Belle F#€ken Gibson

I’ve just watched the interview with Belle Gibson on 60 Minutes and I have to say that someone has drained me of my blood, put it over a fire pit and boiled it before giving it back.

Yes I am angry in every faucet of angry! I’m angry that she was paid for the interview. I’m angry that she wore that fucken hideous pink jumper, I’m angry that people are defending her and putting her under the mental health banner but most of all I’m angry that she STILL couldn’t tell the truth. There was no simple answer of yes or no. No simple “oh I’m 23 or am I 26?” She can’t even remember how old she is coz she’s lied about it too much!
She is a conman, or woman in this case. She doesn’t have a mental illness besides being a fucking lame arse fucktard! She is someone who has profited from sick people, from people who trusted her, who related to her, felt connected to her …. only to find out it was all lies! Belle Gibson lied and she continued to do so through the whole interview!

I don’t believe in Belle Gibsons words but I do believe there are healing qualities in food. I believe that we all can lead a much better life through whole foods BUT she has now tarnished that for so many people AND people who really need to benefit from healthy living! She is a scammer. A liar. A cheat. A high neck pink jumper wearing monster!

My brother died from brain cancer. My friend is currently combat fighting brain cancer. Little children I fundraiser for are kicking the arse of cancer. The story “her story” of cancer, heart problems, surgeries, strokes are all fabricated stories to get vulnerable people, people who are actually going through these things, to buy her shit in all shapes and forms! 

Shame on you Belle Gibson. Shame on you for not stepping up to the opportunity for truth telling. Shame on you for not putting on your big girl knickers and owning up to your shit, your lying shitty shit. Shame on you for not giving those you stole from, those whose trust you slaughtered, a real, decent and heartfelt apology! 

  
I can’t apologise on her behalf (and I don’t want to) but I will say this to those who have been burnt by BG … 

Feed your body love and pure ingredients. Nutrition is important to your wellbeing, to everyone’s wellbeing. But life is also for living. So laugh with those you love. Enjoy the slice of sunshine on a winters day. Be spontaneous and dance in the rain but most of all forgive BG for her stupidity and let it go. Let her go. The sooner we all let her go the better. The sooner we let her go the less she will profit from her self-made stories. Don’t let her profit from anymore of her lies and don’t let her own anymore moments in your precious life.

 
Life is wonderfully short. We have so much to do with so little time.  Fill it with good stuff….


One love

DRK xxx 

Women’s Greatest War

Today I feel sad. Deeply sad, not in a depressing way but sad in a connected way. I feel sad for the women in the world who spend their time being mean to other women. I feel sad that there is constant verbal abuse towards women about women by women and behind other women’s backs. I don’t understand this. This is not a life designed to keep women at war. This is a life – our own – and we all have our own shit to fight for, within ourselves not amongst ourselves.

Is this war we insist on something built-in inside us? Something we can’t control? I’m calling bullshit. Bull-fucken-shit it’s out of our control! We own the rights to our thoughts, to our filters and to our trashy potty mouths! What’s even more disturbing is listening to our beautiful daughters doing the same thing in the playground. The playground at Kindy where the four year old girls tell another little girl that she cant play with them because she’s not pretty like them. You wonder how they can be so mean and judgmental but then you turn to listen to the mirrored conversations of their thirty something mothers under the verandah…

So is it built-in or do we learn this behaviour from our own mothers and the women around us? The distasteful looks, the judgements, the comparisons. The nastiness about other women while they are not even there only to smile and be polite when they walk through the door. The lack of compassion they show for what other women may be going through. The lack of sincerity when they speak. The falsity in their voices. The judgement on bodies, wardrobes and choices in life. Do we consider this the norm? This is how you be a woman? Is this all the substance we have, that we are?

I find it terribly sad that women degrade other women so easily. That they put other women down. But isn’t it a reflection of their own insecurities? Isn’t it an ego boosting statement while the insecure sheep nod and smile? Isn’t it the narcissist polishing their perfection knob? And I feel sad knowing at times in my life I have participated. Deeply participated… I feel sad that I know that it was my insecurities, the driving force, behind my own cruelty. I feel sad that I didn’t change my filter sooner.

War

It’s like so many women are looking for a fight but avoiding confrontation at all costs. It’s like engaging in war, a war without a cause and the fight only involves trying to get people on your side but you can’t remember the reason why you starting warring in the first place. What are we fighting for? What does the winner receive besides an ego that is bigger, an ego that is placed on a pedestal, an ego that is worshipped but truly unloved. You can’t love a faked ego like you can love a real woman. Women against women is the ugliest war I have ever seen. It is based on nastiness, judgement and as many casualties as possible.

