Saturday, 30 June 2012

The Brussel Sprouts Incident...

So, I purchased, on line, a paperback copy of Fifty Shades of Gray. I want to see what the hoop-la - good or bad - is about. Never diss something until you've experienced brussel sprouts...they're pukeable and can be disrespected by me legitimately. In fact, at high school, during Home Economics – and no, it wasn’t my choice to do bloody Home Ec. I had to due to being an army brat and changing so many schools and school systems over different states, I had to take it because that school I landed in had antiquated theories on what boys did and what girls did. I have always thought high school a waste of time. What does this have to do with Fifty Shades of Gray? Nothing, because I’m talking about brussel sprouts now.  Anyway in Home Ec I caused somewhat of a scene as I refused to cook the dreaded sprouts because you had to eat what you cooked and that was a no way Jose situation. I loathe those green ball of pus. However, one didn’t refuse stuff in Hilda the Horrible’s Home EC class. Hilda – or whatever her name was – was a starched knickered old biddy who was bitter and twisted and frankly, looking back now, really needed a good, hard shagging and a bottle of tequila.   

So there was Hilda and I. Me defying her and not cooking brussel sprouts and her declaring I would or I’d have to sit outside for the rest of the class and my mother would be notified over my recalcitrance.  “What are you going to do Amarinda?” I went and sat outside. I’d been outside before for talking in class and for laughing in class. I was an ‘outsider.’ This latest adventure outside caused much controversy as it was a well known fact that Hilda would treat me like crap for the rest of the semester because that was her MO when defied.  When Mum heard about what happened, she had words with Hilda. Long story short, Hilda was very, very quiet around me after that as Mrs Jones never tolerated people telling her that her kids were naughty and I wore the mantle of the brussel sprouts troublemaker and ‘what will she do next?’

So, Fifty Shades may be like brussel sprouts. Regardless, I will try it and judge it on what I think and believe. 

Friday, 29 June 2012

Just my opinion but what a load of…

…clap trap. While I do the indie author thing myself and I believe Indie books are just as good, if not better, than books published by the standard epublishing companies because we are less inclined to play with ourselves, I also believe that no one owes a writer a living. You have to fight and struggle to get ahead and images like this annoy me. Why? So it took you two years to write a book. So what? That doesn’t mean that it’s going to fly off the shelves due to the effort you put in and emotional clap trap like this picture indicates to me that a reality check is needed. Epublishing is a shitty, backbiting, hard business.  The hard facts are not everyone is going to buy your book. Many would actually prefer to buy a cup of coffee. If a reader does buy your book then be bloody happy and grateful. You had a win.   

As for equating your ebook with a cup of coffee poured by some poor bugger whose probably making only minimum wage working for a large blood sucking conglomerate who owns half the coffee in the world, don’t under estimate what each $3.50 can mean to the worker or the drinker. We each chose our own poison. For writers, it’s thoughts in head and arse on chair as keys are banged furiously as words spew forth as we look to make money from it. For the waitress who just wants to serve the coffee and get off her feet – well, if none of us were buying her coffee, she’d be out of a job. For the poor sod that’s had a shit of a morning and the only thing holding them together is knowing they can buy a coffee – you think they’re going swap that for a book? Get frigging real.      

Everything is relative. Emotional claptrap? Save it for your writing and leave people to make their own choices without that corny angst of comparing chalk and cheese. 

But then, that’s just my own sweet, shy opinion…     


As many of you know, I also have written as Penn Halligan. I am asking you not to buy any of my Penn Halligan or Amarinda Jones books through Noble Publishing. Why? They refuse to pay me royalties or answer emails. Childish? Oh yeah. Think twice before you submit there.

Support authors and DO NOT BUY from Noble Romance.

Thank you for your support.

Thursday, 28 June 2012

Never Ever...out now...

The Blurb...

As far as Margaret is concerned, Daniel’s the last man she wants.  He’s pushy, opinionated and impossible to deal with. In fact, he’s exactly like her. That’s why she’s never ever going to get involved with him. It would be madness. 

Daniel’s not about to be put off by attitude. He’s more than happy to challenge Margaret and her preconceptions about what she thinks men want from women. Like forces do attract and it’s time for Margaret to open her eyes to the possibilities.

The Excerpt...

