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

The Reality of Parenting

I recently went on a holiday, a five day holiday, without my kids, without my big kid – aka my husband – and without any concern for anything other than myself and enjoying time with my girlfriends. Five days where I didn’t have to think about shitty nappies, who hit who, what to cook for dinner or more so what not to cook for dinner, which shirt I should wear, hey one that doesn’t have dirty handprints on it or mashed up banana glued to it is good enough, who has soccer practise, tennis, basketball, football, work or a project due. I didn’t have to think about washing, hanging, ironing and putting away for 7 people. I didn’t have to vacuum and mop only to have it look like it needed a vacuum and mop moments later. I didn’t have to hear that dreaded question every stay-at-home mum hates … “What’s for dinner?” Or the even more painful “I’m bored.”

It was a holiday that I desperately needed as I face challenges with my teenager as he turns into an arsehole …. ahem sorry of course I really meant to say, as he turns into a real life teenager (or pre-man or better yet a pre-man-pre-man). Challenges that include dealing with a 17 year old girl who is in year 12 and will only settle for A grades – yes it’s admirable but it is also a highly stressful aspiration. Challenges with that prementioned 14 year old boy and his preteen 11 year old brother who looks up to him and his behaviours. Attention for the wild and crazy and all consuming world of a 5 year old and the tantrums and tribulations of a non-speaking 2 year old. Yes the fact he isn’t talking worries me and I’m getting help… Oh hey let’s not forget also the 39 year old male who needs my love and affection too. Sometimes he needs it more than the others all put together. So with testosterone overload a girls getaway was totally called for!

My holiday consisted of all the things a womans holiday should. There was plenty of shopping, walking, eating, wining (as in actually drinking wine not listening to my children whine), seeing talented people in talented shows, watching a live football game – yes I’m interested in football … C’mon there are hot men running around in teeny tight shorts – need I justify this anymore?! And of course the best ingredient of our holiday was the laughter. Real side splitting, chest hurting, stomach-muscle-cramping type of laughing. It was the best medicine for my overwhelmed heart and mind.

On our last day I knew it was all coming to an end. We wandered around for over 2 hours trying to find a place worthy to have our last supper at. We knew it had to be awesome so we could fill up with a happy ending to an awesome holiday and where we finally settled was well worth the calories burnt and the blisters earnt. We spent the evening eating Italian, being served by an Italian stallion and we drank plenty of Italian fluids – white wine, red wine and champagne. We laughed and laughed and laughed. We laughed until we were crying. Until we were unable to even speak. Until we thought everything was really funny and risked being kicked out of a Melbourne restaurant for well laughing too much!

The next morning we came home and my children welcomed me with open arms. Ok *inserting brutal honesty here* my 14 year old grunted at me – there was no open arms but I did get hugs and kisses from everyone else followed by “what did you buy us?”. My husband puffed out his chest when he saw me because he had ‘done it’ – ‘it’ being my role for a whole five days but not with all five kids I need to point that out coz it really isn’t the same BUT I am so thankful he stepped up to be a single Daddy for me so I could go away! Then the morning after my arrival home he left for his working week away and of course my real reality hit. In fact truth be told that reality up and kicked me in the gut, then it quickly filled my head with all the stuff that it had been missing and I cried, a lot. Not because I didn’t want to be there with my family but because what I do day in and day out is hard – don’t judge me! And so the day after the day before the onslaught began – packing for the 14 year olds camp, football games that coincided with a 2 year olds sleep, two big projects due, birthday parties to attend, presents to buy, appointments to get to, school runs, sports practice, lunches, early mornings, fussy eater dinners and oh did I mention washing. Fucking washing – take me to live at a nudist colony please!

