of my new boss. At least I was making myself feel better.

So yes. Note to self. Toughen up when in city. And on trains. And promise; no more train posts.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Recipe - Le self pity

1. Cold & Rainy Afternoon/Night - Check

2. New Sheets on bed - Check

3. Freshly laundered pyjama pants stolen from the cunt that STOOD ME UP FOR THE BILLIONTH TIME - Check

4. Depressing Cold Play Music (Track 4) - Check

5. Feel-good take-away for dinner - Check

6. 'Off' button on mobile so I can't keep checking for the elusive little envelope
sign for the messages that the cunt won't send me - Check

7.
In Mint Chip flavour, of course - Check

8. Baileys. And Ice. - Check

9.
The Queen of them all, on DVD. - Check

Mix together listlessly. Avoid throwing squishy purple cushion against wall. Watch DVD, and resolve to become more liket the Grand Old Dame herself - chew 'em up and spit 'em out, etc.

Finally, follow with a spattering of vomit and a bit of No Doubt's 'Sunday Morning', and pass out.

Voila! Your Saturday night in the bag.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Train-gang

Ok. I'm sitting here, with one IE page open writing this, another IE page open reading blogs and what-not, I'm on the phone, I'm watching TV, I'm talking on MSN, and I'm involved in a text message threesome.*

Congratulations to me for being the 2006 Bestest Multi-tasker. Hurrah.

It is however, indicative of how my life is going to be now. No longer can I open up my fave blogs during the day; in fact, I've already discovered that some of my faves are not considered appropriate at all to open, even during my own time. Hello to internet usage monitoring. Thus, I'll be even further behind with my reading. And commenting. So 1000 apologies to those I love, and even those I don't love, because I'll be coming in three days late and by then it won't matter if I comment or not. But know that I still love/don't love you. In a mate's way.**

So. The Job. Well shoot me down with a bundle of sticks if this hasn't been what I've been looking for my whole life. Open Communication Channels; Ordered teams and designated work; Proper Processes and Procedures; A Cubicle; Pay Slips...the list could go on and on. Give me six months, and I'll be whinging more than a certain head-banded housemate BUT anything beats the ad-hoc approach to management, work and hr that my last job had.

It does have the inevitible downside though. The trains. I was already apprehensive about catching them; turns out that they certainly live up to their not-so-crash-hot reputation.

I caught an express the other morning; should have had me in at Southern Cross at 8:17am, plenty of time to walk to office, and check out suit talent*** on the way (my new fave past-time). However, it was running late - 12 minutes in fact. Not so great an impression to make on my second day.

So today, I caught the 7:31am train - this one was late as well. Like, this just makes me really fucking MAD. I'm paying PREMIUM prices, and this is the sort of service that I'm getting. I mean, they're trying to encourage us to catch PT, be more green, not park your cars in the city, etc, and they charge so much money for a service that quite frankly is not worth it.

For a first time user of PT (I've never had to use it before; not for school, uni or previous jobs. Yes I know, how very suburban of me - Mr & Mrs Croydon anyone? Yeah, well, meet Miss Mentone****.) it is a real eye opener, and it makes me even want to join the Public Transport Users Association because did I mention that I was MAD? And that's an extrordinary feeling for me, because I've never felt passionate enough about something to make me want to join a 'society' or similar. Except of course, cruelty to animals, but that goes without saying.

It's funny; too often people don't give a shit about something until it directly affects them. I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing; that type of selfish-ness is just human behaviour and didn't Bjork write a song about that? I don't know, I may not hold the informed, or even any views about topical issues such as detention centres and shit, but trust me when I say that I will hold society's best interests at heart when I will be taking on the cunts that run our PT system. And have no fear, if detention centres had train lines, I'd make sure they were re-zoned as well, so fares wouldn't be as expensive.

Who's with me? Do you think your fare's fair? Actually, that's going to be a great fucking slogan for my campaign, and I TM it right now. Or are you happy with your service? What improvements would you like to see? Obviously, this is fairly Melbourne-cised, but if you're interstate/overseas, how do you think your PT system compares? Especially price-wise. I would be interested to know.

Yeah...campaign...watch this space...



* - A non-sexual threesome. Sex (even text message threesome sex) needs your utmost attention

** - Isn't this the trendy thing to write on your blog these days?

*** - Fucking tongue-droppingly awesome.

**** - Me. For stalking purposes.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

ONE DAY TO GO

I have to type quickly...or I fear that the Pharmacy Brand analgesic that I have taken to try and get some sleep will take effect and I'll nod off at my keyboard...either that or the World Cup will do the trick.

ONE MORE DAY.

One more day, and I'll be out of that god-forsaken minefield of bitchyness and more intrigue than a 15th European Court. And quite possibly into a bigger one, but there's more chance of getting away from it in a larger corporation, isn't there.

Actually, you could possibly pass it off as half a day, because the afternoon will most likely be spent at the pub down the road. But I promise not on the revolving dance-floor afterwards. Stalk away.

The one good thing to come out of it, was that I sneakily requested my own going away present, an ice-cream cake, and a trip to the pub instead of chinese in the office. Hurrah for me.

Then on the weekend I'm fucked-out busy, repairing shoes, taking up hems, getting hair done and buying a(nother) black suit. Hurrah, trains, here I come.

So yeah, here's a recap. Last day of work tomorrow; first day of work on Monday = too stupid to take a week's break in between.

Mmmmmm so sleepy now....have a good one....

Monday, June 12, 2006

I'd rather be in Albury...

Long weekends are Teh Jizz, you know.

And so to celebrate, here is a long weekend post.










.




I'm not that mean.
Here's some light entertainment for you. Oh, what I could do with such an acerbic wit such as that.

Now, I'm just off to buy a black suit (THIS TIME NEXT WEEK PEOPLE!) and also a parka/casual coat that doesn't look like it's squashing down my ample bosom.

As you were.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Regression

I wish I was in primary school.

