The Blogday Girl

In my family we sing happy boosday not birthday. You see my grandparents can't say TH and I guess they didn't like birsday.

For some reason I'll forever be amused by variations of Birthday. First came boozeday which happily derived itself from my family's interpretation. Then naturally barfday because what else follows drinking. Actually there's blissday before the yacking, sweet euphoria. then blessday. If you're tank I'll call you buffday boy and then if you're the more conceited version you can be biffday. Now you're gonna like bustday girl, breastday girl or boobsday girl and definitely babeday girl. You could even go green and use bearthday. I guess the list goes on.

Gawn

I've been told over, and over, and over again but repetition won't make it a lie. I hope the almost palpable love you have for your child was validated by my existence.

I Can Hear Big Love And I Want In

Hey you... uh-uh. So there's Adam, God. The all mighty, the greatest, knows the chords to please himself, the lord. A Blessed face to shine upon him, yes. Tick that box, mark that cross. The father, the son and my holy spirit has fluttered away. I'm standing and staring. Suddenly I'm kneeling. I'm kneeling and looking up at you, I open my mouth and sing!

After you comes the flood!
The next lot are everywhere. They're seeping, they're crawling up all the walls. Everywhere! So much so that they've even become you. Seriously. So the city is flooded hey? It almost doesn't make sense for me to have such a dry mouth. And you? If babies are meant to drool, why's your mouth so dry? I know why, cause I love you and I'm a creep! I'm a predator! I shouldn't have a clean footpath to my front door. Those scribblings and doodles all over my walls like nails in a bedhead should be out warning the neighbours.
Yeah, the law's my flood gate but I've got pales of a type and them plants have got roots.

Contiguity

Her body notices his,

A circuit connects their arms

to electrocute, to concentrate.

The touch is not friendly

nor weighs with purpose

but rushed together intimately and silently.

Fathom this

He's got a ticket to Bob Dylan tomorrow night and she doesn't. Usually he would stand there and pick out the things in the woman he did not like but she was perfect.

"Let's take your old man's car out for a spin," he says to her.

She smiles, "I'm sure papa would let you drive his car."

"Ditch everything and come watch Dylan with me"

"You're cruel" she pauses, "I'm going to stand outside there tomorrow night and feel the vibrations of the man I love."

"Are you still talking about Bob Dylan?"

She laughs and whispers, "I think I'm losing faith..."

"What?"

"I said I think I'm losing face."

Anger is a futile emotion

In anger I've done stupid things. In anger

I don't think any words or actions should be taken personally...

My anger's got me mother fucked in the ass this time round though. A week ago the stupid action of throwing out three possessions of a hated one. As soon as I did it -instant regret and instant karma!

I fucking smell of garbage juice right now.

yaaaaaaa wanna know why?

because one week later come to the present and have me walking home at 5.30am to save these three material possessions from being thrown out into the garbage collection.

a few good reasons why not to do anything in anger:

1) you will end up walking home in the morning bare footed with nothing but the clothes on your back.

2) eventually broken glass and hard gravel will take its toll.

3) that oversized jumper and your dirty hair is not shabby chic.

4) going through your garbage bin when what you want is at the very bottom is anything but desirable

5) your fellow wisteria lane neighbours will look at you in embarrassment and shame

6) delving through the bin is a bit like time travel -you get to visit all the trash from your past week! the further into the past, the crappier the smell!

7) having half of your body in the bin and reaching your hand in as you almost projectile vomit is worse than you think.

8) hearing the garbage truck coming down the street is like a final fuckdown.

have a good australia day ya smelly, angry australians!

Gatetrix

Madness madness madness. I can't go to bed because there are women hollering. no seriously, there are. If I had the courtesy to happily walk to my room I'd be a fool; a fool who openly subjected them self to... what? I've done it before, and from past experiences I know nothing happens. I guess they see a flash of light, but they aren't paying attention so only a drawn out violet of a shadow. No lions or witches or dinosaurs or any other cliched tormentors I know of that T- junction. Okay, so if I get in my room, I no longer kid you (or myself). I cannot sleep. now there are witches and they're cackling. Fuck tapestry, fuck the Amish, fuck clothing, fuck warmth, fuck the needle in the hay because the damage is being done! Let me fucking sleep. Our lives aren't this or that. We aren't offering a lifestyle to be envious of, well I mean, you know, not an offering but a glimpse? We'll pay for our limo cause we caught the driver off guard. Come on! fucking come on! I listen to the same musical entirely at least three times a day while playing solitaire. I'm home. I'm home.

Bananas!

A coversation that just took place...