Reality bites

When you go on holidays there really should be a law to say you must slowly reintroduce yourself into the ‘normal’ world in which you live. Kind of like weaning. Weaning yourself into your regular old self, with regular old chores and a billion regular things to remember. And while I may sound completely ungrateful for my life I’m not. My children make me and they break me. They teach me patience and how to not completely lose my shit. My role as a stay-at-home mum is completely frustrating, rarely rewarding and certainly never with commendations. But I have an amazing family who I can only hope and pray will grow into happy adults. That my children will know that I loved them and tried my best every day, that I never gave up and I may have struggled but that was only coz I wanted better for them. I hope they will understand and accept my imperfections and my desperate need to escape them for a five day holiday. I hope they know that my ‘reward’ is their future happiness. Their contentment in life will bring me the greatest reward of all.

My vision, a hundred years from now (ok maybe just half of that), has my husband and I sitting on our rocking chairs on our front porch reminiscing and laughing at all the times we nearly killed our offspring – it’s ok I am exaggerating, laugh with me. We will wrinkle up our noses that are already well and truly wrinkled and observe how funny it is to see our little darlings with little darlings of their own #karma.

I can only hope my children will be a better parent and a better person than me. It’s called evolution right? If so, then I know all the sacrifices, all the giving, all the tears and trying will be worth it. Parenting is a tough gig. I don’t know any gig that is harder and it really hits home when they become teens because you know adulthood is only just around the corner and all you have taught them or haven’t taught them is about to show up, for real. So fingers crossed I’ve done ok.

Reality struggle

So here’s my mission for you Superwomen…. Find a parent, whether you know them or not, someone who is doing it tough or appears to be struggling right now. The one who smiles and says she’s ok, the one looks overwhelmed, the one whose toddler is screaming on the floor in the supermarket while the mother is copping judgemental stares from fellow shoppers, she has bags under her eyes and the weight of the world on her shoulders. Your mission is to go up to her and tell her she is doing an awesome job. A lady once said that very thing to me as I dealt with a tired, unruly 18 month old who did not want to sit in the trolley, who had snot from left nostril to chin and a blood curdling scream to welcome the Vampires. Those kind words from a stranger gave me the strength, that day, to pull back my shoulders, to keep calm and to not feel like a complete failure. It’s really important to spread the parental pats on the back, to share the enormous weight a parent carries and to let them know they are a great parent and that it’ll all be ok.

You are doing ok xx

One love

DRK xxx

 

Rewriting Your Story

I’ve been talking to a “professional” lately and in the two hours I have spent with her (yes just two hours) I have connected more dots in my lifes’ story and crazy life cycles than I have ever connected before and now things are actually making sense. My vision is clear and now that I have the ability to step outside and look in from a very different viewpoint I can accept things for what they truly are. This different viewpoint changes “my story” completely. Things that I thought mattered, things that I thought defined me are well … different, they still matter somewhat, they have still shaped me but the depth in which they is no longer plausible.

Granted parts of my past have been less than ideal, yours may have too, and it’s true a lot of that shittiness was because of the choices I made as an immature child. An immature child craving attention. But I’ve realised there were a few traumatic things that were not entirely my choice. Those situations were not a choice made by a mature woman but of a 14 year old child. Never-the-less I have repented for 20+ years. I have spent this massive portion of my life feeling guilty, bad, not good enough and ashamed of myself. Embarrassed and unable to move forward in my life out of fear for the repercussions of my past. Fearing that my choices would come back to haunt me in my future. I now know that I have hindered my future by living in the shadow of my past. My fears have stopped me from truly being in the present – often or ever! My fears have also lead me to be in situations and with people who reflect these negative feelings about myself.

These people talk over me, interrupt me and are hardly ever really there with me. It’s like I’m not even talking sometimes. Sometimes it seems as if they are sitting in an empty room and not in a chair right beside me. They have their own opinions and mine, if different, are shut down time and time again, completely invalid and unimportant. They can give advice but can’t take it and I continually have to pat their ego. But I’m done stroking it.


