I Am The Walrus

One of my favourite things to do at the moment is cook for myself. Or eat food others have cooked for me. Or buy take-away instead of cooking for myself. Or stopping at the 7/11 to buy a packet of chips to eat on the way home. Magnum ice-creams are also nice, but I am trying to avoid them as they may harm the unborn.

When I feel concerned about my high transfat diet I think of Kendra, and her steak and chips, and I imagine how much fun she must be having, and how great she looks, and how Hank and her like to LOL alot together and I find my community. We're so similar, me and Kendra, it's uncanny.

I wonder if she also leaks into her sweats?

Kendra says...(wish I'd said it first)

Hank and i just moved into our new home just outside philly and one of our favorite things to do now is cook together!!! Hank is definitely the head chef in this relationship but he’s teaching me everything he knows haha. By the time this baby comes i’m going to be a gourmet chef!!!! LOL.
Here’s a pic of us making steak and eggs for dinner
There’s nothing i love more in the world than putting on my sweats and hanging out with my hubby!!!
from http://kendrawilkinson.celebuzz.com/

Please don't tell me I am glowing

Old World European Sophistication

Non, je ne regrette rien

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6boxoksi3U&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww%2Eulike%2Enet%2FThe%5FPhantom%5Fof%5FLiberty&feature=player_embedded

Question is: can he?

Leo feels like dancing
Because of you

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XucbKof0HcU

The first time ever I saw your face

Every time I feel down about the demands of being a parent, and a parent-to-be, I google image an ex boyfriend. This always comforts me, although not because it brings back any nostalgic pleasure, nor because he was ugly. There is no nostalgia, and he wasn’t ugly, in fact I found him quite dashing (even if most of my friends found him strange, weird, “challenging”). The memories his photo brings back is one of icky disgust. The sort of “eugh, I fornicated with that!”, the hope that no one in the world remembers our tryst, and that he, most of all suffers from some sort of early onset dementia where he can’t quite remember my name, and therefore track me down. The thing is, his image shows me what could have been, rather than, thank god, what is, even when the “thank god” bit is the furthest thing from my mind, pre the google image viewing. So thankyou, Mr Icky, for reminding me to stop bloody complaining, for reminding me of what counts, and most of all, for what might have been.

Please, do not smile

I don’t like other people smiling at me because I am pregnant or because I am walking along with my toddler.

When I am with my toddler, those cute smiles others love giving “isn’t he just adorable!” are not appreciated. Why? Because I live with him. He is cute. He is adorable. I know this. But when I am walking up the supermarket aisle I am actually concentrating really really hard on making sure he does not smash/eat/scream without my approval. This is hard work. Your smiles do not make it all worthwhile, I get my fulfilment without your affirmation.

And please do not smile at me waddling along the street heavy with my unborn. I am uncomfortable, my hips hurt, I am possibly wearing urine soaked underwear due to the perilous state of my pelvic floor, and quite likely my underwear has long ago crawled up my arse crack due to my uncontrollable expansion. And I am not enjoying this. If you really care, come do some washing/cooking/babysitting for me. I would appreciate that.

emesis

I found out this morning that milk curdles in the stomach. Even though I'd never seen this before, it seemed vaguely familiar, like we had to do some science experiment in year 9 where we curdled milk with our stomach juices. Or maybe it was that girl who threw up her ice-cream during one of our first holy communion ceremonies. Sure it was ice cream but it really stayed together.

Bivalve molluscs don't have pearls

Have you ever cleaned mussels? Perhaps before a BBQ?

As you stood there pulling away the beard did you think of Women? Did you feel a strange sort of liberation, tearing the hair so easily from the bivalve. A little brutal perhaps, but mussels don't have nerve endings. They also don't have pearls. Imagine if they did. Little albino spheres, there for pleasure. But no need for wax. Only a firm pair of hands.

The Frenzied Anus

"We use the web to confirm our own partisan views and link to others with the same ideologies. Bloggers today are forming aggregated communities of like-minded amateur journalists...where they congregate in self-congratulatory clusters. They are the digital equivalent of online gated communities where all the people have identical views and the whole conversation is mirrored in a way that is reassuringly familiar. It's a dangerous form of digital narcissism; the only conversations we want to hear are those with ourselves and those like us."

Andrew Keen, The Cult of the Amateur.

The Shy Sardine*

Sardines are a very shy fish, and the nets used to catch them are of a very fine thread and mesh.

*New York Times, 1920.

Also quoted in The Golden Tampon Anthology, 2009.

I just renewed my car learner's permit. I am devastated by the new picture of me on the license.

Until this afternoon I had imagined myself to be a young(ish)beauty, a flibberty gibbert, well-proportioned and handsome, but not in that horsey-ish sort of way. More like a sleek deer, with all the pert bits still in place.

Unfortunately I now realise that this is not true. Thank god I am aware of the unnecessary dictates of the patriarchy. Otherwise I might be tempted to feel slightly depressed about this, and perhaps overcompensate by posting inappropriate pictures of me online to prove to myself that I've still "got it".

It's a small world after all

A man came this morning to put together a BBQ I recently purchased. He was very talkative. I found this a bit unnerving, considering how shy and delicate I am, especially when around men who put things together.

He told my partner he was a girl for putting away the washing.
He winked at me, and I suspected he was thinking "if she were a few years younger and had longer hair, and maybe a more fullsome bust..."

We parted, neither of us having grown any. Which is a shame, because I am sure there were many bridges we could have built had we had more time.

Perhaps when I am old, I will wear purple, and build bridges with those who in another context and with a few litres of beer in them, would commit an act of mild sexual violance against me.

The Sutured Pomegranate

Ripe, bulbous fruit
Loin chops
String beans

Her life laid out
In Murray River Salt

Where was her pomegranate
When she needed it most?
Swallowed by the pork belly

Yipee Yi Yay
Yipee Yi Yay

DENUDISTS and other hairy prejudices

We are hearing alot about the scourge of the Brazillian and how it is close to wiping out a whole generation's collective awareness of THE LADY MANE.

Where once the hairless pussy was an obscure and exotic breed, featured as a side-show in various versions of CATS OF THE WORLD almanacs, she is now as common as the tabby. Long haired breeds are considered to be a rarity among the young, perhaps even close to extinction, if you listen to some VERY UPSET FOLK.

All this talk of the HAIRLESS BEAST has ignored an equally pressing issue: ingrown hairs. Once again society is mislead by the assumption that the DENUDED FOREST is actually a smooth, clean, landscape. Instead TOO MANY women are being short-changed by the reality of the INGROWN HAIR and its relentless proliferation.

Rather than a community of shiny laminex-like LADY PARTS, we're just as likely to see equal numbers of spotted INGROWN VISTAS.

Why have the women who are plagued by the spotty pubis been silenced by their smoother, less viscous sisters?

Patriarchy anyone?

Essence of Woman

My water main was switched off while i was away, presumably by some very alert folk who realised that the dripping tap at the front of my house was a Hazard to our Melbourne Way-Of-Life.

I've had to leave the water off while I wait for a plumber. This has helped me explore my developing nation persona. I was forced to scrape the dregs from the coffee pot this morning, sans fluid, my toilet is a urine swamp, my hands have become havens for disease.

As for the cushion of love. So fruity, so pungent. This experience has made me realise that no matter how much we recognise difference, there will always be an essential woman. A small moment in my day, bringing me closer to the goddess, and her pungent beneficence.