How not to say sorry

No more sorry’s….


I won’t say sorry for a messy house anymore. I’m doing my best trying to keep it clean but then it gets undone. Every. Fucking. Time… Three. Times. A. Day… #sorrynotsorry

I won’t say sorry for my body when you fake tan me, see me in a bikini or give me a Pap smear. My body is my temple and sometimes that temple eats cake and fries… #loveroffries #sorrynotsorry

Saying sorry for my creased up clothes is a thing of the past. My iron was faulty – faulty as in I didn’t have fucking time this morning to care about my outfit but the kids are done. #ironingsucksballs #sorrynopenotsorry

I won’t say sorry for being a little bit cranky this morning. My smile and my charm was smashed through the window during one of the eightieth times I got up to my child. I can hardly see through the sandpaper in my eyes let alone care about making sure a fake smile is plastered on my face. Plus I haven’t had my coffee yet. #gothefucktosleepsorrynotsorry #coffeestat

I won’t say sorry for being on my phone while my child plays in the sandpit. He’s happy. I’m happy. What more do you fucking want. #stopjudging #sorrynotsorry

I won’t say sorry when we are in each other’s way at the supermarket. Stay left dickhead! #roadrulesapply #stopsayingsorry

You won’t be hearing me say sorry for saying how challenging things feel at times. It’s called venting. It’s called getting it off your chest. It’s called getting over it and moving on. I know that things could be worse. Trust me I know. I’ll pull my big girl panties up once I’ve unloaded. #whinger #sorrynotsorry

Sorry. Nope not sorry at all.

One love

DRK xxx

Seven Days

We’ve discussed this before. We’ve had this conversation. But nothing is more real about this chat then it is right now. Because over the last three weeks while we have worried about our weight, yelled impatiently at our children, huffed and puffed out at the series of frustrating road users a man I know has been counting down his days. Not his days til Christmas or days til his next holiday but the days of his life.

Three weeks ago he was told he had a month to live and while we all can’t wait to get into bed at night only to wake up the next day bleary eyed can we even come close to imagining how those nights and those mornings clicked by way too quickly for him.

Yesterday marked one week to go. 7 days or there abouts. How fucken unfair. How frustrating. How absolutely devastating. I cannot even fathom how this feels for him, for anyone dealing with this same mortality. I cannot put into words what each day drawing to an end would feel like to this man. And I can’t tell you how sad I selfishly feel.

How do you grieve the life you had, that life you have to let go? How do you do that? How the fuck do you do that! How do you sum up your life and ‘tie up loose ends’ when the biggest loose end is that you don’t want to fucken die! You want to live! You want to fall in love again and again. You want to explore the world. You want to hug every member of your family. Thank every one of your friends for every moment you’ve ever shared. Say sorry. Take your kids on a spectacular holiday. Boldly quit your job and train for your dream job.

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One week.

Seven days.

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What is really important in that moment of severely shortened time? What becomes the main focus in your life? Who would you spend your time with? How would you feel?

I don’t write this to bring on guilt for those who have just cried about a frustrating yet precious child. Not written to bring shame for the materialistic lives we lead. Not to instil fear in our own mortality. Just words written for a man I know with seven days left on his life calendar. His LIFE calendar. Just words from my heart because I feel so sad. For him. For his family. For the “what ifs”. For the challenges and unfairness of it all. For the fact he has just written his own eulogy which is not done for premeditated fun but out of a requirement to him and his final words of life. LIFE.

So I ask of you be grateful today, if even only for a moment. Be gracious over the next seven days in a compassionate way to all those on this similar and terminal journey. What we take for granted is a blessing to others. Less whinging, more hugging.

One Love,
DRK xxx

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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

Social Media – Ruining One Relationship At A Time

Never write a message when there are feelings attached because, as I have just learnt, things get misconstrued. You may deliver a message from your heart but the tone of it can be read in a very different way and then, well then shit really hits the fan.  I’m not one for confrontation and I certainly would never intentionally hurt another human beings feelings but today I did. I did, unintentionally, all because my “worries” and my “concerns” weren’t translated as I had intended and were interpreted as accusing, mean and angry. 

Making someone “see” something you see is hard at the best of times but when they are in an armoured fuck-you vehicle then you stand no chance at all and it’s best to just walk away, nah fuck it you better run! No matter how much it hurts! No matter how many years of friendship that are about to be tossed to the curb awaiting rubbish collection.

Today I’ve learnt to buffer the whole truth and nothing but the truth coz so help me God it doesn’t lead to anywhere I ever want to be again. Today I’ve learnt to keep my stupid mouth shut and continue to avoid confrontations at all costs even if it means not being true to what I’m really thinking. I am shaking and I am in shock. I feel like I’ve just witnessed myself and my friend in a car accident, all unfolding before my eyes in slow motion. I’m in shock because I have never, ever been spoken to by anyone, ever in my life like I was today. I have never been so misinterpreted, so misunderstood. I have never been told that someone regrets having had a friendship with me. I have never been told I am a nasty piece of work. And I don’t believe it for a second. I’ve spent my life caring for others, in fact I care for others more than myself most of the time. Sure I’ve bitched and whinged about people throughout my lifetime. I’ve vented to my friends about my friends or my kids or my husband and all back around again. Hell I’ve blogged about it numerous times. Sometimes I’ve been a shitty absent friend when caught up in my own crap but I’m not vengeful, spiteful or nasty. I am not a piece of shit and I would never, intentionally, hurt someone I care about. I hope she’s ok.

