Public toilets.

Just before Christmas we went to the girls presentation night (yeah they are smart, rool smart like, comes from the postman, no not the postman he is like 90… that really hot guy at the video store…. wait he is like, 20, so he would have been 3 or 4 when Moo was conceived….. eww, eww, eww…. move on Kelley, move on…. Must have skipped 6 or so generations, yeah that’ll work) and as it was eleventy billion miles away, by the time I got there I was in serious need of a bit of micturition* action.

So I waddle to the loos. Oh yeah, I was in dire need baby.

Open the door, place looks relatively clean (it is at an Arts Centre so hard to tell what is rubbish and what is art) so I go in, thighs quivering, cause I have to be desperate to use a public loo.

The place is empty. I pick a stall and, well, you know….. I am not going to spell it out to you, I am sure there are plenty of sites on the net you can find if you want more intimate details. Pick someone wearing a black knee length skirt and fab shoes to make the experience more real.

OK, now we have got rid of the freaks, where was I?

Oh yeah, thighs a-quiver, find stall…..

Someone walks in. And picks the fucking stall RIGHT NEXT TO ME! Eight hundred empty stalls and she plonks her fat arse next to mine.

And starts farting.

Oh yeah. Long melodic stinky bastards from the hounds of hell. Something crawled up her arse, or was inserted, and was decomposing.

The door opens. Someone else walks in….

and you guessed it. Right. Next. To. Me.

And she starts sighing as she is urinating. Real happy kinda sigh, ifyouknowwhatImean.

I guess she really likes to urinate. A lot. Cause she went for ever.

Tinkle, sigh, tinkle, sigh.

Her friend on the other side of me playing the trombone with her arse.

Me in the middle with stage fright. And thinking, I am so blogging this. While holding my nose.

Why, oh, why do people DO that? When you go to the doctors people do anything to ensure that there is a chair in between them and a stranger (and a whole fucking row if I am there with Boo, cause apparently flapping your arms and singing are communicable diseases) but when it comes to a public loo, the more intimate the better.

Especially if you need to move your bowels. Come sit next to me and share.

Now I do know that sometimes there is only one available, or even a line (guys are so lucky, they rarely have to line up to urinate) and that is fine. But when the room is empty, give the chick next to you some space OK?

I have considered making a sign. ‘Out Of Order’ for the stalls next to me if there are plenty vacant. Or getting me some bouncers to stand either side of the stall. While I am at it one to wipe the seat for me too, maybe warm it as well….

Or, seeing Boo is about to graduate to adult nappies (diapers) perhaps I should just swipe a few of them should the need arise?

* I googled the spelling (cause I wasn’t sure, but I was right. Cause I am awesome) and got this. OMG I am peegasming all over the place.

‘Post-micturition convulsion syndrome, also known as piss shivers, pee shivers, peegasm or whiz willies, is a phenomenon in which one feels a shiver running down the spine following urination.[1] The shiver can produce a brief twitch, which is a form of myoclonus.’

from Wikepedia. Click here to read the whole ‘article’.


Those of you looking for the foul spewing of venom I promised on Aussie Bloggers yesterday, you will be disappointed. I have decided not to post it. It was too nasty and if MPS the person it was directed to read it I would be divorced in trouble….. I was really really pissed. I am glad I decided to wait till I had calmed down before posting it. Thanks Wendy from FIA. You made me think twice…..

It’s done.

Despite the best efforts of the universe to prevent it’s erection (*snigger* I said erection…. shuddup, I am delirious) the cubby is finally up.

Apparently you don’t need instructions, or the right amount of materials, or pre warning that you will need specialist drill bits, a kick arse professional strength drill and a circular saw to complete it.

Apparently no one has sued them before for false advertising.

Apparently it takes 2 people 2 hours to erect it *snigger*.

In reality it took 4 adults, 15 hours to put up.  Well, actually 3 adults 6 hours to put the base up wrong, 1 hour to dismantle and then the remainder putting it up right.


See that?  Only about 3 foot too tall.  Would they listen to me?  Noooooo.  They actually erected *snigger* the whole fucking base and then realised that they could actually stand under it and then went oops.

There were injuries:


MPS got a splinter.  Awww, poor baby.

There was night time drilling and hammering.  With lots of beer.  And singing.  And gnashing of jaws and thumping of chests.  I went inside.  I don’t drink beer. Or like hearing my husband, brother and father singing to Pink.


And pizza at 10pm.

And more beer.

And then start all over again in the morning.  Well, after breakfast.  At 12pm.  Hmmm.

And more beer.

Apparently drills only work if my brother has beer.

And then at 7.30pm tonight they downed tools.

It was finished.


There was a round of applause.  And gasps of ‘FUCK it’s HUGE!’


Boo decreed it to be the best present ever.  Well I told him to say that.  Gotta use that freaking echolalia to your advantage.  I am ‘the best Mummy ever’ and ‘Gawd Daymn Gorgeous’ too.  It’s true!  Boo says so.

Tonight there has been a flurry of activity in our driveway.  Kids I have never seen before and the neighbours children all congregating and peering down our driveway.  Hoping for an invite I expect.

Should I charge admission?

Day 2 of the Great House Extension Cubby Building of 2007.

There has been much bitching and kvetching and gnashing of jaws.

Every now and then there is a call of ‘I need to urinate’

And that person is found playing on the Wii.

The Wii that has been named ‘Jesus’ in honour of the season. Born on Christmas Day.

My father has fallen in love. Absolute rapture. My legally blind father is finding every opportunity to play.

Will post tonight if when the cubby is finished, with all the drama, blood and empty beer sustenance bottles. While cradling the biggest wine glass I can find.

If you don’t hear from me, you will find me rocking in the corner repeating:

‘No fucking instructions. Two thousand dollars and No. Fucking. Instructions.’

edited to add:

Sorry. Just realised that some people don’t know what a cubby is. Seems to be an Australian term. See this post for a picture.

For the bathroom Christmas tree.


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.


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: 


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…..