Archive for the 'Cranky/Dopey Bitch' Category

Boo-Hoo Bash

Published on September 9, 2010 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Depression, Married Life and Queen Me. 2 Comments

For the sake of her ego, she wonders if she should be telling you this.  The fact that if she were to go away he would be okay. Financially and emotionally because, really, what does she bring to the relationship? She doesn’t earn very good money, nor is she a nubile Stepford Wife.

It is not a total fiesta of self-flagellation she is attending. She has her redeeming features. But the problem is, her best qualities could easily be possessed by a younger, hotter model.

On the flip side of her dread is the idea that he  may think that she only stays because of the stability he  provides her. Which isn’t true of course. She thinks he is cute and cheeky and goofy, crazy intelligent and more than a little bit sexy.

Patting her hair nervously and smoothing down her dress she hopes that perhaps she got dressed up for this pity party all for nothing.

Flashing Around

Published on August 31, 2010 in Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Married Life and Queen Me. 11 Comments

Second love heart-break came in the middle of spring and at the end of my university career. It was confusing being lovelorn when the smell of jasmine wafted from the bottom of the garden on the damp, creek air. It was muddled to be devastated when the jacarandas in the hills brought all the silver eucalypti to contrasted life.

It was hard work being that mopey but I gave it a really good shot. And he helped me along by finding another girlfriend within the space of two weeks. And when I mean finding I mean, she was already waiting in the wings for her turn on stage, although I am sure that she got to play understudy a couple of times.

I had a degree that everyone jokingly said came with the words ‘Do you want fries with that?’ and I had no job. Every day I walked the River Road, where I would buy the newspaper to look for gainful employment. The walk was always balmy and breezy, no matter the time of day but walking along leaves too much room for thoughts. And introspective Piscean Literature/Creative writing graduates have an overabundance of those, especially in times of abject grief. It was beautiful and warm outside but I was cold and bleak inside, as only a 20 year-old who still lived at home with her parents could be.

I often played a game on those walks, when I wasn’t cowering from swooping magpies. I would flash myself forward 6 months and imagine the same walk. What would I be wearing? Would I have a job, a new boyfriend? I never thought to think I might not be taking the same walk, but it was my fantasy.

As I grew older sometimes I still played the game but in reverse. Pretend I was me 10 years ago, flash forwarded into this car. Would I be shocked, surprised, disappointed to see the small, dusty interior of a moderately priced car? Ooh – look! I am married! Are those my thighs? The hair isn’t bad but I am not sure about the lines around the eyes. Hey at least I have learnt how to use eye-liner. Is this what passes for music these days?

My flash forwards get smaller and chronologically correct in scope again as I wait for the next thing that an old me in a future scenario would expect. A bigger car, tired eyes and something very precious in the back seat.

Angry Blog Posse

Published on August 27, 2010 in Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Pop Culture. 36 Comments

The reaction to this review has been highly amusing.  I totally agreed with Shiner’s review. I went over and had a look at the reviewed blog; it was not, shall I say, my cup of tea. However, what many of the reviewee’s ardent followers did not seem to understand was that when they decided to stand up for their Queen, was they were stepping into the Ask and Ye Shall Receive realm. This world is a carefully constructed one. It is mean, it can be shallow, but it is very bloody intelligent, sometimes thoughtful and always hilarious. Good Writing is King in  AAYSR Land. Manage it and you will be paid handsomely. To submit with inferior skill is asking for a new bottom-hole.

Crazy Brunette’s minions barged in half-cocked, not understanding the premise.  You have to know the lay of the land before you go breaking the rules. That is how dumb bogan Aussies get put in front of firing squads in Bali. Idiots.

There were responses such as:

  •  Umm question, who gave you the “higher than god power” to sit and pick at everyones blogs?? Fair question right? Seems like you just wasted a whole lot of air and time bitching about cb, when it could have been better spent fuck umm choking yourself? Huh? She ASKED for a review!
  • Much like when the radio is playing a song you don’t like, and you have the ability to switch the station, so goes the blogger world. If you don’t like CB, don’t read her. For the rest of us who faithfully read her posts, keep it up. How can one change the channel when one has been asked to spend a lot of time perusing the scheduled programing?
  • My bad. I thought this was a review site. All I’m reading is blatant bashing of another blogger. Though I give you guys a lot of credit. You wouldn’t bash just any old blog. You’re criticizing a wildly inventive, popular blog with tons of followers. That way you guys get noticed. Kudos to you. But I’m curious why do you spew all hate and not do a real review. Give us readers real insight about the blogs you discover. Being nasty just to be nasty? To me that’s really boring. FYI…I do like your skull logo. How is Shiner’s spot on feedback NOT a review?
  •  CB, hatred is the biggest form of flattery…clearly this blogger spent a good 45 minutes (give or take depending on how much their Mom helped them with the big words) making an ENTIRE post about you. I’m jealous! :) Madam, PLEASE. The reviewer does not take the position lightly. I have heard a scurrilous rumour (That’s how you spell it right, mum?) that they can spend at least 6 hours on a review. Fancy that.