“I think not.” Daniel’s gaze never left hers. “Take your clothes off, Maggie.”
She licked her lips, savoring the taste of the man. “I don’t want to.” If a kiss had completely undone her, god knows what sex would do. 
“Why not?” His hands slid down to her ass.
Oh yeah. That felt good.  Margaret could feel the thrust of cock fighting the denim of his jeans. “Because, er,— just because.” This man didn’t need to know her feelings. That would cut too close to the bone.
“So you haven’t got the perfect body.” Daniel shrugged. “I know that.”
“Wow you’re quite the smooth talker.” And yet Margaret liked that. This man wasn’t into pretense to get what he wanted. He wanted to fuck her. It was up to her whether she let him.
“Shut up and strip.” Daniel let go of her and started to take his clothes off.
Margaret’s eyes were wide with shock. Him. Naked. “Don’t do that.”
His shirt hit the floor. “Why not?” Daniel asked as he kicked off his boots.
“It’ll make it too real?” His hand pulled at the zipper of his jeans.
Her eyes were fixed on his hand. Margaret wanted him to stop yet she wanted to see. It had been so long since she had seen a man’s dick. “There’s nothing real between us. This is just a challenge for you.” She gulped at the pink swollen head that pointed in her direction. The need to reach forward and lick it slammed into her mind.    
“I dare you to get naked and prove to me you have some guts and are not some wishy-washy woman with hang ups.” His jeans hit the floor.
Call me wishy-washy? That was not something that Margaret would allow. “You’re a complete bastard.” She yanked off her Taipans shirt and threw it in his face. 
The smell of her perfume made Daniel’s cock jump. The sight of her lace covered breasts had him flinging the shirt away from him so his hands were free to touch. When her bra smacked him in the face, he was momentarily blinded by lace. He pushed it away, his eyes taking in the full, pink tipped breasts that bounced as she angrily yanked down her jeans. As she stumbled, her feet caught in the material, Daniel couldn’t remember a more exciting woman. “You should have taken your sandals off first.”
“Shut up!” She bent down and unbuckled them.   
The sway of her breasts had him mesmerized. Daniel wanted to suck them until she begged him to fuck her.
Once fully naked, Margaret stood before him, hands on her hips in defiance. “There. Done. Happy?”
Daniel wanted to smile and pull her into his arms and make her feel safe and happy but Margaret was a hard case. They had to be treated differently as they expected no pity and needed to be an equal.
“You have a fat ass.” He knew that’s what she expected to hear.
“Get stuffed.”
“Oh, I will be stuffing you with dick very soon.” Daniel was barely holding on. Some women drove a man mad with lust and any illusions of control were shot. Margaret was one of them. 
She tilted her head and looked at the dick in question. “It’s pretty small. I doubt I’ll feel it.”  
“Well, you have huge boobs. I like small ones,” Daniel retorted. It was a lie. He couldn’t wait to touch them. 
“You’re skinny.” Margaret crossed her arms over her chest.
Don’t do that. I want to see. “You’re chunky.”
“Can you turn around? I want to see how far that stick is up your ass.”
She said it so politely that he wanted to laugh. This was fun. Maggie was fun. “You’re a bitch.”
Margaret smiled “Why, thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, Maggie.”
She snorted. “Like I’d expect one from you.”
Daniel crooked his finger at her. “Come here.”
“No, you come to me.”

Wednesday, 27 June 2012

Me? I'm innocent...

So, I did edits all day today at my day job. I enjoyed it. Why? Firstly because I shouldn’t have been doing it and it's always enjoyable doing the wrong thing and secondly because editing sex – and all the naughty words that go with it – is so much fun when you’re working in a staid, boring office of people who’s lives are preoccupied by being monotonous and tedious. Only problem? Remembering to answer the phone and not read out a line of dialogue at the same time. Did I do that? I started to and then confused and dazzled the person on the other end of the phone to the point they had forgotten what I had said and why they were calling.
But before you try this in your work place, you must cultivate a look of innocence. I do the innocent look really very well. Actually, my two best party tricks are looking angelic and like butter wouldn't' melt in my mouth - and seriously who would suck on butter -and, my other great skill is bending over, legs straight and placing the palms of my hands on the floor in front of me. This instantly confuses and astounds people, as they want to try it, and they forget why they were going to question why you're muttering lines of dialogue at the computer.
So many people to little time... 

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

Poor Pete...

