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.

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.