Friday, February 6, 2009

Get Naked! (Suburban Dreams)

My mum has recently become my Sex Bestfriend. We have fantastic conversations, whilst in my paddling pool, drinking Iced Coffees, about guys, sex, parties and other things like that.
Excusing the fact my mum hasn't had sex in over ten years, she fills me in on all her wild sex romps before her last Husband, before my Dad.
My mums had 3 (Dad, being the last failed relationship.)
I'm blaming my terrible relationship skills on my Mum, and that our number of failed relationships are simply, her fault.
Its heriditary, ok?

My aunty has also gotten in on our little Women's Club, and joins us in the pool. Its great to know that my mum, her cousin and myself are both failures of women kind.
The fact that my mum has had three marriages, all resulting in divorce, and that Jan, after two, is undeniably the cause to my constant relationship fails.

Let me just say, to begin with, I have a family of former 24 Hour Party People. They have reformed, and are living the suburban dream.
back in the day, Mum and Jan would party their little hearts out, fucked up on a lot of things, have two horus sleep and work the following morning.
At least I know where I get my party endurance from.

Jan joins Mum and I in the pool, midconversation, about how girls these days are so conscious of getting their kit off.
Jan and I, self-confessed nude sunbathers, endure lots of lols at these kinds of girls.
Whilst every person has issues with their body in some shaape or form, I try to ignore them to the best of my ability. I know I have jiggly bits, but I can't exactly get rid of them unless I want to pay something like $15,000 to rid myself of them.
In my own company, getting naked is hilarious fun.
I can wiggle my boobs around without anyone going "Oh gee, I never knew Amy had wobbly bits there."

The conversation continues.
"I enjoy being naked," I say casually, handing Jan my cigarette. "but somtimes during sex, I just get lazy. I'm just like, Totz cannot be fagged taking off my clothes right now."
Jan agrees with me, slightly distracted by the diminishing of my vocabulary. "I just don't know why girls dont want to get naked more often."
"I know," I reply. "As if a guy doesn't love some girl, sprawled on her bed, arse naked."
Jan stares at me.
"I wish I was still having sex."
Her husband and Her are going through a heavy time.
Shit hit the fan about three, maybe four months ago. They're seeing a marriage councellor: Mum and I are hoping they'll come out of it ok.

The point of this blog, is basically how much I enjoy getting naked, especially around certain people. Whilst I'm still protective of my body, as enough to cover it up sometimes, I still like to praise myself on my skinny waist, and rounded arse.
I love knowing that I didn't inherit my mother's flat behind.

Love your bodys.
If you hate them now, just keep in mind:

That shit sags within the next twenty years.
Live it up.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Rebirth of Vicious Girl.

Vicious Girl: Able to rip your head off everytime she opens her mouth!

I took myself shopping today, in hope it may make me feel a little better.
Oh, what a misconception that was.

I got stuck in a mash of people - why was a Sunday so fucking busy?! - who were all little pre-pubescent tweens, congesting up the footpath for what seemed like a fucking lifetime: I approximate something closer to ten minutes, which is a lifetime caught between four hundred girls who think the world is going to end when their first pubic hair appears.
I walked behind them, secretly wanted to smack each one of them over the back of the head, or give them a sharp kick in the back of the knees, in hope they'd clear a path for the people who actually had to do shit.
In the end, I shouted at them to "GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!" and bulldozed through them. I furthermore recieved juvenile abuse from them:
"Shut up, you skank!"
"What a fucking whore!"
All of these girls had been beat with the ugly stick far too many times. And god had not gifted them with the ability to think of better comebacks. Ergo, I laughed.

My tirade continued quietly, first with snapping at some poor, unexpecting salesman trying to sell me some kind of nail treatment, everytime I walked past.
"I told you no, like, ten minutes ago! FUCK OFF!"
And I would storm away.
And then!
We come to the escalators....

The Westfield escalators, whilst conveniant for some, they're a waste of time, effort, space and money. I love escalators, when used for their purpose of getting you somewhere faster.
That's the point: you walk up them like stairs, to save time.
Not to stand around, talking to your equally morbid obese boyfriend and blockign the fucking way, while the thinner, hungry, angry people behind you want to slice you up into hamburgers.
At least old people have the sense to stand aside, so AngryGirl can get the fuck through. No fucking chance, when there's five gigantic, thunder-thighed, apparently "Starved" fat people standing in a little Krew, talking about the delicious fatty-foods they can order.
Go buy a sandwich, you fat motherfuckers.
Listen to Jarrod from Subway - He lost 150 pounds eating sandwiches.
I wonder why he lost so much eating salads.

We're living in a time where super-thin models are helping our kids stay thin, instead of self-loathing, obese, pre-pubescent, acne-infested Twi-hards. (twilight groupies).
And Geelong Westfield puts in two escalators, direct to the Take-Out foodcourt.
Way to promote healthy living, Westfield, you incompetant morons.

There should be a rule that only Elderly, or people in a rush, should use escalators. Healthy people, obese people and young children can take the fuckign stairs.

Work off those burgers and fries, you lazy fuckers.