60 Minutes Left To Live

Take a breath. Take a moment.




What would you do if you were told you had one hour left to live? What would you do if you knew that in less than 60 minutes your life and everything you’ve become, is about to end? Would you find your purpose right then and there? Would you know exactly what it is that you need to do for the remaining 59 minutes and 40 seconds of your life? Honestly, what would you do? When your head starts to tell you that you would tell your boss to go fuck himself and quit your job or that you’d rob a bank and spend it all, stop and ask your heart. And when your heart starts to tingle and tears involuntarily well up in your eyes you’ll know then that you have found the true answer to that question.

For some of us the reality of death has affected our lives in an empowering way. It touches us deeply and profoundly. It makes us see differently. Feel more intensely.  And in a conversation with a beautiful woman yesterday we spoke of life and the pressures we face. We spoke without the knowledge of what the immediate future held for her and her family and the life changing moment that awaited. We spoke about the pressure to look a certain way, drive a certain car or own a certain standard of home… Just to fit in. Just to keep up. Just to feel like we could be accepted among other Superwomen. We both felt that being ourselves and living our lives the way we want to had somehow morphed into a confused and frustrating life of pleasing and impressing others. We spoke about egos, our own included, and the strain of trying to be the type of Superwomen who have successful careers, amazing bodies, the latest cars and beautiful houses. We spoke about how happy we would actually be if we could stop putting those kind of demands on ourselves….

……And then it hit. The stark, blunt and brutal force of reality. That horrible dose of real life that causes the world to stop and for you to see everything you thought was important flash and disappear in front of your eyes. Because everything, everything, comes crashing down and pales in comparison when you realize that you didn’t get to say goodbye. The realization that the last time you talked to them you didn’t appreciate that you would never see or speak to them ever again. It’s the harsh reality that this pain you are feeling marks the nastiest reminder of why we are actually here. Why we are alive on this earth. It takes death for us to comprehend the vulgarity in narcissism. The tastelessness of leading trending and materialistic lives. And I’m guilty! I’m guilty of these things every day. I’m guilty of wanting what other people have. I’m guilty of wanting to be thinner, to be prettier, to have a fancy house, nicer clothes and more money in my bank account. I’m guilty of wanting these things so badly that it makes me mad and then causes me to yell more than I should at my kids just because I’m feeling ripped off. When in truth, I am lucky, lucky because I have everything I need already and then I have lots of other shit that is hardly important at all.

The mortality of life doesn’t mean we can’t have or want nice things. But it is about putting these nice things into perspective. Moving them to the bottom of our daily to-do-lists and placing the important real stuff right up to the top. Real like saying goodbye to your husband even though you’re mad he came home late last night after work. Or real like playing with the kids as soon as they ask you to instead of saying “In a minute” so you can finish updating your Facebook status and commenting on a friend of a friends new photo. REAL like forgiving your family and friends for those moments in time when their egos hurt your ego. All because we know that no one is perfect and no one should strive to be because perfection doesn’t exist.

So can you imagine? Can you imagine having just 56 minutes and 54 seconds left to live? Who would you call? Who would you wrap in your arms and kiss on the forehead? Who would you forgive? What would you say? Would you say “I’m sorry”? “I love you”? What lasting memory of the real you would you want to leave behind? That number on the scale, those body insecurities, and those pretty materialistic possessions won’t mean a damn thing. That don’t define you, they don’t leave a legacy, and they don’t inspire those who grieve you at your headstone in years to come. What you are is an act of love. The nurturing mother, the doting Daddy, the crazy-funny Aunty, the playful Pop. These are the things you leave behind, it’s the act not the ownership that is your legacy. These are the things that define who you are and what memories you leave. So in the next 56 minutes and 36 seconds who are you going to be?

One Love
DRK xxx

… Written in honour of a Superwoman, who is beautiful in every way, shape and form, whose life and that of her family has just been turned upside down … My heart , thoughts and prayers are with you xxx

The Snip

*Be aware some of this information may offend! So I am going to launch straight into my disclaimer here .. I am a woman therefore I know nothing of the real (or unreal) pain of a vasectomy. I cannot claim to have ever been kicked in the balls or have had a needle jab into my lady parts. I am not a doctor or a person with any medical knowledge – unless I can claim the fact I helped my constipated 7 month old baby deliver a rather large not-so-gold nugget??…. I also do not have any superpowers that helps me to understand or to feel another’s physical pain, especially that of a man’s but…….

