so fucking annoying

Should of been 365 things that are
Fucking annoying

Think I would’ve found it easier
To come up with daily shit

For example, well 21 examples:

1. Windows 10 reminder update
2. The neighbours Bogan music
3. Holiday makers
4. ACCs, ‘please hold’, music
5. The cat
6. Ultra fast NOT broadband
7. Spell check, that respells FUCK into DUCK
8. There’s no FUCK off button for Facebook
9. Facebook
10. Randoms, that text the partner for favors, not me, the mean one
11. Pop up ads
12. The rip in my shorts
13. WordPresses new ‘New Post’ layout
14. Messenger
15. Junk mail
16. Fast drying paint pfft
17. No brownies
18. Running out of water
19. Battery in the tablet going flat
20. Charger for the tablet shitting itself
21. Spellcheck changing shitting into shutting and having to go back and change it!

Now that was easy peasy

I suppose no Buddhist monk
Ever said the old inner peace
And tranquility,
Was going to happen during the adverts



First Published on: Jan 21, 2016 @ 19:59 LOL and ❤


366 reasons to smile ~ +218.

+218. 🙂image




I can remember bits and pieces of events, but I can’t place them on an accurate timeline. That’s how 95ish to 99ish go. As I’ve re-read some of my stuff I know its in the wrong order…with dashes of stuff I had completely forgotten, till I dreamt it. But oh well…that’s the whole point of this…

I was introduced to underground hip hop during the ‘critter era’. It’s one of my bestest things from this wretched but enlightening era. While everything was a hazy cloud of drunkenness, fucking, drugs and pain…I found this. Not by accident of course. Through my brother.

I don’t talk about my brother much. It’s a bit of a sore soft spot. But he gave me these gifts…acceptance and hip hop.

I don’t mean gangster rap…or even rap. I mean thesaurus-ised lyrical flow. And beats. Head nodding, heart thumping, beats.

I found Method Man…Wu…Nas…Mobb Deep…Goodie Mob…Outkast…Lauryn Hill…Keith Murray…Onyx…Pharohe Monch…Gangstarr…Mos Def…Talib Kwali…Lost Boyz…The Arsonists…The High and Mighty…Black Star…Dilated Peoples…

I found old school DJing…turntables, mixer and vinyl.

And I was privileged to be introduced to my brothers lyrical talent. I became a bit of a ‘brothers performances’ groupie :). I loved watching and listening to him…I still do. He’s one of the most talented lyricists I know.

He accepted me where I was at. My little brother, who by the way is a few feet taller than me. He let me be. I didn’t treat his acceptance as I should have, probably. But I loved him as well as I could.

I had a critter ‘boyfriend’ at this stage. Boyfriend/partner is a very loose term for what we deemed as a sort of formal relationship. We lived together, argued together, screwed and drank. But I didn’t want titles or restraints and pretty much did as I pleased. He didn’t like that much. After I moved out and went flatting with other peeps…he broke in and ripped us off. The End Of That. Karma really.

I decided to study design…just randomly. The course involved beauty sectors, clothing fashion and design and modeling. Hmmmm. I did brilliantly in all areas except for hospitality lol…but I didn’t like it. I attended possibly half of the course…it was interfering with my drinking schedule…and still managed to come out on top. Mentally it wasn’t much of a challenge but it showed me what I didn’t like…and it did reignite my interest in design.

I visited my girls every other weekend; they came and stayed every other weekend. When they came, I removed everyone and everything that could harm them…or that wasn’t a good influence for them. No drinking, no drugs, no swearing. No critters. Pretty hypocritical really, but I knew enough to know what I didn’t want them round that kind of stuff. And I knew I still wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be able to protect them properly…this was my way of doing that.

I danced…whilst drinking…a lot..the dancing was probably a good outlet for me.

I flatted with a really good friend somewhere around this time…we were drinking mates, but also similar in personalities. We’re still friends today.

I was mates with my brothers girlfriend about this time. We drank together too. She had a stable kind of life though…and was wealthy. Nothing I was used to. She’d lend me her car to go and see the girls, who by this time, were living quite a distance from me. When they left with their father, it was on the understanding that they would be moving 20 minutes from where I was staying. That never happened. Instead they moved about 5 hours away. With no car, or transport, it made it hard going to see them or picking them up. But I did it…with the help of friends…and family. My ‘brothers girlfriend’ mate, had a mother that drank as much as I did…if not more. But she was socially ‘acceptable’…she held down a very productive job…even though she’d show up pissed…she had shitloads of money…and the ability to buy shitloads of very expensive alcohol.

