Ridiculous, Inconvenient, Consuming, Can’t-Live-Without-Each-Other Love…..

Picking the sound to each and every blog post is one of the most difficult things I find about sitting down and writing.  Unlike some bloggers who I know sit down in front of their computer, pull up a blank page and start typing; I am something of a rarity.

I have to have a cup of delicious smelling tea with one or sugars, depending on how sweet I want to be for the day sitting within a quick reflex range of my hand.  As I continue typing steadily with one hand, pausing every now and then to sip and ponder.  Only to reread, re-edit, ask a question out loud and pause to sip again.

Or if I am feeling quite adventurous that day and I feel like staying up for 12 hours, I will have the occasional cup of coffee.  Yes, I know it is a staple for a uni student to be throwing back a minimum of eight coffees a day but there was a certain part of my life where I was living on coffee.

But trust me, hospital coffee is not all that crash hot if it is from some whacked out percolator that is made to look fancy.  The coffee that I drink I have to admit that most people would be horrified because as much as I come across as all class, I am an instant coffee drinker.

Stop the press!

Scratch the new article about Princess Margaret frolicking in the seas before jumping into bed with some hot stallion…… The news article is: Scarlett drink’s instant coffee!

I would like to mention in my defence, I happen to like how convenient it is because if I run out, I can quickly go to the store and buy a small jar.  Where I know this bad boy is going to last for a while and it will remained untouched until my parents come for a visit.

Plus I cannot justify spending 7 dollars on a mug of cappuccino for it to be gone within five minutes or end up down the front of my top.  Nothing like ruining a white sweater with a massive brown stain and having to get undressed within a public area.  Only to pull your sweater and your shirt along with it, so you are standing there with your combo shweater over your head and everyone can now see your bra.

Not to mention, I am a broke arse university student who prefers tea over coffee any day.

The show that created magic and mystery…

Like a fine cup of perfectly brewed tea in my hot little hand, finding the perfect song or playlist to write to is proving to be rather difficult to find lately.  I have gone through my earlier years of listening and tracking down the soundtrack to Mary Poppins before hitting the hard slopes of Play School.

Hell, I haven’t watched Play School as I am boycotting it after turning everything to animation for the newer generation of idiots.  Having said that though, I pulled myself back from the moment I had to evaluate what had just happened.

There I was, a twenty something year old sitting on the floor with an excited grin on the face.  Hair in pigtails and all that was missing to complete the look was my blue and pink stripped onesie.  To finish the look of me transforming myself into a three year old who used to squeal with excitement when Play School came on, my hands were up in the air.

Now they weren’t in any position such as doing jazz hands or signalling for my hot waiter to give me a cup of tea.  Instead they were in the air in a pose of doing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ after having sung ‘Der Glumph’ and ‘Little Peter Rabbit’.

It was in the moment while my hands were still up in the air, like I didn’t give a care that I remembered who and how old I was.  It was safe to say that I ended up lowering my hands until they rested in my lap, the smile of a kid was replaced with the general worried smile of an adult.

The whole atmosphere around me changed because it was in that moment that reality hit me across the back of the head, Gibbs style.  I can say in those few seconds when my inner child was allowed to come out and play, listen to music that had her squealing in excitement and dancing around the lounge room, it was nice.

My 90’s hero of punk…
 Even when the classic fall-back blog writing essentials such as Drake, Paramore, Prince to name but a few didn’t work, I knew I was up shit’s creek without a paddle.  That’s when I decided to find other alternative artist/s that would inspire the creative juices to start flowing again.  I started off back in the 70’s with my good friends Robert, Jimmy, John Boy and John Paul…nope.
Not even the haunting sounds of Stairway To Heaven kicked my arse.  Onto the era with power suits, perms and leg warmers which I must admit I still see every now and then in public.  I managed to make it through Wham and Duran Duran before cringing and swapping out the power suit for a plaid shirt tied around my waist and docs.  I welcome you to the era of when yours truly was created.  Birthed like I was destined to ride a motor bike and wear red lipstick to allure males into thinking I had just sucked some guy off.  Shout out to my non-botoxed lips!

I visited the original sounds of Gwen Stefani and the rest of the boys from No Doubt.  When Gwen wasn’t known to have a fashion company named L.A.M.B but rather was known for her brazen ‘fuck you’ attitude.  Since the music industry was a male dominated area however left us wondering what Peter Andre was when he opened his mouth to talk.

