With March, Comes Autumn And Tears….

Dearest and much loved Readers,

This past week has been one of many moments that have held my breath both in excitement, fear and exhaustion from climbing too many stairs. In fact, just today I had cling too the handle for the stairs as my knees were deciding on whether they were going to cooperate or stick there and laugh. After getting plenty of stares from people who are much fitter or shall we say, used to climbing 500 bloody steps to get onto campus; my knees got their arse into gear and I managed to sprint up the stairs.

Well I like to believe that I sprinted up the steps however I think it was more like a struggle up the stairs and a sprint to W block as my lecture for the afternoon was already running. Yes, Scarlett is never on time for anything and probably the only time I will be on time is for my own funeral. So keep that in mind for those out there reading this and we are still yet too meet. I promise to send you a text with some lame excuse like: ‘got stuck in traffic and now I am behind a double bogey so could be another 10-15 minutes’.

For the those who know me outside of this screen, the reason why I am late is because I spent the extra five minutes in the shower fluffing around or making sure that I haven’t missed anything while shaving my legs. The extra six minutes making sure my red lipstick doesn’t make me look like a clown. And for the rest, is spent telling my reflection; “They would have gathered you would be late. Just laugh it, take a couple of gulps of wine and then proceed to transition into a conversation”.

That if I know where I am going because I tend to suck at directions, both taking and giving. If I don’t and you have picked some dodgy little backwater creek bistro that is secluded behind a bunch of trees, there is no way in hell am I going to find this place. And will probably drive past the place at least seven times, convincing myself not too cry because I am starting to get fucked off immensely before pulling over and finally succumbing too the idea of calling you for directions. There have been many a times and will continue to be many more, where I have breezed in and smiling while on the inside, I feel like bashing your head in.

Thanks for picking that little bistro. Really fucking helped a bunch.

My past week has been one of many ups and downs.

I have been blessed with many moments such as Lady Blacksnot walking me to class for the first day of Uni. Which I thought was beyond lovely even though I probably haven’t told her, thanks a billion LBS. Which by the way, LBS went out of her way doing that so then I knew what buses to take and too also make sure that I didn’t get lost. Another moment is that I am starting to get my head around the idea that W block is located near A and B block, N block is near F block which is where the 24 hr security lab is. And too find out that I was -2.00 in debt too QUT in regards to my printing.

For a first time student at QUT, I was already in debt. So with that, thanks QUT but also for making me run around campus trying to find an atm that would actually accept Heritage. So now I have realised that the only way to do it as neither atms in the guild accept my card that the options are: create a new account (again) with Suncorp or go with Commonwealth. Oh decisions, decisions as for what Bank of Fucked Up I would like to join so then I can get money out.

The most enjoyable moments of the week was speaking to the Masters of keeping kids in line, Lois & Red. Life seems to be positively bliss at the moment with them going on a little holiday with the extended family somewhere before my sister, Kaffy and Lady T begin their first week of uni. Ladies, I wish you all the best for your year and may your assignments be blessed with distinctions. I am sure to hear what joys were discovered within the first week of uni and judging by the pictures of O Week; it appeared they had an epic time.

Finally, the end of all ends to the highs of the week. I went and saw magic. Or rather should I say, Magicians. I know what you are thinking, your typical, average running of the mill wanker who can claim to do magic but this was just act was not your ordinary trick of the trade magic act with magicians. These magicians were naked magicians. However, only one of them stripped down to his nothings after losing a bet of ‘who can escape from a straight jacket’ while dancing to his ‘gay track’. Which in turn ends with a Debbie downer moment and that moment would be: one, I didn’t get to see peen and the lady behind us who was screaming out “Drop the hat Shantelle…OMG! It is magic, I’m starting to freak out” was beyond a FUCKING JOKE! I know that I was in possession of Mary Poppins magical carpet bag; I would have grabbed my baseball bat out and smacked her a couple of times over the head.

That or put a ball (think BDSM here people) in her mouth and gagged her with it. Thirty minutes of that and I was more then willing to gag her the fuck up. As for a complete twist in the plot, would top hats be considered a part of clothing?

And the second and lasting matter of that moment, Lady Blacksnot didn’t get to see cock. Sorry (not sorry), but I had to put it out there in that graphical and somewhat explicit word or text. However she did get to see arse but I promised her cock and nevertheless, I am the worst girlfriend someone could possibly have. However to end on a high, it was an excellent 60 minute show at the Powerhouse in Brisbane which was then followed by a delicious tasting Margarita and Corona; over looking the water before randomly grabbing a ferry down to South Bank for a stroll. All because I said; “You only live once LBS, let’s go!” and to that, sending a text to the Sherrif asking if it would be appropriate to put a photo of my boobs up on instagram and doing so because clearly; someone was leaning towards the ‘nice arse!’ side of tipsy.

Thankfully, we didn’t go there!

While we were rolling around the city, we were being stared at every so often by strangers, who were giving us looks like ‘oh they are on their first date’ because it appeared like I was holding LBS’ hand while waiting for the ferry. Too which I am 100% positive that LBS wasn’t paying attention and noticing these looks as she was to busy engrossed in whatever thoughts were running through her head. Just would like to put there about the looks we were receiving, slightly awkward on my behalf because both LBS and I are straight. But hey, at least we would make a good looking couple if we both decided to swap for the opposite team. We than walked through South Bank and stopping to dip our toes into the deliciously warm water of the pool and deciding whether or not to go swimming in dresses before deciding to head home after a rather uncomfortable moment with someone who was intoxicated.