 

Many people who read the blog (and write on it) have been reviewed or are waiting to be reviewed. And of course they know they are going to get fucking torn apart.  The process definitely gives one a bit of back bone and a dose of humility. I understand the need to stick up for a friend but unfortunately it just came across to me as a Southern ladies mob mentality circle jerk.

ps: (Circle jerk was for you MoFoKA!)

40 Hours of No Internet……

Published on August 23, 2010 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Pop Culture and Queen Me. 16 Comments

Here in Australia we have a fund-raising even called the 40 Hour Famine. Traditionally you give up food for 40 hours and people sponsor you. But the beast has evolved and you can choose to give up anything. Some give up furniture or transport or technology or even shoes. I decided to give up the internet. A bit piss-weak I know, but I was gonna make the money whether I starved myself or not, which would have been very ugly for husband. So that is what I did this weekend. Of course my lil facebook addicted brain couldn’t let go of its status update habit.

If I was near the net, it might have gone something like:

  • Deep breaths, I can do this.
  • Wow! I have so much more time to get ready this morning!
  • Do you think I could make money out of a dog corral at polling places at election time?
  • I can’t believe how nervous I am just to go on a stupid course. ‘Writing for Young Adults’ at UWA with Deb Fitzpatrick, AJ Betts and Cate Sutherland.
  • Fuck I despise nodders. The chick in front of me looks like a bobble-head dog. One or two timely nods of agreement will suffice lady.

….this all took me till about lunch time on Saturday. And then I gave up, just enjoying lunch at the Left Bank with Nursey Chick then a lovely election dinner of Little Caesar’s pizza with MoFoKA and family. The company was sterling and Little Caesar’s is actually the best pizza in the world. Like they won an award for it. You haven’t lived till you have had the Greek Lamb pizza or the Eskimo Joe dessert pizza. (See why I couldn’t give up food for 40 hours?)

I know how much time I fart-arse around on the net and it really has to stop. Perhaps I need a 40 hour famine every weekend?

ps: Go listen to the latest song ‘Love’s the Reason’ by Jasmine. Tis awesome. Just like her.

100 Word Post: Your Friends, My Fault

Published on August 9, 2010 in 100 Word Posts, Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Queen Me. 8 Comments

You freely admit that once you found it hard to make friends. The closest to your heart were flung far around the country, so when fledgling friendships took flight I was inordinately proud. You surrounded yourself with the articulate, nerdy-cool, successful, and popular.

Five years on they shun you and it is because of me. I never thought to burn with shame could be a real thing. But it is. It prickles, effervescent and red.

I want to yell ‘Fuck them!’ but how dare I, when I am cocooned in true mateship, so soft, safe and close ?

I’m sorry.

Dear Rihanna

Published on July 28, 2010 in Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Pop Culture. 15 Comments

I get it. At the moment your pop incarnation is cool and edgy with some sort of pseudo-lesbian vibe. I mean, who wouldn’t after that dick-head you were with beat the living crap out of you?

But do you know what else you are? A silly bitch. Normally I couldn’t give a shit about what others do, each to their own and all that; as long as you aren’t hurting anyone.  Technically you aren’t holding a gun to anyone’s head but when you are a role model for the impressionable young, the criteria of ‘not hurting anyone’ has to be expanded.

The question I ask you is this; Does a woman who has been a victim of domestic abuse have to sing a song with the lyrics ‘I like the way you touch me there/I like the way you pull my hair’? I get that ‘Rude Boy’ is about sexy-time and supposed female empowerment (pfft – by objectifying men and taking on a domineering persona?) but you can’t imagine that people don’t take the knowledge they have of you in ‘real’ life and apply it to what you sing about. ‘Oh ho – that Rihanna, she likes it a bit rough eh?’

Then there’s your latest offering, a collaboration with renowned bad-boy Eminem. Disregarding the words, I like ‘Love the Way You Lie’ but I don’t like that the message it sends is that you are complicit with a song that glorifies physical and emotional abuse.

I just don’t get it. Sing about your experiences – let us know how confused and hurt and scared you were. But to willingly be part of the aforementioned songs? It is insidious.

You need to get a clue cos at the moment you may think you are coming across as hot, strong and confident but to me it is just sad, brittle and distasteful.

Love,

Grumpy

Hardly Normal

Published on July 17, 2010 in Cranky/Dopey Bitch. 13 Comments

A while ago I had a whinge when I went to Harvey Norman (an Australian furniture/electrical retailer) to buy some ink cartridges. If you recall I was pissy because they charged 10 cents extra for a double ‘value pack’.

Today I returned there for yet more ink. I saw that I could buy my one blue ink for $17:95. Hmm, not bad. Then I wondered, ‘The others are BOUND to run out soon, do I buy more?’

