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Women: The strangest of creatures

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Exactly how I look when I wake up

 

I’m over it. I’m over being a woman.

I’ve always thought it would be better to be a man and I feel the past couple of days have really cemented this thought.

I think it comes down to the maintenance. It would be sweet if I just woke up and looked incredible, maybe like Mila Kunis (just throwing it out there), chucked on some clothes and went on my merry way but unfortunately, that’s not life.

What is life is shaving, ex-foliating, moisturising, make up, hair, nails, waxing, shoes, clothes, accessories – it’s too much. I want to go on strike.

Do you know how long, expensive and time consuming it is to be a woman? I seriously have to wonder how much time we waste doing weird woman things when we could be outside having a beer.

And it’s worse when we have an event.

I’m off back to the motherland in two days and the prep I have ahead of me is just plain daunting.

I’ve had to work backwards from the day of departure to figure out when I need to wash my hair and shave my legs, so that I’ve timed it just right. I’ve had my hair done (there goes five hours of my life I’ll never get back) and been waxed within an inch of my life. I’ve had to sort out what clothes to take, complete with accessories and different types of underwear depending on what pants/skirt/dresses I decide on, and I still have to paint my nails, pack, possibly fake tan the old pins once they’ve been shaved,and decide on whether it’s a heels or boots kinda trip.

Mr Knees on the other hand has just put a load of washing on and will pull out a bag on Thursday afternoon pop in some jeans, four t-shirts and a jacket and away he goes. 

WHAT THE HELL. Now I’m even more mad. And, he’s just had the audacity to come in here and say ‘did you not even hang my washing out for me?’ Ahhh Mr Knees, if I was you, I’d be walking real quick out of my vicinity because if I can reach you I WILL GET YOU.

See, and we’re moody, like super moody. The funniest part is when we know we’re being irrational but there’s not a single thing we can do to control it, we just have to ride the wave and let it be.

So I’m thinking about becoming a man. Not like forever, but just maybe for a week. Imagine a week of no make up, no nails, no hair washing, and all the other glorious things I have failed to mention, oooooh peeing ANYWHERE, brilliant.

Now I just have to convince Mr Knees it’s totally fine if he sleeps with a man for a week.

 

Hello world it’s me and my gang of cats

This is Libby, and also the reason I am no longer allowed a furry friend. She loved me more than Mr Knees and he simply couldn't handle it. It came down to him or the cat and I had to decide. Just kidding, we fostered her for two years until she found a forever home. She was a real creep.
This is Libby, and also the reason I am no longer allowed a furry friend. She loved me more than Mr Knees and he simply couldn’t handle it. It came down to him or the cat and I had to decide. Just kidding, we fostered her for two years until she found a forever home. She was a real creep.

I recently got married and have since changed my name and started a blog. I guess this is what people do when they take on the responsibility of another person for the REST OF THEIR LIFE.

Ha, just kidding – I’m pumped to have to look after someone else, cook for them, do their washing, nag – it’s ideal.

This first post is really just to say hi and welcome you into my world.

I’m a full-time journalist, though none of these ramblings are associated with my employer. I am a Kiwi living in a foreign country, where I have to speak two different languages so my Straya friends can understand me and my NZ friends think I haven’t gone to the dark side or just started magically speaking from my nose.

Have fun reading my tales I know I will enjoy recounting some of the crazy shite that seems to happen to me and those around me.

Firstly, I decided to let everyone in on my secret. I have a gang of cats.

Mr Knees won’t let me have a furry friend so this is what it has come to. I’ve adopted all the cats in the immediate vicinity of the house and they all have names. Some are their real names and some are names I have simply had to give them because I haven’t been able to locate their owners to ask. Mr Knees seems to get embarrassed when this happens but I found out the hard way it’s better to check than to just start talking to people’s cats and calling them names you decided they should have.

My favourite is Lolly (real name). She lives down the road and I only see her when I’m walking home from my day job, but she’s great. She’s super friendly and lets me pat her tummy, which I think totally makes me her best human friend. She’s a Siamese and has a sister called Coco – although Coco can be a bit of a bitch. One wears a blue collar and the other has a red one and I always seem to get them mixed up, but thanks to the lady on the corner I’ve now got it sorted. Blue is Lolly and red is Coco – I can remember this because in real life I like blue better than red.

Then there’s Spence (real name) he’s a ginger and proud of it. He’s mostly a night creature but every now and then I catch a glimpse of him on his outside chair. I’ve only touched him once but it was awesome. Before I spoke to his owner about him I’d called him Gary. Sometimes I still like to call him that but I have to make sure people aren’t around. He has a brother called Nisbit (real name) who only comes out once in a blue moon and mainly hides under cars. I don’t really like him but he’s still part of the gang.

And then there’s Gamy, or Gam Gam (not a real name). He’s (at least I think it’s a boy) a long-haired tabby cat and is super friendly. He got the name because when we first met him he had a gamy eye and unfortunately it was a case of not having a big enough imagination to name him something cool. Anyway, he’s a pretty big fan of getting in-between your legs when you’re carrying the groceries or washing basket and is just generally an all round GC . . . good cat – ha gotcha.

I called them all for a meeting earlier but when they heard it was for a photo-shoot they all panicked and went west, so I’ll have to catch them when they’re least expecting it.

Sometimes I wonder if the neighbours think I’m mental. But then I don’t really care because I’m the one with all the cat friends and not them.