Balance

I have so much work to do... but got distracted by another blog... and decided to blog. That's what happens when you dabble in a bit of wine with the view of yachts and blogging. Damn you blogs and your stupid addiction!

In a nutshell, went to the doctor, was told I have tongue Leukoplakia (pre-cancerous cells) and have been riddled with anxiety and depression. Went to a PROPER dentist today (who didn't point a Jesus on a cross at me for being an ex-smoker) and he said I had neither. My tongue was fine, no cancer to report. Jumping around the dentist's room you would be sure that I have firecrackers up my butt. Hallelujah (As Mr Bean would sing it!).

The thing is, when someone tells you that you have a fatal disease or something that will kill you, it's like someone slapping their willy against your forehead without warning.. you become in total shock. Everything stands still and you become covered in a cloud of OH MY FUCK! It's this OH MY FUCK that turns your life around. Makes you stop doing certain things and doing others, or doing less of things and more of others. But when you're an ex-smoker, all you can think about is smoking. It's a habit and a delicious one at that. So if you don't smoke, your body is healthy but you brain is not. Who says being miserable can't affect your body? The body speaks the mind after all. So this got me thinking about balance. Balance in life is key. Too much of non-balance and you may as well fall off the cliff or the edge of the building you've been standing on for a while.

It's like too many strawberries and too little cream. It doesn't work. Too much sex will leave your vagina raw, too much drinking and you'll become the locally well-known leg spreader or drunken goose. Too much smoking and you'll get lung cancer. Too much over eating and you'll be able to hide things under your fat rolls. But people need to let go, have fun, have a juicy pastry now and then and a party here and there. We can't all live in a hole like those online gaming geeks now can we? No. That's not life and that's sure as fuck not living. Even Jesus drank wine and ate bread. And if he can do it, then so will I. But I will do it "within moderation". It's all about moderation in life, the key to life is balance.

With a scare, and a shock, I take what the Universe, or Jesus, showed me and will apply it to my life. May all of you have balance in your life. Have your custard Danish, but then have sex afterwards to burn off the calories. Have a drink now and again, but lace it with water. Mediate. Play. Work. Fuck around. But find balance in all that we do, think and say.

Here's to being the elephant that can balance on a small ball.

Driving in cars...

Lets apply the famous saying, "If a picture could paint a thousand words..." to your car.

Oh the devil beware.

My car has been around the block. She's nine years old, but has the grace and dignity of an 80 year covered in horse shit. I can not, in any means, try and excuse her outer and inner appearance on age alone. I am at fault.

Pulling out the magnifying glass...

Clue 1: It is clear by the cigarette burns on the seats of my car that she serves many a purpose. Not only as a form of transport, but also as an ash tray. The funny thing is, I am the driver of the car and there's cigarette burns on the back seat. So to those who smoke at the back of the vehicle, may I please so kindly sit in the back of your car and so carefully burn the seats WITH A BRANDING IRON!

Clue 2: Yes my car is dirty, mainly because of the dust (and because of the empty coffee cups that line the floor). But hey, I'd rather drive around in a dustbin then throw it out the car. You see... a dirty car means you are environmentally friendly. It is evident that with the tables and chairs in the back seat (even though it's a small car and it's like squeezing cheese through a keyhole) along with the laptops, books, face painting equipment and other items of different sizes that Stacey is a busy person, and one that partakes in many a things. She's also a good packer of things and could properly fit an obese person into XS spanks.

Clue 3: My car, my dear old second bedroom, has enjoyed many nights back in the day, with me passed out in it. I kept her company and she gave me a place to rest my drunken ass. Luckily there are no slobber patches or duvet covers, but the pictures of me in this comfy position will tell the tale.

Clue 4: Before I get into this clue, let me first tell you that A. I would never wear those shoes... we're not in the 1940's. 2. The chick wearing THOSE shoes would never be with a man in THOSE shoes. So, in this case... a picture tells a million lies. But back to the clue. Finger marks on the windows and a witness or two (mainly a car park guard) may tell of a few sexual actions being performed in this car, but lips are sealed. Shame, my car has played third wheel in these instances a few times. Shame, her poor eyes (or should I say head lights!)

