Women Poo.
Well obviously, but women poo while giving birth. When everyones looking- with there faces right there trying to get the best view, that's when allot of women poo. We spend our whole lives trying to cover the smell of our poo and even the sound only to be confronted by this fact by our midwives. When I was pregnant I spent nine months preparing my boyfriend for the dreaded poo. It wasn't even him I was worried about, it was the nurses, doctors and midwives seeing it at the same time as him. In the end I didn't poo. I was, ironically constipated.
Part of me on the other hand- wishes I did poo. At least then I could file birth poos in the completed fears cabinet in my brain along with public speaking and bush poos. Instead it lingers in the pending fears cabinet with bungey jumping and under water poos.
Now as I understand men claim to be just as scared of there girlfriends poo as we are. In fact I'm positive that any men reading this are cringing right now wondering "why must you share everything Constance?" Well Ill tell you why, despite all the Diarrhea, farts, constipation and occasional Haemorrhoid, men are still obsessed with our bums. And not just the way they look in jeans. If men put as much energy into there work as they do trying to get there girlfriends to have anal sex with them they could afford to buy us a new asshole after woods. And to be honest I think its kind of strange.... Exactly who's supposed to benefit from a finger in a bum hole? How come you cant get over a bit of menstrual blood on your sheets however you can see past all the fowl jobs our bums were designed to do if it means you get to poke your nob in one for a minute or two?
I have a darling friend who's pregnant now with her second baby. Like any strong and amazing woman spent many painful hours in her first labour giving birth to a sweet sweet girl on an obviously life changing day. Only to be faced with a charming suggestion from her husband to start having anal sex instead now as it is to be 'tighter.'
When she told me this I was disgusted and racking my brain for advice all I could come up with was, "thank god your about to give birth again, this time rather then being shy or nervous about your birth poo, be grateful cos now you have something to aim for"
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Once I collapsed at a train station in tears, once my friend lied and said she was about to kill herself, another friend I know purposely drove her car into someone Else's. Punches have been thrown, endless bottles of spirits have been consumed, friends have been slept with, windows smashed, jobs quit and above all there has been begging. Why so dramatic? Cos someones been dumped.
Being dumped can be so utterly devastating that the world around you stops. You cant talk about anything but your ex, you cant eat (which works, as the weight loss comes in handy) You feel like you cant breath. You feel like theres been a bulls eye on your heart and you didn't even know it. Someones come along and put out the light on your little corner of the world. You become selfish, even if the reason you were dumped was that you were already selfish, you become really selfish. Your hurting and everyone should feel it.
What can you do about being dumped? They say theres nothing you can do, hold your head up, walk away with what dignity you can find.
I on the other hand say bullshit. There is loads you can do.... Another thing 'they' say revenge is a dish best served cold but in this case I firmly believe its a look that should be served Hot.
We all know begging doesn't work, but never underestimate the power of looking shit hot, rocking up to a bar you know they'll be at and ignoring them. Or if that doesn't work keep drinking, sooner or later your ex will see how smashed you've gotten and do the righty by taking you home. That might not be the best look but your pretty much guaranteed morning sex which could lead anywhere. Another 'take me back trick' is the old "I think I'm pregnant" But this ones for ameteurs and has more floors then I can be bothered writing.
Revenge is for the broken hearted who hasn't reached the stage of admitting there lost without there lover, its for when your ego is so completely bruised that you need pay back. Yes revenge is fun, rumors of small dicks and herpes are fun, hacking into face book accounts to make status updates say "Joe Blogs has just popped home for his midday wank" Is fun however it very rarely gets you what you want which is usually your lover back. I recently read a Chinese proverb that went "when planning your revenge, start by digging two graves, one for your enemy and one for yourself"... We don't want that.
So if all else fails, you've tried the stalking, the threats, the guilt's and given the begging one last try its probably time to do the mature thing...
And that's not, hang out with friends, get a new haircut, listen to music, Duffy or Damien Rice or Dido (why does all the draining music start with D) The answers simple, The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. xxxxxxxxxx
Being dumped can be so utterly devastating that the world around you stops. You cant talk about anything but your ex, you cant eat (which works, as the weight loss comes in handy) You feel like you cant breath. You feel like theres been a bulls eye on your heart and you didn't even know it. Someones come along and put out the light on your little corner of the world. You become selfish, even if the reason you were dumped was that you were already selfish, you become really selfish. Your hurting and everyone should feel it.