So, I’m deciding whether to be a grown up and buy a sedate, matching outdoor dining setting for the patio with the pieces that match each other or follow my natural instinct to have nothing matching and all colours clashing and completely wrong looking together like I have now. I should be a grown up about it. Grown-ups match stuff - added to that I’m 48 for Pete’s sake…don’t you often wonder who Pete is?  Does Pete get sick of people using his name in vain? Is it like God who must wonder about all the people who call his name as they suddenly find religion on top or under or behind someone? Poor God. Poor Pete…I wonder why no one screams out Pete’s name? Oh Pete!!!!!! Probably not the same unless the person is being shagged by someone called Peter then that would make sense.  I think I’ll call out Pete’s name next time. That will be nice and confusing. Anyway, where was I?  Matching stuff. So, yes, at 48 I should be sensible and match stuff and attempt sedateness and stuff like that. I should take a crack at being staid. I really, really should…probably…I’ll attempt that tomorrow. Possibly...if I meet Pete then I'll take it as a cosmic sign.  

Monday, 25 June 2012


….who call their 5,000, 10,000 or 15,000 word piece of writing a book are essentially playing with themselves and the public. It’s a short story, lovie. I wrote 10k essays when I was at Uni. I didn’t hand one in and say here is my book on the Linguistic vagaries of urban, tattoo Pigmies living in non-monogamous relationships who ride scooters in socio-economically challenged areas of the Simpson Desert. By the way…pretty much no one lives in the Simpson Desert. It’s hot and dry and there’s nothing for miles…but I digress…it’s not a book. It’s a short story. Writers don’t want to hear that. Why? Well a butt load of them are churning out fast stories to make a quick buck. I get that. I really do. Money makes the world go round and every writer, myself included, has done it. But don’t call a hastily written 5 men and one woman fuck-fest a book. I’m not doubting it sells but calling it a book gives readers expectations of more. It also – and this really annoys me – allows publishers to put inflated, ridiculous prices on short stories. $3.99 for a 15,000 word story that is written once, is formatted into different versions in the blink of an eye – and don’t let anyone try and tell you there’s a lot of work in formatting because that’s crap. There are programs that do that with very little thought from a human. $3.99 for 10-15k of words. Seriously? I can go to Kmart and get books on sale that are bigger and a better price. I can go to a junk shop and fill a bag with cheap books.

Yes, yes, yes…you have an e-reader. It’s the way of the future. I just wonder how many readers actually considered how expensive the future of stories and proper books was going to be. The greed of authors, publishers and giant corporations is bleeding readers dry. No, I haven’t been sucked into an ereader yet. And no, I do not ever plan to charge $3.99 for a short story. Why? Because readers deserve more.   

 Dicking Around…$1.16…

The Perils of Paula…$1.16

Strip for Me….$1.16

If Nor For You….$1.16


Eat Me Up…$1.16

Bad Girl….$1.16


Don’t talk to me about expensive overheads. That’s bullshit. Treat the reader fairly.   

Sunday, 24 June 2012


So, several weeks ago I managed to spill a very small amount - one could call it infinitesimal if one was inclined to – in the boot/trunk of my car when transporting mower fuel home in a small can.  The next morning when I got it the car all I could smell was petrol. I made a stop and quickly bought some pink air fresheners called  ‘Fresh as a Daisy’. They made the car smell so sickly sweet it was like Mary Poppins had vomited fairy floss/cotton candy in there. I decided to rectify this by buying a vanilla thing that hung from the rear vision mirror. Vanilla is good - natural – except for this one. If competed so badly with the smell of Mary Poppins I was gagging. That’s when I went for ‘Tropical Breeze’ air fresheners. To me, living in the actual tropics, it were akin in smell to rotten pineapples fermenting in the sun. It were a nosebreaker. I solved that problem by spilling coffee in the car. The whole car reeks of it, along with wafts of everything else. Good news is I can’t smell the petrol any more. I did have someone get in my car and I said what do you smell? They said your perfume. See? There is a very good reason to wear too perfume. People are so overcome by that it obliterates anything else.

Not sure what I’m going to try next...

Strip For Me and a bunch of other books are out on the cover to have a look see.

Saturday, 23 June 2012

She’s pregnant? And by the way, there’s not enough sex…

Yes, I got a character pregnant in a story I just wrote. She had sex and got pregnant. Yes, I have heard pregnancy doesn’t sell. Yes, I wrote it anyway, Yes, I’ll publish it anyway.

