In between my sheets

My body has created a precious little girl, my breasts have fed and kept her alive until now, and for her my cervix has dilated, vagina stretched and somehow managed to go back to looking some what human again, the hairs on my back are brushed up against everyday yet will still stand up at someones touch, my liver has recovered from various abusive nights as have my kidneys, my heart has been broken countless times and yet continues to beat.
So what could my body have possibly done to me today to force me to turn my back on it? Well inbetween my sheets It Wobbles, no matter what I do the hair it grows so slowly on my head and so fast on my bikini line, I have moles- not just scary looking moles but ones with more fast growing hairs sticking out of them, I have ingrown toenails, I'm going grey prematurely (but I'm angrier at my boyfriend then my hair for that) there is a tattoo of a butterfly on my right breast, the butterfly looks old before my daughter has had her breast milk and dead after (again more my fault but I'm on a rant) and how could I forget my snail trail.
Now finding a man to wax your lower back hairs is not the problem, fitting in to size 8 Betina Liano Jeans is not only impossible but is also not the problem, having breasts that don't require a sign "please watch your step" while would be nice is still not the problem. The problem like always, lies within..
In between your sheets. Somewhere along the way everything got mixed up..
Stretchmarks are a sign that you've shared my body with a baby so tell me why someone would prefer to kiss a protruding hip bone then a beautiful pink stretch mark? Your pot belly is a sign that Iv just enjoyed a big Delicious meal, so why does it get more attention when you hold it in? Smile lines? beautiful. Your pubic hair like a woman's coat of arms, we earned it going through that wretched puberty so why shave it off? Saggy breasts should be celebrated and snuggled up to and flat bums are just asking to be pinched.
At the end of the day, if you exclude new years day, (when my body pretty much packed it in after I consumed enough Vodca Red bull to give a train an anxiaty attack) and the time I bounced back from a fad diet by gaining 14 kg's. My body has stood by me through everything, so its about time I stood by it inbetween my sheets.

Big Brother,

I'm going to begin by telling you that I'm actually quite ambitious. When I was 5 I was going to be a princess, 8 I was going to marry the skinnyer guy from Milly Vanilly, 13 I was planning to take on the music industry myself and so on.
Becoming the first Big brother housemate in the history of the world to A) be evicted not only first but before the first two week eviction show, B) Be evicted for Lying and C) to be given the boot without any of the prizes that I so desperately needed, was never the plan.
It just sort of happened that way. Speaking of the plan, getting too drunk on the first night, sitting in a position not intented for skirts and showing Australia my nickers (and bikini line with its gravitational pull down my legs) wasn't on there either.
Oh yes that was the night my adorable new house mates all voted that I be the one to loose my luggage for my entire stay. I cant remember who I voted for though.. I was too drunk.
On the second day my hangover and I marched ourselves (wearing a sheet as I had no clothes) into the diary room to give Big Bastard a piece of our mind. His reply was, "Well Constance what did you expect you Big Brother experience to be like?" (generic answer, was probably on a palm card)
"Well Big Brother, I was expecting a little more then a house full of- 8 individual silicone breasts belonging to ever ambitious promo models, 1 intellect who was so far above everyone that I swear he was starting to hover, The red headed lazy eyed auzzie sheep shearer that the promo models attached themselves too as they believed he was so stupid that the Australian public would feel sorry for him and see him through to the final two, (unfortunately this was the first bit of human female attention the shearer had ever been exposed to and he pretty much exploded by about the ninth week) Then there was the girl with an IQ lower the one of a Tequila worm who describes herself as the "complete package" this would be more true if you cut off her head and replaced it with my Jack Russels Arse.
And so the list went on. Big Brother, less then thrilled gave me another creative reply, "that is all Constance"
Oh yes, it was me against everyone in that house and the Big man was my number one Nemesis. My strategy was that surely the outside world hates these promo bogans as much as I do? So Ill be as rude as humanly possible to each of them and the public will love me for it. It was my strategy to stop Hotdogs from sharing his sexual escapades with Australia. And was my strategy to let the "complete package" know that even after 45 minutes of applying her makeup she still looked slightly inbred. But sadly on May the 18th 2005 exactly ten days after my quest for fame began my strategy failed and I was kicked out.
Now lets go straight to public perception... After all my hard work- fighting for Australian rights not to have to listen to promo models working on solving the worlds problems (like hair extensions or highlights and shaved or racing strip?) while sun baking, where was my reward? Was I about to be crowned Public servant 2005? where was there a studio full of my grateful followers?
Nowhere- I was robbed of my prizes and my people had turned on me.
Speaking of regrets.... When Gretal asked that famous question asking if we had any regrets from our time in the house (the question everyone responds to with a lie?) Well I do regret something. I regret not being honest about my regrets. Because in truth I regret my entire Big Brother experience almost as much as Gretal should regret her entire outfit choice.
As for you Big Brother. That is all.