In primary school, you never get cold. You get to walk around in shorts and a t shirt all day, and play after school at night at a friend's house in your shorts and t-shirt and you'll never feel the cold. Even when your mum nags and nags you to put your jumper on, you'll only put it on to shut her up, then when she's walked away again, you'll rip it off and go back to playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Shop, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles saving the shop from Shredder and Krang - whatever takes your fancy.

I'd also like to be in primary school, because you can get 'rostered' on to play Dinosaur Discovery in the afternoon. You and your partner get your floppy disk with your saved game from last week, and you'd sit down in the hallway to try and beat everyone else. And how good did it feel when you finally negotiated a safe passage? Almost as good as when you finally caught Carmen, I'd imagine.

In primary school, they'd give you a pack of coloured pencils. And one of those 'gummy' erasers too. They were ace. You could break bits off and throw it at people when the teacher wasn't looking. You would also get to sit at special lifty-up-py desks where you could hide secrets, and pick a new desk partner every fortnight from the teacher's Itty Bitty Bin, and hoped and prayed you picked Stuart (again). If you were really lucky, you could hear your teacher call Jonathon a 'moron' and think it was the MOST SCANDALOUS THING EVER!

So, considering all this fun stuff, it's no wonder there's kids walking around in t-shirts when it's 7 degrees. I wonder when you start getting cold. Probably when you get to high school, and there's boys and 'non-understanding' parents and science homework to worry about.

Obviously that's why adults are feeling the cold the most. They're the ones that are wrapped up in thermals and warm clothes and coats and scarves at even the hint of some fresh Autumn air. It's because they've got the most to worry about. Jobs, and partners, and money, and kids, and mortgages, and politics, and car crashes, and weight, and getting old and....

Or maybe, these kids are getting about sans jumpers because they've lost them for the 100th TIME THIS YEAR ALREADY?



PS - In primary school, I made up a game. Imaginatively titled 'Car'. What you'd do, is get a group of friends together (4-6 is ideal), and sit in the playground at lunch time where you could see the road. You'd then pick an order, and each car that drove past would be allocated to each person in that order. Then you'd play and play and play until the bell rang for you to line up and then you'd decide who won, based on the following:
- colours of the cars that you 'got'
- exciting-ness of the cars that you 'got'
- occupants of the cars that you 'got'.
I once 'got' a bus full of grammar boys on their way to sports. That day, there was no question of who won.
I'm giving you all free range to play my game now - in fact DO IT this weekend. It will possibly help if you are a little drunk, and maybe even a little bored, but tell me how triumphant you will feel when you get a Ferrari, a fat-ass 7 series BMW and a car full of saucy members of the opposite sex, and you can go 'WINNER'.

Bonus points if they wave.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Not as smart as you think..

Seems I could be the world's most gullible person. You know the old saying, look up the word in the dictionary, see my picture, etc etc.

Seems everything that the Ex-Fucker has been telling me - the swingers parties, the male spas, the drugs - was all made up as some sort of test, to see if I've been telling people about it.

MADE UP. TEST. EX. FUCKER.

I've got a fucking neon sign over my head, haven't I? "Idiot, stop here" or similar.

So I'm pretty fucking miserable at the moment. Apart from the Ex Fucker's histronics, I'm dealing with finishing up at my old job, stressing over starting my new one, my finances are pretty much shot to bits, and I'm stressing about where I'm going to be living in a few months; I'm due at the nutritionist tomorrow night, and I reckon that I'm even more unhealthy than I was last November, and....well, it's just catching up with me...

Friday, June 02, 2006

Is it worth savin' me?

Do you laugh at people in their cars when you realise they're singing along to something? Do you deride them, point at them, flick your radio over so you can try to figure out what station they're singing along to?

Well don't.

Chances are, you've encountered ME singing along like I had a hairbrush in front of a mirror. My friends, I have decided that I am a WALKING, TALKING, VIDEO CLIP!

In case you're not getting the gist of it, it's like It Takes Two, but there's only one, and I'm in a car, not a Channel 7 studio.

I can't help it. Everytime a song comes on, I catch myself singing and 'acting' along to it. Melancholy Pete Murray songs? Yep, I'm gripping the steering wheel and looking wistfully out the window while humming "Soon, you'll see". Until I get pissed off after about the 7th repeat, and change the station, and the director's yelling 'CUT', and I have to do the whole sceen all over again.

Lucky every single station seems to have it on high rotation through-out the day.

La la la Kylie? I've perfected her driving sequence from the video clip to a 't'.

Run DMC v Aerosmith - 'Walk this Way'? More like 'Drive this Way' when I'm in the car.

Bat out of hell? It's just one big fucking soap opera in the Astra at the moment.

Hand movements, gestures, head nods, swerving in time to music enthusiastic drum beats on steering wheel. You name it, I'm bringing it to the roads. A danger? Probably not at the moment, but stop me when I clench my hands all emotional-y like while singing along to "What about me" (NOT the Shannon Noll version - that's an automatic loss of licence).

However, what I've found to be most disturbing, is my enthusiasm for Nickelback's latest ditty 'Savin' me'. Yes, yes, I know my hatred for the 'Back is well documented, but fuck me if I'm not addicted to watching the video clip. I LOVE the idea of being able to see how much time a person has until they expire, and you only lose this 'burden' after saving someone from their 'expiry date'. Ace stuff.

Because this song doesn't exactly inspire much acting, and because I just don't have quite enough time to bust out the paddlepop lion suit when it comes on, I've taken to viewing anyone and everyone I see, with a little orange countdown clock on their head! OMG, I have totally immersed myself into this video clip; now all I have to do is find someone to save, and I won't have to do anymore takes!

Lollypop man? Nope. Big orange signs and a whistle are such a deterrant.
Strange woman who sits in her BMW all morning. No chance.
Stupid private schoolboys who ride their bikes in front of me. Can't save them if I want to fucking run them over, can I?

My quest continues. I will find someone to save, and I will be free of my Nickelback curse. And don't forget to wave, if you see a slightly nutty girl in an Astra pining for her lost love on 'the day you went away'. You might just get your head on camera...