Today I felt different. Today I had a voice. I had broad and strong shoulders, my head was held high and I nodded to the world that yes indeed I was ready to move forward with my life. I am ready to surround myself in real joy and faith. Faith in myself. Faith in my actual creative talents. I’m ready to support my personal desires for the future and more importantly actually be in the present moments which ultimately leads to my inner happiness and calm. Yay! Calm sounds awesome!! I am not afraid to release my “real self” for the world to see. I’m not afraid of what they may think of me. I am a good person. I know that now.


I am not who I was when I was 14 (15, 16,  and so on and so forth). I am not that young girl out there making mistakes, hurting those around her, in particular her parents, the people who brought her into this world. I am not the terrible sister of a dying boy. I am not an ugly freckled face girl who had a crush on someone who thought they were better than her. I am not the single mother of three divorcee, the failure, the family embarrassment. I am not the friend who will continually try hard for your friendship/love/attention. I am walking away with my head held high, almost guilt free, leaving the past in the past.


I have spent years/decades, suffering for my “sins” but before my life is over, before my opportunity passes I am sticking my middle finger up (as I may often do in times like these) and I am saying: “Fuck you fear, regrets and guilt”, “YOU are all holding me back and I choose to move forward like a true champion. One motherfucking step at a time!” I choose to keep these wheels rolling and to keep moving forward. To keep my smile glistening while my head is held high. I choose to heal, forgive and do better.

We all get that choice.

Every day is a new beginning. Tell those “passengers” in your brain to politely shut the fuck up. You don’t need them to bring you down telling you how useless/unloved/terrible/fat/ugly you are. Who are they and what right do they have to define you? You have a choice to quieten them. Not by talking over them or by enrolling in an argument with them, not even by performing a magic vanishing trick on them. You need to begin the quietening simply by ignoring them. By making a conscious choice to keep moving forward regardless of how much they heckle you. The more steps you take, the more positive moves you make the closer you will get to a smooth and quiet ride. And don’t we all deserve that?

One love

DRK xxx

Weeding my way to true happiness…

Life has been kind to me. I’ve been blessed with two wonderful parents who are respectful of one another and still in love to this day. They raised me in a loving home with grounded morals and life values. I have three older brothers who protected me, let me hang out with them and their mates and who inspire me, each in different ways. I have awesome friends, many new and endearing ones and special longtime, lifetime ones too. I live in a beautiful house, I always have enough food on the table and I can run, walk, carry my children and breathe fresh air into my healthy lungs everyday.

I am lucky.

Some times in my 30 plus years though I’ve felt ripped off. Not good enough. Felt that life had been unfair to me. I have had some days, some weeks even where I’ve only seen the glass as half empty. I’ve felt sorry for myself coz I wasn’t richer, skinnier, faster, smarter, prettier. I had friends who were toxic and draining on my emotions. I drank too much, smoked too much, ate too much. I saw my parenting as a failure and I was always too ready to give up.

Over time I have invested in myself. Books, courses, physical challenges, many deep and meaningful conversations. Over time I have learnt how to weed my garden. To clear it of things that didn’t serve me. That didn’t make me feel wholesome, kind or safe. That made my life seem hard, unfortunate or not worthy. I’ve overcome grief, guilt, self-sabotage. 

Today my garden is flourishing.

One love,

DRK xxx

  

Exploding Love

New parents are totally as adorable as newborns. You can spot them a mile away. The awkward pram moments, the fussing, the uncertainty spread across their face, the tired elated smiles and of course the teeny tiny baby. I love it. I miss it. The newness that is.

I’ve always been newborn mad – just not so keen when they grow up and starting talking back. I love the way newborns smell, how they rely holy and solely on you, I love their little cries and all their ‘first’ little moments. Newborns make my heart want to explode with love and sometimes I think it actually will – explode with love that is. I wish I could bottle it and spray it all around the world so that this pure love fills the hearts of everyone. I know, I know, how soppy and sentimental of me but alongside P!NK, newborns just make my heart sing!

But that’s not what I came here to write about today because even though I sound super clucky and it seems as though I am about to announce (another) pregnancy I feel it’s very important to say that I will never have another newborn of my own… And I am grateful for that because I have five healthy children already! But it does mean I get to love the newborns of my friends.