Gwen set the record of making a bindi between your eyebrows look cool and downright, funky as.  Safe to say, I was influenced by her as a kid and started sporting my own bindi until Lois sat me down and said, ‘No more!’.

As a result, this saw me transition from a No Doubt lover and Peter Andrea hater, complete with bindi wearing and plaid/denim combo where all that was missing was my own doc martins to complete the look.  Before ending up in a different category which makes both of my parents moan and groan when they hear the sound of a flute pipe and me jokingly suggest, “Want me to dance?”

I remember the few times Lois allowed anyone outside of my God parents near me or within a five kilometre distance, they always asked the one question that would make someone my age at the same, scratch their head.  Before finishing the sentence along the lines, “I don’t fucking know.  I’m seven for fucks sake, not 15”.

So as a result, I discovered a way to get around being asked that ridiculously stupid question as I positioned them on the couch in our lounge room and proceeded to show them.  Rather than actually sitting down, becoming a mini Golden Haired Child and inform them of my life plan which has been structured down to a tee and when I would start having children.  After promising whoever the person that they were going to be surprised, I can assure you they were surprised indeed.

And possibly looking for the quickest exit on how to get out of there before I duct taped them to the chair to keep them there.

Kick those feet up, Scarlett!..

Putting in the video cassette into the VCR that was listed with a seven year old’s scribble, that basically said “Scarletts! Fuck off and don’t tape over!”.  I walked over the side of the room of our lounge room at the time and proceeded to leap, bound and dance my way over the person as if I were a leprechaun.

Every day before and after school, I would put my green dress that was specifically reserved from my river dance classes and tortured my stupidly insane parents with Irish music.

As I whirled, twirled, kicked my legs up into the air and move my feet and legs to the rhythm, my parents who are a bunch of masochists, would groan and beg for it to end. I can successfully say that lasted for a whole year before my parents weren’t tortured anymore after the tape destroyed its self.  I suspect it committed suicide or Dad snipped the tape after being played too much.  Even now when I have had a little too much to drink on St. Patties, I’ve been known to kick my heels up.

Once again, make the Irish proud.

So with that, I will leave you with the image of seven year old me wanting to be a River Dance dancer and welcome you to another blog post.  A post from the instant coffee drinker and tea lover, Scarlett.

Now when I haven’t been looking for new inspiration to listen to in the musical world, I have been struggling to find ideas, thoughts and also form opinions.  Now you and I always nearly have an opinion about something that has either been spoken about in social media or in my personal life.

However of late, I haven’t been able to form nor speak of these opinions and as a result, I have been unable to write them down in the formation of a blog post.  For you, my darling reader to kick back after a long day or morning of doing something entertaining/not so entertaining and read.  In fact, I have spent the last few days wondering what has caused this block and a few things sprung to mind.

I wouldn’t state that I am suffering from writer’s block since I know the difference between being clammed up in the membrane due to an overactive brain too having a silent brain.  And for once, I am experiencing the later of the two options.  Which is causing me for the first time in my life to have no ideas and thoughts as to what I should write.

In fact within the past week, I have turned to the two original people who essentially inspired me to start writing and nursing as a profession.  Funnily enough, both of them happen to be females.  Not that I have anything against male nurses or professionals within the medical field of life.

So the first port of call that I made was to a fictional character named Jackie Peyton.  Otherwise known as Nurse Jackie.  I proceeded to spend the next few hours/days yelling at the television, exclaiming out loud ‘What the Fuck Jackie/Grace!’.  Not to mention telling Jackie and Grace to drop the pill and stand back from the offending object.  And when I finished the season, I got up from the couch and threw my hands up in the air with frustration after watching Jackie destroy her relationships with everyone.

The redeeming factor of Jackie…
 This is before I stormed off and went for a walk after proclaiming to Lois, “God I hate Jackie.  It’s evident that everyone who loves her is trying to help her to overcome the addiction she has. Yet, here she is allowing for it to win her back especially after the bomb of Kevin’s news sets her back. As a result, she is not only distancing herself from everyone but also she is fucking up these relationships in the long run.

Do not get me started on Eddie, I feel like hitting him over the head, Gibbs style and set him on the straight path of righteousness.  However, having said that I am glad they showed this because now I understand why beating an addiction is difficult for those.  But still, one year sober and its trickles down the drain.

What a bitch! Oh yeah for those who haven’t seen the latest season of Nurse Jackie….. Spoiler alert! Jackie’s a fucking bitch!