Clue 5: Scratches against the side of the car and broken back light. This clue would naturally make one think that Stacey is a bad driver. Beep. W.r.o.n.g. This would mean that other people are bad drivers, either banging into my car and driving off, or that it was the STUPID POLES FAULT. But hey, a car always looks a bit better with a little bit of dents - it makes for uniqueness I think.

Clue 6: Broken/scratchy speakers. This would depict loud music playing, broken ear drums or heightened emotions. Yes, Stacey has partied hard in this car, listened to hard metal and hit the steering wheel when raged or deeply vexed and has sung loudly to depressing music when heart broken. My car and her once-working-properly speakers have in a sense been my therapist. Through the hard times, the good times and the fuck-off-and-die time, she's been there for me. And gratitude must also be paid to the steering wheel. I am sorry I have laid hands and fist on your, but you're resilient and can take it.

Clue 7: No treads on tyres and high km number. My car and I have travelled many a places, been through a lot, and even though you'd expect a car of her age and make - the wing wongs are known to make shit plastic cars - we're still going. Bumps and all, we're still driving on our paths creating memories.

So whilst you all are buying your zooped up new cars that are prestine inside and out, my Kia Picanto and I may not be driving in style, but we're driving with memories. And you can't put a price on that. Literally and metaphorically, she's priceless. And I love her.
So happy driving until next time, and don't forget to make memories in your car!

The pig

Sometimes in life you come across 'The Pig'.

The egotistical arsehole that gets a kick out of 'being the man', treating people like shit and trying to portray the 'awesome' person he/she apparently once 'was'.

The pigs habits:

1. Having sudden outbursts of childishness in the form of playing stupid pranks on others
2. Flirting with other 'pretty people' who are in a position where they have to positively respond
3. Professing stories of it's many, many (MANY) accomplishments, rewards, people (or other pigs) it knows
4. Ignores 'normal' pigs

The pigs likes:

1. Getting its ego rubbed (24 hours a day/7 days a week/365 days a year)
2. Pretty pigs
3. Being superior
4. Belittling others indirectly (but knowing full well it is doing it)

The pig dislikes:

1. People who have a mind and a voice
2. Being told off, or being confronted
3. People who show independence, dominance, intelligence

How to handle the pig (before giving the pig a lecture):

1. Grab a baseball bat
2. Swing hard and far
3. Aim for the face
4. Point and laugh

How to lecture the pig (when down on the floor in pain):

1. No you are not toned and have muscles... they have turned to fat... clearly
2. You're not clever... you are down right fuck'en stupid
3. You have friends that are younger than you... to make you feel better in yourself
4. Nobody actually likes you... behind your back... EVERYONE HATES YOU!

And no I won't stand for it... I won't stay in your pig sty.

If it were to me, you'd become pork.

This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef and this little piggy had none. YOU'RE KNOWN OF THESE PIGS... you're the bacon rashes on my plate.

The art of baby making

Right... so after numerous attempts to try and place images on this blog, it has failed. Just as I have not mastered the art of posting images on this blog (it used to work!)... so have I not been able to master the art of baby making.

Seems as if one needs to go to 'baby-making' school (but hey, maybe the school is like Hogwarts!)

The universe is one funny thing. Growing up I have always been the paranoid type. Give me a worry and I'll be sure to worry about it. Give me a thought and I think it right through. Give me a minor problem and I'll be sure as fuck to make it into a mountain. I have always stressed about falling pregnant since being with Mr Woensdregt... always used double, even triple, precaution and worrying myself sick before my red friend was supposed to arrive. Google, Google, Google, stress, stress, stress, smoke, smoke, smoke. It WAS a worry in my life... I didn't want to fall pregnant at that time and did everything in my power to stop it from happening.

8 years later.... What the hell was I worrying about?

I have been off the pill for two years... (no condom, no precautions) ... two frigg'in years and still no baby. Still no minature Woensdregt running around with tiolet paper hanging out its little bum. Still no pregnant belly. Still nothing.
I shit you not, if I had known then what I had known now, I would have never wasted my money on the contraceptive pill, or destroyed any type of sensation from using condoms. My pocket and sex episodes would have been a lot better! The universe would have played a cruel, sick-ass joke on me... Here Stacey... worry yourself sick about something that might never happen.

