Quote for the day

I heard this quote on a movie I watched today.

I had to write it on my blog.

"Having someone help you doesn't mean you have failed."

- An epiphany!!! (This so relates to my life and my stubbornness to not allow anyone to help me.)

Wow, it's like the veil had been lifted mentally (although not in my actions as yet)

A bed: The place of fornication

My bed - she is bro'ke.

I am currently sleeping on the bed that my parents once had.
Passed down from a generation, who knows how many times this bed has seen a naked bum and witnessed the sexual act of fornication? How many times a spring has broken from you-know-what.

(Thinking to myself) *Geezlike, it's amazing how I can take any topic and make it sex-related. Give my a piece of dung and I'll probably be able to relate it to some sort of sex act.*

Well, isn't a bed the place where the magic happens? A bed is the place of fornication not so?

Well my bed, she is broken. It sinks in the middle and has two mattresses on top of the other mattress so that I don't have to wake up in the middle of the night to have a spring sticking in my torso. It has not legs and the base is broken. I have scoliosis so my back needs to be supported - my current bed is making me more crippled then I already am.

She lasted long and she has done me proud but hey it's time for a new one.

I ordered my new bed, with headboard, a while back and its finally paid off. I don't think I would have ever been so excited to get a frigg'in bed. I can't wait - it's being delivered this week or next week. And let me tell you, this new bed is beautiful!

My sister gave me pillow cases, a duvet cover etc for Christmas and I still haven't opened the present. When I get the bed, everything has to be clean and fresh and new.

Yippie, I get a new place for fornication. This will surely bring a new spring in my sex step. I can't wait to Christin the new bed. It'll be the first naked bum it will ever see (pity it has be to be my over-sized cellulite-infested bum.)

Who are you?

You know on the TV show CSI .... well it has the fitting song for this blog post. Sung by The Who, it goes something like this (now imagine me in my tone-deaf voice singing):

"who are we, who..who..who..who"

My version: "ouhhhhhh wally, who who who who"

Now, I have written on the right side of my blog that if you have read my blog, once or on a regular basis, please add yourself as a follower. But, as this has been cleanly ignored (cough..cough), so I now have to write a blog post about it.

I want to know who you are.

If you read about my bad cigarette addiction, I want to know who you are.
If you read about my hairy vag, I want to know who you are.
If you read about me purchasing Charlie, my dildo, I need to know who you are.
If you read about my irritations with people, I need to know who you are.

I don't need to know where you live, your age, if you are obese or borderline anorexic, if you have a green ming'in toe nail or if you have a weird eye twitch. As a writer, who wants to talk to the community and help others through my words, or just make someone laugh with my embarrassments, I want to know who I am reaching.

So I ask this, I plead and beg in fact, please become a follower.

Hint: See on the right hand side of the screen, there's a heading saying 'followers' - click there. Can you actually believe it... it's that easy!

So when I come onto my blog tomorrow, I will see a whole list of followers.

Ohhh, I'm so excited, I won't be able to sleep tonight.

Freakazoid

Theme song:

"super-teen extraordinaire Freakazoid! Freakazoid!
Runs around in underwear Freakazoid! Freakazoid!
His brain is overloading, it has a chocolate coating.
Textbook case for Sigmund Freud Freakazoid! Freakazoid!"

Oh my word, this cartoon brings back memories. I just remembered it now, for some arb reason. The theme song makes me laugh. Have you ever watched it?

Who knew that, as a kid, this cartoon would help me through the many encounters with some of the 'freaks' in my current life.

Fuck me, there's a lot of freaks a round these day - they actually make me feel normal. They're all nice and 'normal' when you first meet them, then turn out to be real fruit cakes.

How many freaks do you know? Have you had your 'slice' of fruit cake?

From now on, I'm wearing my freakazoid-beware-glasses.
I'm full already of fruit-cake.

Dear body, I am sorry

I see how you are crumbling
I see how you are taking a toll,
I see how you are breaking down
Tearing yourself into pieces in order to help me reach my goal.

The mental thoughts start to manifect, and physical symptoms start to show
Through deterriation, my body has lost its glow
Panic attacks, exhaustion and body spasms are but few
that come from the stress and my emotions, so blue

I used to be able to cope with the mental strain of it all
but, now it seeps through my body, slowly it starts to crawl
It's scary to see the bodily wounds that linger from the mental pain
from stress, anxiety, over working - what do I gain?

I can see my body getting older, through every emotion I feel
For my brain and thoughts, my body is a delicious meal
This is not a healthy way to live and my health is dissappearing,
It scares me that stress means my gravestone is nearing

I used to think "hey, stress and emotions wont get me, I can live with this"
The harmful effects and bodily harm, I constantly dismiss
I am petrified that I am close to death, that my body can't take it no more
I need to change my mental ways, or death with happen for sure

When mental turns into physical, you know it is something serious
To think that if I continue like this, is just plain delirious

To my physical body, I am sorry that you are taking a toll
I can see the symptoms
I can see you crying out to me saying "change your life"
I can see you in pain.

To my mental brain, please help me to help you.

Pienk takkie

Hou van my pienk takkie?

Yup, my visit to the Rammstein concert was done stepping in these pink bad boys.

Pink takkies and a bright blue top. To add the cherry to the top, it had a cute little wannabe-rocker animal on it. (I was going for the punk, funky look)

Little did I know that I would be the thorn amongst roses... the white pimple in the vast sea of black heads. As you can see below, black is the new in-colour here. I swear, everyone stared at me because I was wearing some colour. (Weird, rockers normally get looked up and down in normal society - but hey, I was the odd one out here surprisingly.)

Stupid Stacey - "you are going to a rock concert and you don't wear black!"

Fashion fuck-up!



Me and my camera had to document this and the weird outfits that were on display that day. I swear I was like a pervert who watches someone peeing through a tiny hole in the men's cubicle. I walked around and secretly and strategically took pics of people. (Hiding behind trees, fences - yup I would be good as a paparazzi)

The punk below is sporting a white and pink Mohawk... (I wonder what colour his pubes are?)



Can you see the chick with the blonde Mohawk. I personally dig this look. (Although I am sure she spent hours the next morning combing out her knots and getting the cemented gel out of her hair.) Geezlike... I am sure she poked a few eyes out with her hair.



Correct me if I am wrong but I believe the fashion designers of the below red and black striped dress are called "Bozwell circus fashion designers". I am sure they stole the fabric from the circus tent in town?



This chick below must be colour bind. Or she rides her bike on the street at night and wants to make sure that she is seen from miles away.



Yes, I might have gotten stares but me and my pink takkies were rocking that night.

Plucking Pubes

My father once told me that "only stupid people get bored."

Well then, as of this very moment, I am stupid. "Hi, I'm Stupid, nice to meet you."

I am so frigg'in bored.

Boredom is not a nice place to be. It's like you at a chicken farm, with rotten corpses, and a honkin' stink in the air, and you just want to get the fuck out of there.

I can think of a million other things that would keep my mind busy:

1. Pluck out my pubic hair. (Chris, the boyfriend, would be thrilled. He's tired of the bush)
2. Wait... count my each strand of pubic hair, ... then pluck it out one a time.
3. Write an article that I have no focus or inspiration to write
4. Walk back and forward from the toilet a 100 times, pretending that I need to be pee
5. Chain smoke (10 minutes per smoke. Three hours to occupy. 60 minutes in one hour. That's six cigerettes in one hour. 18 cigs in total.)

This blog is boring.

And After writing this, which took me about 7 minutes to do, I am still bored!