A case of jealousy ….. she is a slanty green eyed little bitch ….

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I have really had a case of the “why the fkc is that not me” moment/day/week/period {leave time frame that is most appropriate}

I look around and there are blogs that have an epic following.

Bloggers are going on to write car manuals, design new ways to hide from their kids, and methods to watch Game of Thrones uninterrupted, and suggestions on what to wear and eat.

Bloggers who are funny, pretty, clever, and well just so everything to the level that it makes me feel a bit shit actually.

I start to look at my lot in life and go, but why am I not famous, and adored and why do I not have trolls.

Why the hell do I not look fabulous all over instagram?

Why in gds name can I not work out how Twitter works?

Why do I hate myself when ever I see myself in the mirror?

And why did we buy a house with floor to ceiling mirrors in our bathroom?

Maybe it is the weather.  There is meant to be a connection between rainy, dark skies and the likelihood of someone making a shiv and ending it all.

I am in general not a “happy for you” sort of person, so let’s keep the base level in mind.

I don’t have enough happy for you in me.  At most times my reservoir of happy is pretty much empty or at the very least dripping out in a very unhappy stream.  Not unlike the outside tap that is never repaired, and eventually drips that slimy green/black mark against the back wall.

I tend to think in terms of “why did it not happen to me” or “what have I done wrong…” and seldom get truly happy or excited for me, or for you.

At your happiness I grumble a bit under my breath, and try my best to smile at you.  I don’t hate you for being successful, or doing well.  I hate me for not.  Subtle difference.  See it is all about me.  In my head.

I am not quite in the dead zone of depression, but my spirits are definitely flagging somewhat.  This “just keep on” bullshit is …. well a bit of bullshit.

I looked at Raising Men’s blog recently and I thought, shit, she has done well.  All the kudos to her.  I feel pretty damn jealous she appears to have such a cool life – and photographs really flipping well.  Here is a girl who could have child throw up on her shoulder, be drinking a warm Budweiser, and wearing a sack, and she would be gorgeous.  And clever.  And for fuck sake she likes bunnies.  What is not to like?   I am jealous that she is under 30, looks like a super model, and appears to weigh less than my winter knickers.  I stalk her — often. When no one is looking.

I looked at The Bloggess and thought, fkn hell she is unbelievably funny – how do you get that funny, and stay that funny?  And more importantly how the hell do you write such a funny book?  She is unbelievable, and she just has to BE.  I want to be her.  I want to be famous and fabulous and have a chicken named Beyoncé.  I want her stuff.

I looked at The Blessed Barrenness and I thought, holy shit balls she is busy making banana loaf, a great stew, she has a new baby and is so damn happy.  And she is probably one of the nicest people around.  Excuse me whilst I pour myself some more wine and wonder if when I grow up I could be as nice as her.  I covet her life.  I covet her kitchen.  I covet her food.

I looked at Margot over at Jou Ma se Blog who clearly stole the best name for a blog.  In the world.  Assuming that FuckMotherhood.c0m has come available again.  Margot is everything that is right with blogging – she is clever, and witty, and writes with such passion and never seems to sell her soul or go ape shit and have to apologise later.   She writes for publications what put ink onto paper.  Bless her.  I have been sneaking around her blog for years.  Actually I don’t hate Margot for anything, I just want to be as good as she is and I am jealous that I do not have her talent.    I loved the fact that she refers to her kids on occasion as “little fuckers” – makes me love her more.  Makes me envy her more. Some days I want to “cut and paste” her blog posts to my blog and just change the name.  Margot when I am mature, can I be like you?

I read a recent post over at Living Lionheart and I am in awe of her writing.  Her ability to turn a phrase and grab just the essence of a thought, so effortlessly.  I am jealous she is so damn good.   I want her to be my best friend.   I want her to tell me I am fabulous, as I smile, and bat my eyelashes demurely and say “Oh, I’m not, really I am not…..” as I push my cleavage further out to make the dimensions of my breasts look far more than my waist.  I don’t think that is going to work out, so in the interim I will covet the shit out of her and be envious as shit.

My latest obsession is a Slice of Humble.  No idea exactly what the blog is about – okay she is 28 years old and has five kids.  I am guessing that is sort of the theme.   I am more hooked on her Facebook status  updates than I am on her blog.  She is ridiculously funny – I want to be that funny, damn it — I would be laughing at myself every time I sat by myself.  People would fawn over me, promise me trinkets and shower me with nuggets of chocolate.  I am fairly sure I do not want 5 kids at 28.  But can she keep her kids.   I just want her funny.  I don’t think I have ever been that funny.  Ever.

