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Link up, Lassies for Friday's Shoegasm. Come on all you HeelFreaks reveal all yer favorite bed hooker heels. Take my button, post it on your blog and do a post of your favourite heels. Every lass needs at least ONE pair of awesome 5½ inch heels.
| Christian Louboutin Pigalle pumps $540 |
Christian Louboutin Straratata 140 suede sandals $995 |
| Iron Fist GPB49.99 from Scorpio Shoes |
| Funky Retro Boots Amazon |
| $126 Gucci Red Boots |
| Gucci heels from Bombay Harbour |
Boobies, Babies and a Blog hosts Fawk You Friday.
Loads of posts are popping up about Blogger and how they suck because of their recent down-time. Yes, obviously their "routine maintenance" went horribly wrong and we didn't have access for a while. But Plonkers, this is the first time in the three fucking years that Blogger has been "unavailable".
Quit bitching about it not being available for ONE FUCKING DAY, instead, send them a thank you that they've been up and running with no glitchs for the last three years!
My Fuck you this week goes to Parenting! As a mother of two wee ones, I’m occasionally frustrated and yet amazed by them.
Last night was no different - I could've easily strangled one of my offspring and sold the other one for beer money.
Take this as an example:
We have an argument with our partner, go to sleep upset or pissed off with each other and in the morning those feelings are still lingering, possibly a little diluted, but those feelings are still there. We mope and pout, grumble and fret. However, with children, we could carry on like a woman possessed (which I have been known to accomplish from time-to-time) and all seems to be forgiven and forgotten in the morning.
We can learn lessons from our children.
The next morning our children breeze into your bedroom with cheerful good morning wishes and beaming smiles and immediately you get a clean slate, a fresh start, a chance to redeem yourself and restore your level-headedness as a respectable and worthy parent.
Don’t get me wrong I never take this instant forgiveness for granted because after the dramatic performances of shouting, begging, screaming and nagging, The Guilt sets in. I write The Guilt in capital letters and italics because most parents will know The Guilt is obscenely ruthless. For parents it is a brutal aura that loiters around for ages and creeps in quietly and pokes at the wound catching you off guard.
Oh the remorse!
Seeing your children with fear in their eyes because you have snapped their heads off is harsh. Often, the shame and self-reproach is unbearable.
We feel guilty for reprimanding, we feel guilty for punishing, we feel guilty for teaching them a lesson, we feel guilty for scolding when all we want them to do is listen to us and trust that we’re doing it for their benefit in the long run. We’re not doing it to be mean or bitter or malicious. We are parenting.
However, children are Master Manipulators. They spot The Guilt immediately and they exploit it. Oh, they can smell The Guilt a mile away. Those big, wide puppy dog eyes and quivering lips are flawless examples of their guileful skill. Our children push the right buttons at the right time and operate us like the puzzles they built with expert proficiency. Don’t let them fool you! Don’t fall for their lures and charms. Their ability to twist and contort your practical and logical thoughts is remarkable.
We can learn lessons from our children.
We all have different parenting styles but most parents agree that no matter what method you use, our little ones will study your methods as quickly as you implement them. We have to keep one step ahead of them with new tactics and new strategies. Campaigns need to be rehashed as soon as they decipher our plan.
We need to think like the military. Be armed, stand ready and shoot from the hip. Always have the mission in mind and know when to advance and retreat. Do not question orders and if need be, recruit reinforcements to substitute when you are ready to loose control. Get an edge on life. Less Flower Power and more fire power.
I envy kangaroos. The baby crawls out of the womb when it is about two inches long, gets into the pouch and starts to grow. I’d have another baby if it would mature in my handbag.
I love my girls but some days I’d trade one of them for a case of fine wine, oh fuck that fine wine, cheap plonk wine and hard drugs will do just fine!
Do your kids also drive you to drink?
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