I believe as a reply back to my statement of hating Jackie for being a bitch, Lois snorted in humour.  All I can say in regards to that last sentence, I actually realised what type of person the character is really.  Which caused me to not particularly favour her in that moment as the rose tinted glasses I had been sporting were ripped off.

As a result, I was able to see what the addict Jackie was really and in return, I now had to stand on my own two feet to support myself.  Guess that means there is now no crutch for me to fall back on even though the relationship we once had wasn’t actually real.

But in the end, she made me take that step forth that I didn’t have the courage to do.  And when I discovered I had been accepted, she was there holding my hand like any fictional character Mum would do as I readjusted my outfit and adult sized diaper.  Which was there in case of an emergency from shitting myself from fright.

Even as much as she is a fucking bitch, there are some traits about Jackie that I still favour.

Clearly thought of by a male….. #youreadick!
 So after spending a day recovering from my epic meltdown post Jackie, I braced myself for my second port of call I needed to make.  With the small amount of planes crashing over the various seas within the last year, I decided that it was better for me to not travel in a tuna can.

So, what else is the best option to go with that keeps my feet on the ground at all times?

In that moment, it hit me like a bolt of lightning hitting the already dead tree lingering in your backyard.  I could get to my destination without having been stuck next to someone, who felt that they needed to be in my personal space.  With that, I grabbed a pillow and blanket before getting comfortable and hit the play button on my DVD player.

The second person or rather people, I visited happen to live on the East coast of the country, just like myself.  They have made me sit here all these years since I used to watch them on my Television and openly question things.  Now this is from the colour of the sky to what I’ve been brought up with.over the dinner table (hello dinner talk of daily sex tips).

But also they made me sit here and ponder things that I have either witnessed or experienced throughout my adult life.  Miranda Hobbs, Samantha Jones, Charlotte York and Carrie Bradshaw, who was labelled a ‘whore’ by the man who portrayed Big himself, Chris Noth (arsehole!), brought me to the modern world of sex and ladies take their lives back from their male partner.


Having sat there and retrained how women think for themselves and how we can control and rule our own world. This leads to the males already in domesticated countries to scratch their heads in confusion.

Before the sound of hands slapping down onto desks as they watched the woman, sash her way out of the office which would be shortly her’s than the exclamation of ‘what the fuck!’ would follow.  All the while the woman grinned her smug and dominating grin, knowing that she had just turned this douche bag’s world upside down.

They also taught us that cosmopolitans were a amazing drink to sling back after a particularly hard day of being dominated by dick’s with their dick’s in a dick world.  Before finally teaching us the end result of everything: women can have sex without forming an emotional attachment to the dick with the dick. I would know because I managed to live a year like Samantha and not once, did I feel bad for making the rash decision of dropping my gear, appreciating my body and enjoying brilliant sex.

Saying this though, I sit here in my regular spot on the couch and admit that I am a mixture of Samantha and Miranda.  I am Samantha because I am someone who wants to experience good sex and amazing dick which knows how to be used.  Properly I mean and not in a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of range.

Been there and done that too which I found to be incredibly boring, depressing and reteaching the poor fuckwit how to actually pleasure a woman.  Least to say, that didn’t last very long because I decided to stop being a push over and actually voice my disgust of how pathetic the sex was.

FYI fella’s, women tell you that you are amazing because they can’t bear telling you how shit you are for various reasons.  The whole ego thing is one thing and until we actually tell you how we want to be treated in the bedroom… consider yourself somewhat lacking in knowledge.  Because not every woman likes having vanilla sex and actually prefer it in you throw in a little bondage, spanking and biting.

In regards to Miranda, I am determined to succeed in life as she was driven to become partner at her law firm.  Having these woman drive me into making something of myself rather than a baby breeder and an idiot, it just proves that I can do anything and go anywhere in my life if I so wish to.  Saying that though, I also hold a flame towards Charlotte.

My wife is forming her own thoughts…
Fix her Doctor!
 As much as she was portrayed to be the next woman to be joining the elite club of Stepford Wives, Charlotte placed emphasis on a lot of different things. Such as the importance of emotional love rather than falling in lust countless times.  She also believed in many romantic ideas over the six seasons of pure goodness but always held true to the overall trump card she had placed against her chest.  That card was searching for her ‘knight in shining armour’.

Which leads me to the next part as to why I have a bit of Charlotte within myself.