So today I learnt a lesson. In fact, I learnt many. Firstly, never, ever ask a friend if they unfriended you even if you know you were friends before and now suddenly you’re not – it may be a technological-fuck-up and not a human-decision-error. Never ask them that question because what happens from there is a series of reactions that don’t lead to a very good outcome. A simple question but not a simple outcome. I also learnt never to rely on social media to keep friendships safe because social media is the most unsocial way to connect with anyone ever. I learnt when being honest, filter at all costs! Honesty is not always well received especially if it’s not asked for. And finally I learnt if in doubt pick up the phone and talk. Get in your car, drive around, knock on their door and ask face to face. Never, ever rely on social media to relay a message especially when there are feelings attached to it, ever!

One love

DRK xxx

“Never, EVER, rely on a message to convey the emotions of the words it carries… Ever.” ~ Cristy O’Brien

A year of lasts. A year of firsts.

This year someone I know is celebrating their ‘lasts’. Their last birthday, their last Easter, their last long weekend in June. 

Odds are they will not see another one.

Odds are they will be “lucky” if they make it til Christmas. 

Odds are a year of “lasts” is a wild roller coaster ride that no one wants to get on. In fact no one goes on it voluntarily. This is a coaster ride that starts with confusion, disbelief and, in misdiagnosed cases, anger. ‘The fight’ then kicks in. This is where you will do anything, anything, to beat it, to prove ‘them’ wrong. To make sure you’ve uncovered and discovered any treatments or options or miracle cures. Then the frustration of it all boils over followed by that deep emitting sadness that maybe, just maybe you actually won’t make it and finally, and hopefully, acceptance. 

This is the roller coaster just for the terminally ill. The one the family goes on is similar but mixed up and around a bit. The acceptance of the fight ahead is the first initial supporting role, the confusion and the frustration of not being able to save them follows, then that deep unforgiving sadness when they leave, followed by anger, guilt, confusion, the feelings of unfairness, the questionable ‘what ifs’. Acceptance comes much, much later for the ones left behind.

A year of lasts is the year where your mortality stares you in the face each and every moment of each and every day. A year of lasts will see some fighting it every step of the way. Others who will write their bucket lists and hurriedly, joyfully get those things ticked off. Others choose to use their last year to inspire others, to leave a mark – their mark – on the world. But however, and whoever, it is that are living their ‘lasts’ they will be living it as if all of these moments are also their firsts. Because the simple things we take for granted have a very different look when they are stripped away, when they’re bare naked, raw and mortal. Life looks different through the eyes of the dying. Yet aren’t we all? Dying that is.

  

If you’ve said for years how you’d love to take your Dad to a live football game, just do it. If you’ve always dreamt of hot air ballooning with your husband, book it and just fucken do it. Make it happen. Whatever it is. Why wait til the day you are told you only have 12 months to live. Why wait until it is too late. It’s time to look at your own mortality in a most positive way. We are all dying. We all won’t make it. So what are we all doing with our lives! Whose fucking living it?!

One love,

DRK xxx

  

Lets Get Real

Ok Superwomen I’ve been hearing lots of stories about mean girls lately and I’m not talking teenage girls, I’m talking big knicker ladies!! I’ve heard that these women are cementing themselves on pedestals and talking down to their fellow ladies …. This. Is. Not. On!

These women are new to the ‘mean girl’ world which makes them dangerous because their egos are massive! They think that they’re something pretty darn special and not in a good way because they’re under the impression that their ‘something’ is more special than the other Superwomen around them. BUT let me say this ladies – by being mean to other Superwomen you become less of a something – instantly! You weren’t born with nor have you developed an additional ‘awesome’ gene. You haven’t been given extra birth rights that makes sure your shit doesn’t stink coz, let’s be honest, it does – just same as the Queens or the Superwoman you just had a dig at.

It’s so cliche but it really is true, that beauty radiates from within. Believing you are ugly though, is when you make a decision that your appearance means more then your values, that your looks mean more then the goodness and love you offer to the world. It means that you judge yourself based on the judgements of other people and their ideals of what beauty is. It means you judge others because to deem yourself ugly you have to judge another to be beautiful first….

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What I do believe is that confidence is damn sexy but ego and vainness is neither sexy nor beautiful and ego’s that revolve around thinking you are better then everyone else is the ugliest trait I know. There is nothing sexy about an ugly, conceited, mean driven ego.

But now I’m going to be honest, most of my life I have considered myself ugly. Why? Because I compared myself to what is stereotyped as beautiful and I do not measure up. I am not thin, toned, tanned, photoshopped perfection. But once I peel back the pictures and pedestals, when I do connect with my inner self I see it … The ‘real’ beauty and not in aesthetic way. And if I had the choice of people remembering me as a kind, generous, loving soul or being a fake superficial mean girl then the decision is easy. I’d choose substance over narcism any day.

So here’s my advice – stop being mean and creating a world of comparisons and judgments because it is setting women back. While we are making these changes let’s raise our girls to be strong, kind and feminine. To shift the focus on looks and status and teach them to intelligently accept and love each other and especially themselves because while we waste time fighting amongst each other we stunt our growth in the big wide world.

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Now go, pull up your big girl knickers, clip on that cape and when you find someone standing over you on their fake insecure little pedestal send them love and fly away, they wont fly after you – they can’t because their rose smelling shit has them weighted down.

One love
DRK xxx