Now I am not saying I can't fall pregnant. I have not been tested yet, neither has the Mr jerked off in a cup (lucky cup!) So faith and hope is still there. All in good time my son, all in good time.

It's just funny. Growing up into puberty all girls want is their red friend. Since being introduced, and from the time a female becomes sexually active, all she hopes for is that is comes for its monthly visit. It just has to come. As a young adult trying to fall pregnant, all a lady wants for it is to go away, to be welcome a baby. Then we grow old and frail and wish we'd have our red friend around instead of the dreaded menopause. Our red friend is both our friend and enemy. Shame, poor red friend. You only want it around when it suits you. Selfish bitches!

Now all I want for my red friend is to go away. But like clockwise, there she is, showing her ugly face at the beginning of every month. I feel like Charlie (in the Chocolate factory)... buy a pregnancy test and hope, and pray, that it turns out positive. Just as Charlie searched all the chocolate bars to find his golden ticket... so will I search all the pregnancy tests for a positive result. I buy them so much now it's like buying milk. "Hi yes, I'd like to 2 litres of milk and a pregnancy test." I am making my local stores bloody rich!

I used to clock watch, time my ovulation, have scheduled sex and really make an effort to fall pregnant. Men... if you want a great sex life hook up with some one, or marry someone, who wants a child. You'll never ever have blue balls, but your penis must be worse for wear. Now a days, and for the past few months, I haven't tried to fall pregnant. I've just kind of forgotten about it. It'll happen when it's right I guess.

So to all the ladies out there who are trying to fall pregnant.... I hear ja. I hear ja loud and clear. It's frustrating. But hey... at least we get to try all the different sex positions that could 'improve chances of falling pregnant." I am not complaining (neither is Chris.) So I'll keep watching TV with my legs up (ladies... you know what I mean), keep hoping that my period won't arrive and that one day I'll get my 'golden ticket'.

It's just so wierd... we spend our lives worrying about things that may never happen. Clearly. So stop the worrying, hump like rabbits and we'll all be as lucky as Charlie.

The low down....

Thanks to Themikeappel... a blog I frequently read that sports the same love for Tequila (THE GOLD STUFF) that I have... I have decided I need to blog again.

Fuck it's been too long. And thinking of writing a million and one blogs about each thing I have gone through since July (Holy shit... I haven't blogged since then - smack ruler on hand*) I thought I'd compress it into one blog... like trying to stuff cheese through a key hole. (It just might work!)

Finger fun (I can see you sexually minded people giggling to yourself)
I have become a girl.. or should I rather say become feminine. My sister-in-law has taught me the art of being girly. Yes, Stacey Woensdregt, now paints her finger nails. No they don't have sparkles or fancy designs... they are more on the lines of plain black and not painted as well as the professionals do it.. but hey, they still look good when I flick you the finger behind your back! It's nice being a girly girl... make up on, nails done, hair done.... yes, 2 minutes extra to look that much better is worth it!

OCD
My sister-in-law, bless her cotton socks, is OCD. Now I am not.. actually far from it. I don't live like a hauder, nor do I eat out of trash can, but I'm not the neatest person in the world. However, living with an OCD person tests your patience. It teaches you something. I have learnt from her and have adapted her OCD to conform to my life.. and hey... cleanliness doesn't hurt anyone. But for those really manic OCD people... there's more to life to worry about, more in life to do than worry about this cleaning or that cleaning. And (no offence)... if you are that OCD... you have too much time on your hands. Go find a job!

The young can teach
Living with some one or being around some one who is younger than you makes you realise how much older you are, how you have grown as a person and how you will never be that care-free drunk young'en passed out in the club tiolet again. (Oh those were the days!) It's nice... nice to know that you are moving up, growing as an individual and have surpassed so much.

Self worth & fuck you
Over the past few weeks I have gone through life changing experiences. These experiences have taught me the value of myself, that I won't stand for shit, that I can tell you to go screw yourself and it's fine, that I won't settle for poor standards and I am me, and I am great! No need to tell you the finer details, all you need to know is that I finally have self worth and I love it. What a blessing it is to know your own worth. I advice everyone out there to go and find themselves, love themselves.