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Misson: Failed

Wow! An update on the Fantapants Experiment. It's been so long that....all the real gingery pubes have probably faded...

I am most ashamed to admit that I failed! Not one pubic hair photograph made it's way to my specially prepared inbox. I'm still in the dark as to whether carrot penises actually exist, and despite the reigning confusion of the past few weeks, a small flame (BAHAHAHAHA) still burns inside of me, wanting to be extinguised by knowledge. Of pubes.

I think I may have approached it from all the wrong angles though. My profile was fairly nice, and all 'I love redheads' which could have possibly given off the wrong impression. What I should have written was '18 year nubile girl, wants pictures of red pubes to get off on', then sit back and watch them roll in.

I did get an email from a VERY VERY VERY good looking boy/man/carrot, who scrubbed up extremely well in a suit, and seemed nice to boot. Of course me, being all introverted and shy and not at all self confident, didn't reply. Opportunity gone begging my friends, begging.

And now that the novelty of me being a 'new member' on the website has worn off, I haven't had any hits for ages, not even from desperate 50 year old guys with black hair.

So that kills my experiment, and apparently mission control have put a stop to funding and time spent on this particular research topic. Perhaps I need to apply for a Government grant to 'extinguish the flame'??

Monday, May 29, 2006

Little Miss Perfect

Bad. Bad. Bad. I did what I swore I wasn't going to do once I resigned, and that was tell people what I thought of them. Whoopsie. Daisey.

Silly me has gone and upset Miss Perfect, and now, I'm in the black books!

I couldn't help it though; I'm not a bubbly, perky person, especially not at 9:30am on a Monday morning. And it really pisses me off when people decide they want to do part of my work, then hand me the dregs.

So I was just fairly short with her, then all of a sudden she's having a go at me for being rude, rah rah rah. Consequently, my hands have been shaking all morning from adrenaline; as much as she shits me, I did not want to get into all out wars with people with only three weeks to go.

But she's just so...perfect! Perfect blonde hair, tan, body; a sing-song 'I'm always happy' voice, doesn't swear, owns her own house, lives with her partner, etc etc etc, and is only my age! Urghh. So infuriating. Yes yes, I know a lot of it is jealousy. But she is so perfect she makes me want to poke my eyes out with a pink highlighter.

Surely this is not an isolated incident? Is there anyone that you have to deal with constantly who is so perfect that it makes you want to scream? And how do you deal with them? I feel bad for being rude now, but in reality I just want to tell her to cram her sing-song voice back into her stupid mouth.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Sore nipples and hot gay guys

I've got the flu, my god damn nipples are so hard because it's FUCKING FREEZING, and I'm pissed off. Oh boy.

Why am I pissed off? There's a multitude of reasons; not at least the fact that people earning $400K and STILL not being able to do their job properly.

It's also the fact that the new shoes I bought last Thursday ALREADY have already scuffed and have had the leather fall off the toes.

And we need not mention all the extra work that has suddenly appeared from 'nowhere' now that I have given notice, and has to be finished before I leave, along with me training someone to do my job, and getting my normal work up to date.

However, probably the most perplexing, pissing-me-off issue is being told "I'm finally ready for you to meet my parents". After one year. The Fuck? Anyway, I'm going to do the Big Brother thing, and play the game. "Sorry, Sunday night is reserved for dinner with my parents"; "Sorry, I'm feeling a little under the weather, and would not be my usual sparkling self" "Sorry, I was so ready to meet them ages ago, that I have become un-ready again, and you and your mother will now have to wait until I become ready again" or "Sorry, I'M STILL PISSED THAT I WASN'T INVITED TO DINNER FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY YOU MUMMY'S BOY CUNT, SO YOU CAN JUST STICK YOUR 'GET-TO-KNOW-YOU-DINNER' WHERE THE SUN DON'T SHINE".

Yes, of course.

And speaking about Big Brother, I'm so bored with this year's crop of housemates, that I can't believe I haven't turned it off already. But oh no, little pervy old me was up watching the AO show last night, and while I was watching their impersonations of a lapdance, I was disturbed by a very sudden thought:

Imagine getting a lapdance from (rumoured stripper??) Gaelan? I'd be asking for my money back, quick smart. I hate to say it, but is it a just a strange co-incidence that he looks like a cousin to Michael Bryant, and it was the 10th anniversary of the Port Arthur Massacre this year?

*Cue spooky music*

*Cue microwave for hot chocolate with Codral flu caps*

*Cue goodnight*



*UPLATE UPDATE: I totally think that Rob looks hot dancing at the beach party

VOTEZ FOR ROBZ TO WINZ!!!!1!

Sunday, May 21, 2006

This way please...

If you had been stood up for the SECOND TIME by the person who promised to take you to Cold Rock to celebrate your new job, and you had in your possession, their favourite pyjama pants, would you rip them up into little pieces and mail them back to that person??

Just asking.

Meanwhile, I'm keeping myself happy with a new bag and new shoes and a new job and A FUCKING BIG ANNUAL LEAVE PAYOUT COMING MY WAY.

I have one month to:

*lose 10 kilos
*fuck cocktards off once and for all out of my life
*stop swearing
*clean my fridge
*have a haircut
*save money for car registration/insurance
*go to Cold Rock.

For on June 19th, I plan on starting a new chapter in my life, starting with my career, and I'm going to walk out my door that morning on the way to the train station, more confident than I've ever been in my life. And I'm writing it all down here, just to keep myself on track. So, excuse me while the focus of my blog shifts a little; just keeping myself honest.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Next stop: Schoolies

Oh, for the love of regular posting.

By the time I'm getting home, I don't even want to face a computer.

However, something happened to restore my faith in mankind...

Last night, against my better judgement, I played netball again.

And what did the fresh faced 17 year old I was playing on, happen to ask me while the ball was down the other end?

"So, what high school do you go to? What subjects are you studying?"