I don’t believe we should all live in harmony, hold hands and dance in koombahya but I do believe we can acknowledge when someone is not in tune with our song and just leave it at that. There is a woman in my life who drives me completely nuts and I am now fine with that. We have a history that I used to draw upon when I choose to feel a need to justify my disconnect towards her. But our history is just a story. A story that has been told for so long that I (and my therapist) have decided it is now finished. End of the final chapter. Book closed. She is, realistically, just not my cup of tea and that is totally OK. We don’t have to get along with everyone but we don’t have to bring those who we don’t ‘get’ down. If they are on a pedestal whether you put them there or not is no concern to you. The pedestal is imaginary. We are all born equal – society differentiates us.

So I do feel sad. A sadness that is connected to other women’s sadness. The victims and the narcissists. I feel sad that we can’t just all get along or be ok not to get along and agree on what is best for ourselves. That we can’t just accept, support, stop trying so hard and be real. Be open heartedly really fucken real.

Being real is awesome. Being real is authentic. Being real gives you clarity. Being real means being you and fuck me but there isn’t anybody else out there like YOU! Celebrate that! Celebrate that we are all different and that we don’t have to conform to fashion, size, success. We don’t have to be like any other woman but we can certainly pat them on the back and say “Well done Sista!”

Some of us are business entrepreneurs, working hard to climb a corporate ladder – I fucking salute your dedication, sacrifices and hard work. Some of us are successful mothers who keep our kids alive, in fact we breed the next generation, we feed them occasionally, maintain the house they trash and drink shitloads of coffee to keep up with it all – hey that’s me, I’m a fucken successful mother! Some of us are health freaks and live for raw food, wheatgrass shots and naked yoga – bless you thats great but vaginal discharge scares me! Some of us grow armpit hair, colour it and plait it all pretty like – not my thing but hey whatever floats your boat and yay for you being al-natural! We are all superbly different, seeking different things in our lives, defining successful via different means. We live and breathe for our own unique reasons and guess what??

THAT IS TOTALLY FUCKEN OK! OK?!!!

Warw

One Love DRK xxx

10 Cheeky Comebacks For When Someone Asks If You’re Pregnant BUT You’re not!

In the light of recent pregnancy comments about Princess Zara I was reminded of a lifetime of my own. As a mere ‘normal’ mortal, though, I am lucky not to have had my “is-she?-isn’t-she?” splashed across the internet and news feeds but I do wonder why there is this obsession with the woman body. I believe just like being “on a period” you should never ask a woman if she is pregnant. You should never ask when she is due and definitely never EVER have an opinion on her “baby” weight! We are women and weight is a very sensitive subject. It’s not hard though. Just keep your mouth shut.

Preggas

I’m generally two from left – except my boobs are bigger – unless it’s been a few days since visiting the toilet then I am definitely more a three or four.

If you, like me, have ever been asked these questions, if you have ever been in that mortifying and uncomfortable situation don’t hide yourself away. Don’t feel ashamed. Don’t visualise punching them in the face – and please don’t actually punch them in the face! Instead have a comeback. A fucking witty comeback topped up with good dose of sarcasm so people learn that it is NOT ok to assess a womans body or to make assumptions that we can’t simply be a little voluptuous or god-forbid bloated without having to be up-the-duff. Lets face it for those of us who can conceive it is an awkward situation and, at worst, it’s a throw-the-outfit-in-the-bin-and-never-wear-it-again embarrassment but for those who can’t have babies then it is just a heartbreaking moment in their life… A question they would give anything to answer “YES!” to …  A question and answer scenario they dream of, even when they are awake.

Lets raise the bar (or our eye level) and look at each other when talking together instead of analysing bumps and lumps. If you do feel the need to analyse bumps and lumps then do a breast check and by that I mean your own! Now doesn’t that seem much more important than insulting an unsuspecting and definitely not pregnant woman?!

OK so let’s talk about comebacks to particular questions. They must be delivered with shoulders back, head held high and a smirk on your face. No one needs to feel embarrassed in the skin they are in and typically, these questions come from people who mean well but lack any type of filter from brain to judgement to mouth.

Here we go………

Q1: How long have you got to go?

A: Well, I dropped a couple of laxatives a few of hours ago now so ummm any minute now I guess and then my five day old shit will be ready to explode!

tumblr_mi1inqYiK31r62pq6o1_500

Q2: Wow you must be ready to pop – how long now? 

A: Oh no I’m not pregnant but hey looks like your arse is about to have twins – congrats!

Q3: Oh my god you’re pregnant… Congrats!

A: Yes but don’t tell my husband – it’s not his!

Q4: OMG so-and-so told me you were pregnant – congrats!!

A: Shit! Am I? I better lay off the tequila shots and cigars!