Hard to get

What do spaghetti, burgers, crayfish, whole baby chicken and crabs have in common? None should be devoured on a date.
As the words Fuck, prick, broke, shit, desperate and cunt should also be avoided.
I need not mention that the appearance of cigarettes, bike pants, crimped hair and maternity bras go down like a lead balloon when you first meet someone.
So why then does my friend Miss B always get the guy? Miss be will arrive at the restaurant, drunk and chain smoking, hair in a scrunchy (for fuck sakes,) spag bol running down her face while she tells a story about the cunt of a boss who under pays her.
I will tell you why. 'Hard to get' is no longer a game- its a life style. Throw 'The Rule book' where it belongs, in the sanitary disposal unit at your local Red Rooster. It is shit, its a fad diet for dating.
You see playing hard to get is the oldest trick in the book. Men have evolved and although they might seem to have the intelligence of an ingrown hair they can actually be quite cluey and see straight through it.
So in order to step it up a notch you need to stop pretending to not give a fuck and actually stop giving a fuck. For example- before a date, ask yourself- if this was dinner with my brother what would I wear? or better yet- if I was going around to mums house what would I wear? the new rule is "The less attention and effort, the closer you'll get to your fella"
Here's an example of the power of this love law.
When Plain Jane went out on a date with Super Stud he wasn't expecting much. Until she got there wearing dirty tracksuit pants and a Bintang singlet. He asked, "whats with the attire?" PJ answered- "fuck should I have put some effort in? sorry Iv had a million things to do today"Of course this left SS thinking "she wasn't even exited about this date... Why not?" and by the time PJ slugged him with a huge bill and stumbled out the door poor old SS didn't stand a chance.
The final step for the new and improved "hard to get" is one not to be taken lightly and I only recommend for use by the most confident and experienced female players as failure can lead to the utmost embarrassment.
If you really didn't give a fuck what a particular man thinks of you but would still like to get him in bed, would you bother playing hard to get? No. You would do the complete opposite- So in order to become believable in you playing hard to get you must 'Come on strong' tell him you've "always wanted to do this," and that "you cant wait to get him back to your house" and "that hes manly and huge" After you've had your wicked way with him sneak out and ignore him for a week. Then prepare to welcome a new stalker into you life.