Oh honey. I was probably looking after you in after school care.

Watch out for Martie in a short tartan skirt and school tie, coming to some patch of Victoria near you.

And oh. Note that I was stood up TWICE on Saturday night, and never got my Cold Rock. Are there any takers? Does anyone want to take me to get some M'FUCKING ICE-CREAM WITH SNAKES IN IT? Do I have to auction myself off? I JUST WANT ICE-CREAM. ICE CREAM.

Because, if I'm looking like I'm 17, I'm damn well going to act like it.

Friday, May 05, 2006

I do...I do I do I do I do I do

Yo bitches. Slack mole here ( :P to you Desci). A litany of excuses, of course; I have been job interviewing, working, kickboxing, working, watching TV in bed, and did I mention working? Fucking end of financial year.

So, anyway, if it was today without the circumstances of approximately one and and a half years ago, I wouldn't be at work. In fact, I probably wouldn't even be blogging. Because tomorrow, would just about be one of the biggest days of my life.

I'd be getting about wearing something like this:


Rocking around in something like this:


Entertaining here family, friends and obligatory guests here:


Consumating the union in something like this:


And then finally hiding myself (and the hubby) away somewhere like this:



That is correct. Martie would have been getting married. To the drug addict Ex Fucker. Good decision much?

Come tomorrow night, there could be tears, there could be celebrations, there could also be strawberry champagne and vomit. However, if I get the job I've been interviewing for, it will definitely count as a party, and to signal the next chapter of my life.

Do you think it would be too perverse to have dinner at the Portsea Hotel?

BAHAHAHAHAHA! Fuck no. I'm going to be enjoying (completely drug free) fucking awesome ice-cream instead.

And probably lots of strawberry champagne (fuck off, it was free).

So have yourselves a merry little weekend, wedded or not.

Friday, April 28, 2006

Friday Free For All

FIRST!!! An update on the Fantapants Adventure.

Total Number of messages: 16
Total Number of times I've been asked for my pictures: 16
Total Number of messages from actual fantapants'es...whatevs: 7
Total Number of HOTT fantapants: 1
Chances that HOTT fantapants guy will email back: 0
Total Number of actual fanta in pants pictures seen: 0
Total Number of hopeful sightings of actual fanta in pants pictures: 1
Youngest Fantapants: 19
Oldest Fantapants: 40
Total Number of times I've 'winked' at a certain (non-fantapants) blogger: 2
Total Number of sexually explicit messages received: 1
Total Number of times I've been told that "Anal is optional": 1

JOY! This experiment is working REALLY WELL. I even get to choose as to how I wanna put out. Bonus.

Further updates after the weekend, as I prepare to WRITE SOME EMAILS! WHEY-HEY!

Okay, so the second random Friday thought is brought to you by a large hamburger chain. Why is it, that whenever I order Onion Rings, no matter what the location of the particular store, it always ends up that there's a stray chip in the box? Always. Does this happen to everyone? Is it just a random thing? Do they sneak a chip in there to advertise 'hey, we do French Fries too y'know"? Does anyone actually eat Onion Rings besides me?

And the third thing today is something that has been driving me mad ALL WEEK. I wasn't going to blog about it, but some of you may have different opinions depending on your circumstances and whether you indulge in recreational drug taking. Soooooo...

I got a text message on Monday morning from the Ex-Fucker. First contact in ages from him, was frankly half asleep, but it read something akin to him telling me 'that he's now taking drugs, as in speed, ecstacy, & acid, and he enjoys it, it's just like beer, it makes him confident & happy BUT it's MY fault that he's decided to start taking them.

Yep. That's right. We've been broken up for more than 18 months, we haven't had any face-to-face contact since September 2005, he has ANOTHER GIRLFRIEND, yet it's my fault that he has chosen to do drugs. Obviously, I'm so fucked up that it's not clear to me yet. OBVIOUSLY.

It of course has nothing to do with him now running with his supposedly 'cool' crowd, and that BEER IS APPARENTLY NOT COOL. Gee, I'd better SMASH ALL THE CARLTON DRAUGHT STUBBIES THAT I HAVE IN MY FRIDGE. Beer is, clearly, the new Nicky Webster.

What's wrong with this guy? You'd think after 18 months and a new girlfriend, that he'd give up trying to torture me and lay the guiltrip down. I am completely anti-drugs - as in I'd never take them. Never have, never will. As for other people, it's their perogative, and I'd never shun them if they did. (The only thing I wouldn't do is seriously date someone who took them). And when we were together, he was of the same opinion. Which makes me think all the more, what a weak, spineless pathetic creature he is, because he is clearly taking whatever he has to, simply to keep up with a crowd that probably wouldn't give a shit about him when they came down.

However, not having experienced first-hand what the drugs can do to you, is there some really fucked mind shit that's happening here? Is it a normal thing - as in a side effect or something. I don't care, I don't want any further contact with him, but at the same time - it's not really MY fault? Is it?

Right. So some happier news. I bought myself some white gold earrings today. I think I look like a pirate. Maybe it's just because I haven't worn earrings since I was eight. However, they were on sale and I thought I might wear them to my job interview next week - something about looking the professional rather than the tomboy that I actually am. Hurrah for earrings!

And finally. COCKLORD. I just wanted to write that in my blog for a certain blogger. In a good way.

Have a fucking good weekend my fabulous blogging friends. I'm going to buy Narnia on DVD and re-live all those classic, incestual/bestiality moments, so you probably couldn't get much good-er than that, unless of course you were going to settle down in front of the TV with your best friend to watch the return of the Friday Night Games, followed by Skating With Celebrities, washed down with a couple bottles of Baileys and a replay of 'Mean Girls' on DVD. That's of course, if you were going to do that at all.

M xx

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Martie's Anzac Day Hijinx

I masterbated on Anzac Day. Is this disrespectful? Should I have waited until after 1pm perhaps, to fall in line with the Casino and shopping centres? At least it wasn't like having a rave party where the diggers landed, was it? Was it?