I came here today because I feel so much love for a little guy who I’ve never met and who has recently arrived. I love his mother – in a friend-way not creepy-way – so its only fair that I’m totally in love with him too. He’s precious, he’s tiny and he’s premmie. He is also strong, determined and he is, well I’m throwing this out there, perfect. Absolutely perfect.

How can one be so perfect? How can someone so little steal your breath away? I remember when my number 4 was born, my littlest one in size and with a serious medical condition. I remember how I could sit and stare at him all day. Not being able to hold him was painfully draining but I never got bored just hovering around him. I never wanted to walk away and leave his side. Even with the three hourly ‘milk room’ trips where I’d be plugged in like a jersey cow spending up to 30 minutes each side trying to get some milk out he never, not ever left my thoughts. Other mums would come in, five minutes tops, and then walk out with 180mls meanwhile (back at the ranch, the really dry drought ridden ranch) I left with a syringe of 2.5mls or under. It was pretty pitiful and that 2.5mls was my largest milk delivery the entire time!!

My number 4 was the epitome of a miracle to me and I know my friend will be feeling exactly the same. All babies are miracles and love is love but these little tiny ones are just even more special. More miraculous. You cannot, as a parent, fall in any more love than you do with them. It’s a love that is all encompassing. A love that blows your mind. So when I think of my friend and the new little guy in her life my heart fills to the brim and explodes a little on the inside. A little miracle. A little ray of lovely sunshine. A little bundle of love.

Now go and hug your babies, no matter how big they are. If you haven’t been blessed with babies yet go and hug your mother or your father or both because they will have that exploding love thing happening all over you!!

One love,
DRK xxx

Day 12 – It’s Happening …. Clickedy, Click

Have you ever read articles on weight loss where people say something along the lines of “it just clicked” – cut to the amazing before and after shots???

Well I have … heaps and heaps and heaps and it annoys the crapola out of me! It’s so frustrating when you’re a dietaholic, like me, and you hear that there was this miraculous ‘click’ for other people who have struggled with their weight too yet for some reason you haven’t heard it, felt it, seen it or touched it for yourself. And I’ve waited, trust me, I have waited AND waited for this clicking shit to happen.

I wonder when they say it do they mean that it was a definitive click that just materialised out of thin air and then they were cured? Or was it a series of clicks because these before and after photos are deceiving to a visual person like me. To me it looks as though one day they woke up overweight, then something clicked and the next morning they were slim! That. Does. My. Fucking. Head. In!!!!

BUT ……

Of course there is a but ….. Isn’t there always?!

I’ve notice changes in the last 12 days. Changes other than the 4.5kg loss (yes I’m bragging). Nice little changes that may be ever so subtle clicks. Like the rarely-there cravings for chocolate and my ability to talk the odd one out of eventuating. Or the teeny little slip-up that stays a teeny little slip-up and doesn’t turn into a guilt induced oh-well-I-fucked-it binge. I am drinking lots of water – in fact, I am craving it. I am finding the word ‘no’ rolls off my tongue easier and I don’t feel completely deprived when I say it.

It’s kinda awesome. It kinda feels like the beginning of something bigger for me and maybe my problem all along was that I was ‘waiting’ for the click when I should have gone out and activated the fucker myself!

Have you heard the click? Are you one of those who has an awesome ‘before’ & ‘after’?

I want to have awesome ‘b&a’ photos – just for me 🙂

One love

DRK xxx

 

 

Don’t Miss Me While I’m Gone

I am going on a mini-getaway! I am flying the coop and I am leaving the children in charge of the husband … I’ve told him just to roll with the punches. I will probably come home and find him tied to a tree, house trashed and the kids running wild and free! But thats ok coz I am getting away! I am having a break and I am going with friends who are also NOT bringing their children.