Q5: When’s this one due?

A: I was just about to ask you the same question!

Q6: OMG! Are you preggas?

A: No but the night is still young!

Q7: Look at that belly! How far along are you?

A: Well I’ve been brewing this massive fart all morning but unfortunately you’ll need more than gas to help that mouth of yours!

Q8: Are you up the duff?

A: No. My boobs are always this awesome!

Q9: Oooohhh (points to belly) what are you hoping for?

A: A puppy that can burp the alphabet

Q10: I can’t believe you’re pregnant again!

A: Actually I’m not. I have a condition called “Fuck-You” – Google it.

Pregnant

Only ever assume a women is pregnant if a) you have x-ray vision (which you should be careful with as it can be harmful to the baby) or b) you physically see that baby emerging from her body! Otherwise shove that foot firmly back into your mouth and never utter those words again to any woman ever?! Got it? Get it? Good!

Now some wise words from the always effervescent P!NK, the woman I adore and may even consider leaving my husband and children for….

Pinks statement

Ahhhhh god I love her……

One love,

DRK xxx

Wednesday Is Love Day (totally WILD!)

As a mother of five you would expect me to be a pro at Mothers Groups! You would think that being a mother to at least one toddler at a time for the past 17 years would actually make me the Mothers Group CEO – fucking worldwide – by now!

But truth be told I have never been to a Mothers group….

Well actually, thats a lie.

I did go once but there were women and children all over the place!

There were Mums outside bitching about the Mums inside, there were kids, like, everywhere, climbing shit, hitting shit, snotting snot shit all over the place. There was whinging about who hadn’t made morning tea or brought the milk for the past 4 weeks and there was instant fucking coffee. I’d rather drink the piss the crazy little two year old just did at my feet than drink instant coffee. Yes I am a coffee snob! I believe if I am going to increase my heart rate, make myself feel like I’ve just popped an ecstasy pill and can conquer the world (or just my ironing pile) then I am damn well going to make sure that coffee is barista brewed. Barista coffee is heaven scent, it’s an art form, it’s sex in a cup – orgasm and all! Instant coffee rips you off. There’s no build up, no effort, there’s no love or post-coital cuddles. The only thing instant coffee is good for is pouring over vomit. True story! It absorbs the vomit smell and dehydrates it so you can just sweep it up – I’m assuming that will take days of drying though!

Coffee

Back to my one and only visit to a Mothers Groups … There was so much competitiveness – whose kid was doing what, who had the worst/best experience of someone else’s experience and just a whole lot of not listening to each other or pretending life and everything in it was awesome, including perfect husbands which we all know is bullshit. There is no such thing as a perfect husband (or wife), god bless them. Oh and did I mention there were a billion fucking kids! I know there would be nice Mothers Groups out there. I know I could have just got them on a bad day. I know that some of those chicks are actually really nice chicks and I fucking like them a lot! But it was just too much for me! Too much of a commitment, too much hard work, too much involvement of doing and remembering stuff.

fathers-group-what-to-expect-jpg

Then one day something fucking magical happened and it was something that really just unfolded on its own.

There was no forcing, no pressure, no strategy.

We created a Love Day – that day in the week we all look forward too, sometimes even need to fast forward to and quite simply LOVE. Wednesday is Love Day (WILD).

WILD is for women only. Kids can come, simply because they have to, but they have to go and play – like by themselves or with each other – you know like we had to do when we were kids. WILD started with like minded women who also happened to be my long term friends. We hang out, we force the children to move more than 50cm from our physical bodies (except for my two year old who is taking longer to detach his cute little toosh from my lap than the others – yay go Diesel!) and we fucken talk. Laugh. Vent. Cry. Counsel. We bake if we want too – which is never in my case – we cut up fruit if we can be arsed but we always, always have coffee – unless someone is detoxing or suffering from morning sickness then there’s a shitload of awesome Clean Tea in mismatched tea cups being poured!

It started innocently enough on any day of the business week that we were free. Then it moved to Wednesdays, permanently. We all agree this is the day we look forward to the most in the week. It’s our respite. There is just the four of us, normally, but it doesn’t mean others aren’t welcome. It’s cheaper than therapy and better than valium. Now we meet every Wednesday, occasionally on a Friday too and any other day in between that two of us are free at any one time.

We never have nothing to talk about. There are never any rules or restrictions. It is a love affair to rival the greatest love affairs of all time. We are all different yet we are all the same and we complement each other in ways that are really quite comforting and easy. There is no ‘trying’, no being careful with what you have to say, there are no wardrobe meltdowns because I feel that I have to compete with their gorgeousness – and that they totally are! There is also never any comparison of kids, their behaviours or abilities. In fact, we hardly remember we have them when we are together.

