Climbing into bed with Father Time...

Crazy B used to tell me that younger men were the way of the future. I, of course, used to deny this. A mix of disbelief and amusement adorned by face. Could one of my closest tarts be a bona fide kiddie fiddler? Mmm, maybe but definitely not me. I like my men like I like my vino: older and slightly more mature (although this in itself is a paradox).

However, lately I have been completely disproving this little theory of mine...

You see, lately, the men I have opted to um "spend my time with" have been of a younger gene pool than moi. I feel horrifically guilty about this. I feel like an absolute cradle snatcher. So this whole feeling like a sugar mommy thing got me a thinking - why should I feel guilty? I mean my Achilles Heel is currently banging a married woman, with 2 kids and she is 13 years his senior. Now that's something to feel guilty over.Not my little swim swim in the youngens pool. But still, I find myself feeling... oddly uneasy with this whole have a younger man thing.

I suppose when I am like 500 years old, having a man of around 22 will make me feel like a goddess and boost my ego from here to like... fuck who knows. I just know that I would relish every minute of it.

But that's then and I'm talking now! For now, I just can't seem to get over the age thing...

The really fucking crazy thing is that men never grow up so technically whether you date a 50 year old or a 22 year old shouldn't matter cause in reality they are both only 10!

Puza Thursday

Fuck. Me.

Note to self: Don't drink so much bloody vino every fucking Thursday!

(and I know I drank vino last night cause I have that funny post drinking wine after taste in my mouth that doesn't disintegrate no matter how many times you brush your teeth... Know what I mean?)

I say this every Friday when I feel like my head has been used to pry open some burglar bars but I know, deep down, that come Thursday next week my puza face will be applied and then its show time babyeee! Of course, it doesn't really help that Crombie and I chose Thursdays as champagne celebration day - although I think it was an evil plot by my mate to get me fucking sozzled every week (I am very entertaining when drunk *chuffed, slightly embarrassed grin*)

So today, as you might have guessed, I still have my Puza face on from the night before. It has also been brought to my attention that not everyone knows what a Puza face looks like. Hee hee hee, let me tell you... it ain't fucking pretty! But for all of you social retards who don't know what a tart looks like when she has too much Puza and is left to suffer a painful hangover the next day; here's a little snapshot:

So to the other Fab 4 members: muchos grazes mia amici - once again I am properly fucked!

Serious as Cereal...?

I heard this saying for the first time today and I must say that I took an instant liking to it. Serious as cereal - yip, definitely think it is the next "EISH" of SA. Just hasn't been discovered yet.

Now as an avid cereal lover (particularly Frosties) I think this phrase should be given the necessary respect it deserves. It is actually quite similar to moi - at first it looks rather frivolous and retardedly special but once you scratch the surface and realise the potential, it's mind-blowing.

Serious as cereal has the potential to be applied in a variety of situations; e.g.

1. Guys I am as serious as cereal, I have had way too much to drink. Take me home now. (enter in Scottie)
2. Pulling a "sickie" and then being told that your sens of humour the next day is not appreciated as well dagnabbit you are suppose to be sick. Perfect time to turn around to your fucking boss and tell her not only to go fuck herself up the kazoo with a wha-wha brush but that you are serious as cereal about being sick.
3. Any form of apology.
4. When trying to get your point across or informing some of the idiotic people I share this planet with, that you know something they don't know and in about 5 minutes you are going to educate them with something so devastatingly fantastic that the news has to be as serious as cereal.

This will be the next big thing... Serious as Cereal! ;)

Girls who like Boys who like Girls who...

... And so it begins!

After watching Trust The Man last night I was left with a rather sad view of the male species. Sad because men really have descended from apes, they constantly think about shagging (which most definitely has its fucking advantageous) and even go so far as to wank themselves off while you're lying in the bed with them. Although, I must be fair, the women in this movie are equally sad and even more pathetic. The one refuses to fuck her hubbie and the other one can't stop, secretly hoping that her craving for his sperm will produce the one thing she desires the most - a bouncing bundle of joy! The really strange this is uber brudey girl's man consistently thinks about death; coincidence? I think not... I would wanna die too if I knew my astounding shagging capabilities were only being used to produce the dreaded sound of pitter patter...

I guess what I am trying to get across, in a rather typically blonde way, is that I don't get the whole relationship thing. I mean as little ones who hear (and eventually dream of it - maybe this is the root of the problem) that boy meets girl. Girl likes boy, Boy likes girl. They have dinner. They shag senseless. They live happily ever after whilst riding off into the gorgeous sunset on a white horse...

But rarely does this happen - especially the horse part. I fucking hate horses. Really I do. Such pointless animals. As Crombie would say we need to start making hamburger patties outta them...

Things I Hate About the Ex-Newbie

This post is dedicated to old newbie of my team. This guy has got to be the most fucking irritating dork to ever exist. The man's inability to think for himself has got to be his most enduring quality! I am at my wits end when it comes to this... this... fuck I don't even know what to call him but he drives me insane!

The ways I hate the ex-newbie:

1. He hums everytime he gets busy. Fucking. Hums. Since we work for a bacon making factory, this equates to me having to listen to his fucking humming for 8.5 hours a day. That's a total of 42.5 hours of humming a week. For fuck's sake can he not just shut the fuck up? Would an hour of peace and quiet be too much to ask????
2. He is incapable of saying no. Somehow his brain just doesn't comprehend the use of the letter 'n' with that of 'o'. Or maybe he's just fucking thick? Either way, it drives me mental.
3. He's cocky. But not jock cocky. No no no, I know how to handle jock cock. He's cocky in that geeky wanna-be-hardcore kinda way. Think he has hunk-a-phobia. I mean really, if you looked like Brad Pitt or Wentworth Miller then by all means gloat and be a cock. But if don't; sit down, shut up and fuck off!
4. He has no balls. Absolutely. No. Cahonies. None. Zip. Zero. If you told ex-newbie to actually go and grow some (or even grab some for that matter) the poor Matilda would look at you like a rabbit in headlights...
5. He calls me by my nickname. Now I'm sorry but only my familia and my friends call me by my nickname. Since he doesn't fall into those two categories, he should be addressing me in the proper manner. I swear if he calls me by that name again I am going to ram my clutch pencil down his throat, sidewards!
6. He is fucking irritating. Really fucking irritating (Super-H can vouch for this).

Generally, when I dislike people, they know about it. For some reason though, this buffoon just doesn't get it...

... Anyone know a good hitman?

Bubbles up... and away

So it seems that Crombie's and my little idea of Champagne Thursdays has been stolen! Ok so maybe stolen is a slight exaggeration but nonetheless it has been copied, branded and now advertised as something else. The fucking cheek! I mean they should at least be paying licensing / royalty fees to us.

I must admit, however, that the idea of adding another Champagne day to the week is utterly thrilling and has thoroughly wet my boozy appetite! So maybe it isn't such a god awful idea. Technically, Crombie and I came up with it, which by deduction, would mean that it is a fucking tastic idea and all tarts should start scheduling into their diaries with haste & gusto.

When you get thunking about it, what do you really do on a Sunday that could be classified as suave 'n savvy?! Nutting really. All that is about to change. Now, you can sip French bubbles listening to chilled-out French music (have no idea what the hell this sounds like but I am sure that it will transport you back to the cobble-stone streets of Pari) with the knowledge that you, as an individual tart on this massively enormous planet, are doing fuck all but celebrating.

(According to the image below you can even look all Pari-like - viva la veuve!)

Celebrating what you might ask?

Champagne Sundays, but o' courze!

Conclusion...