What can you do about being dumped? They say theres nothing you can do, hold your head up, walk away with what dignity you can find.
I on the other hand say bullshit. There is loads you can do.... Another thing 'they' say revenge is a dish best served cold but in this case I firmly believe its a look that should be served Hot.
We all know begging doesn't work, but never underestimate the power of looking shit hot, rocking up to a bar you know they'll be at and ignoring them. Or if that doesn't work keep drinking, sooner or later your ex will see how smashed you've gotten and do the righty by taking you home. That might not be the best look but your pretty much guaranteed morning sex which could lead anywhere. Another 'take me back trick' is the old "I think I'm pregnant" But this ones for ameteurs and has more floors then I can be bothered writing.
Revenge is for the broken hearted who hasn't reached the stage of admitting there lost without there lover, its for when your ego is so completely bruised that you need pay back. Yes revenge is fun, rumors of small dicks and herpes are fun, hacking into face book accounts to make status updates say "Joe Blogs has just popped home for his midday wank" Is fun however it very rarely gets you what you want which is usually your lover back. I recently read a Chinese proverb that went "when planning your revenge, start by digging two graves, one for your enemy and one for yourself"... We don't want that.
So if all else fails, you've tried the stalking, the threats, the guilt's and given the begging one last try its probably time to do the mature thing...
And that's not, hang out with friends, get a new haircut, listen to music, Duffy or Damien Rice or Dido (why does all the draining music start with D) The answers simple, The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. xxxxxxxxxx
Sunday, October 18, 2009
measurements
You can measure how appreciated you are at work by your bank balance every week, you can measure how drunk you were by the number of empty wine bottles you wake up next to, you can generally measure how many guys a girl has slept with by timesing the number she gave you by about 14. And you can measure the value of your relationships by how brave they leave you feeling.
Do you feel like you can achieve anything, and would you risk trying? Do you dream about mansions and million of dollars or beach shacks and millions of babies? Either way do you feel like with your partners support you? could get there? or do you think it would be easier for you both if you just did night fill at Coles for a couple more years?
I have a sweet humble little friend who recently met an international Lawyer (who calls them selves that?) anyway he was apparently worth a mint, working overseas, working in Perth and working his way up her skirt whenever he felt the need. When we asked her about him she replied "he's just so successful, it made me feel stupid"
This measures very low on the relationship charts. He is successful, he successfully took away all my little sweethearts bravery. Would they work as a couple? No way. He is not a catch.
Another close friend just wound up in bed with her Wine connoisseur co-worker, he is 40yrs old, divorced with two kids and shares a house with her ex boyfriend... While lying in bed together, my friend was amazed, he didn't grab her hand and place it on his nob????, he had forgotten to do the standard pushing her head down (as subtle as saying "hows about a blowy?") and she was able to be spooned without waking up so a good old nob nudging in her back. He stroked her arms, and left her feeling brave enough to walk around his room completely naked (sure once he fell asleep she went though his things, but that's a whole nother blog)
Would they work as a couple? Oh yes, And the catch of the day goes tooooooo....... The humble wine Connoisseur....
So if your feeling unmotivated, uninspired, you've lost yourself or you passion for youself, then maybe you need to take a few measurements of your relationships... Wrap yourself around the ones that make you feel like you could run with the wolves and get rid of the ones that inform you when your local subway has a "staff wanted sign"
Cos If Cinthia Nixon's girlfriend made her way to Hollywood with that head and Guy Sebastion's still making music with that head, then imagine what you could do with that head xxxxxxxxxxx
Do you feel like you can achieve anything, and would you risk trying? Do you dream about mansions and million of dollars or beach shacks and millions of babies? Either way do you feel like with your partners support you? could get there? or do you think it would be easier for you both if you just did night fill at Coles for a couple more years?
I have a sweet humble little friend who recently met an international Lawyer (who calls them selves that?) anyway he was apparently worth a mint, working overseas, working in Perth and working his way up her skirt whenever he felt the need. When we asked her about him she replied "he's just so successful, it made me feel stupid"
This measures very low on the relationship charts. He is successful, he successfully took away all my little sweethearts bravery. Would they work as a couple? No way. He is not a catch.