What’s that you say? The bit about there’s not enough sex? If so how did she get pregnant? No, there’s no stork involved and no finding a baby in a cabbage patch. Story one is about pregnancy. Story two has an actual story with sex as opposed to sex with a vague plot while the heroine gets screwed by multiple men who are apparently protecting her with their massive, magical condom-less dicks that cannot get her pregnant.  In my story, the heroine has only one lover. That happens you know. Yes, it will apparently never sell. No, I can’t have her screwing all the male characters because she foolishly loves the hero. Yes, love is terrible when there’s not multiple men shagging her but I expect the hero prefers to be the only one. Yes, again, I did hear the bit about that not selling. Yeah, I prefer to be an individual. Yes, again, I know individualism doesn’t sell but I’m going to do it anyway. Watch this space. 

Thursday, 21 June 2012


In 2008, I had a choice to take a job with the cops – admin type stuff though I would have been good at enforcing stuff – or work at a company that made windows and doors – accounts stuff. I didn’t start out in accounts. I muscled my way into that – and that’s another story - but I took that job with that company due to the fact that the job with the cops was being handled by an agency and they couldn’t work out a start date and I’m not one to wait around while others stuff around. That one decision changed my life in phenomenal ways. I’m a great believer in karma…in fate. We are thrown into often competing paths of action and one draws us more than the other. At the time we can’t think why. If not for choosing the job I did and subsequently end up in Cairns after chatting to crazy Cairn-ites, I would probably still be in Brisbane hating the traffic, the city and searching for whatever the hell I was searching for. It would be terrible to think of not knowing the people I know now.

Maybe karma can be considered a bitch. I consider it a saviour. I cannot wait to see what else happens in my life…

Wednesday, 20 June 2012

Frigging dainty I am….

So, it’s winter and while it doesn’t get ultra cold in tropical Cairns - though it was cool this morning and that may have been me whining on the Cairns Esplanade at 5:30am dressed in my running clothes contemplating high tailing it back to the car before anyone saw me - winter means anything I’ve broken in my life – thumbs, ankles, toes – randomly begins to ache. Yeah, you know what I mean. Lead an adventurous yet clumsy life and things happen to you. This winter, my ankle is aching. I went to the chemist to buy an elasticized ankle brace for it. The sales assistant asked what size. I said fat or chunky or maybe a hefty would do. She looked down at my ankle and said ‘you’re a small.’ Now, I’ve never been called ‘small’ in my life. Anyway, I put on the strapping and it was the perfect fit. Think Cinderella and the glass slipper except this was tape and stretchy stuff and frankly I would not be putting my foot in any glass slipper to try it on after god knows who had and why can't Prince-so-call-Charming remember who it belonged to. Men sometimes...but I me fatso? I think not. I have dainty ankles and I can kick arse from here to billy-o with them. Yep, that’s me. I’m frigging dainty. I have the strapping to prove it.

Tuesday, 19 June 2012

How good would it be…

…if every woman threw away the magazines that perpetuated the myth that women had to conform to some plastic, Barbie doll stereotype? Let’s end eating disorders, depression, self hatred and low self worth. Don’t buy these magazines. Save the money you waste on them and buy something that makes you feel good about you. 

Say no to propaganda, bullshit magazines. Say yes to wanting to be yourself and to hell with what anyone thinks.

How good would it be? It would be amazing.

Go on. Be amazing. Self worth starts with you.

Monday, 18 June 2012


I had lunch with a friend today. We didn’t go anywhere flash or exciting. It was just a back street eatery in a less than glamorous part of town but that didn’t matter. The company did. Having one person you can be yourself with – flaws and all – is priceless. Thank god for people who get us. Thank you friend.  

Sunday, 17 June 2012

Beautiful...the life experience in this voice blows me away...

Of toilet paper and drunkards...

So I donned my trackie daks and went to Relay for Life in Cairns last night. Yes, yes, you’re sick to death of me mentioning it but there it is. I’m mentioning it again.

