This blog was born of my broken vagina but I am more than my pussy dammit! However, I'm going to do just this last post to quench Saffron's thirst about by smashed cunt. (Oh so many wonderful expressions to describe my conditions)
On another post about my giney she asked the following:
"Was the crying sad tears? Or tears of laughter? And how was it repaired? Did Boy get blue balls? How did he recover? This is just so interesting. Can I write a book about broken vaginas? Bride & Krispy Kitchen, you in?"
And here are the answers:
-NO THEY WERE NOT TEARS OF LAUGHTER. I HAD JUST BURST A FREAKING BLOOD VESSEL IN THE MOST SENSITIVE PART OF MY BODY WHILE TRYING TO GET OFF. It's the most painful thing I have ever been through and to top it off my vag was swelling at a rate of metres per second and I had no idea what was happening. So, they were tears of pain and being afraid and the other people in the room (my flatmates and the old man whose fault this all is) were all upset because I was in loads of pain and we didn't know what was happening.
- It's being repaired by me lying in bed all day reading books, surfing the net and knocking myself out with pain killers. Apparently it will go away by itself.
- I actually asked the boy if he got blue balls and he said his mind was elsewhere at the time and if he did he didn't notice. Which means he was so worried about me he was going to die and wouldn't have noticed if someone shot him with a bazooka. Isn't that lame?
- And of course you can write the book, let's set the interviews up over a series of wines and beers at Monica's new house with Rick in attendance.
Remember kids, if you have pre-marital sex Jesus will smite you. Smite you good.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Justifying my existence
"Words are your birthright. Unlike music, painting, dance and raffia work, you don't have to be taught any part of language or buy any equipment to use it. Don't be afraid of it, don't believe it belongs to anyone else, don't let anyone bully you into believing that there are rules and secrets of grammar and verbal deployment that you are not privy to. Don't be humiliated by dinosaurs into thinking yourself inferior because you can't spell broccoli or moccasins. Just let the words fly from your lips and your pen."
Stephen Fry
While I have been toying with the idea of starting another blog for a while there have been a few things stopping me. The self indulgence of such a thing is certainly up there but there is also the inferiority I feel to other blog writers. I'm not an obscenely gifted writer like Rick or incredibly passionate and educated about one particular subject like Mazz.
But funny stuff does happen to me. My broken vagina for one, or being the only person in the history of the universe to go to Nimbin to score and end up leaving empty handed and hopefully these small stories will be enough to keep you, dear reader, interested and hopefully I'll improve my writing along the way.
And if that fails I can always steal other people's words like I did at the beginning of this post.
Stephen Fry
While I have been toying with the idea of starting another blog for a while there have been a few things stopping me. The self indulgence of such a thing is certainly up there but there is also the inferiority I feel to other blog writers. I'm not an obscenely gifted writer like Rick or incredibly passionate and educated about one particular subject like Mazz.
But funny stuff does happen to me. My broken vagina for one, or being the only person in the history of the universe to go to Nimbin to score and end up leaving empty handed and hopefully these small stories will be enough to keep you, dear reader, interested and hopefully I'll improve my writing along the way.
And if that fails I can always steal other people's words like I did at the beginning of this post.
Monday, May 18, 2009
If at first you don't suceed...stop being a damn fool about it
I've had a blog before, and just like what happens with your first car, or child, I deleted it and vowed to have another one when I was ready. By ready I mean more interesting. Months have past and that hasn't really happened yet, however, I do have an interesting story.
Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, last Thursday I broke my vagina.
The event has already been written about it here and to cut along story short I was bumping uglies with the old man I have been bumping uglies with for a while now and something happened and I was in a world of pain. I burst a blood vessel in my vag apparently.
The situation has created a lot of mirth from family and friends, my father has already given the old man some grief, my brothers and sisters have given me a lot of grief and a lot of my friends find the situation hilarious. Which it is, except I can't move and have been bed ridden for days.
Highlights of 'the incident' include:
- sending all three of my sisters a picture of my swollen and purple vagina and the reaction that followed
- lying in the emergency room in a world of agony waiting for a blood test to come back while the old man snored next to me in the single hospital bed
- Getting to ring people and say 'I broke my vagina'
- The Irish doctor writing in my medical letter that I was a 'poor young lass'
- The old man's flatmate is the PR guy for a football team which lost on the weekend. The old man has been looking after me and when I said it wouldn't be a very good atmosphere at his place because of the loss he said 'yeah, but at least it's his job to look after 13 smashed cunts'
Anyway, here's hoping this blog doesn't meet the same grisly end as the last blog. Or my vagina.
Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, last Thursday I broke my vagina.
The event has already been written about it here and to cut along story short I was bumping uglies with the old man I have been bumping uglies with for a while now and something happened and I was in a world of pain. I burst a blood vessel in my vag apparently.
The situation has created a lot of mirth from family and friends, my father has already given the old man some grief, my brothers and sisters have given me a lot of grief and a lot of my friends find the situation hilarious. Which it is, except I can't move and have been bed ridden for days.
Highlights of 'the incident' include:
- sending all three of my sisters a picture of my swollen and purple vagina and the reaction that followed
- lying in the emergency room in a world of agony waiting for a blood test to come back while the old man snored next to me in the single hospital bed
- Getting to ring people and say 'I broke my vagina'
- The Irish doctor writing in my medical letter that I was a 'poor young lass'
- The old man's flatmate is the PR guy for a football team which lost on the weekend. The old man has been looking after me and when I said it wouldn't be a very good atmosphere at his place because of the loss he said 'yeah, but at least it's his job to look after 13 smashed cunts'
Anyway, here's hoping this blog doesn't meet the same grisly end as the last blog. Or my vagina.
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