Ahem.

Anyway on with the show.

I am always somewhat amazed to see most of my hits on this here very site, coming from google and other engine searches, for the following terms:

"Does the carpet match the curtains"
"Red Pubes"
"Bloodnuts"
"Ginger Pube"

Way back, I wrote a random musing about the fascinating subject of redheads, and whether their pubes really did match the colour of their hair. In all serious, it's something that I've wondered about, but I was just going to put it down to luck if I ever got up close and personal with a fantapants.

However, the fanta just won't quit.

I'm not quite sure if it's sexual deviates or zealous interior decorators that are conducting these searches, but by golly, it's roused the sleeping curiosity in me tenfold.

So. What to do, what to do.

Then it hit me. Where else would I find sickos and weirdos willing to share their pubes with me? Teh interwebs, of course!

I've signed up to a *cough*reputable*cough*dating*cough*site*cough*. It's just like advertising for redheads. Like advertising a job on Seek, for the right candidate. OMG!!!!1! How is it that my genius-like qualities are only just coming to the fore now?

I've already had 10 responses! Hurrah! Mind you, six are from guys WHO DON'T HAVE RED HAIR! Can't these cunts read? My profile is very specific about only wanting contact with guys with red hair - now I know how Puss feels when she deals with these fuckwits. One guy even offered to colour his hair red for me (Desperate? Him? No!),but politely declined when I asked him if he'd do his pubes as well.

So, as my quest to find a luscious red pubic thatch continues, brace yourselves for updates on The Fantapants Adventure. And don't say I didn't warn you about the pictures.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

I truly did dream, about alcoholic ice-cream...

Firstly, I'd like to make a public apology to the uh, crazy computer king known as h/m. I'm so sorry I keep falling asleep! I can't possibly tell him this again, as I've done it every night this week and it would sound contrite if I did. And oh, one last thing; $110.21, and I've still got until 6th May for the end of my billing period. So I win. Ner Ner.

Right. So with that out of the way, I'm off to buy yet another Bonds hoodie to add to my collection. Which totals nothing less than five hoodies, two pairs of pants, chesty singlets in an absolute rainbow of colours, and a whole drawer full of underpants. Obsessed? Me?


Nooooooooooooooooooooooo.


Avagoodweekend, snotfaces.*




*obviously meant in a completely affectionate way. xx

Thursday, April 20, 2006

A cunning plan...

Something I grapple with everyday is the (relatively) age old question: career or motherhood?

Not that I'm planning to go out and have kids anytime soon (so you can now breathe a sigh of relief), I'm just struggling to decide if I want to angle my career in a direction that will eventually allow me to have kids, or just go full pelt into my career of choice.

If I worked in an industry where it was an easy process and flexi/work from home hours were ok, even encouraged, then it would be a no brainer. However, the industry that I have chosen to work for is just one big old boy's network. It's okay now, while I'm one of the boys, but as soon as you show any signs that your tits are not just there to be groped* at Friday night drinks, the network revokes any sort of privileges you might have had.

And I do want to have kids. Despite proclaiming that I have had my fill of children on several occasions from the age of 15, where I worked in after-school care, and babysitting, and finally progressed on to be a nanny for some very well-to-do families, I do want my own. I love the time I spend with Piggy, my godson, even though I will confess I love the time I get to give him back. It's all the Ex-Fucker's fault; if we hadn't broken up, all the plans and dreams I'd had would be coming into fruition now. I'd be having my kids at a relatively young age, then going back to my career while I was still young, and...fuck him. In fact, I've just realised that in two weeks time, I would have been getting married. Expect some sort of emo post around the 6th of May. You have been warned.

If I stay on my current career path, I can make a fast and easy bucketload of cash, set myself up, meet the perfect man, settle down, get married, and get busy with the baby making process. I could then, hypothetically speaking, go back to that career on a part-time basis when I felt comfortable.

On the other hand, if I change tact just a little bit, I would slog it out on basic money, and would need to push myself to get to the top. Lots of years of hard work, but ultimately, more job-rewarding and more of an achievement of satisfaction. However, no time to meet perfect man, and get married, and have kids. And definitely no part-time work.

Then again, is it likely that I would meet the perfect man anyway in the alloted time frame?

Do I even want to meet the perfect man?

Should I just go for a celebrity-patented 'insta-baby'- no partner required?

What if? What if? What if?

This is going to do my head in.

My nipples are hard tonight. The back door is open.

I fail to understand why I just can't plan every facet of my life. I know it's impossible, but, wouldn't it be wonderful if I could? Everything would run like clockwork and I'd know exactly what I was doing, instead of feeling all confused, and lost like I do now. I don't think I could go all hippy and follow the crystals and be all que sera, sera. I look forward to a certain amount of destiny in my life, but I want to control it as well. I want to know where I'm heading.

So, because I can't plan my life, I will plan drinks instead. Lots of them. Coupled with a dancefloor and people to keep me amused. And sane, by the looks of it.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Confused girl: Explanation wanted.

*Sigh*

Dealing with boys and my relationships with them is so...brain frazzling.

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.

At least my relationship with Milo and Milk is not so complicated and confusing and a lot...wetter.

At least my pink journal* is getting a workout!




* Yes, journal. Because even some stuff is not appropriate for the 'anonymous' interwebs.

Monday, April 17, 2006

A great big vomit-y hello to Victoria

Yikes. I'm a tad hungover. Here's a tip. Don't ever go kickboxing with a hangover. Just saying.

Last night, we celebrated the Tart's first night back in Victoria with a tipple and a boogie. This morning, on our way home, we celebrated the Tart's first morning back in Victoria with a vomit on the side of Warrigal road, underneath the Monash freeway (a big wave to all passing motorists).

It all started with a little (okay, a lot) of this:


I swear, I never knew my TV could be turned up so loud.

So after we relived the Tart's 19th birthday at (the now defunct) Transformers (Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride, nobody's gonna hold me down. Oh no! I've got to keep on moving), in my living room, we jumped into the awaiting yellow chariot and drove to our destiny.