disaster dates

"I don't hate women, I just think they have there place in the world. I do however hate Indians, there ruining Melbourne. I'm driven by money, have allot of the stuff and strongly believe this is the reason you will eventually call me back"
And he was one of the better dates Iv been on.
Dating is never ever easy. Iv been on a date with- a bong head (I'm talking a portable bong in his bag that spilt and left bong water all over the restaurant.) Two male prostitutes, (I didn't find this out until half way through, both times) one that sat through dinner talking about the guilt his sexually transmitted diseases have brought him and the other that said "I suppose I prefer having sex with men" this was just before he accused me of drinking too much. An Irish backpacker that claimed to be running from a murder charge (Ecstasy got me through that date, probably not the wisest move)
So now your thinking, yeah yeah we've all been on disaster dates. But wait theres more... What do all these complete winner men have in common? They rejected ME.
Maybe I just don't come across well at a dinner table, could be the four bottles of wine I insisted on ordering because the mere fact that I was on a date was reason enough to celebrate. Of course Id never admit that. In my head there were two reasons, and each rejection was allicated one of them. 1, I'm too fat, superficial bastard would have called if I was thinner or 2 He cant handle a strong empowered woman, (no he cant handle a drunk, scene making drama queen.)
Then theres the ones who would seem to have only asked me out in order to reject me. You know like when a guy asks you to call him only to not answer it. Once this extremely hot black guy that worked in this funky boutique clothing store on Flinders Lane asked me out, not once he practically begged me to go out with him. When I finally agreed (knowing all along I was going to) he asked me to meet him at a bar in the city. I got there, dressed up and exited. He was 20 min's late- he walked up to me, kissed my cheek and told me I looked beautiful then he apologised for being rude however explained that he wasn't staying as his ex girlfriend was waiting in his car for him and they were getting back together. "You don't mind do you Constance?"
"Um well yeah, actually I do you stinking asshole, fuck off then. Hey bar tender? make that a bottle.... one glass"
Hmmmm Am I the disaster date? I have stood outside a block of apartments at 3am calling some guys name cos I cant remember which number he lives in and I felt like a cuddle. I have dated too soon after being dumped and continue to ask my current date if he can figure out why someone would dump me? And Iv refused to eat and only drink because my new fad diet didn't allow carbs after midday and food after 5pm.
So is there really a question as to why I sat next to my mobile day in day out waiting for a call or text even a booty call via text?.. Or why I used to call vodaphone once a week just to ask them to text my phone to make sure its working?... No there isn't.
No dating is never ever easy, not for me... Or anyone dating me.

I have felt the agony of being cheated on. I have felt the guilt of cheating on someone and I have also felt the loneliness of being the woman someone cheats with.

When your in love with someone your back to back with them, fighting off the world and when you realise someone has wedged in between you, your now fighting off the world from all angles. Nobodies got your back. Sorry means nothing- part of you thinks that finding out every detail if the betrayal will take away the mystery and take away and secrets this woman shares with your secret keeper or bonds she holds with your rock. But inevitably the details will only hurt you more and thus a bad idea as your protector is no longer doing his job and you need to step in his place and fill that roll by protecting yourself from such images. Might have been one small fuck up or might have been a year long fuck up but either way you feel lost, your little corner of the world has been invaded and you believe there will be more comfort in the bottom of a bottle of Jacks then you ll ever find in your bed again. All of the sudden your lonely.

Cheating never feels remotely similar to being cheated on. Its just as they say, "a bad decision" half the time you cant even remember you did it and other times you'll never forget the deep thrill of the new forbidden skin. You'll either regret it straight away or you regret it later on. There is nothing sexy about being sneaky, about hurting someone you love and theres certainly nothing sexy about being miserable in you home life. This of course is something that we'd all like to believe- Ill only cheat or be cheated on if my relationships going down the drain. But its not the case, we slip up and we land on our love. The combination of beers and flattery or wine and long legs is what we need to convince our selves that the angel waiting patiently between our clean sheets at home is less then perfect and deserves this. Or we deserve this. After woods you've hurt someone and in doing so hurt yourself and the one person you go to that bring you back to yourself you cant tell. All of the sudden your lonely.


I'm a mistress, I'm the other woman, I'm younger and more fun. How ever you put it you know deep down that your second best. You ll always know that someone else gets to sleep the full night, someone else gets to make future plans, someone else gets that respect that either comes from bearing children or a long history. There is another woman that calls out your lovers name while shes bathing his children, and can make him loose it laughing without even looking up at him. You cant yell at him, you cant kiss him at the checkout, cant go on a road trip together and cant call him at work. But you look dam good in a g-string. All of the sudden your lonely.