I found myself talking to Lois about me settling down and having children at a later date in life.  When I banged my hands on the table and started to profusely cry and sob.  Lois was taken back, thinking I was playing around and perfecting my dramatic crying so than I could cry myself out of receiving a speeding ticket.  Until she realised that I was being deadly serious as I sat at the end of the table, sobbing and crying because in that second, the loneliness had hit me incredibly hard.

For once, my biological clock was ticking.  Talk about an eye opener of a moment for both us as Lois scooted back in her chair and made her way around the table towards me.  Like any mother who is unselfish and loves her kids, she wrapped her arms around me while allowing me to nestle my head into her bust.  Before exclaiming through tears, “Where is he? I’ve been dating since I was 18 and I am over it!”.

I would like to claim PMS, bitchy hormones and general bitch attitude but I was overcome with a sense of loss.  Because like most people in this large and incredibly bright world, I would like to come home to someone.  Lift their arm up and wrap it around my shoulders while I snuggle up into their side.  Before placing a hand over their heart so I can feel their heart beat against my hand.  Hold hands in public before stopping and turning to them to tell them, “I love you”.  While secretly each and every time I say it, it feels like my heart bursts and I re-fall in love with them.

Where are you?….
 Most of all, I want to be with someone who will be here longer than a day, week or month.  Instead, will be here for a long period of my life as I believe and know deep down, that I am ready for them to be in my life.

Dearest and most adored Reader, don’t you think it’s time for me to go forth and find this person?  I think we are going to be sitting here saying, ‘Yes! It has been two years of you being alone.  And not having someone to cuddle up to at night.  Go forth and find him!’.

Besides, we all know that I want the love that Carrie once described to The Russian in SATC, while gracing the City of Love.  And if you aren’t sitting here agreeing with me, then you and I need to have a talk as to why are you thinking, feeling and saying this out loud.

Having had an emotional breakdown in my parent’s sunroom before removing myself under the context of wishing to go for a shower, I soon transitioned into being Carrie.  Leaving Charlotte and her emotions behind as I wondered if my two previous boyfriends may have been Mr. Big.

We all knew when Carrie met Big on that afternoon when some guy knocked her handbag from out underneath her arm, something was there.  Besides, why would fate put him in every situation or place she was at until ripping him away so he could marry Natasha.  Leaving the rest of us screaming at the television.  Or in my case, itching to call HBO and demand for them to get rid of Natasha and put Carrie and Big together because it was in their destiny.

In my case when I thought about my two relationships, I realised Dick was a dick, who thought only with his dick and couldn’t confront his own Mother.

Before growing up, leaving the past in the past and began to date Wolf, who was mothered.  And in a roundabout way, discovered that even though Wolf taught me a lot of things about love and relationships, neither he or Dick were my Mr. big.

Having figured this out in a blink of an eyelid, I wondered if I was going to find Mr. Big.

If not, I will admit that I’ll have a part of me, who would be lonely as hell.  That was until my back up love, heels, graced my feet and the thought that I could sleep with a guy without having the qualms of wondering, ‘are you going to fall in love with me?’ entered my mind.

As you can see, life as Scarlett O’Chunky has been rather busy with me juggling the large amount of balls that I have.  Like you and I have gathered by now, I am a fantastic juggler of these balls of life experiences, emotional melt downs, my thoughts and opinions.  Which now seems to be flowing freely as I have been able to type this post in one sitting.  However, I suspect it’s because I’ve had a cup of tea and I am sitting in my particular spot on the lounge.

Dearest Reader, it is evident that my life has been relatively crazy in so many aspects and that my creative juices are starting to be slowly replenished after having become drained.  Also I have been planning my birthday party celebration, what I plan on wearing which is going to be clothes (oh my!) and what my guests are going to be shoving down their throats.

Not to mention waiting for the game of finalising my enrollment for semester one to be finished.  Since I start uni within the next fortnight and during the mean time, picking a date of that is suitable to my life so I can move into my new place.

So as you can see, I have many balls being juggled at the moment and I am not insane as yet.  Stay tuned for the update on my sanity levels come the end of the month…

With that, welcome to my first blog post for February.  I hope January was a good one for you but if it wasn’t, we can both toast to how it was a complete fuck up!  And since it is a new month, I have February brings you many moments of happiness, laughter, warm and positive thoughts and may the Chi in your life flow in the positive way.  And remember, you are dearly loved and adored.

Until next time.


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