Or quite possibly, we just drove to a hole. In fact, if it had of just been a hole in the ground, with a bar and a dancefloor, it probably would have been much better. However, considering there was a bar, and a dancefloor there anyway, it was much of a much-ness really.

I must say a big cheerio to the cunt in the Easter Bunny costume who decided it would a good idea to go round and hand out easter eggs/cop a feel all night. As you all are probably aware I'm SHITSCARED of rabbits, and SHITSCARED of people in real-size animal/weirdo costumes. IT'S NOT FUNNY TO CHASE PEOPLE AROUND PUBS, OK? Glass the Easter Bunny.

Somewhere in between, I remember Tart disco-pashing some guy in a tight western-style shirt. Whenever I staggered in their direction, I yelled 'Yeehah' or 'Ride'em Cowboy', and was of course met with death stares, which made it even funnier. I am nothing but an excellent best friend, of course.

I also remember hanging out with some random guy who appeared to dislocate his finger on several occasions. I also know he was drinking beer with raspberry lemonade, so he was a pussy and I should have dislocated his finger harder for him.

I vaguely recall dancing to 'Flaunt it' and thinking I was teh sex and all things equivalent. I know it's a lame song but that guy's voice is pure sex (especially when amped with alcohol) and it got my juices going. Fortunately, I was able to hold back the tidal wave of girlcum and no one drowned. Hurrah!

Then the next thing you know, the Tart is passing out in the taxi on the way home. No KFC run either. WAH! No wonder why I was seedy this morning. There was nothing to soak the alcohol up. After she was safely home, I stumbled my way to my apartment, proceeded to convince myself that Ferrero Rochers were a great hangover cure, drank the rest of the milk, and eventually passed out.

Mental note to self for next time:
1. Do not take mobile out again.
2. Chips with potato & gravy are a required pitstop.
3. Watch out for rabbits.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Mmmmmmmm, steak....

I'm such a lazy bugger. As such, to celebrate Good Friday, here is a list post. Because Jesus liked lists too.

* I don't get the whole non-eating red meat thing on Good Friday. Surely it should be just don't-eat-human-flesh day? In any case, I'm having steak for dinner; if only just to prove my point.

* Good Friday is such a waste of a day - there's nothing to do! Open thy shops, damnit!

* I really should get out of bed and wash my towels.

* Everyone's leaving blog land. No such luck for anyone that reads this - you are all still stuck with me. But as such, I shall be updating my links page (another excuse not to get out of bed).

* *Someone* is cut at me because I told them that I wasn't buying Easter Eggs this year. Easter Eggs are for the kids, hey? And even though I had to get my mum one, and my dad some carwash (in lieu of chocolate eggs - what a MADMAN), I shall not be purchasing any for anyone else. Naughty Martie.

* ...I've got nothing else. This really is a good indicator of just how bored I actually am on Good Fridays. Is there anything in Christian 101 that says you can't start drinking before 12pm?

Have a spankin' good Easter break (I am so MTV) and watch out for Monday's special hungover edition, in which I will highlight the dangers of drinking alcomohol, and being around someone who likes to talk behind your back. Delicious!


*****UPDATE - GOOD FRIDAY 'NIGHT'*****
Oh, I was so, so, SO right with my call about not buying *anyone else* easter eggs. Again, so let down and so used. At least folding my washing is fun.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

I want to ride

I would like to shake the hand of whoever sung the song "Love Rollercoaster". Because indeed, there has never been a truer prophecy sung.

Oh yeah. It was them. Figures.

I mean, RHCP was the favourite band of the boy I had a crush on the entire time at high school, TIM FISHER, with whom I'm sure you're all familiar by now. He even used to draw their '*' logo on his wrist in black texta in Year 10 geography, and I used to painstakingly copy him (at home of course).

Unfortunately, I also got rejected by him (although he did sign my shirt on muck-up day), but it just goes to show my mindset at the moment when I can't get a song out of my head that was on a CD that I gave my high school crush for Valentine's day who ultimately rejected me.

On second thoughts, maybe I don't want to ride the stupid rollercoaster anymore.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Saturday Afternoon Fuck

Don't you just hate when you send a text message to the wrong person? Especially when the message is about that person? Even if that person is acting very suspiciously and you know they're up to no good, the text message just lets them know you're onto them.

Fuck. And I wasn't even drunk.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

COMMUNITY SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Attention all Phone/Fax users:

If you have one of these appliances, get the fuck out of Australia* now. These god damn fucking machines are the bane of my whole existance and if I have to send one more fax to one, I'm going to mow the whole lot of you down.

If you are one of the dumbfuck users of these machines, HAVE A BIT OF COURTESY and throw the fucking thing out, or get a separate line installed. Do you know how many problems these contraptions cause? No? Let me enlighten you.

Scenario A
Client: "Please fax document through right now; I have a phone fax and I'm turning it over now."

Martie (on phone): "Sure, not a problem."

Martie (off phone): "No worries, I'll just drop EVERYTHING I'm doing just because you're too tight to get a separate line."

Martie (off phone, quizzically): "Why won't the fax go through? WHY?"

Martie (on phone): "Sorry Client, I'm trying to fax through your documentation, but it keeps telling me it's not connecting."

Client: "Oh yes, I had to make a call. Fax it through now."

Martie (on phone): "Sure, not a problem."

Martie (off phone): "Fuck you"

Scenario B
Client: "Please fax document through in 17 minutes and 47 seconds."

Martie (on phone): "Sure, not a problem"

Martie (off phone): "I'll just set my fucking stopwatch, shall I?"

Some 17 minutes and whatever seconds were left later...

Martie (off phone, quizzically): "Why won't this fax go through? WHY?"

Martie (on phone): "Sorry Client, I'm trying to fax through your documentation, but it keeps telling me it's not connecting."

Client: "Oh yes, I forgot to switch it over. Fax it through now."