Another close friend just wound up in bed with her Wine connoisseur co-worker, he is 40yrs old, divorced with two kids and shares a house with her ex boyfriend... While lying in bed together, my friend was amazed, he didn't grab her hand and place it on his nob????, he had forgotten to do the standard pushing her head down (as subtle as saying "hows about a blowy?") and she was able to be spooned without waking up so a good old nob nudging in her back. He stroked her arms, and left her feeling brave enough to walk around his room completely naked (sure once he fell asleep she went though his things, but that's a whole nother blog)
Would they work as a couple? Oh yes, And the catch of the day goes tooooooo....... The humble wine Connoisseur....
So if your feeling unmotivated, uninspired, you've lost yourself or you passion for youself, then maybe you need to take a few measurements of your relationships... Wrap yourself around the ones that make you feel like you could run with the wolves and get rid of the ones that inform you when your local subway has a "staff wanted sign"
Cos If Cinthia Nixon's girlfriend made her way to Hollywood with that head and Guy Sebastion's still making music with that head, then imagine what you could do with that head xxxxxxxxxxx
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Desire Me.........
Some women like to be fucked hardcore from behind, some like a bit of dirty talking, some like a gentle looooove making session, others like it outdoors, some women are dying to get there kit off and others are dying to get the lights off, some women are scared of fanny farts and celulity bums while others are scared of premature men and floppy nobs.
Two things all women have in common is 1 they hate the jackhammer, you know the one.... Its the one where you could be forgiven for assuming you were fucking a rabbit or a teenage dog.
The second is that we all desire to be desired. It gets us sweating like a slut at confession.
This is where our two sexual similarities are related... If a blokes jackhammering away, eyes closed, looking like hes about to self destruct how can we possibly feel desired? We might as well be a hooker, your hand or a fucking apple pie youv decided to get your rocks off in. How is any woman supposed to feel wanted, like the sexiest woman you've laid eyes on, like the one thing you really NEED right now if your banging away like a screen door in a tornado, trying desperately to achieve YOUR orgasm....
Physically speaking the old Jackhammer does nothing, in fact its kind of embarrassing how unstimulated it leaves us.
But dear men, please don't think you can trick us. I know how men think, when asked if your into a girl a common and honest but completely dick headish reply is "shes good enough for a shag, but I wouldn't go out with her" We will know if you trying to make us feel desired to get us into bed as murmuring "your so sexy, your so sexy" while flipping a girl over and pulling down her jeans will not do.
It has to be real, its in the way you've been looking at her all night, the confident arrogance might get her into the bedroom but the vulnerability in her presence will bring her to life in bed.
So in layman's terms, a woman is 100% a better shag if shes enjoying herself, she will only enjoy herself if she is truly desired by the guy shes sleeping with...
And with a bit of luck and allot of Passion this should minimise the jackhammers and encourages the laughing, kissing, curled up toes, lights left on, necks being kissed, backs being kissed and goosebumps in your bedroom.........
Two things all women have in common is 1 they hate the jackhammer, you know the one.... Its the one where you could be forgiven for assuming you were fucking a rabbit or a teenage dog.
The second is that we all desire to be desired. It gets us sweating like a slut at confession.
This is where our two sexual similarities are related... If a blokes jackhammering away, eyes closed, looking like hes about to self destruct how can we possibly feel desired? We might as well be a hooker, your hand or a fucking apple pie youv decided to get your rocks off in. How is any woman supposed to feel wanted, like the sexiest woman you've laid eyes on, like the one thing you really NEED right now if your banging away like a screen door in a tornado, trying desperately to achieve YOUR orgasm....
Physically speaking the old Jackhammer does nothing, in fact its kind of embarrassing how unstimulated it leaves us.
But dear men, please don't think you can trick us. I know how men think, when asked if your into a girl a common and honest but completely dick headish reply is "shes good enough for a shag, but I wouldn't go out with her" We will know if you trying to make us feel desired to get us into bed as murmuring "your so sexy, your so sexy" while flipping a girl over and pulling down her jeans will not do.
It has to be real, its in the way you've been looking at her all night, the confident arrogance might get her into the bedroom but the vulnerability in her presence will bring her to life in bed.
So in layman's terms, a woman is 100% a better shag if shes enjoying herself, she will only enjoy herself if she is truly desired by the guy shes sleeping with...
