For the bathroom Christmas tree.

*sob*

The inmates have revolted.  And pissed me off royally.

They are all like ‘Ew I don’t want it scratching me’ and ‘I am sitting on it’ and shit.  Well I suppose the shit is a fair point, but the smell would be masked by the pine freshness.

And people pay good money to have a pine fresh arse.  And then there are those bidet things.  Same thing really, give you a good cleaning but with the added bonus of a Christmas scent.

I don’t see what the freaking problem is.

toilet-tree.jpg

Sure it is close, but for fucks sake, wouldn’t it be nice to be hugging a tree while you defecate? I’m sure Al I-invented-the-internet Gore does, and he got a prize or some such out of it.

They all loved it when I made this: 

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Mr Hanky the Christmas Poo.  I wore it on my head for a staff Christmas Hat party at Mario-porn-star’s old station.

Well now they can make their own and hang it on the tree!  Ungrateful bastards.

Sure, some could say ‘Well Kelley, you could have gone out and bought the tree and then it wouldn’t have been too big for the space’ and I would say ‘Fuck off.  The bastard spends 18 hours a freaking DAY sitting on that crapper, he should KNOW how big the space is!’

So now, as I lament the demise of my bathroom tree and the promise of a pine scented v-jay-jay, I am plotting to hit the stores tomorrow to buy a not-as-fabulous-unscented fake tree.

Cause I am going to have a freaking bathroom tree God-damn-it!

As God as my witness, I will never go bathroom treeless again!

cut to theme from Gone With The Wind….. *snigger* wind, get it?  Get it?  Oh, bugger off…..

Today I unearthed 17 boxes of Christmas decorations from the pits of hell the garage, lost a child, tried to saw the end off a Christmas tree with a butter knife stupid freaking blunt hand saw, found said child and kicked her arse gave her a stern talking to and then kicked her arse, revealed my bloggyness to a friend I can physically fondle touch, supervised the shaving off of the porn Mo, cursed Blogger a million times for changing the commenting procedures, got my first weird search engine referral,

and generally lost my freaking mind.

And all the while Boo kept repeating:

“I feel cranky and pubescent today and I dont know why! GRRRRR I am gunna take it out on people I like.”

Yeah fab.  Just the sorta thing to get me in the Christmas mood.

I woke Mario-porn-star (fucker still had the Mo goin’ on, must of slipped some Mogadon in my water last night cause I passed out before midnight and missed my opportunity to cause him a world-o-pain with the Epilady.) and promised him lovin’ if he went out RIGHT now to get a Christmas tree.  Never seen the Asshat move so fast!

Now we all remember the promise of a new coffee machine don’t we?  Yeah, so do I *snigger*

I can just bring that up when he tries to get payment now.  Bwaaaa haaa haaa!

The house smells like Christmas with the beautiful tree!

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Yes, I know it is on a freaking lean.  Bastard fought me all the way into the house and was lucky I didn’t kick the fucking thing down after some loose leaves (? leaves? spines?  freaking SPIKES?) fell down the back of my shirt and I thought it was a *shudder* spider and started jumping around screaming and the boy and bunny rolled their eyes.  They are still judging me.

Don’t have a photo of the bathroom tree yet.  Yes, I have a bathroom tree.  Don’t you start judging….

Decorating will happen tomorrow when the branches get a chance to settle.  And it is MY tree.  No sticky little shit-and-toothpaste-covered nor Emo oh-my-world-sucks-cause-Mum-cracked-at-me-for-being-a-thoughtless-little-biatch fingers are touching my tree.  They can do one of the other six.

Yeah six.  There you go with the judging again…..

And here is the photo you have all been waiting for…. the end of the road for Mario-porn-star.

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Isn’t that much better?  You can even see his cute widdle dimple in his cheek now.

Oh, I almost forgot.  The weird search engine referral?

“him in the balls”

*snort*

****************

Shit that was a hard post!  Knowing that one of my besties is reading it made it really weird.

And don’t forget to get in on the action of naming Mario-porn-star, and read the comments so far they are HILARIOUS!!!!

Screaming children, frazzled parents, slow walking pensioners with bags full of change, punch ups in the carpark…..

Yes, the Christmas spirit is alive and well at my local shopping centre (mall).

