There’s a fair bit of muff missing around the place at the moment.
A resident of a small Canterbury settlement, Orari, has done his bit to put the town on the map. Now for those of you not familiar with Orari (which is pretty much everyone) you need to know that this place is a tiny farming community in our South Island. There’s nothing much there except for sheep, cows and paddocks.
Anyway this guy kicked up a quite a kerfuffle a few weeks back when he asked the local authority to change the name of one of the local roads because the signs were being stolen all the time.
All because of a bit of muff.
Road that is.
http://www.stuff.co.nz/oddstuff/2611515/Muff-Road-name-change-request
And across the ditch, a Queensland family has been reunited with their dog Muffy after 9 years! http://www.stuff.co.nz/life-style/cutestuff/2705139/Family-finds-lost-dog-after-nine-years
A cute story but really, why would you call your dog Muffy? You should have just called her Vagina and got it over and done with.
And surely you'd have to ask yourself if that's why she ran away from you in the first place.
Meanwhile closer to home, S says he is also missing muff.
Friday, July 31, 2009
For the 100th time.
This week, for the 100th time in my life, I am on a diet. In only 8 weeks a group of us, couples and kids, head over to the Gold Coast for some sun, sand and shopping and let’s be honest, we all want to look hotter than each other in our swimsuits.
We’ve even got a competition going – the first to lose a stone/6.6kgs wins cash so it’s serious stuff.
So serious that one of the contestants sent sabotage biscuits to our house earlier in the week.
So serious that I just took crazy dog for a long, hilly walk for a couple of hours.
And then had a kit kat.
And a large, milky coffee.
Oops.
It’s interesting that it is the 100th time I have tried to diet because that’s about how many kilos I need to lose – 100. I’ll probably settle for 5 but will be disappointed if it’s any less than 8...actually who I am I kidding, I’ll be disappointed if it’s anything less than 15.
So far the week is going well – I weighed myself this morning and am only 1.2kgs heavier than I was on Monday.
Awesome.
We’ve even got a competition going – the first to lose a stone/6.6kgs wins cash so it’s serious stuff.
So serious that one of the contestants sent sabotage biscuits to our house earlier in the week.
So serious that I just took crazy dog for a long, hilly walk for a couple of hours.
And then had a kit kat.
And a large, milky coffee.
Oops.
It’s interesting that it is the 100th time I have tried to diet because that’s about how many kilos I need to lose – 100. I’ll probably settle for 5 but will be disappointed if it’s any less than 8...actually who I am I kidding, I’ll be disappointed if it’s anything less than 15.
So far the week is going well – I weighed myself this morning and am only 1.2kgs heavier than I was on Monday.
Awesome.
Too much time on my hands.
Bravely I just shared this blog with two of my best friends.
Both of them told me I had too much time on my hands.
I guess it depends how you look at it.
I have so much time on my hands that I fill them with food far too often.
But not enough time to get them dirty by weeding the garden.
And certainly not enough time to do that job with them that S would like.
But enough to apply the $70 bum cream - which is working well BTW.
But not too much.
Time or bum cream.
Both of them told me I had too much time on my hands.
I guess it depends how you look at it.
I have so much time on my hands that I fill them with food far too often.
But not enough time to get them dirty by weeding the garden.
And certainly not enough time to do that job with them that S would like.
But enough to apply the $70 bum cream - which is working well BTW.
But not too much.
Time or bum cream.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Blowies.
Last Friday night some friends and I were sitting in a lovely bar, sipping wine, and talking about the men in our lives and their constant fascination with the blow job.
This Friday night I have a very sore throat, which by the way, has nothing to do with having had anything down it. But it does mean that I will not be sitting in the same bar with the same friends continuing the discussion.
Anyway, lasts week’s conversation took place after S had dropped us at the bar. J’s husband was meant to take us down but he said he’d only do it if J gave him a blow job first. She, understandably, turned him down and S volunteered.
(Actually I think he thought we’d be so grateful that we didn’t have to walk, that one or all 3 of us would offer him one as a thank you).
The waiter overheard quite a lot of our conversation and although he was trying to be discreet, I think he was hopeful that we’d take pity on him for working on a Friday night and offer him one too.
Between the 3 of us we drank 3 bottles so if he wasn’t a ginga named Charles he may have been in luck.
But anyway, none of us can believe how high up the wish list they are for each of our blokes or how they think they can be used as payment for general household chores. At K’s house apparently her husband thinks he should get a blow job just for stacking the dishwasher!
And S can be reading out the shopping list: “honey, weetbix, toothpaste... and a blow job”.
Yep, always on his mind. Like this morning when I asked him to make me a lemon drink for my sore throat and he was insistent that I needed some “protein” down there to make it better.
A huh. If I need protein I’ll poach an egg, buddy.