Somewhere in here, my father showed up again. He had a habit of showing up every 7-10 years…to make an appearance…try to reconnect…blah blah. I did a bit of it…but was still pretty pissed off with him.

Around this time I became quite fascinated with figuring out the minds of rapists, serial killers, mass murderers and pedophiles. I get now, that I was trying to figure out, the ‘why’. I didn’t then. But it started a string of events that led to my degree in the end. But for this time, I read a lot of books…John Douglas, ex fbi profiler…Robert Ressler…Behavioural Analysis type stuff.

In the mean time, did I mention I drank ALOT.

This was a time that I spent a lot of time regretting and feeling guilty about. I tried to fancy it up and make myself sound remorseful and gutt wrenching-ly sorrowful And to some extent I have been just that. Especially for my babies.

There’s also another part of me that knows this is exactly what needed to happen to get me onto the next phase.

I’ve watched both my girls grow up; one has nearly made her way through her twenties, the other is just starting. And they have been unsettled…questioning…changing…uncomfortable…angry…elated…desperate…and I think that’s what your twenties are supposed to look like?! It is an awkward kind of uncomfortable time when your still figuring out who the hell you even are let alone where you want to be in 5 to 10 years time. And yeah, I’ve heard some peeps who can describe in fine detail where their lives are going to be during and after their twenties. And most of those peeps got a little fucked up along the way as life threw shit at them and they were desperately unprepared. So not to down the know it alls…but mistakes are all part of the process I think…and the twenties seemed to be filled to the brim with those.

For me…while I have guilt for some of the shit I did during this time…actually a lot of it…I know it was necessary. I needed to let rip.

First Published on: Jul 26, 2015 @ 00:53 ❤

when we sing

I used to cry every time I heard my girl sing. It became, and still is really, a long-standing joke for them now…little shits. But there is something that happens for every Mama I think, when you see or hear, the essence of your children. I don’t just mean those typical proud moments…when they walk, they go to school, they’re in a school play, they get an award…those proud moments. I mean those things, that they don’t see you see…the things that you watch, grin at, laugh at…cry at.

Well, when my girl sings, performs, I howl like a little girl lol. Some if it is because she sings in our native language …which none of us, in our family, speak fluently. I won’t go into the colonial ramble at the moment…but needless to say, our language was one of the first things the colonialist shredded from our culture. There has been a huge revitalization over the past 20 plus years, but it’s not a journey I have started yet. Partially my issues with…not being a ‘real Maori’…being to white…being side tracked with a few other fucked up issues throughout the years.

But I knew enough, by the time my children were with me again, to put my girls in a bilingual school. Which meant they were able to be part of their language and culture without feeling like it was foreign. My eldest embraced it. My youngest, embraced it and strangled the shit out of it!

There is something ancient that I feel when I hear the rawness of what is/was ours, as first nation people’s. And hearing it come from my girls, is beyond amazing. Then there’s the singing side of it. I love music. I love nearly all music; I possibly have a bit of trouble with death metal and classical…but I can appreciate the lyrics of the first and the minor keys of the latter. Overall though, if it touches my soul; makes my toes tap; makes the hips swing or the head nod…I’ll listen over and over. And for me, a lot of my memories are attached to music. I might not remember a year; a date; a particular event in the sequence that it took place; but I can tell you where I was when I heard a particular song; what I felt like; what was happening around me…I love my music. It soothes me.

And when my girl sings in our old language, I cry…I unashamedly cry. Not unhappy tears…just proud, soul wrenching, loving, beautiful Mama tears.

I thought I didn’t have anything to do with her singing…I wouldn’t describe my own voice as Mariah Carey’s soul sister or anything. But, I love music…and I’d forgotten, till my recent unfolding, that I sang to them all the time. From the time they stepped out of the womb…I sang to them.

I think it was probably my way of showing affection. Touch is not really my thing! At all. I pretty much dislike it a lot, ALOT! But I can convey how I feel, about me, to them, when I sing to them. And I love them dearly.