Public Masturbating

Its rude to point at someone, its ruder to stare at someone. Spitting at someone is vile and reserved for only the classiest of folk (train station dwellers.) But an all new low... and a rudeness with its own community of rude is masturbating at someone. What does one call this activity? its not flashing, its not molesting its masturbating at someone. Some characteristics of a extroverted masturbator is the inability to walk, they lurk. The inability to sit still, they shake- not a scared shake, more of a cold shake (imagine a whippet) They have strange sleeping hours, almost nocturnal.
One freezing cold Melbourne morning my sister left our house to go to work, she was doing the breakfast shift at the local cafe. She briskly walked to the tram stop to read the timetable. My poor innocent sister noticed the shadow of a lurker but thought nothing of it as she stepped into a doorway to keep warm while waiting for the tram. That's when he struck. Around the corner popped the pathetic excuse, pants down, dick in hand, desperate look on his face as he started to masturbate towards her. My poor sister ran all the way to work. Mortified.
Now I'm not naive to the fact that men love there dicks. Nor do I think I'm the only one who's been in the following situation......
Girl gets drunks, girl meets guy, goes home with guy, gets into bed and realises shes to drunk and not into it so opts to pass out instead. (Come on we've all done it) Funny part is when guy gets desperate and after trying to wake the girl up for 15 Min's realises he has to take matters into his own hands and proceeds to wank right there in front of her.
Orgasms arn't the only thing we ladies fake, we also fake sleep. So cheers for that one fellas doesn't leave us feeling awkward at all!
When I discussed this scenario with a girlfriend she admitted shed been there but didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
Anyway I'm not that understanding, I don't see it as a mans need to get off or a beautiful thing. I don't feel the need to celebrate a mans cock at every opportunity nor do I see his orgasm as an imminent ceremony.
To me these acts are desperate showcasing a sexual greed and lack of control. But a lack of self control that Iv learnt to tollorate. Should have just coughed up for a cab home.
The real villains in the story and the public masturbator... The train station wanker, the guy on a date with himself in the sand dune and the cinema creep camouflaged in all the different shades if fowl.
So after carefully reminiscing the time I almost bumped into a guy doing a poo under a statue in Madrid and the overweight, half naked hooker that looked to be halfway through her menstrual cycle on high rd Kilburn- Iv come to the conclusion that if you places public masturbators in a community with all the above and worse they would still find themselves the guy in the town being referred to as 'The Rude Guy'

I was just writing a blog, it wasn't going anywhere so I was getting slightly agitated. When my charming boyfriend slumped on the couch, picked up the remote and told me I had bloggers block. Naturally I told him to get fucked. Then with a smugness that only he can project he warned me against biting the hand that feeds me.
Stubbing my toe doesn't piss me off as much as my boyfriend does. Once when I was little I cut up a piece of Vegemite toast into tiny little square pieces, so exited to eat them I ran to the lounge room- tripped- and every single square landed Vegemite down. That didn't piss me off as much as my boyfriend does.
Here is an example of a Friday night in our house. Billy finishes work, tells me his going out. I ask if I can come, he says "sure" but when I actually look like I might do it he starts getting annoyed. So I tell him its fine Ill just drop him off. I ask him to empty the babies bath water while I put her in the car. I ask him, "What time will you be home? doesn't bother me I just want to know if I should cook dinner" he replies "7 at the latest babe, I'm exhausted from work. Love you"
"Love you too"
OK that's all well and good so I cook dinner. 10pm comes and my sweetheart stumbles through the door with his friend Clive. He declares to me "Clive's dumping his girlfriend, selling his house and moving back to England and Iv decided to do the same"
"OK Billy" (you can tell I'm used to this) So I leave them to it and go to bed, I sleep in the spare bed to avoid being woken up. Of course I cant sleep with the music and football and TV- finally he goes to bed after 12. I'm now starting to worry as I know the baby will wake me up at 5am and I wont get enough sleep. Then just as I manage to drift off I hear my dog Elvis barking and the neighbours telling him to shut the fuck up. So furious I drag myself out of bed, between Elvis barking and Billy's snoring I'm ready to throw a punch. I call Elvy and let him in. He does what he always does and runs straight to the bathroom for a sniff, its dark in there, he jumps into the bath and then realises its full. Poor little dog stands there shaking and in shock. The smell is putrid as I haven't bathed him in ages. I was ropable. Billy had forgotten to empty the bath.
Now If theres one thing my obsessive compulsive boyfriend hates is dirt and mess. So the only thing that I could think of to do was open our bedroom door where Bill was sleeping and let my saturated stink bomb curl up in between snoring Bill and his cotton sheets.
In the morning its- "Morning babe, Elvy slept with me"
"morning babe, that's nice dear"
I have to get off the computer so his Holiness can play medieval war games. xxx