Positives – excellent planning, organization and follow through by all those people who put the hard yards in to make it successful. I was quite impressed they never ran out of toilet paper once in the ladies loos considering the huge volume of women that were there. I know all women are now nodding their heads at this. The candlelight ceremony was moving, respectful and there was not a dry eye anywhere, mine included. The money raised? Amazing, Grace.  
Fact #1 – I walked 40 kilometres or 25 miles in Yankee speak and I didn’t sleep a wink.  

Fact #2 – I look every one of those hours of not sleeping.

Fact #3 –  Luckily for me I can carry the scary look off.

Negatives – people getting pissed as newts as they view it as a ‘party’ and being too drunk to do their part in the relay. People deciding they were ‘too tired’ to take their turn and ‘can you do it?'

Conclusion – I’m a hard task manger when it comes to what I ask myself to do. About 2am this morning I concluded that a vast majority of people have no respect, guts or stamina and me applying my standards to their pissy, useless lives is a waste of time.

Saturday, 16 June 2012

In your face...

Today is Relay for Life day in Cairns. It’s an overnight baton relay for 18 hours between teams of people who have sought sponsorship money for the Cancer Council. Yes, we could just ask people for money and not walk and not spend a cold winter’s night in a tent waiting for the baton to be passed to us. That would be simple. Easy. The thing is cancer isn’t either of those things. It’s a shitty, horrible disease that robs us of people we love and friends we will never see again. It devastates families and tests the courage and endurance of those fighting for their lives. So, there are events like this that raise funds to fight it, which shoves the spotlight on it to remind people that cancer is a killer, to celebrate those who have fought it, those who have survived and those we have lost.   

No, correct. You don’t have to care or give money. That’s your choice. No, you don’t have to explain to me that you ‘don’t know anyone who has had cancer’ so it doesn’t concern you.  Your conscience is your own. All I ask is spend two minutes of your busy life thinking about what you would do if you or someone you love was confronted by cancer. Maybe then events like Relay for Life would be understandable for those who ask me why bother trying to 'pick up $5.00 here and there.' Am I shoving this in your face? Well Cancer’s in your face stuff. There’s no time to be subtle about it.


Thursday, 14 June 2012

Ice-cream waits for no dog...

I’m always fascinated by people who walk around talking to themselves. Is it a lack of inhibition? Are they aware they’re doing it? Do they care if they are? I was coming out of Cairns Central at lunch time and this woman was getting onto her bicycle and talking out loud – very loud – about how she had to go and pick someone and how dare they ask her to dink them (Dink is Aussie for riding two on one bicycle – very big when you’re a kid as someone has to sit on the handlebars and that makes it exciting but when you get older you realize how bloody stupid that is but as a kid you’re fearless). She then rabbited on about how she had just come out of hospital and no one cared that she had 'almost died' and how was she supposed to get her ‘ ice-cream home’ and  ‘the dog was waiting for her’.  I’m not sure if the ice-cream was for the dog but apparently the dog wouldn’t wait long because he ‘ had other things to do.’  It was quite fascinating because I pictured a dog holding a briefcase, looking at his watch and tut-tutting that she was late.  Anyway she eventually got on her bike exclaiming that it would take at least an hour to ride to Grafton Street – not far away so the hour was an exaggeration but I feel it certainly added to the dramatic effect so I was impressed. She asked did we think she was 'wonder woman?'  No, but I thought she may have been a writer though. As she rode off through the car park she yelled her toenails were too long for her shoes.   Was she nuts? Well, who isn’t? Not something I can judge.

Wednesday, 13 June 2012


I have no shame in saying that today I spend most of my work time at work writing the next story and being on eBay looking for stuff. I expect I will go to hell, but there it is. Someone has to keep the devil company. In my defence….oh, fuck it, I don’t have one…

Hoping you are the same…

Tuesday, 12 June 2012

Say what?

I was at work today trying to track down some freight. I rang the freight company and lodged a where-the-fuck-is-our-stuff enquiry. The lady on the other end of the line asked me to describe what was in the boxes. I rattled off the contents and finished with and 100 calico bags. She asked 'What’s calico?' I said its fabric. She said ‘I’m not following you.’ I said material. ‘In what way is it material?’ Okay. Cloth, I ventured. She said 'I don’t understand.' I said what are your clothes made of? She said ‘they’re made out of clothing.’ Okay, I then said ‘cloth’ is the first part of clothing. She said ‘I’m just not understanding you. Please spell cloth and calico.’  No really, seriously. So I spelled the words out. She put a request to find the mysterious cloth and I ended the call and thought there are some seriously scary people are out there…  