And with a bit of luck and allot of Passion this should minimise the jackhammers and encourages the laughing, kissing, curled up toes, lights left on, necks being kissed, backs being kissed and goosebumps in your bedroom.........
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Billie-Violet
When I look down at her little head I wonder to myself,
How do I explain to someone who cant talk yet exactly how special she is? or how perfect her bubbly bum and round belly are? or how 365 sleepless nights a year is just fine.
How do I tell her that creating her was the one truly amazing thing Iv ever done and I wasn't even trying, or that I didn't know what the word stress meant until I heard her tiny cough.
How do I get her to see that I would murder or take the blame for her murder if she asked me too. Or that who ever she becomes will be adored as long as she becomes it near me.
When will she realise that shes the owner of a pair of thighs I kiss 40 times a day, or that shes the prettiest baby that any ones ever seen.
I wonder when she will realise that nobody loves anybody the way I love my little Billie
How do I explain to someone who cant talk yet exactly how special she is? or how perfect her bubbly bum and round belly are? or how 365 sleepless nights a year is just fine.
How do I tell her that creating her was the one truly amazing thing Iv ever done and I wasn't even trying, or that I didn't know what the word stress meant until I heard her tiny cough.
How do I get her to see that I would murder or take the blame for her murder if she asked me too. Or that who ever she becomes will be adored as long as she becomes it near me.
When will she realise that shes the owner of a pair of thighs I kiss 40 times a day, or that shes the prettiest baby that any ones ever seen.
I wonder when she will realise that nobody loves anybody the way I love my little Billie
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Iv lived in a few different places, Swanbourne with the snobs, East St Kilda with the jews, Fitzroy with the grungey Artist and now Fremantle surprisingly with the Rock stars..
Which is slightly unusual in a city with a population of approximately 26 000 people, approx 40% of the rented homes here are government housing, and approx 40% of the people are foreigners. So if you take out the wogs and doll bludgers your pretty much left with rock stars.
What qualifies you to be a rock star?
Well only two qualities are a must. You must live in fremantle and you must act like a rock star. Playing and instrument, developing your vocal skills, or even having a slight interest in any type of music is over rated. However tight black jeans, tatts, flanny shirts, black hair dye, chain smoking and local gigs are up there with theses highly exclusive groups.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not claiming to be any better, I too have been known to have pointless tattoos, (rosary beads on my nonreligious wrist) I also donned red wine stained lips for a good two years and I remember the days of sitting at the swan basement watching intently as a band that should be placed under arrest for the attempted murder of my ear drums serenaded me.
But falling pregnant put a stop to the endless bender and opened my eyes to what an asshole I was becoming, it would appear I was wearing rose coloured Ray-bans.
So this is one gig Fremantle has to offer that Ill have to sit out on, as maintaining this type of superficial lifestyle while caught up in baby love is almost as impossible as having a polite conversation with the dude who works upstairs at Mills.
Which is slightly unusual in a city with a population of approximately 26 000 people, approx 40% of the rented homes here are government housing, and approx 40% of the people are foreigners. So if you take out the wogs and doll bludgers your pretty much left with rock stars.
What qualifies you to be a rock star?
Well only two qualities are a must. You must live in fremantle and you must act like a rock star. Playing and instrument, developing your vocal skills, or even having a slight interest in any type of music is over rated. However tight black jeans, tatts, flanny shirts, black hair dye, chain smoking and local gigs are up there with theses highly exclusive groups.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not claiming to be any better, I too have been known to have pointless tattoos, (rosary beads on my nonreligious wrist) I also donned red wine stained lips for a good two years and I remember the days of sitting at the swan basement watching intently as a band that should be placed under arrest for the attempted murder of my ear drums serenaded me.
But falling pregnant put a stop to the endless bender and opened my eyes to what an asshole I was becoming, it would appear I was wearing rose coloured Ray-bans.
So this is one gig Fremantle has to offer that Ill have to sit out on, as maintaining this type of superficial lifestyle while caught up in baby love is almost as impossible as having a polite conversation with the dude who works upstairs at Mills.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
the little job of being a lover
My boyfriend has loads of jobs.