So, what are you going to do without me for a few days? Probably nothing different then you normally do. I wonder if you’ll even notice that I’ve gone BUT I thought I’d still come and say goodbye. I haven’t even packed my bags – hell I don’t even care if I come home in the same outfit I left in!

Now a little warning: if you see distress smoke or SOS signals from Australia it’ll just be my husband reaching out for help … Don’t help him, seriously, he will survive! Hope the kids run amok 🙂

a-making-your-husband-do-something-for-the-kids-funny-quotes

See you Sunday Superwomen!

One love

DRK xx

Working Shit Out ….

What do you do when you don’t know what to do? How do you figure it out?

I am so busy with a full household and with a full household comes a full schedule and with a FIFO husband comes a fucken full schedule. I barely have time to do anything on top of the necessities let alone spend time finding out what it is I really want to do. Even since giving up Facebook with all my extra time I have now started blogging daily (yep, loving it) but I have already let slip some household duties, namely ironing, so I am now overloaded with ironing piles – now remember I have five children right so skimping on ironing even just for one day is bad …. really bad! Also I am not vacuuming every day as I usually would and I have only mopped once this week – which may not sound bad but it’s not my usual way of housewife-ing and again lets just remind you that I have five kids – four of which are stinky dirty boys!

If I had more time (or was more organised) I would have weekly menus, shopping lists ready to go, a de-cluttered home (yes the ironing would be done), I’d exercise more to have the figure that I desperately want, and I’d have a plan of what I want to do in my life. So I need to be organised to be organised right?! Maybe this is fairly common for stay-at-home/working mums because during the whole ‘giving’ and ‘being’ we forget who we are and we become confused as to what it is we should be doing as opposed to what we want to be doing but then that would be totally selfish right?!

So I asked myself an important question and quite possibly a pointless one …. Q: If time and money weren’t an issue what would I do?? Really what would I do? A: Well, my dream is to renovate old character houses, decorating them in styles and themes that I love and then I would on sell them and they would be smokin’ red hot because I have some awesome ideas and concepts! I would write a best selling novel because I have so many friggin’ cool stories locked away in my creative mind. I would holiday in the sunshine coz I like it all sunshiny and warm, hell I’d have a holiday house where I would go to write. I would inspire others to live life – I don’t know how I just would. I’d read a book in a day, a whole freakin book! I’d have a personal yoga instructor and an ironing person and a chef and a person who comes in every day and puts new sheets on my bed! I knew I should of been born a princess!

Not sure it is helpful to think of these things and I think I am done now having a whinge for now …

I would love to hear your dreams and goals – come on, fucken inspire me Superwomen!!!

One Love

DRK xxx

All Grown Up

I can’t believe time can be so variable. When you are in pain or awaiting important news time seems to slow down. To tick by like it has nothing better to do than procrastinate it’s ticking. Then in other circumstances, and generally in hindsight, time flies. It flies by so suddenly like its a part of the speed of light.

And this is very true for my life as a parent. Especially as I have just experienced my daughters Year 12 Ball. And ball I did. I balled like a baby. For many reasons. She’s my only girl. She’s my eldest. She is nothing like me at that age (which is a good thing, a really good thing). She had endured a pretty shitty few weeks leading up to her night – confusion which lead to heartbreak, a mean teacher (this kid loves school so that says a lot) and old friends who decided they would turn against her, bitch about her and spread rumours.

Then a week before her ball her dress finally arrived and it turned out it was a curtain disguised as a terrible looking curtain. Her shoes arrived two days later and were a size too small. Five days before her ball we ordered a new dress… Three days before her ball we realised it was coming from the UK (we are in Oz). 27 hours before her ball we had a spare 8 dresses kindly donated if we needed them from some of my awesome friends. 26 hours before her ball her new dress arrived – yay! 25 hours before her ball we realised it didn’t fit – boo…. 8 hours before her ball we had it altered by a sewing magician. Then we borrowed some shoes from a gorgeous beach babe friend of mine who is now how I see my daughter growing up to be – they even look alike. She had her hair and makeup done by (again) awesome friends of mine and voila ……

Tball

Isn’t she beautiful!