Monday, 11 June 2012


So, I started and finished painting two bathrooms today. Why? Because they were cream coloured. The whole house is a tribute to cream. Boring. It’s just not me. I painted them a bold blue and I’m happy with it. I did learn two things today while painting. The first is that I’ve worked out why people have baths in their bathrooms. I could never fathom the whole lying in hot water thing. Seems like a huge waste of time and I tend to believe lazy people like baths. Busy people do showers. Yes, you can email me if that offends you. Anyway, the real reason there is a bath is that it’s really good to walk around balancing on the rim as you paint the walls. Who knew? That brings me to the second thing I learnt today. I think I may be Catwoman ‘cause I’m so good at balancing. That or a ballerina…

Sunday, 10 June 2012

Walk of Shame...

So, I was chatting to a friend on email about the walk of shame. What is that? Well, for a woman it’s when you have sex with a man and you then go home very late at night or the next day by yourself having re-dressed in the same clothes you started the day with. There are more interpretations but that is essentially what it is. It’s also an indication of liberation and freedom that women can have sex and find their way home very nicely by themselves, feeling shagged yet good. Have I done it? Yes, but I felt no shame in it. I do what I do because I can. Hence the reason why we were talking about it on email. The writer, who I was chatting to, asked me ‘can I put that the heroine did the walk of shame? How will other women react to that? Will she come across as a slut?' My answers? Yes. Who knows. And slut is a subjective term.

Firstly, you can write about anything you like. It’s your story. Look at Fifty Shades of Gray. Did that writer think ‘oh gee, maybe I shouldn’t?’ To my mind if you have no guts, you shouldn’t be a writer. Not every will love what you write so don’t expect them to. As for how other women react to a woman having a ‘very nice time’ and going home? That will swing from remembering when to jealousy. The slut thing? See above. It’s subjective.    

Walk of shame? No shame in doing what you want. 

Saturday, 9 June 2012

Noble or not?

Has Noble Publishing gone bust? Is anyone else having trouble getting money or a response from Jill Noble? Please let me know...

Friday, 8 June 2012

Absence of arse...

So I was sitting at work today when I looked over at this man’s butt. God no, not someone who is normally in the office. I don’t even consider them men.  They’re just there. Annoying me with dumb questions. Drat them. This was a visitor. He and his non-existent arse had just walked into the office. It was flat as a pancake and I thought to myself how can you possibly sit on an bum like that? Does a lack of arse mean your pelvis bones are jarred every time you sit down? What are you sitting on? Thighs alone? Your tail bone? Do you sort have to slouch? How do you balance? How do your undies not fall down?  While it would be a good thing not to worry if your bum was too big I’m more concerned about the comfort level. And no, it wasn’t because I was bored shitless and waiting for the day to end…okay, maybe it was but it does make you wonder don’t it?  What does a woman hold on to when things are going horizontally well? When someone wants to give you an arse kicking do you laugh in their face because you don’t have one to kick or do you get worried as there’s nothing but bones to kick? Is more flesh better in this case?  Should we celebrate the whole absence of arse thing? Are non-bum people discriminated against?  I tell you, work is exhausting sometimes… 

Thursday, 7 June 2012

Hydraulic equipment...

So, I was at the bra sale today buying the only brand of bra I will now wear as it’s hydraulically fashioned to pull my double d’s up from my knees and force them to sit all perky like where they used to before gravity kicked in.  Gravity - what a bastard. Anyway, while I hunted for my size – and may I say how pleased I am that manufacturers are actually making sizes that are for extra voluptuous ladies. I think as women, myself included, who can find our size pretty easily we forget there are some women who are discriminated against because of their size. So well done to bra manufacturers who are getting it right. Okay, back to DD’s…anyway I had several dozen possible bras I might buy – snatched them up before any other sale goer could grab them – got to be fast and furious at bra sales – and I was deciding which I wanted when this girl of 10 or so and her mother wandered past. The mother was looking for bras. The kid was asking what size she was. The mum said 16C. The young girl was agog at the thought of a C cup. “That’s huge mum. Are you sure you’re that big?” Ah youth. You can just see this kid in another couple of years lamenting her boobs aren’t big enough. Boobs…the trial and tribulations of. Men have no’s not just about the bounce boys.     