With that, we caught the most interesting cab ride back to where the car was parked. The game of guessing where our cab driver was from after LBS asked ‘where is your accent from’; soon then began the game of guessing using only a few hints and clues that he would give out. Much to his amusement of two smart girls (his words and not mine), we managed to guess where his was from by these clues:

  • I am not from any part of Europe to say the least.
  • We were invaded in 1979.
  • We are surrounded or near: India, Iran, Pakistan etc.
  • We end in ‘stan’.
  • It is known to have the largest poppy field that produces opium.
  • We are portrayed as poor people in the desert by journalists.
The answer was: Afghanistan.

This cabbie, to which I will meet once again in the future, proceeded to wait until LBS and I were safely in a car, our engine had started and were pulling away from the curb before leaving.  Just have to put it out there, that this man is truly a lovely guy and that none of the cab drivers that I have come across, whether they be of any race has waited until I am either in my house safely and in my car. Most of them crawl to a stop, throw you out after taking your money and try to hit/run you down when taking off.

However the most truly depressing and lowest point of the week, was sent in a message from Lois. Now before you all get on your high horses and start demanding to go too war, I would just like to inform you that I can understand where Lois is coming from in this regard as this news is not only heart wrenching and saddening but also it is bringing a family apart but also creating a new one at the same time. Our family dynamic in real life as the O’Chunkys is not just the six of us any more, sorry forgot to mention the dog as he is a humog (human dog) but now it is the eight of us. And the news no doubt would have been devastating to verbally say it out loud.

The Godfather and I.

The reason as to why I left a few weeks ago and asked politely for some distance was the fact, I had to deal both in silence and privacy with the terms that my Uncle or ‘The Godfather‘ is dying. This man has been in my life from the moment I had been created as an uncle, to the moment I was born in spirit as he was out to sea with the boys, to being honoured with the title of Godfather and then, “The Godfather”. He has been more of an Uncle and third father type that I can possibly have in the rest of my male family members. Uncle G was the first person to sit there and tell me, “like your nose piercing kid, especially the stone colour”. With that, he was the first man I watched play the guitar and hum some Gaelic song underneath his breath as I leant against th’e door.

After having admit that he liked my knee highs, my fondest memory would be the one of being casually slipped the odd (3) drink while out at dinner and I was under age with the cheeky wink of an eye. Or the lesson of how to close your eyes and sit like that in total darkness for a few minutes before opening; so then you can see what the beach conditions would be like in the morning. Too which I still do each and every time I go to the beach at the night for the daring risk of ‘Let’s go for a drive’.

As an individual and as a human being that has more emotions then she cares to admit, the thought of losing him is slowly killing me inside, each and every day. The thought of having to put on a façade for the world to see, pretending nothing is wrong and that I still have not come to terms of losing him or the fact that he will never be here again is becoming difficult. With being told that he has a month or less left is like a sentence that has been given and not necessarily the one that we want to hear.

As it is the beginning of a new month and an ending of life; March is going to be a pretty full-in-your-face kind of month no doubt. The disturbing thought of what to wear too a funeral were clearly black is out however all I want to do is wear black from my head to the tip of toes. Be the odd person who starts breaking out into hysterical laughter because she cannot deal with family death or possibly, even need to be sedated is oddly comforting and yet a scary thought at the same time. The thought of if I wear black and not being allowed to cry is completely undoing me like a fraying knitted jumper that is beginning to unravel.

Then doing a complete 360 and deciding what to wear too a meet ‘n’ greet (most people would call it a date) with the Sherrif. Do I go for a dress and heels or do I wear jeans with a casual shirt that proclaims: ‘Yes I have tits but they aren’t available for your touching or look until I am ready’. Do I throw myself at him and then back off a million paces and resemble something like an ice cube or do I sit there and talk a million minutes to the dozen and then suddenly stop because the poor guy hasn’t even had the opportunity to say “Hi., I’m the Sheriff and its nice to meet you”.

I don’t know, this shit is confusing the shit out of me and the date or location (please do not let it be at some really cool place like the music store located in Queen St Mall) hasn’t been set yet. Any idea people as to what to wear and how to present myself? Because it has been a long time since I have had to put my hand out with the olive brunch while hoping that this meet ‘n’ greet (date) doesn’t end up with me sending a “S.O.S” to LBS saying: ‘This shit fucking blows duck balls. Call me now so then I can claim I need to leave as your waters have broken“.

March also brings the idea of catching up with old friends and seeing how their lives have panned out after not seeing them for donkey’s balls and still finding the time to fit uni and being a human being that has a social life. Clearly this month is going to be a whole rolling ball of twisted nervous, stomach and probably complete verbal diarrhoea at the most inappropriate moment of time so if that does happen; I apologise in advance. I cannot say if I am going to enjoy this month but who knows, something might happen and bring the perks of life back up.

I wish you all the best for March. May you achieve your goals, desires and wants and that life will bring you many blessings in disguise.

Until next time,

Cheers.

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