 

I have to be honest – because thats what I do best – it was not how I had envisioned my one and only daughters ball to be. I’d pictured a thousand times how her day would unfold and how she would feel that day…. I had, years prior once I realised she was definitely going to be my one and only girl, picked out a dress for her, a dusty pink dress, with sequins and feathers and lace and lots of feminine girlie pretties, created a folder with pictures of makeup, hairstyles and accessories. Yet she chose red, bohemian and sultry. She looked beautiful and it was totally her style, my boho baby! And I am proud! So very proud to have had this babe choose me to be her Mum. She’s intelligent, incredibly kind-hearted, creative and she loves to organise my pantry cupboard! Winning!

Me & T

My girl & her mumma bear (me…. derrr)!

Better get started on her wedding folder…. Forget bridezilla cue motherfuckinginlawzilla! Mwahahahahahahaha …..

One love

DRK xxx

Vagina Biscuits – Yep, Vagina Biscuits!

Sooooooooo ……………..

I ….ah… ummm…. well I googled ‘Vagina Biscuits’ the other day. Yep, Vagina Biscuits. Now I know you may be wondering why on earth I’d google something like that and I’ll get to the reason soon, promise. But it’s likely that you may be a lot wiser then me and already know what a Vagina Biscuit is OR what you think it is, like me who was pretty certain I knew what it was! And let me tell you what I thought it was and what it actually is according to google well lets just say VB’s are definitely not the kind of biscuits you’d share with Nana over a cup of tea!

vagina-cupcakes

Mmmm tasty!

 

 

Let me tell you the two things I learnt from my Google research ….

One: a vagina biscuit isn’t what I thought it was and
Two: a vagina biscuit REALLY ISN’T what I thought it was….

Which leads me to this concern…How did you get here? If you accidentally landed here then what on earth did you google to come across this post or perhaps more importantly, where have you been before you ‘innocently‘ arrived here? But assuming you are one of my loyal followers and that you are here honourably I’m telling you, especially if you are a little bit prudish like me – don’t Google Vagina Biscuits ………… Ok? You got it? Do. Not. Google. VB………………………………….

login-donot2

 

…………………………You just Googled Vagina Biscuits didn’t you?!

 

I said I would share the reason why I googled Vagina Biscuit in the first place but first lets shorten it to VB otherwise the word vagina is going to turn my M-rated site into an X rated 1.9.Hundred Johnny-came-lately site! So Googling started innocently enough. With a walk, a good friend and a conversation about her cervix or lack thereof. She was telling me all about these pessaries that she has to use to help her with her progesterone levels and to keep her cervix stable during pregnancy. Pessaries being the VB. A biscuit for your vagina – get it?!

As the words VB tumbled out of her mouth I giggled like a 9 year old who had just heard the word penis for the first time. “What the hell is a VB?” I had asked naively. Happy to share the details she indulged me and we both agreed that it would make a good blog … So when I got home I googled it, to get some inspiration and appropriate information, you know so I wasn’t spinning complete bullshit. Instead I ended up with a shitload of dirty words and words related to all things edible for example: fur burger, pink taco, passion fruit and my personal favourite (*insert sarcasm*) a meat wallet. There was also graphic images of VB, and a god awful song about VB on youtube by some disgusting teenager who obviously hasn’t been taught how to be a real man – his Mama would be real proud! There was nothing, and I do mean nothing, on pessaries, progesterone or cervixes!

The saying ‘learn something new everyday’ certainly applied on this particular day and if you want to know what the real definition of a VB is then head here…… http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=vagina+biscuit

This is for those who already knew what a VB was ... Now you too have learnt something new! I also thought a banana was appropriate ....

This is for those who already knew what a VB was … Now you too have learnt something new! I also thought a banana was appropriate ….

Well that’ll be enough dirty talk for one day ….

One love

DRK xxxx