I’m going through some stuff at the moment and when I’m going through stuff, I do one of two things on my blog: talk about my stuff ad nauseam or say absolutely nothing.

I’ve been doing the latter for a variety of reasons, but mostly because I don’t think I’m ready to spell out what is going on inside my head…well, that and the fact that when someone at my office asked me if I was okay on Thursday morning, I totally lost it and broke my rule about never blubbering away like a three-year-old at work.

Not cool, subtle…not cool.

I don’t come to decisions lightly and I don’t like change, so all this stuff is exceptionally scary for me.

I feel a bit like I did when I was 18 and embarked on my adventure to Japan. That particular journey took me 7000kms out of my comfort zone and I had no idea how things were going to turn out. Fortunately, things mostly turned out well and 19 years later I have enough stories about that quirky experience to write a book (and I probably should do that one day…)

This time there’s a lot less excitement and much more sadness.I’m not sure whether I made a good decision or not but my gut feeling is that I have to do something.

My iPod is off-limits at the moment because makes me want to cry. And crying on the bus is so not cool. But I’ve done that too on several occasions over the past week…

So there you go, a blog about nothing, explaining nothing and not really having a point.

Stuff. Gotta love it.


Fork you

It’s still hot. Tokyo has had its worst snow in 45 years. And I still have Japanese customers that I need to entertain. This week should be the last of them, I hope, until October-ish. I spent my Saturday afternoon booking golf for them. I swear I don’t get paid enough.

Today was very pleasant actually as my levels of under-boob sweat were manageable, but next week it’s not going to be as fun:


I can see why you guys won’t give up on your Fahrenheit. Having numbers close to 100 does make it seem more impressive…

The highlight of my week was making whoopee pies. I’ve been wanting to jump onto the whoopee pie bandwagon for a good year or so, but never got around to it. A $1.25 box of Betty Crocker Triple Chocolate Whoopie Pies turned up on the clearance aisle at the supermarket the other week (marked down from about $5) and I knew the universe was sending me a message that it was time to have whoopee pies in my life.

What happened as a result was that I ate myself into oblivion, gave myself a stomach ache that saw me wanting to stick my fingers down my throat at 2am this morning and I felt very content (after the nausea had abated and I’d sweated out half my body weight at body combat).

I’ve added a bit more weight training into my gym routine and I have to say that I’m seeing results. I’ve got definition in my shoulders, people!!

If only weight training didn’t make me want to slit my wrists, everything would be perfect. Honestly, why does exercise have to be so HARD and BORING? Why can’t it be like mashing 5 whoopee pies into your mouth and washing them down with a Kahlua and milk? (embarrassing but true story…) Because then I’d be all happy as larry to do my exercise.

Yes, yes, I know if I didn’t eat 5 whoopee pies and wash it down with a Kahlua and milk I wouldn’t need to exercise, but meh…you know how I roll.

I’d also like to point out at this time that my instructor comes to the gym early and does a pre-workout, workout because he ENJOYS it and that just makes me want to stab a fork in my eye.

Speaking of stabbing people in the eye with a fork, every single bus I got onto last week had one annoying person having a REALLY loud, banal conversation on their phone. There was also one guy who was facetiming…on the bus…really…you can’t live in Perth and be so busy that you’ve got no time to facetime except during your commute. All the shops close at 5pm!!!

I heard about some dude’s vacation to Latvia (“Only five days in Latvia…and then we’re going to…no, five days…five days in Latvia because Tom can’t take more than a month’s leave”), some chick’s bitch-fight (“And I held Carly down and slapped that bitch across the face and then Wayne came over and pulled me off and I wanted to kick that cunt in the nuts”) and some overly enthusiastic leader of a single parent’s club vetting a prospective member (“And why did you come to Perth? Oh…I see you wanted to get as far away from your crazy ex as possible…yeah…I can see why Perth would work for that.”) amongst the conversations.

Just shut the fuck up on the bus or I will stab you in the eye with a fork.

You have been warned.




I’m not quite sure what that word means anymore.

I used to think that it meant putting yourself before others and that that was a bad thing.

But is it?

If you don’t look after yourself, who else is going to? Who else understands what you feel, what you think, what you hope and what you dream?

Who else is going to do the tough stuff that has to be done even though it hurts and is messy and leaves a stain in its wake that nothing will take away?

People might say that they understand, but do they really? Do they really get down to the minutia of your reality and can they digest all the little filaments that make you who you are? Can they sustain you and fuel you and be everything that you need?


And that’s why I think I have to learn to be selfish.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what makes people tick, mostly because I’m still trying to understand who I am and what I want from this life – essentially, I’m trying to figure out what makes me tick by looking at others. It’s kind of depressing to learn that after all these years of trying to be my own person, I’m really nothing more than the product of my upbringing. My values, my thoughts, 95% of what makes me, me is the environment I was raised in and the people who shaped me.

I came across an article the other day that made me get all teary at work while I was reading it (and crying at work kind of puts you in the same category as a lady with lots of cats so I had to quickly go and do some filing out the back until I got myself together.)

The article is titled 25 things little girls wish daddies knew and if you’ve got issues with your father figure, I can guarantee the reason why is one of those 25 things. In my case, I was nodding along to all 25, but in particular, the ones that resonated the most to me are:

1. How you love me is how I will love myself.

2. Ask how I am feeling and listen to my answer, I need to know you value me before I can understand my true value.

10. How you handle my heart, is how I will allow it to be handled by others.

18. If you demonstrate tenderness, I learn to embrace my own vulnerability rather than fear it.

25. Don’t avoid hard conversations, because it makes me believe I’m not worth fighting for.

I think I missed some valuable lessons along the way and maybe being selfish is one of them.