Martie (on phone): "Sure, not a problem"

Martie (off phone): "Fuck you and your fucking fucked phone/fax"

Scenario C
Client: "Please fax documentation through ASAP to my phone/fax."

Martie (on phone): "Sure, not a problem."

Martie (off phone): "If this doesn't work, I'm going to scream."

Martie (off phone, quizzically): "Why won't this fax go through? WHY?"

Martie (on phone): "Sorry Client, I'm trying to fax through your documentation, but it keeps coming back as busy."

Client: "Oh yes, that's because I've got message bank connected. You'll have to wait until I get home so I can switch it over. I will ring you when I'm ready."

Martie (on phone): "Sure, not a problem."

Martie (off phone): "FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING TIGHTASS DUMBASS COCKTARD (for Hambo). JUST FUCK RIGHT OFF!


So yes, evil phone/fax users. Run. Run as fast as your stumpy little one line legs can take you. Because trust me, I will hunt down every single phone/fax and destroy them all with bare hands and it will be bad luck if you get in the way defending their honour, because Martie don't take no prisoners.


THIS COMMUNITY SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE LETTERS I,N,S,A,N & E.


*Victoria will do. My phone/fax bounty hunt budget doesn't extend overseas. Or even interstate. Or probably not past the Melb metro area.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

COCKLORD

For Hambo






OMG!!!!!1! The triangles are coming!

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Don't stop moving to the funky funky beat

It really is true that music can lift your mood. And ever since I discovered that my super-dooper DVD player will play my MP3s I have been rediscovering the joy of Martie's mix-cd, layed down this time last year.

And what a rediscovery it is. Where else could you find The Screaming Jets next to S Club 7? Not on 'So Fresh', that's for freakin' sure.


United by the moment, on Marties blog

A self-proclaimed disco queen, I've been out of action for a while now, wih various injuries. However, my physio tells me that I'coming along in leaps and bounds, and thus, it will soon be time for me to return to the floor.

This is all helped by the return of The Tart, my bestest friend in the whole wide world, who is making the move back to Melbourne, after finding Brisbane a bit too 'vegas' for her. We are the party Tarts, and April heralds our return. Fuck yeah!


People cleared the floor for the return of the Tarts

However - there isn't a hell of a lot of decent places to venture out to on this side of town. And I'll be fucked if I'm going to fork out my entire wage on a cab fare from the other side of town. Dude, we NEED those cheeseburgers on the way home.

There's a couple of disco pubs around. Suburban, but alright after a while, especially if you want to play pash & dash (Bayside boys are so easy). However the main one is now where the Ex-Fucker and his golfing buddies (and new girlfriend) hang out and until I'm ready to walk in there wearing nothing but a black string bikini and fuck off high heels, that one is off-limits.

There is a lounge/bar type establishment around the traps, which is much more famous for previously being a place called 'Jakes'. If you know the area at all, you'll know Jakes. It was famous for being 'the' kick on venue in probably the whole of southern metropolitan Melbourne.

Jakes was the sort of classy joint where, when someone vomited, it would be covered up with sawdust & everyone would get on with the party. It wasn't unusual for the line to get snake right up Church street, and to get there before 1am was just 'so uncool'. It was also a common sight to see most people in the queue eating overpriced hotdogs from the built in hotdog stand, before they paid $10 bucks to get in and go crazy on the shots. It is also where the Ex-Fucker and The Athlete first kissed me. Oh Jakes, I miss you.

So due to lack of 'cool' nitespots, it looks like we are going to have to dag out, and hit the quasi-over 28's for a while. Quasi, because at one stage they wouldn't let guys in without a collar, and also because you can get some serious grannies in there. Usually, if I've had a few, I'll walk past them and come out with gems like "Nanna! It's way past your bedtime" or "Don't forget to take your teeth out when you blow that guy tonight".

I never said I wasn't a bitch.

Besides, HOW CAN YOU GO PAST A PLACE THAT PLAYS 'ICE ICE BABY'? And yes, that is me up the front singing ALL the words.


Will it ever stop? Yo, I don't know.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Alcohol required

I SWORE to myself that I would never turn my blog into Martie's love life disasters, and in particular, I would never post another thing about one fucktarded boy in particular, but...

It's Jungle-Boy's birthday tomorrow. I thought I would get him a nice present for his birthday. Yes, even after the dressing gown & store perfume incident. What can I say? I'm generous. I don't like to 'buy' people with my gifts, but I like to get them something that makes them feel special.

$250 bucks later. There's only one thing bugging me - what to do about his actual birthday. I KNOW that he will be going out for dinner, and I'm wondering if I will be invited.

It seems not.

Apparently, his mum has 'plans' for him. Pick him up from work, then they (his family) go out to dinner. Non-inclusive of me. I'm not invited. His family. Not me.

You would think, that after nearly 10 months together, that you would have done the whole 'meet the parents' thing. Especially since he lives right around the corner, and sees them nearly every day.

It seems not.

A relationship that he proports is 'serious', but obviously not serious enough for something like that. Fool, Martie.

I'm just about to the end of my tether. I do something nice, I get flippant/casual/rude in return. Yet, I'm not angry at him; I'm pissed with myself because I obviously have a serious lack of self-respect to be treated this way. And because I spent my grocery and petrol money on his motherfucking present.


*****UPDATE: This just through on MSN conversation:

Jungleboy: I've got plans for you when you get a job in city
Martie: Oh?
Jungleboy: Yeah. An apartment in the city!
Martie: Okay. I'm going to have to get a pretty bloody good job then.
Jungleboy: Who said it would be all you?
Jungleboy: I've always wanted to walk to work.
Martie: So, you'd want to get an apartment so you could walk to work? (*Not to move in with me, just so you could walk to work?* OH HOW I WISHED I'D ASKED THIS. WHAT A PUSSY)
Jungleboy: Yeah. But I'd need somewhere for my car and pc's and stuff. So I'd live at home on the weekends.
Martie: ???