Its his job to tell me I look beautiful when Iv got food all over my chin, his job to listen to me cry over the asshole in the car park who called me a fat cow, his job to try and find that asshole, when I ask him the time, its his job to dack himself and reply "its cock oclock," its his job to come home from football early cos I saw a shadow in the backyard, his job to bring my attention to any camel toe issues I might be having (preferably not by say "babes your having a flap attack" but nobodys perfect) his job to pretend he didn't notice the 22kgs I put on when pregnant and his job NOT to point out that the baby only made up for 3 of them.
Its my job to be paranoid, Im a paranoid person- I believe every expression on a doctors face is the one they use to break the bad new "sorry, its Cancer or sorry lets discuss quality of life, or sorry looks like that Norweigen guy didnt leave quite without a trace." And so its also my job to worry at the discovery of a new lump, bump or rash on my body and its his job to check it out and reassure me.
This could explain the fear on his face when I came out of the toilet the other day with a very tense look on my face and the declaration of my very first Hemorrhoid.
Billy- "what makes you think that?"
Me- "I have all the symptoms and it hurts to poo, bloody hell I cant even enjoy a good poo any more"
Billy-"well can you see it? I hear they look like grapes"
Me- "no but Im pretty sure its of the internal variety. I'm really worried Bill, I dont want a doctor putting there finger up my bum"
Billy looked tence, infact he looked tence until he realised I didnt have one of those minors helmet torches to send him anal mining in my hands.
Turns out the hemorrhoid that Iv named Ernie came about from giving birth. Apparently I pushed so hard that Ernie had nowhere else to go. Easily treated and anyone who suffers from the Roids will know that he wont be missed.
After the ordeal I had a sneaky suspicion that if I was really worried about Ernie then Billy would have checked him out for me. It never came to that cos just as its Billys job to protect me from assholes in car parks its my job to protect him from arsholes like Ernie.
I have lots of jobs too,
Its my job to keep his little girls warm and safe while hes at work, my job to take the baby outside when he gets home from work for a kiss in his work van, my job to share a doona with him even after hes been eating Onion Bargies (bargie bum) and its my job to wash up at night in nothing but my nickers.
But most importantly it my job to keep the Ernies away so I can perch my bum on his lap while he does his job on the computer at night.
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Its his job to tell me I look beautiful when Iv got food all over my chin, his job to listen to me cry over the asshole in the car park who called me a fat cow, his job to try and find that asshole, when I ask him the time, its his job to dack himself and reply "its cock oclock," its his job to come home from football early cos I saw a shadow in the backyard, his job to bring my attention to any camel toe issues I might be having (preferably not by say "babes your having a flap attack" but nobodys perfect) his job to pretend he didn't notice the 22kgs I put on when pregnant and his job NOT to point out that the baby only made up for 3 of them.
Its my job to be paranoid, Im a paranoid person- I believe every expression on a doctors face is the one they use to break the bad new "sorry, its Cancer or sorry lets discuss quality of life, or sorry looks like that Norweigen guy didnt leave quite without a trace." And so its also my job to worry at the discovery of a new lump, bump or rash on my body and its his job to check it out and reassure me.
This could explain the fear on his face when I came out of the toilet the other day with a very tense look on my face and the declaration of my very first Hemorrhoid.
Billy- "what makes you think that?"
Me- "I have all the symptoms and it hurts to poo, bloody hell I cant even enjoy a good poo any more"
Billy-"well can you see it? I hear they look like grapes"
Me- "no but Im pretty sure its of the internal variety. I'm really worried Bill, I dont want a doctor putting there finger up my bum"
Billy looked tence, infact he looked tence until he realised I didnt have one of those minors helmet torches to send him anal mining in my hands.
Turns out the hemorrhoid that Iv named Ernie came about from giving birth. Apparently I pushed so hard that Ernie had nowhere else to go. Easily treated and anyone who suffers from the Roids will know that he wont be missed.
After the ordeal I had a sneaky suspicion that if I was really worried about Ernie then Billy would have checked him out for me. It never came to that cos just as its Billys job to protect me from assholes in car parks its my job to protect him from arsholes like Ernie.
I have lots of jobs too,
Its my job to keep his little girls warm and safe while hes at work, my job to take the baby outside when he gets home from work for a kiss in his work van, my job to share a doona with him even after hes been eating Onion Bargies (bargie bum) and its my job to wash up at night in nothing but my nickers.
But most importantly it my job to keep the Ernies away so I can perch my bum on his lap while he does his job on the computer at night.
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