15 year old who looks 8:
We go to school like 300 days a year.

Blogbear:
We do not go to school 300 days a year.

15 year old who looks 8:
That was a rough estimate...
I've thrown out 3000 bananas in my life time.
That's alot of money.

Blogbear:
Why don't you just tell your mum you don't like bananas?

15 year old who looks 8:
My mum would just shove two bananas in.

Blogbear:
What? No she wouldn't!

15 year old who looks 8:
You don't know how this bitch works.

It's a True Story

I knew this bloke once, right. And... he used to masturbate so much that he grew very fond of his hand. So much so, that he began to talk to it and he put a little face on it and he called it Muriel. And after a while Muriel began to talk back to him.
He would get her all doled up in make up and specially made little clothes and at night she'd go down and make intense mad passionate love to him.
Anyway, one night about three am he wakes up in a cold sweat. And hears all this panting and moaning and groaning coming from the next door neighbour's apartment. And he looks down at his hand, there's nothing there. Its gone. Its just this bloodied stump. So he staggers out into the hallway and he sees that the next door neighbour's doors is wide open. So he pops his head in and what does he see, on the bed, his hand, Muriel, all dressed up to the nines, make up on, going down on the next door neighbour.

Stubborn has got a stick up it's arse

I swear I'm never this stubborn but when it comes to this one person I could happily die with a grudge. He drives me to the edge of every cliff, on the edge of every continent.

The funny thing I've noticed is that he's become cautious of me. When he walks and sees me his body thinks automatically to approach me but then his mind (that obviously works slower than his "good body") reminds him I'm still angry at him.

My favourite things to say to he who can probably be named:

1) You're an idiot

2) I hate you

3) Get a job

The way I see it is that you have to promise your past self that you will do her/him the favour of never forgetting the sheer anger and annoyance that she/he had to endure. A good example would be if your past self had told your future self: "Never forget how disgusting it is to have to be in the bush for ten days and be under the control of two dictators! Don't forget how bad it was to hike up giant hills in the heat with no toilet breaks! Don't forget the tent that smelt like stinky, old, sour men! Most importantly: Look back in anger and never use the term "it wasn't that bad" because you were there.. and it was!"

In the same way I feel about bad experiences is the exact same way I feel about holding a grudge. When I'm not pissed off at him I remind myself with every disgusting thing he's ever said or done to me and my blood slowly boils and my hands slowly bunch into a fist until my nails start digging into my palm and come out of the other side of my hand.

I love your stinkin' guts

I don't know if I believe in God but I believe in the sheer joy of beautiful shoes. I'm about to go to bed and since I know from watching the news and regularly reading the financial review that finacial miracles hardly ever happen. Instead I'm going to pray to you Chloe.

Dear Chloe,

I love you so, I love your thin heel clicking away at the ground, I love the feel of your shoe box when I run my hands across it so slightly. I love the smell of fresh leather. I love the way you make my heart beat, I love the way you always make me superficial. I love you, please appear on my door step when I awake.

Thank you.

Yours sincerely.

P.S.

THE FUCKING REASON WOMEN BUY SHOES THAT DON'T FIT THEM IS BECAUSE YOU TORTURE US WITH YOUR BEAUTY AND THE LURE OF GIVING US INSTANT PLEASURE. WORST OF ALL IS YOU DON'T CARE, YOU JUST REMAIN LOOKING GOOD AND EXPENSIVE!

LOSERS

STRAIGHT OFF OF FACEBOOK CHAT

Blogbear

where am i going

10:00pmLoser

pattos

10:24pmLoser

yes

10:24pmBlogbear

oh

to do what

10:25pmLoser

hang out?

CHilL

10:25pmBlogbear

wow

i don't know

that'll require me being social

i don't now if i can do that

10:25pmLoser

haha

get fucked

ass hoel

10:25pmBlogbear

yep

thats me

a fucked ass hole

I Loved You At First Sight. And You Smile Because You Know It.

BlogBear: hahahaa
we are so desperate
that it's funny.

Dirtbag: hah not desperate BlogBear,
in love .
We're just in love.
(With people who don't know us).

IN FUCKING SANE

There is nooooooo anger in the world that can match the anger that immediate family can bring.

The kind of anger that results with you looking like the world's most disgusting sibling and child. You seriously would relish in stabbing wounds and bullet holes in your enemy's head, you could be in court pleading for temporary insanity because thats the truth: they drive you insane.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

rage against the machine is the only answer in times like this.

Colour me grey

I love the '30s and the '50s, I love Drew Barrymore, I love Little Edie, and I love Grey Gardens.