Perchance what did I spy next? A value pack containing all required colours for $99. As per usual I had to do some laborious mental calculations to figure out that why, yes, that was a saving. Point number one to retail superstore. I was walking away from the wall of ink when I thought ‘Wait, let me just check if these inks do the same amount of pages.’ Meh. Maybe 50 less. Still a goer.

By this stage the cute foreign (Spanish perhaps?) salesdude came over and asked if I needed help. Before I could even open my mouth he told me he could do me a good deal. Dude – huh? It was pretty clear I was already buying the stuff. Are you new at this? Then he proceeded to show me that I could in fact get the same value pack PLUS 120 pages of photo paper. For the same price.

Wait, no – NOT even the same price, because he took $10 off before I could blink. No mouth-opening or eye-blinking was to be taking place in front of this gentleman obviously.

I thanked him and walked away quickly and bemusedly. Was that another point for Harvey Norman, or minus 2 for having lovely but soft-nosed salespeople?

Grumpy Young Pussy; ‘Received’ Loud and Clear

Published on July 1, 2010 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch and Queen Me. 23 Comments

‘Why do you want those mean fuckers to give you a review?’ Beloved asked.

 ‘I dunno, feedback?’ I replied feebly. ‘And I have to practise getting slammed if I want to be a writer.’

 But of course it was more than feedback. I wanted validation, acceptance and a little more traffic. I knew that when the review happened I would probably cry like I was at my first day of primary school, not knowing where to put the tissue box we had to bring – scared, confused and out of my comfort zone.

I imagined that I would be told that my template is a terrible colour (regardless that I love it), I am shallow, anal-retentive, flippant, insecure, arrogant and take my husband and nice lifestyle for granted, have whiny-ass body issues and have no idea what the ‘real’ world is like. Well…at least that is what I think on a down day.

However, there was one thing that I wouldn’t be able to abide. MoFoKA, who reminded me of the delicious, nasty, hilarious, train-wreck viewing website back in January, and I were discussing when my review might happen after 5 months of waiting, and what the harsh, cold light of reality would have to say about Grumpy.

‘I don’t care what they say,’ I said with more than a quiver in my soul ‘just as long as they don’t tell me I can’t write. I would die if they said that.’

Did they say that?  Opening my comment box at 5am, to find that curt message awaiting me – my breath caught and my legs jolted with adrenaline. Were all my dreams still intact?

 Go and have a look for yourself.

And a Manky Crow has Tried to Pull the Rubber off my Left Windscreen Wiper

Published on June 23, 2010 in Beloved and Cranky/Dopey Bitch. 4 Comments

I was in lengthy anger mode: stomach clenched, brow creased and eyes dead. The stormy afternoon weather matched my mood perfectly.  I had expected him to be perhaps 5 minutes late at the most. Instead I had to do a couple of laps around the block and use my credit card to buy a parking ticket.  An hour later I was still scrunched in my seat, windows misted, reading ‘On the Road’, hungry and tired; the ceaselessness of the story making me feel worse.

When he finally called to be picked up the face slid in place. He jumped in the car, tried to poke me in the side, apologised for being late; there was a ‘disaster’. I spat scant words at him and resumed the drive in silence. Along the rain and brake-light speckled road we drove.

On Albany highway canola yellow  industrial piping snaked in the long grass took me back 7 years to heart-broken country drives, where I longed to stop and wander in those electric fields.

Pulling in to the driveway I had to bring forth a saying, other than ‘Disaster my fucking arse – how hard is it to pick up a phone? Pretend you need to wee or something and call from the dunny.’ I told myself, ‘Come now Grumpy – on your death bed, will you wish you were angry at him more?’

Wipe This!

Published on June 15, 2010 in Beloved, Cranky/Dopey Bitch, Fighting the Fat and Queen Me. 8 Comments

Do you know what gives me the shits?

Windscreen wipers.

I was getting all cocky cos here in Perth it is winter and Sunday was balmy 23 degrees Celsius. (So what is that in Farhenwhatsit, about 74?) That meant that Monday and today it pissed down with rain and was bloody cold, relatively speaking.

Added to that is Beloved had a hernia operation and cannot ride his motorbike. So at 5am I was driving him to work before my 6am personal training session. (Yeah, what a hard life you whinging Stepford Wife)

5am.

Driving.

Raining.

Dark.

Monday, did I mention the Monday bit?

And bugger me if I couldn’t get the windscreen wiper rhythm right. You know what I am talking about. Too slow and the rain builds up,  too fast and the wipers start making that highly irritating ‘Screeee screee’ sound. So what level do I put my wipers on – 1, 2 or 3? No – none of them are right. Then I start fiddling with the length between each wipe on the chosen level. Of course once you have gotten yourself into a good wipin’ groove the bloody rain changes.

“Light drizzle - no wait, big fat slow drops - nah, PSYCH! back to drizzle, woah – now we are going under a big tree that just got a good gust of wind through  it – ploppity, plop, plop, plop – weeee this is fun! ”

It never ends people! If I am up, driving, in the dark on a Monday at 5am, the rain could have the effing decency to be consistent.