Or as I am pouring myself a glass of wine and I ask S sweetly “can I get you anything?” He’ll reply, “no but you can blow me”.
Yep, cos that’d be right up there for me with a glass of chardonnay and some cheese and crackers - giving S a blow job.
And he wonders why I have to drink so much.
This Friday night I have a very sore throat, which by the way, has nothing to do with having had anything down it. But it does mean that I will not be sitting in the same bar with the same friends continuing the discussion.
Anyway, lasts week’s conversation took place after S had dropped us at the bar. J’s husband was meant to take us down but he said he’d only do it if J gave him a blow job first. She, understandably, turned him down and S volunteered.
(Actually I think he thought we’d be so grateful that we didn’t have to walk, that one or all 3 of us would offer him one as a thank you).
The waiter overheard quite a lot of our conversation and although he was trying to be discreet, I think he was hopeful that we’d take pity on him for working on a Friday night and offer him one too.
Between the 3 of us we drank 3 bottles so if he wasn’t a ginga named Charles he may have been in luck.
But anyway, none of us can believe how high up the wish list they are for each of our blokes or how they think they can be used as payment for general household chores. At K’s house apparently her husband thinks he should get a blow job just for stacking the dishwasher!
And S can be reading out the shopping list: “honey, weetbix, toothpaste... and a blow job”.
Yep, always on his mind. Like this morning when I asked him to make me a lemon drink for my sore throat and he was insistent that I needed some “protein” down there to make it better.
A huh. If I need protein I’ll poach an egg, buddy.
Or as I am pouring myself a glass of wine and I ask S sweetly “can I get you anything?” He’ll reply, “no but you can blow me”.
Yep, cos that’d be right up there for me with a glass of chardonnay and some cheese and crackers - giving S a blow job.
And he wonders why I have to drink so much.
HUGE thighs my (HUGE) arse.
One of my younger brothers is a ballroom and latin dancer. He’s very good at it but sadly, he knows it too.
Thankfully him and his ego live in a different city to me so I only really see him and our mother (and his dance partner and her mother) when there is a dancing competition on. They come with all their sequins and lycra, flaunt their stuff for a few days and then leave again.
The whole dance scene freaks me out a bit to be honest. I don’t know if it’s the fake tan glow which makes their skin more orange than an actual orange, the extremely tight and high waisted pants or the diamantes on their eyelashes – guys included – but they are scary people. The intensity and nastiness is worse than any corporate game playing I have ever encountered.
And shallow. My god. They are so shallow.
In preparation for them coming to stay I’d done some baking. (Secretly I was craving something sweet and I wanted to lick the egg beaters but I let them think the spread was in their honour).
Anyway, back to the shallowness. Over morning tea today I learned that apparently this girl, a former Miss New Zealand Universe, is FAT! With HUGE thighs!
Seriously, how fucked up is that?
At this point I wanted to get my brother, sit on him with my HUGE arse and stick said egg beaters up his nostrils.
But I didn’t.
Instead I just ate his brownie.
Thankfully him and his ego live in a different city to me so I only really see him and our mother (and his dance partner and her mother) when there is a dancing competition on. They come with all their sequins and lycra, flaunt their stuff for a few days and then leave again.
The whole dance scene freaks me out a bit to be honest. I don’t know if it’s the fake tan glow which makes their skin more orange than an actual orange, the extremely tight and high waisted pants or the diamantes on their eyelashes – guys included – but they are scary people. The intensity and nastiness is worse than any corporate game playing I have ever encountered.
And shallow. My god. They are so shallow.
In preparation for them coming to stay I’d done some baking. (Secretly I was craving something sweet and I wanted to lick the egg beaters but I let them think the spread was in their honour).
Anyway, back to the shallowness. Over morning tea today I learned that apparently this girl, a former Miss New Zealand Universe, is FAT! With HUGE thighs!
Seriously, how fucked up is that?
At this point I wanted to get my brother, sit on him with my HUGE arse and stick said egg beaters up his nostrils.
But I didn’t.
Instead I just ate his brownie.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Baby toys.
When I was recently pregnant I subscribed to email newsletters from one of the popular baby information websites. I never got around to unsubscribing so still get the newsletters every few weeks or so.
I usually just delete them without reading them but the headline of the latest one caught my eye. “Things you really want to know during your pregnancy but are too embarrassed to ask”.
Now, I’m not sure what I was expecting to read, maybe something like ‘is it true that most woman poo while giving birth?’ or ‘will my fanny shrink back to how it was?’ but even I was shocked by what was close to top of the list...
‘Can I use sex toys when I am pregnant?’
Umm. Really?
When you’re pregnant, aren’t the only toys you think about ones that can’t be swallowed by a gummy mouth?
Or what kind of toy you can give your husband if he promises to leave you alone for the next 5 or 10 years?