Then I have this friend Natalie B.  Natalie had a baby in December 2012.  She rode her bike about 150 kilometers (out of choice) in February.  She does a race or triathlon every weekend, or thereabouts,  Ran the 2013 London  Marathon, and 2013 Comrades … and appears to be able to juggle her baby and work, and her life faultlessly.  She is such a nice person, so easy-going, and does not seem to have any hang ups.  Kennith asked me last week, isn’t Baby N like 6 months old?  I am like: ” uh-huh… something like that.”

Kennith goes “Natalie just finished Comrades …. her baby is 6 months old ” …

I think he implied that my youngest is nearly four and I am lying on the bed stuffing a Cadbury chocolate into my pie-hole and moaning about the “baby weight” that I am still struggling to shift.  I adore Natalie.  I hate Natalie.  I want Natalie’s DNA, long legs, and happy going easy style – can I swap her those for my daily overriding craving for a McMuffin with sausage and egg?

Okay, the list of things/people I lust for and covet is hardly complete, and it could go on for a very long time.

Please do not send me a note asking why I did not mention you.  I am  just stewing in my warm pool of jealousy and self loathing — it is a lonely place but warm and sort of comforting when you waddle in it, and just lie back and let the stickiness just envelop you.

Wondering why you aren’t on the list – odds are I am already on to you.  I have spent many hours trolling your blog/instagram/faceb0ok page.  I just don’t have the energy to extend this list right now.

If you have any suggestions for who else I should be jealous of, please free to flip your suggestion into the hat.

I am too busy self-flagellation, to add more right now.

Tomorrow will be better.  Or it won’t.

Today I sit here looking not dissimilar to Golum, mumbling “my precious under my breath….” as I wonder how I will steal the ring back from you.

{I am having a moment so forgive me slightly for my rambling and inability to string a decent sentence together – see need to be a bit more like Stacey and Margot.}

golum

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Let’s Pretend This Never Happened ….

While over at my local Exclusive Books, I stumbled across “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened {A Mostly True Memoir} by Jenny Lawson The Bloggess.”

I have not read many of her posts, but the one about Beyonce the Chicken stuck firmly in my mind.

I laughed and snorted out loud to that post.

If I am feeling a bit down in the dumps I always think about Beyonce the Chicken, and it perks me right up.

I am always looking for the sister/brother to Beyonce the Chicken, because I can’t think of a purchase that would make me happier.  Well, other than the biker mouse I saw on e-bay yesterday.

I thoroughly enjoyed The Bloggess’ book “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened

She really is hysterically funny, and has this dry “there is nothing to see here” style which I adore.  Enjoyed the book thoroughly.

There were so many bits of this book that I snorted at – here are two – hopefully I do not get cited on a copyright infringement :

“Anyway, my dad had just finished cleaning the deer when I made a reckless fast, ninja-turn U-turn to avoid getting tagged by my sister, and that’s when I ran.  Right. The Fuck. Inside the deer.  It took me a moment to realise what had happened, and I stood there, kind of paralyzed and not ninja-like at all.   The best way I can describe it is that it was kind of like wearing a deer sweater.  Sometimes people laugh at that, but it’s not an amused laugh. It’s more of an involuntary nervous giggle of what-the-fuckness.  Probably because you aren’t supposed to wear deer for sweaters.  You’re not supposed to throw up inside them either,but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Then I drove myself to work and I almost passed out from a combination of the pain and the not-breathing, and when I got there I hurt so much I couldn’t even move my mouth to talk, so I wrote ‘I HAVE BROKEN MY NECK,” on a Post-it, and my bewildered office mate drove me to the hospital.  Turns out I’d herniated a disc, and the doctor gave me a pamphlet on domestic abuse and kept asking m whether someone was hurting me at home, because apparently most people don’t herniate their discs simply from brushing their hair too hard.  I prefer to think that most people just don’t brush their hair as enthusiastically as I do.”

I enjoyed this book.  Every page of it.  Loved the photographs.  Loved the captions.

I sat and read this book in about a day and a half.  Best time ever in bed.  With a book!

So, listen, I loved the book, and I am sure you will love the book as well.

If you would like to read “Let’s Pretend this Never Happened” by Jenny Lawson, and would like a signed copy.  Signed by me.  Not by the uber talented Jenny Lawson I am afraid, then just let me have your postal address.

I have one-previously-read book that I will send on to you – I think this is the type of book you should share with anyone who needs a lie down a giggle.

What would be really cool is if you could read the book, you comment on it on your blog, you sign the book, then you pass the book on to the next person.

How does that sound?  It’s like a game of play-it-forward-fuckness in all its beauty.

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The only downside is Jenny will not be getting royalties as there is only one book doing the rounds.  But I am sure she will understand, or not.

If you have not fully experience the totally fucken hilarity that is Jenny Lawson, then this will be a good day for you.

Want the book?  Leave me your postal address — please only in South Africa.  I only have one book, so this is not an Oprah give away where everyone finds something under their seat.

Happy reading, and laughing, and all kinds of warm happiness.