Whoever said you should grow some balls was waaaaayyyy off! Nursing my husband through his post-op vasectomy has been … well interesting. Day one saw him feeling pretty good. Of course I waited on him hand and foot (and ball sack), he deserved that at least. He has had the past 24 hours of meals delivered to him in bed – whatever his tastes desired. He has slept pretty much for two days straight and today, on the third day, he is back in bed after a hard hour driving and eating a steak burger. Don’t get me wrong I am totally empathetic to his pain. Its surgery after all and its surgery on bits in-between his legs – discomfort plus and I feel sorry for him! But I am also empathetic because I have had 5 watermelons apparently, in his opinion, fall out of my Va-Jay-Jay. Five crying watermelons who needed feeding on bleeding crusty nipples, swaying for 24 hour periods and who just about forgot to let go of my insides as they were coming out. Oh, did someone forget my breakfast/lunch/dinner in bed? Oh never mind dear, let me cup those balls for you…


This aside, I did have a few questions about vasectomy’s and what ‘things’ might be different after having one done, besides the obvious fact that I am now able to walk past his jocks without falling pregnant. But in my search I came across a men’s forum on getting the snip and it is fair to say I learnt a few things I never knew before and now can’t unlearn! Like the fact they refer to their semen as prostate snot. Did a little bit of vomit just enter your mouth too? Makes me gag and not in a good way you dirty buggers! Another interesting item of discussion was the pet name for their billions of litres of sperm…. They call it crotchfruit! My babies are crotchfruits? Hmmm sounds exotic….

What I found more than anything though is that there seems to be a level of ok-ness about being whinging little girlie-mans after a vasectomy, no offence ladies! Somewhere on the very blank pages in the Brotherhood Code of Conduct is a short sentence on this type of procedure, which is rated pretty highly and is looked upon by the brotherhood as the worst kind of surgery a man can have, besides penectomies (yes, penis amputations). While he has had a ball(or two) ache for a few days I have developed a massive headache which, between his ache and mine, we are guaranteeing the shareholders of Panadol are in good wealth for many years to come. And yet, in the midst of his pain and suffering, somehow he can’t wait to get one away – I kid you not!!! It definitely has me questioning how painful it really is! I’m pretty sure sex was the furtherest thing from my mind after having that minor thing called CHILDBIRTH! Is this even comparable? It’s always about the complex issue of it being their “manhood”, giving us reason to believe our “womanhood” does not exist or is less important. Yet while Dr Genital conducted his minor operation on the most important part of a man’s body EVER, EVERY part of a woman’s body goes through some form of pain and transformation for at least 9 months and then god knows how many hours just to push that crotchfruit not out of his crotch but ours! Damn that prostate snot deserves to be cut off from any future dealings! I’m happy to tell those happy little buggers that there is a road closure ahead, yep its a dead end and they are stuck in groundhog day for five days or so before they are absorbed back into the body. It’ll be the most confusing five days of their lives poor little buggers!


So for all of those brave men out there that have had the snip – congratulations! You did it! Now toughen up and grow a vagina 🙂

One love ladies – keep looking after those balls boys 🙂

DRK xxx

Poor Buggers – we love you really!

Can the REAL Superwoman please stand up!

Life changes in so many ways for most of us. For some it’s just simply about ‘growing up’ for others it’s having to completely change their lives because they have to and sometimes people change because they want to be somebody else. Somebody richer, skinnier, more successful – kind of like playing pretend celebrity.

You know the type? Surely we all have friends like this in our lives. The ones who portray their life to be like the rich and famous. The ones you’ve known forever yet suddenly they’ve developed a posh kind of accent – though they’ve never even left the country. They are also the ones who think you’ve got to fake it until you make it which is a little bit funny but completely insanely infuriating because along with the accent comes a fakeness that is a pill that’s hard to swallow. There’s nothing more attractive and more richly fulfilling in life than being the real version of yourself – warts and all. So I ask all of my Superwomen to be proud and let the REAL superness stand out.

Put away the “perfect” body, the “perfect wealth”, “the perfect marriage” and the “perfect kids”. Take yourself off that god dammed pedestal you think you have to be on because we know who you are behind the many masks you wear and the pretty pictures you paint. We know this isn’t real and it must be eating away your insides. It can’t be deeply and wholly fulfilling to live life this way. None of it is real and the person we enjoy most is the one who is natural, without the posh accent, but the Superwoman with the real laugh, the real smile, the real life – this is the woman we can relate to. This is the person we’ve loved from the beginning of our friendships and we can see her growing further and further away as she is hidden deeper and deeper underneath things, materialistic stuff, falseness and pretend facades. Call this bitchiness, call it an intervention, call it what you will.

Life is what it is and while we can all strive to be better, to live better, to improve our relationships with our partners, friends and children; taking ownership of the good, the bad and the intensely ugly moments in all those areas of our lives is the process of leading a fulfilling lifetime! So dust that glitter and fake gold off your cape – you are as wonderful as you are and there is no need to be someone you’re not!

One love,
DRK xxx