Cos when I was pregnant with R, had I had a vibrator in my handbag, all I would have done with it was use it to hold up a donut shop.
I usually just delete them without reading them but the headline of the latest one caught my eye. “Things you really want to know during your pregnancy but are too embarrassed to ask”.
Now, I’m not sure what I was expecting to read, maybe something like ‘is it true that most woman poo while giving birth?’ or ‘will my fanny shrink back to how it was?’ but even I was shocked by what was close to top of the list...
‘Can I use sex toys when I am pregnant?’
Umm. Really?
When you’re pregnant, aren’t the only toys you think about ones that can’t be swallowed by a gummy mouth?
Or what kind of toy you can give your husband if he promises to leave you alone for the next 5 or 10 years?
Cos when I was pregnant with R, had I had a vibrator in my handbag, all I would have done with it was use it to hold up a donut shop.
She made me do it.
There’s a high profile murder trial underway in New Zealand for a moronic guy named Clayton Weatherston. He’s charged with murdering his girlfriend by stabbing her 216 times. He’s admitted killing her but is claiming she provoked him to kill her because of the emotional pain she caused him. A huh, she made you do it. Nice one Clayton.
Not only is the guy a narcissistic freak but I think he thinks he looks like Russell Crowe. For that reason alone HE deserves to be stabbed.
Seriously though, hopefully he’ll rot in jail or be stabbed himself. And surely the NZ justice system will not fail the victim and her family. Surely.
If it does though, it will open a whole can of worms for NZ and the other freaks that live here. I mean, there have been a few people provoking me lately and I have a rather well stocked knife drawer. They should all be nervous.
Starting with the guy Mark who lives at the front of our drive way. No real reason, he just annoys me. That and he wears his trousers far too short. And it’s not that he’s just started doing it as a tribute to Michael Jackson either.
Then there’s the old lady next door who has 4 lemon trees and lets the lemons fall to the ground rotting, rather than share them around. Poor R is the only one who has small enough arms to fit through the gaps in the fence to pick up the lemons. He hates doing it and each time his arm is nearly broken apparently (although I think he might be exaggerating slightly, surely it can’t hurt THAT much?) but not only do we make him do it, now our other neighbour also comes looking for him when he’s caught short making a G & T. Poor R wouldn't have to be subjected to such child abuse if the old bag shared the lemons. Is that really too much to ask of your neighbour?
And don’t get me started on my friend who has lost something amazing like 40kgs recently. Sure she may look fantastic but I don’t so that’s plenty enough reason to stab her I reckon.
On Saturday it was the Chinese person who translated the assembly instructions for the office desk S and I put together. 2 hours later we had it sorted but in the meantime there really was almost a stabbing. And a cat kicked. And a divorce.
And finally the gas appliance repair man who argued with me last week and told me I was unreasonable to expect a fire I paid $5,000 for, to last beyond 3 years before it shit itself and then for it not to be covered by warranty.
Pfft, me unreasonable?
Please.
It’s not as if I’d stab someone who pissed me off or anything.
Not only is the guy a narcissistic freak but I think he thinks he looks like Russell Crowe. For that reason alone HE deserves to be stabbed.
Seriously though, hopefully he’ll rot in jail or be stabbed himself. And surely the NZ justice system will not fail the victim and her family. Surely.
If it does though, it will open a whole can of worms for NZ and the other freaks that live here. I mean, there have been a few people provoking me lately and I have a rather well stocked knife drawer. They should all be nervous.
Starting with the guy Mark who lives at the front of our drive way. No real reason, he just annoys me. That and he wears his trousers far too short. And it’s not that he’s just started doing it as a tribute to Michael Jackson either.
Then there’s the old lady next door who has 4 lemon trees and lets the lemons fall to the ground rotting, rather than share them around. Poor R is the only one who has small enough arms to fit through the gaps in the fence to pick up the lemons. He hates doing it and each time his arm is nearly broken apparently (although I think he might be exaggerating slightly, surely it can’t hurt THAT much?) but not only do we make him do it, now our other neighbour also comes looking for him when he’s caught short making a G & T. Poor R wouldn't have to be subjected to such child abuse if the old bag shared the lemons. Is that really too much to ask of your neighbour?
And don’t get me started on my friend who has lost something amazing like 40kgs recently. Sure she may look fantastic but I don’t so that’s plenty enough reason to stab her I reckon.
On Saturday it was the Chinese person who translated the assembly instructions for the office desk S and I put together. 2 hours later we had it sorted but in the meantime there really was almost a stabbing. And a cat kicked. And a divorce.
And finally the gas appliance repair man who argued with me last week and told me I was unreasonable to expect a fire I paid $5,000 for, to last beyond 3 years before it shit itself and then for it not to be covered by warranty.
Pfft, me unreasonable?
Please.
It’s not as if I’d stab someone who pissed me off or anything.
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