You shit me to tears...

Things that shit me to tears:

1. When the phone rings and I've either...

    a. Just stepped foot into the shower.

    b. Started brushing my teeth.

...and when I reach the phone, the fucker hangs up.

This happened to me not 20 minutes ago.
 Tip people:  If you are ringing someone and the answering machine kicks in, wait until just before the beep if you are going to hang up.  Give the poor prick time to at least reach the phone. 
Or... here's a novel idea... leave a fucking message!  You obviously rang for a reason!
Thankfully, most times, with a mobile I can see who it is... even if I can never, ever find my phone (regardless of how small and tidy my handbag) in time - yes, this also shits me to tears.

2. When the person rings back and it's really not someone you feel like talking too

- or even like for that matter. 

(This JUST happened)  Especially when they crap on and on and on... and you've got shit that needs to be done... but they won't get off the phone no matter how many times you tell them you've gotta go.

Gotta go... I'm in a world of monthly pain!

And thanks to that arsehole, I'm waaaay behind in work.

Oh and I have one last, late edition!

When you're interupted on the shitter and only get to do a half arse job wiping your arse... to reach the phone in time and have it be a fucking telemarketer!!!  Hello, arsehole!  My ring is now stinging and unclean... and I'm the fucking Do Not Call Register!

Message in a... random book?

Most night I read... although since we got Pay TV installed, I've swapped that for eps of Hollie's World, Kendra, The Hills, The City, LA Ink... I could go on, but I think you get the idea (that is, I should be watching less fucking TV and reading more fucking books).

I've always been an avid reader, but when I hooked up with Micko I stopped reading.  Mainly because he'd be going to sleep and I'd have to have the light on - didn't want to annoy him.  Now that we've been married going on 4 years, I feel it's my duty to annoy him.

Anyways... last night as we were getting ready for bed, Micko tells me he found something that I'd love.  I was intrigued.  He threw something at me... a book... 'Tuesdays with Morrie'.  I look at the book... and at Micko - a little confused. 

He says, 'You know... Tuesdays with Morrie... remember?'

Confusion...

'Karls... it's Tuesday with Morrie.  You know... Oprah?'

Hahaha!  Seriously?  Micko finds some random book... and it's one that, somehow, he remembers he once saw Oprah talk about.  For the record, I can't actually remember Micko ever watching Oprah.

I drop the book... kind of disgusted.  Micko knows the deal...

'Karls... it's clean!  Look at it.  I reakon it's been read once... if that'

He's right... besides a bent marker page it's in pristine condition.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

So, I wonder what important message this book contains for me.  It must have some kind of a poignant message (for either me or Micko) or he wouldn't have just 'happened' upon it - well that's my theory.  I'll let you know what I discover.

Oh and in other news... do you know what a bush turd smells like?  I think it has kind of a distinctive smell - perhaps the stench of desperation (because you sure wouldn't be taking a bush dump unless you where about to self implode). 

I just cranked out a housebound crapola and it had the sweet scent of a bush job - not anywhere near roses, let me tell you!

Surprise Facial - no sperm involved... sorry!

I've just returned from a deliciously fabulous facial.  Devine!

Back in the day, in the months prior to our wedding, I'd go to see my favourite girls at Michaela's in Brunswick Heads for a weekly facial and AHA peel.  I loved it!  So relaxing... and I felt like I glowed after - well, I kind of did (with all the moisture put on my face). 

This was when Micko was working on the highway upgrade and was bringing in the big biccies.  We'd gorge ourselves on treats... like facials (well I did anyway) good wine, oysters and yellowfin tuna, and eat out once a week.  I felt like a queen back then.  I can vividly remember the feeling....

...and I can feel it returning.

This isn't because of our financial situation... but because I'm really starting to feel good about myself.  I'm getting back into running on the beach for an hour 3 days a week and putting in at least 3 sessions at the gym.  I'd lightened up substantially because I wanted to be okay whether I worked out.. or I didn't.  I wanted to stop beating myself up... which I think I'm really getting the hang of lately.

Anyradfacial... I wanted to share a fucking hilarious tale of my last facial.  I think I may have blogged on it at the time, but I definitely didn't share all that happened.

I booked in... first time in about 3 and a half years.  I'd seen this woman before to have my eyebrows done and she wasn't too bad, so I thought I'd give her facial a go. 

The facial went for well over 3 hours... yes... 3 FUCKING HOURS! 

While this may sound like the ultimate facial at this point... let me assure you it wasn't.

Now, the woman is a lovely person.  She constantly calls me 'beautiful girl'... in fact, she pretty much ends every sentence with 'my beautiful girl' or 'gorgeous girl'.  This would be okay.. if not endearing in most circumstances... but this woman does. not. shut. up! 

For 3 excrutiating hours I lay looking up at her really trashy roof art collage (I'm not quite sure what she was thinking when she pinned that thing to the roof.  It had to have been during the mid nineties at the very least) while she spoke barely stopping to take a breath! 

All of a sudden I heard her kind of sniffling... I thought she must have been coming down with a cold or something. Then, I felt drops of water on my face.  Tears?  Yes... Tears.  She was crying!

Now, I'm not being a nasty arsehole bitch here... Hell, I'm working my way through depression and anxiety, so I'm no stranger to crying at inopportune moments... lets face it, I've become quite accustomed to it of late.  

However, I paid good money... and I mean good money... for an experience that should have been relaxing and totally enjoyable.  Instead... I'm lying on a fucking table, looking at some trashy homemade art work, for over 3 hours, while my beautician talks incessantly and cries on me.  Oh and she at one stage pissed off to the post office for 20 minutes while I had a mask on.

Good news is... today was completely the opposite!  New beautician... who has a general rule of no talking during the facial, a lovely clean and inviting workplace and not a single tear shed (except from me when she was extracting my gross blackheads). 

I'll be treating myself once every 6 weeks... after all, I totally deserve it - perhaps not the pain element of extractions.. but the rest, fo shiz!