Mum

So I’ve decided Mothers Groups are not for me. They are too big, too impersonal, too focused on children and being a mother. WILD is the calm in the storm for me. It’s the normal in my crazy. It is my little life reprieve where I get to breath, feel like a woman and not just a mother. Wednesdays make me dust off my knees, refocus, refuel and regroup before the love/hate onslaught of motherhood continues. WILD makes me a better mother, a happier person and keeps me firmly and calmly seated in the roller coaster of life.

One Love

DRK xxx

Me and my WILD girls….. At other events not at WILD specifically!


We burnt the bra and then introduced spandex! 

Women of the world lets talk about the revolution or perhaps the evolution of us Betty Beavers! Let’s discuss where we are at in this women’s lib business and no I’m not talking about growing the hairs on your legs or plaiting your underarm hair. I’m not even discussing whether to wear or not to wear a bra (but just so you know I wear a bra otherwise I’d have two sets of knees). Let’s instead discuss suffocation. Suffocation of the woman body….

I’m going to ask you this very important question. Think hard before you answer – if absolutely necessary……

Have you ever walked into a department store, (ok I know the answer to that is yes but it is also not the question) strolled past the male underwear section and seen any hint of spandex? Any form of shape wear? Have you ever seen racks and racks of suck-me-in options all with marketing on the front of beer bellied men transformed into flat 6 pack stomach gods? Have you?

Seriously, have you?!!

Who do we suffocate our bodies for? Who makes us feel like we have pour ourselves into this spandex shape wear or more realistically complete an ugly ballerina workout just to get into it in the first place. It is not for our husbands, ok initially maybe it was to attract a man but it’s all got to unravel at some point doesn’t it! So I ask the question more deeply this time… Who do we wear spandex for?? Isn’t the honest to goodness most truthful answer for other women?!

I know the many times I have worn suckerer-innerers has been on girls nights, double dates or to weddings. When it tragically and theatrically goes on my husband does his deadly here-she-goes-again eye roll and mumbles something about how fucken sexy I am right now – I totally detect some sarcasm in his voice! My reply “Honey get the surgical scissors out tonight I’m going to need them when I get home!” Which also usually means he’s not going to “get any” when I get home because my intestines are screaming foul play after being compressed for hours upon hours!

I have recently stopped suffocating myself but for years I wore compression garments all for the illusion of a flat stomach, shapely thighs and a dimple free arse that’s half the size… This is an illusion created for other women who are also creating the same illusion. Not all women participate in the smoothing effect but there’s quite a few of us if we are truly honest. Compression garments are never worn for my hubbie anymore coz I’m pretty sure, from memory, he’s seen me naked and vulnerable at the many stages of my female life including the ever invasive pregnancy testing, the many scratch and sniffs I subjected myself to (better known as stretch and sweeps) and, of course the super sexy ‘let’s push a watermelon sized human being out of a smaller sized penis hugging canal while trying not to shit on the table’ childbirth viewings.

I have owned, at some point or another, every type of suck-me-in’s too. The full length pants that lift and firm your arse, compress your thighs while also flattening your stomach. I have the knee and mid-thigh length versions of that too – in nude and black of course. I also have the knicker ones but my arse spills out the sides and that sorta shit is really too hot to handle. I’ve also had the singlets, the over boobs and under boobs ones. I’ve had the pants with caffeine infused into the material to help you lose weight while looking like you’d already lost weight! I had the matching top in that one too. While none of these versions have ever given me a completely seamless looking figure and it’s completely imfuckingpractical during sweaty Australian summers, it has been many times that I had wished for an ankle-to-breast-to-wrist compression garment …. But then I realised I’d be wearing a wetsuit – which in fact is perfect for the Australian summer.

So back to the initial question – do you see men wearing these garments to please other men? How utterly ridiculous! These are lucrative businesses run by other women who keep on making money from our own insecurities and our harsh judgments of other women’s bodies! We are participating in a ridiculous “perfection” culture where “just as you are” is never good enough. I bravely took me and my little donut belly out last night and she was free from any intestinal sufferance. She wiggled and jiggled when I walked and laughed. I occasionally hid her behind my bag or my hand or pressed her against the table or tucked her into my jeans which then gives you a camel toe let me give you the tip but we were free to breath, my intestines weren’t squooshed up and sitting in my throat (talk about bad breath!) and well it was kinda liberating. Scary but liberating. Another bonus I got to pee in 2 minutes! Yep in and out just like that! No ballerina dancing to get some unhygienic labia suffocating material over the bits of my body some entrepreneurial sells to the women world as unsightly!

What’s next ladies – shape wear for our daughters? Let’s hope not!

One love,

DRK xxx