Today I started my Christmas shopping. Usually I am almost finished by now. But nooo this year I am totally disorganised.

So I dragged my sorry arse filled with the joy of Christmas shopping I made my way to the home of off key Christmas musak. Seems everyone else in a 100 kilometre radius had the same idea.

Hence the car park punch ups. No I wasn’t involved. I was just standing around enjoying the show shouting ‘Kick him in the balls!’, ‘It was totally your park girl, pull her hair till her scalp bleeds’ with all the others.

City girl in me never died, so I walk fast. I shop fast. Old lady with the walking frame get the fuck outta my way cause I am on a mission.

Today’s mission was getting the rest of the paraphernalia for the outside decorating and the wrapping paper, cellophane, ribbon, cards and shit.  Remember this, it is important.

First port of call was the local coffee place. Make my order, stand in the required possie and wait. For 15 freaking minutes! Every bastard had the same idea as me. But when I got my extra large (I get them to make it in a milkshake cup) double latte with an extra shot, I kissed it and took off in my usual 500 miles an hour fashion.

Weaving through the prams, toddlers, aforementioned old people, disembodied heads on top of laden trolleys and strategically placed beggars people selling raffle tickets, I spied some really cute 3/4 pants. Hmmm, I have time. Lets try them on.

Yeah, it didn’t go well. Good thing I didn’t buy that holiday decorated icepick I saw earlier or I would have stabbed myself repeatedly in the eye to reduce the pain of seeing myself in the 3 way mirror.

Into the discount shop to find some cute but cheap frugal cards for the kids to give to their friends. Run into one of the feral mums from school. Am civil but talk quick and get the hell out of there. Cardless.

After an hour my feet are killing me.  These shoes are gorgeous, but not made for speed shopping.

I carry my bags full of Santas (got a thing for Santa *snigger*), lights and 2 bucks a packet candy canes out to the carpark.  Flipping the bird at the guy who nearly runs me down in the race to get another park.

I get home, unpack my purchases.

Shit.

Now I need to go and get the wrapping paper, cellophane, ribbon, cards and shit.

****************

I am going to come clean.  I wrote this last week.  Tonight I wrote a long and very personal post in response to some of the lovely supportive emails I received after yesterdays post.  But I guess I am not ready to share it right now.  I will, in time.  But in the meantime…….  

Thankyou, my internets.  You are all my biatches. 

Christmas is approaching. We are getting into the spirit and planning the decos so this means the garden needs to be spruced up first.

Firstly I will say, I hate gardening with a passion. I would rather have root canal, cause at least then you get drugs and don’t have people looking at you like you are a freak and saying ‘But I love root canal!’

If you love gardening, turn away….

Are they gone?

Are you sure?

If you like gardening you are freaking weird.

OK!!! You can come back now!

Anyway, I am out there with the only thing that makes it all worth while. Power tools. A big hulking hedge trimmer that makes me want to get a hockey mask and chase my children around the house.

So I get the best done first – no delayed gratification for this chicky babe – and then I look up.

I have an audience.

You guessed it. The freaky neighbours have set up fucking CAMP across the road. Sitting on a rug under the tree, sipping Pina-freakin-colada’s for all I know.

With a rake laying on the ground.

Oh, yeah, I believe you.

You FREAKS!

I ignore them.

A car pulls up in their driveway. Someone gets out. AND SITS DOWN!

WTF?

What is so freaking entertaining about a chick weeding her garden? It is not as if I am wearing a bikini or short shorts or something (trust me, that will never happen. OMG, Greenpeace would be on my doorstep wondering how I got so far inland) I am wearing a very loose tshirt, 3/4 yoga pants and gardening clogs. Fashionista I am not. Bag lady perhaps.

I go inside for a while to get out of the hot sun and the glare of the freakazoids. They hang around for a while, the guy gets in his car and leaves and I contemplate whether it is safe to go back outside.

Yeah, I would rather clean up Boo’s fecal murals than go back out and garden, but I haul my arse out there.

Guess what? Oh yes, my lovely internets, they come back out.

I finish what I am doing, flip them the bird and go back inside.

So much for neighbourly love, they are off my Christmas card list now. Unless Boo still wants to make a pipe bomb…….

Now excuse me I need a shower, I stink.