What would it be like if men were women?

I watched this lovely little gem of a short film about what the world would be like if it was feminist. It’s good not only because of the french accents (everything is better with a french accent), but also because it makes me feel bittersweet about being a woman. Just as a warning, there are some naked boobies in the film, so just bear that in mind when you choose your place to watch it.

I have strangely ambivalent feelings about being a member of the weaker sex. (And it’s unfortunate that we describe women in that way, but that’s how human beings roll.) Sometimes I like the fact that being a woman gives me an excuse not to be strong and other times I hate that it puts me in a box not of my own choosing. But overall, I’m thankful for being a woman because I usually don’t have to pee standing up or in front of other people (how do boys cope with that?)

I work in a fairly testosterone-filled workplace where all of the managers & 85% of the staff are men and you make your way up the workplace ladder by being one of the boys and swearing a lot. I’m very conscious of when I dress like a ‘girl’ and mostly I dress a bit on the side of industrial/tradie so I don’t stand out too much. There are lots of jokes about bitches being crazy and the ‘ball & chain’ back at home flying around the place and it’s pretty much a men’s club. But, I would much rather work for a man because, well, bitches can be crazy and when I did have a female boss, she made me want to slit my wrists with a butter knife (because that would be much less painful than having to deal with her.)

Being of a submissive nature, I don’t really have a problem with the perceived roles of women. Personally I feel that relationships and groups tend to work better when the roles are defined and people don’t try to be what they are not. That being said, not every man is a born leader and not every woman is a nurturer so just because someone is male or female doesn’t automatically qualify them for a specific role.

In my case, I suck at nurturing and taking care of someone else. I’m not maternal or clucky and while I can bake some mean scones, I don’t really do much ‘girlie’ stuff. But I also don’t like doing boy jobs like killing spiders, anything mechanical or anything that takes place outside the house. I’m not sure where that places me in the male/female role stakes but I think I err on the side of girlie-ness.

My porn of choice recently has been Divine Bitches. Granted I have been doing more research-based viewing recently (I feel like I’m writing the story that will never end…) but I still find it refreshing to watch boys cry. I still have an interesting reaction when I watch femdom because I have absolutely no problems with whatever the dommes do to the boys. Yet, if I watch a dom being particularly nasty to a girl, there is a part of me that is shocked?concerned?objects? I’m not sure how to describe my feeling. It’s almost like if the boy wants to be submissive then he deserves whatever he gets, but the submissive girl is more of a victim? That’s a weird way to think of things, isn’t it?

I feel like it’s societal conditioning that is telling me it’s wrong for a man to take advantage of his power, whereas for a woman, it’s totally acceptable because we’re mostly lacking the power anyway.

Part of the problem with women is that we want it both ways – we want to be treated equal until we don’t. We’ve got this weird strength/vulnerability thing going on and for a lot of men, I think they enjoy being needed to do the hard things like heavy-lifting and spider-killing on occasion.

Australian men must be the luckiest on the planet; so many spiders to kill, so many things that can kill you. There are always plenty of opportunities to get that testosterone flowing.



What is it with that?

I started the fasting/4:3 diet midway through last year and seven months later I still spend 3 days out of every week eating no more than 500 calories. I also go to the gym 6 or 7 days a week and as you might have guessed, the fasting and the gymming has meant that I’ve lost some weight.

And when I say ‘some’ weight I mean about 20kgs or about 40lbs-ish (which, incidentally, is the amount I always lose when I go on one of those diet thingies and is probably my body’s way of finding its happy place).

Even though I’m far from skeletal and I’ve got still got plenty of bits that jiggle, there’s a rumour going around my office that I’m anorexic.


Apparently several people had ‘concerns’ and there was much talking going on about whether I was ‘okay’.

I’ve also had the reception chick tell me I look ‘terrible’ on several occasions.

To which I’d like to say: thanks for the positive comment biatches.

So what I’d like to know is why people do that sort of shit? Nobody told me I was chunky and needed to lose some weight when I was heavier because everybody seems to understand the unwritten rule about not teasing the fatties, so why does it not work the other way around? Based on my experiences (this is about the third time this has happened btw…) I’d hate to be naturally skinny and have people just have a field day telling me I needed to put on weight and blah blah blah.

I’ve preached my diet to anyone who will listen (sorry about that, I have no life) so everyone in the office should know what I’m doing. There’s also some good reading material out there about intermittent fasting and the positive effects it has on your body, so that should sort of point to the fact that I’m not just ‘starving’ myself for the hell of it. And more importantly, I’m in a healthy weight range. Granted, you can see a few more of my bones than you could before, but I’m very far from being super skinny so what’s the go with all the negativity people??

I used to stress-eat and now I’ve learned to channel my stress into exercise so I think that is a very good thing. I feel good and I’m also considerably fitter than I was before. Surprisingly I’ve got me some muscle tone that almost makes me want to wear something other than tent-like t-shirts to the gym. Almost, but not quite…I’m still working up to that. There’s something about angel wings holding me back…lol.

So the lesson for today is, if you haven’t got anything positive to say, just shut the fuck up, m’kay?

/ today’s lesson