Come fuck with me now, Anonymous

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

Ahem.

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

"Again?"

Yes, again.

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

Hott in porn, not so hott on public beaches.

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

So, starting tonight:

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

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

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

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

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

- No pizza on Friday night.

- No alcohol

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

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

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

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

Movie Review by Martie: The Departed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, lame research there, Departed writers.

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

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

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

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

The End.

Love, kisses, treasure hunt, etc

Yeah well, fuck, I'm back.

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

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

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

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

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

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


Come join the chocolate starfish brigade.

Itsy Witsy Teenie Weenie

You've probably noticed an abundance of

these


sort


of


pictures

on my blog lately.

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

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

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

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

Awesome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OR:

Martie on holiday

*withdraws*

Nothing to be excited about except for hotdogs

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

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

You sound depressed

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

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

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

Can you cook us hotdogs too?

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

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

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

Boring

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

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

Tell me about it, stud.

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

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


Awesome.

I need a nap

I'm such an Ikea slut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know, lame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have you been Zinged?

Pet Hate: People that aren't up front.

Example:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martie does Flemington

Friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOT: Me!
NOT: Me this morning!

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

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

Confessions of a Shopping Centre

Overheard in Kmart tonight:

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

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

EEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

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

***

Teasing me with Rusty Cock.

A crowded peak hour train.

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

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

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

Going to see my therapist now.

Do I bother to straighten my hair?

Fucking. Weather.

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

It rains. Literally.

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

At least I might brighten things up:


"Yellow is so very in, dah-links"

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


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

Crikey! Obligatory post ahead.

I can't not hey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

***

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

***

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

***

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

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

***

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

***

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

***

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

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

***

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

***

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




* slight exxageration

Shorties

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

***

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

***

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

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

***

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

***

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

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

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

***

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

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

***

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

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

***

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

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

***

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

***

Surely the serial killer is starting to get bored now?

***

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

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

***

Excitng Monday Morning Read for you all.

***

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



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

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

Somedays...are better than others

I have an ear infection. Cope.

Ta Da! The break up.

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

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

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

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

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

Don't laugh.

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

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

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

Things I should be doing...

Instead of eating chocolate teddy bear biscuits and drinking milk

- Nothing.

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

Right then. Two Questions for your perusal:

A) DOES THIS MAKE ME A BAD PERSON?

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

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

B) DOES THIS MAKE ME A BAD PERSON?

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

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

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

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

I tried. I buyed.

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

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

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




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


*Not true.

Martie's Weekend Survival Kit

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







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

Contains:


1. One pair of new shoes!


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


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


4. Vast quantity of alcohol.


5. Handy supply of dancing songs.


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


7. Three new mobile numbers to flirt with


8. KFC on the way home


9. One vomiting episode


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


11. More new shoes.

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

And, that was the week that was.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WTF?

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

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

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

SOME GOOD NEWS!

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

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

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

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

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

*removes tongue from cheek*

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

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

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

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

* Today, I bought a purple pen. Huzzah!

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

xx