Well, my youngest Moko (grandchild), who is nearly one, has been here all week with her Mama, my youngest girl. And I sing to my Moko all the time too…and she loves it. It’s the first time I’ve really recognized that the babies, my babies, respond to it. And this little Moko midget is just beautiful…she sits on my lap, waves her hands in the air, turns out her palms and looks at me. I say to her…’do you want me to sing your song?’, and she claps her hands. So we sing…she does the actions and then laughs.

Watching her, and my daughter, through the week, I realized how much I’ve impacted positively on my gene pool lol! I have been so scared of damaging them all…only to discover that they love and get how I love them.

First Published on: Jul 19, 2015 @ 23:16 ❤ ❤ 

and we all live happily ever after…1991

Well, that’s what I was hoping for…I’d gone back to my white picket fence dream…me, a husband, possibly point 2 children, dinner parties, a pretty house, flower gardens, oh so awesome neighbours, that would stop by for a chat…ohh the dream.

Expectations are fucked up things really. You don’t know you even have them until they shit themselves or someone else shits on them.

So, planning for a pretty little wedding proved challenging. Our pastor suggested, well more like insisted, that we have a counseling session with him before he agreed to marry us. This turned out to be more like a ‘rules of engagement’ session for me to abide by as a newly wed wifey. This should have been my red flag. “Get out…get out NOW!”

The rules of engagement consisted of me, not keeping my own last name. I was advised that this was me being ‘rebellious’ and ‘feminist’ and that there was no place in a marriage for that. I tried to explain that I wanted to keep it as preservation for my child…why couldn’t we keep both names…as it was a partnership of two people coming together…or that’s how I saw it. I was told, once again that, there was no place for a rebellious, feminist attitude within a marriage; that if I read my Bible, I would read that it was my role to be compliant and subservient. Mmmm really, my Bible didn’t say either of those things…but ohh well, I went with it; even though my whole being was screaming…Hell No Mother fuckers…my mouth wouldn’t open! He agreed to marry us, and a date was set.

Then came dress design and flowers and cakes and guests and food…and at every turn I was undermined. And I let myself be undermined. I didn’t want a fruit cake…I hate fruit cake. Why have something I don’t like. My husband to be, didn’t like it either, so that counted for something I guess. But what did we end up with…fruit fucking cake. And we were told to be grateful.

Grateful for what, I thought? Something I hadn’t asked for? Hadn’t requested? And had specifically said No too? Hey, a long running theme for me.

I designed my dress, took it to the dressmakers to make up…it came back completely different. I was told my design wasn’t ‘suited’ to me [aka to slutty]…I insisted on a few changes but in the end settled for…being grateful, again.

So it went on. The photographer wanted to take photographs in the garden after the ceremony…which by the way, I didn’t want long and traditional…but ended up long and traditional! Anyways…I said I didn’t like the grass or the garden, could we take the photos inside, black and white and ‘natural’…throughout the ceremony…after do thingy. Apparently NO. Hindsight…I should have just got a different photographer…caterer…organizer…whatever…but I smiled and seethed and acted…grateful.

As luck would have it, it pissed down with rain on the wedding day…and I love the rain!. So the photos ended up indoors…and one my favorite photographs from that strangely awkward day, is of me looking out the doors of the church into the rain! 🙂

The pedo cunt and his girlfriend were invited to the wedding. Why? Why? OMG how timid and compliant was I!

We got married. My girl was a humbug the entire day…love her for that 🙂

It was a strangely awkward, wanky kind of weird day. I felt ‘out of body’ for most of it…and I was sick. I just wanted it over and done with so I could get on with being holier than thou in my new consecrated world.

Me and my girl moved to where my new husband lived. It was freezing by the way. Completely different climate to what I was used too. And what I wasn’t prepared for, was the grief I felt, leaving ‘home’. I felt partially grown up…and it was scary. I cried for days…again.

My new marriage was not what I expected. There was no picket fence…there was no fence…we lived in a caravan. It was snowing and we couldn’t go outside for days. I had no friends. I had a husband, which was apparently enough. Oh, and the husband’s family. HOLY…I was not prepared for in-laws either! If I was trying to get away from being controlled and suffocated by a ‘parent’ figure and church, I’d walked into a family of extremely critical peeps…and his mother was still pretty much breast feeding her husband! Hell…

I didn’t cook properly…clean properly…I wasn’t hard enough of my daughter…I dressed like a hooker…I didn’t smile enough…I was too…and I wasn’t enough of…

Geez…add to that; we lived in a town with two types of people. Military…and non-military. We were the latter. And more specifically, I was the latter and some. Not quite what I had in mind…not quite fulfilling my expectations!