/

I've not lived with someone before, but I'm sure the whole deal is meant to be more romantic than that.

My hand is literally covering my face right now, and as soon as I finish this post, the other one will be right there with it. I need a good, hard slapping, for a good, hard wake-up-to-myself.

Not so Smartie Martie

Scoff you may, Caz.

And you would well be right. My 'exciting competition' is over before it even started.

The 'prize' has been snaffled.

So all you Chuck Norris lovers out there will have to wait until I create some other monumental fuck up ordering clothes from the internet for the next instalment.

1000 apologies to all.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Evil is coming*

Stick with me chickens - No, I haven't been eaten by cockroaches -yet!

But I do have an exciting competition where you can win actual real live STUFF! Huzzah!

Make sure your thinking caps are on and ready.



*Not in any way a Neighbours reference

Monday, March 20, 2006

You got me feeling emotions

Whey-hey! I felt emotion today. What a fucking relief. Sure, it was paralysing fear, but you've gotta start somewhere, right?



Of course, my little visitor wasn't exactly waving at me, but the pictures of actual cockroaches are gross. I didn't want to, sully my blog or anything.

8:10am - Get out of shower. Nude. Notice big black spot above doorway. Scream. Realise it's not a man eating spider. Just man eating cockroach instead. Goody.

8:15am - Still paralysed in the one spot watching cockroach negotiate doorway.

8:17am - Decide that to tackle problem, I will need to get dressed. Scurry about room, taking care not to let it know that I was there, and nearly break neck from keeping an eye on it.

8:18am - Damn. It's disappeared onto the other side. Grab Homebrand Coles Spray & Wash. Lemon fragrance.

8:19am - Stand at doorway, gathering up the courage to run (or rather limp-run) underneath. Terrified of finding lounge-room wall covered in its friends.

8:20am - Take a deep breath and go as fast as my legs can take me into lounge room. Look up, and discover that I passed right underneath where Mr Cockroach was climbing. Shake out hair in case any fell in it.

8:21am - Waste precious minutes negotiating with cockroach. "Please, just get out of my house" "Fuck off out of my house, fucker" *Stamping Feet* "Go, just go. I'm going to be late for work" "Fine. Now I'm going to have to do something about this"

8:22am - Spray cockroach with Spray & Wash from middle of the room. Realise spray is not long enough. Inch closer, spraying as I go.

8:23am - Quarter of a can later, cockroach falls to floor. Ahah! But, look out. IT IS COMING RIGHT TOWARDS ME! Let off spray, then dive for handily placed broom.

8:24am - Watch as it heads towards the front door, but not quite. Build up courage to 'sweep' it towards door with (long handled) broom. I have this fear that it will have the power to get me, up through the handle. Ugghhh.

8:25am - Push cockroach too hard, with my mighty power fuelled by adrenline. Cockroach goes behind door. Spend anxious few seconds in close proximity while I try and work out where it is. Is all good though, as it crawls out from under the door, helping itself to death.

8:26am - Open wire door, and with one last mighty push, sweep cockroach onto driveway. Uh oh. It's not there. Panic, as I think it may be stuck on bristles, but it's only stuck on the little rise from front step. One more mighty push & it's out.

8:30am - Leave for work. Walk past cockroach on ground. Damn. Not dead yet. No wonder why they say these fuckers can survice a nuclear holocaust. NOTE: Did not step on cockroach, as have fear of it being able to attack me from beneath my shoe. Probably wrong move. It will now gather the reinforcements and come back for revenge, no doubt.



When I grow up, I want to marry a man who will take care of all the creepy-crawlies for me.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Existence

Living v Existing

If you're existing, you're getting up in the morning, and going to work. Not loving it. But not hating it either.

If you're existing, you're eating and drinking because it is a neccessary requirement. You're not enjoying it; it's not social, in fact it probably all tastes the same.

If you're existing, you're talking to people, and being polite, but you're not going out to par-tay with them, or telling them to fuck off because they're wankers or some such. Most of the time, they're faceless.

If you're existing, you're not happy, bright or bubbly. But you're not sad, or moody or gloomy either.

You feel like a robot, on autopilot, going through the motions, but never quite experiencing the emotions of it all.

Profound? Not really. So how do I know?

Because I am currently just existing.

I go through my day-to-day routine, but I have no interest in it.

I'm not depressed, but I'm not waking up excited about what the day will hold for me.

It's as like, there is no 'point' to my actual existence at this moment in time. Fear not, this is not a suicidal cry for help. I'm not cowardly, or smart, or even fucking stupid enough to take my own life. I know that some time in the future (next week/month/year) there'll be a point, but for now, I feel nothing.

I alluded to the fact that I don't have any/many friends early this year/late last year. This is not exactly true. I have many varied friends. Some a bit older than me, some my age, some boys, some girls. I have a bestest friend, between who, the tyranny of distance cannot come.

However, my friends aren't a 'social network'. They don't all know each other. I used to be part of a large, and sometimes rather incestous, social network. However I've been on the outer for the last few years, and the last straw came when a former close friend had his annual birthday barbeque, and I was not invited, at the insistence of another former close friend to whom I stood up to when I found out she had been going to town about me behind my back.

This kind of shit, I don't need. Sure, I've lost the social aquaintance of a few people, but I'd rather sit and watch the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony again, than be in a room full of two faced people.

So, I'm afraid, it's me and my values that sit home alone most friday nights (a lot of my friends having kids you see). The prospect of spending a weekend by yourself is not thrilling, but I'm not moping about it either. The whole thing's rather apathetic really.

I know I need to get out there; meet new people; get that new job I've been promising myself; start eating right again (dinner last night was cashews and not-so-cold-diet coke), and then I will be able to experience emotions again. The rush of excitement you get when you get a crush on someone, or the enjoyment of going out for good food. Or even the disappointment you get when you find out your crush has a (stunning) woman, or the anger you feel when the service you experience in your favourite restaurant is non-existant. This is living.

This is why I'm just existing.

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.