Wednesday, 6 June 2012

Bra sale...

...on tomorrow. Only thing rougher than a bra sale is a shoe sale. Loins girded...

Tuesday, 5 June 2012

Some days are diamonds...

I found out today that not only do we have the traditional day off in June to celebrate Queen Lizzie’s birthday – which is actually in April but June suits us better for days off – but we also have the same day off in October. Fan-bloody-tastic! Why do we have the extra day off? Well, in Queensland we’re a little bit different – call it unique if you will – and we don’t do everything like the rest of Australia because we don’t want to. Anyway they were going to move the old duck’s birthday thing – no, I’m not a Royalist. I subscribe to my Highland Scot grandfather's decree of ‘when she sings god save Bill, then I may sing god save her’. Indeed.…where was I? Oh yeah, so the plan was to space the holidays and change her birthday-which-is-not-her-birthday in October as there are a lot of public hols at the start of the year. Because of this change and the fact that they announced it late and we all made lots of plans for June 2012 they decided to give us the day off in October as well. See? It’s great being an Aussie.   

Monday, 4 June 2012

Got to tell ya...

…that I wrote over 2000 words today at work and no one knew. Not a soul questioned why I was pounding away on the keyboard with a concentration that I rarely show while at my job. No one. Sigh...there’s no illicit thrill in that. It’s the possibility that you may be caught or have to come up with an excuse or have to dramatically faint to avert attention to your wrong doings or have to stuff your usb stick in you bra and have people wondering if you've developed a third nipple that makes using work time for your own means interesting.

Sunday, 3 June 2012

Ugly is good...

I watched the DVD of The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo last night. I loved this book. I’ve read book two and when I get a second I’m going to read book three. The character of Lisbeth Salander is excellent. I don’t know of any writers who write characters like this any more and certainly not in ebook land where it’s all about quickie, multi-orgasmed sex in 15,000 words or less. Even the NY best sellers are full of plastic characters going through the motions of falling into pretty, conventional love. Why is that? Is it because all we want is a quick fix/fuck/lay with the appropriate hearts and flowers and happy ending? Is it because characters like Lisbeth are difficult to deal with because she’s not pretty, she’s graphic to the point of painful and she has more issues to deal with than a newspaper? Is that all too hard for us?  What does that say about us as people? As women? Sex is easy. Sex with multiple men is even easier but no, I don’t want to deal with an ‘ugly’, difficult woman and the unconventional things she does as I’m only after an orgasm. I was just pleased they didn’t balls up the movie by Americanizing it and making Lisabeth pretty and her issues trivial.   

Damn shame there will be no more Lisbeth Salander books. I’m glad they were written. Ugly is good. Difficult is just that and it has to be faced. Escape? You always have to go back. Give me gritty reality any day.   

Saturday, 2 June 2012

Politically incorrect thought for today...

I don’t understand women who stayed married yet absolutely refuse to allow their husbands to touch them. What’s that about? Why are you married? Why are you living together? Is it that you’re over sex, intimacy and the whole being together thing?  So, why are you with him? Scared to go out on your own? Is it safer to be a couple even though you aren’t technically a couple?  Be a real woman and work out who you are and what you want and don’t use, hold on to or blame a man for your inadequacies. Woman up! Holding on to someone because you want to present a ‘together’ picture to the world is hypocritical and frankly sorry arsed and I have no respect for women like this.  I will never understand emotional blackmail and selfishness. No wonder men are confused.

Friday, 1 June 2012

Hope and Jennifer Stella...

At age 32 I was diagnosed with cancer…wow how my outlook on life instantly changed…you only live once so I want to get it right this time.
The Relay for Life Rhinebeck event is two days away and I really need each and every one of you to help me reach my goal of raising $500 [currently at $150.00]! This is very important to me and those of you who are my friends and family will open your wallet/purse and donate even if it’s $5.00, what you give in charity always comes back to you.
I walk for survivors and those that are not. You can walk with me, and/or show your support by sponsoring me in the walk at the below link.

Jennifer Stella.

And this is why Relay for Life - in any country by any nationality - is so important. It's a global cause. If you have $5.00 to spare and you're in the US please consider helping Jennifer Stella out. What do you get for your $5? You get hope. Can't get me enough hope...and hope, in this case is tax deductible. Come on - help the girl out.

Love the tatt Ms Stella....