Go with the flow
Wow, life is incredible when you let go of the reins and go with the flow. From a person who stressed her nuts out about being fired to having no cash (this was a few years ago), to being self employed and with nothing to spare, it's nice to know that now that I have gone full time again that I never have the fear of being fired. What a liberation I tell 'ja. When you reach rock bottom, it's no longer the boogie man taunting you at night. You've been there, realised rock bottom's name is Bob and you have become friends with him. When you have 'jumped off the cliff' and taken a risk in your life, everything flows. Spiritual as it may sound, it does. And over the past few weeks and months, I have seen how the universe works, how the flow of life commences and how, if you let it, life guides you anyway. Wow... what a realisation. (Cheers to Racoon for helping me realise this!)

A new love
After being bitched at by my landlords for my garden being to dry (Come on now... it's winter for fuck sakes) I have started watering my garden. Wow... it's my new hobby. Nothing beats watching the sun set as you hear the sprinkler on the plants or watch the water loosely drip off the petals (sounds like a porno). Can't wait to get home and see the 'hosepipe.'
So life is ticking on, just as it should. Learn a lesson here, grow a little there.

Life is a rollercoaster, ride it!

Something off the bucket list

Ok, so I've done another thing on the 'bucket list' - I have been on TV.

A talk show about panic attacks, I was the person who announced to the world that I have panic attacks and suffer from anxiety and stress.

Ironically, I almost had one before I went on the show. Bright lights and LIVE television (aired on 2 July 2013) is enough to make anyone shit their pants. With tears in my eyes and a dry mouth, I had bravely went where I had never been before.

But wow, what an experience.
I love TV with all its 'glamour'. Being in a studio with it's stage set up, lights and camera's is something that I have always wanted to do.

I also got to meet Noeleen, a local TV talk show celebrity. She's no Oprah Winfrey but hey, it's one of my little claims to fame. It's always exciting to meet a celeb, regardless how famous or not they are.

So the show was recorded, however... there's no way I want to watch it. Although curiosity will kill the cat, I'll watch it by myself in a dark cave and cringe the entire time. Hearing your own voice is an awful experience to endure.

But hey.. I've been on TV and here's for another tick off the bucket list. TICK.

Luck be a lady...

What is a lady?

Is she a prim and proper woman who is never seen without a hair out of place, her make up on, looking tidy and well dressed? Does she ever speak out of turn, or swear or resemble any behavioural mannerisms of a man? No... Miss Lady never passes gas, never acts like a man, gets involved in fights, acts independent or is seen sneaking into the men's bathroom to take a quick pee.

Therefore I am not a lady.

However, I'm not the 'Trunchbull' (from the Movie Matilda)... she (or should I say he-she) is a man with a vagina. I am sure her breast bumps in her top are actually from heaps of chest hair - a woman with too much testosterone.

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This is a 'woman' gone horrible wrong.

But just because I am not exactly a 'lady' does this make me a man?

I hardly ever wear make up during the day and prefer wearing my Husband's fleece jersey than a smart jacket. Sometimes I forget to pluck my eyebrows and have made a few trips to the men's bathroom when the ladies' line was too long. I do get involved in fights - well when close men in my life are about to get involved. I'm not afraid of a man's punch, nor afraid to spit in a guy's face.

Or does this make me empowered? Fearless and ballsy?
Maybe to the 'old' patriarchal man, all woman should be submissive. Fuck that. I spit on your face 'eh.

I think there's a definate line between being a lady and being the Trunchbull. I'm smack in the middle. And hey... I don't think most men actually like a lady. They like their woman with junk in the trunk, bed hair and a voice (to tell them when they are being an arse and to just shut the hell up.) They want to know that their woman will stand up for them and be able to get a smack in the face in the name of love.

My husband says, "I'd rather you take care of me, then you take care of you." (awww, us woman like to care of our men.) He then adds, which is a great point I might add, "If you spent 3 hours a day getting ready, it would drive me mad!" You see.... I'd rather spend those 3 hours rather doing something naughty with him. Men... you choose... waiting for your wifey to get ready... or spend that time canoodling?

At the end of the day, I know when to be a lady and I know when to be the Trunchbull. There's a time and place for both types of a lady. But hey, when called for it... I'll tell you to go jerk off even when I'm in my high heels and sporting red lipstick.