Marriage was…lonely.

My girl was beautiful.

I found a friend in one of my sister-in-laws, and we found the local pub!

And I immersed myself in that, and music…again.

(First published 14th July 2015 @ 1512 … Hollah 😉 )


i want to be your man ~ zapp & roger

I Want To Be Your Man – Zapp & Roger, 1987


Yes …

yes i has … 

been watching




365 reasons to smile ~ 365.

365. I do – 1985;  Whitney Houston’s 1st album 🙂


the christmas burn ..

and so it begins … and because I shelter myself from the fuckery of christmas I’m a bit late off’ve the starting block, and my ‘burn’ doesn’t look anything like the chaos around me …

theres a few reasons i generally don’t do christmas

but let me begin with specific christmas-y things that i DO like:

  1. ‘all i want for christmas …. isssss …. you …. yeah’ 🙂

  2. 🙂 cheesy I know …

And … Yeah thats it.

So with that noted 🙂 Let me get to my gripes …


In my blissful obliviousness, I had actually forgotten christmas was coming up; having been distracted with earthquakes, deaths and other trivial shit … you know …

But then the M.I.L rang. I answered. Mistake number One.

10 minutes into the conversation and i was trying to focus … relax … ‘she’s just making chit chat’, and ignoring that churning in my gutt. 30 minutes later ( and I don’t usually talk that long on the phone .. or listen for that matter ) … the punch line …

‘so i haven’t said anything to *man / my son / your partner* about this, because I know he would get upset … ‘ Pause for effect … ‘but this might be the last christmas with his father because you know how sick he has been and … ‘ Pause for more effect   …. ‘so, i think you should come for christmas … ‘ Longer pause, for an answer …

The reasons other than possible imminent death include how family is the most important thing there is and she’s loosing her job in january and its a great chance to catch up and chill out and it would mean a lot and ….

so it went on for the remaining 10 minutes.

i didn’t give an answer and told her to take it up with her son. i learnt along time ago not to reply to them AT ALL … any hint of a reply, for them, means that you have indeed signed the contract.

so heres my beef.

christmas isn’t a time for family. every day is a time for family.

christmas isn’t the time you hang out with loved ones because they might be dead the following day. every day is.

christmas isn’t the day you live it up because your loosing your job in january. period.

christmas isn’t the day you chill out. every day is.

christmas day isn’t the day you catch up. every day is.

christmas is a religious holiday bestowed on the masses as a tool for boosting sales and a long awaited holiday for the masses who get to have a day off’ve work, if they’re lucky, that they get paid for … otherwise known as a statutory holiday.


and someone forgot to tell this lady and a shit load of other ‘family do gooders’, that employing guilt tactics on an ‘occasion’ such as christmas, works as well on peeps like me as enticing me to buy the car because it has flashing lights over it that says : SALE. It doesn’t work. If anything it just pisses me off and makes me more determined NOT to do as it says.

Oh and then theres the pressure to buy shit. buy buy buy. ‘but the kids will be disappointed’ … ‘but we need it’ … ‘but we want it’. really??? fuck off! we need all that shit like a hole in the head … and disappointing the kids / mokos? really? life is disappointing! not buying them the latest gadget isn’t going to scar them for life! how about we teach them something useful! like how to grow their own vegetables … like how to make a meal … like how to build what they like or what they need. now theres something abit more ingenious … and it doesn’t cost a goddam thing!

So there it is … my christmas burn … my angst lol.

don’t get me wrong … i’ll be hanging out with the mokos and the family … just like i did last weekend and the week before … just like i will the week after christmas …

I’ll eat a shitload and laugh a shitload.

we will teach the mokos new games that they can do without wifi 😉

for the next few weeks though this bish is gonna have to do some deep bloody breathing so as not to go to psycho on anyones ass!!


friendly warning …

If you should find yourself in a


Black Hole:

Do not fight it!

Roll with it.

Your welcome.