I'm Hot for The Boss

Probably my favourite video clip opening ever. 


Be a doll. Watch it and swoon with me.  
PS I only just found out Courtney Cox was in this clip? Who would have thunk it.

Pants with Prizes?!

Well, holy McDooley, I am most honoured to announce I received an award today via the luscious News With Nipples for my mad blogging skillz *cough*. I still can't believe anybody actually reads this WITHOUT the threat of battery acid being thrown in their face, much less that anyone may actually enjoy/relate to any of this drivel...

But for serious! Here is it! Behold it in all its splendiferous splendour!

So part of this deal is that I divulge seven details you may not yet know about my fine self... So here goes:


1. I can't spell for shit: Probably not too much of a surprise to those of you who are regular readers. Even then, I regularly re-edit my posts at least twice. Somewhat of a worry seeing as one of my future incarnations will be as a high school English teacher. This shortcoming was humblingly made even more  apparent when, in a class of severely language delayed Year 9 students, my spelling of 'humungous'  was corrected by one of the students. FML. And thank sweet jebus for spell check.


2. I have a clit piercing: At the age of 19, after a break up with a boring twat who was to become my long term partner, I got on a bus on a 35 degree day and hauled myself to Newtown, where a skinny weird guy shoved a sharp needle into a fairly sensitive region of my lady-region. That was awkward. Luckily I had the foresight to swipe a refresher towel from KFC to give my panty-region a bit of a freshen up (stingy) as boiling hot days plus a sweaty bus seat does not a fresh vagina maketh.  Too much information? Probably! Anyway, its one of my very prized possessions and has brought me much happiness. [edited to add: I'm talking about the piercing here, not the KFC towel. Cause keeping that around like some peverted mini vaginal safety blanket would be just gross.] And you should see the looks on the faces of the unsuspecting!

3. I once had a hypnotherapist who was a  postoperative transgender lesbian: and I didn't end up any gayer. I was trying to break a lot of anger, regret and resentful feelings towards men in my past, and by jingo it worked. Not straight away, mind. By nowadays I can flick a mofo out of my life quicker than you can say snarky text message. Perhaps that has worked a little too well.

4. I have an extreme aversion to used teabags: They remind me of used tampons (kinda of cheating, some of you already know this).

5. I was extremely shy until about age 16: I used to hide in the toilets at lunch time when I was in Year 9 <--- awwwwwww. But now I'm pretty much extrovert central, even if I am still occasionaly a total social misfit.

6. My brother isn't the only crazy person in my family: My daddy lost the plot in amazing Springer-esque fashion when I was 14 - 19. Attempts to jump out windows, (prescription) drug overdoses, drawn out obsessive fighting with the Attorney General's Department (go Dad!), mental health wards, Rehab (sex, pot, prescription drug addictions), AA. Which all sounds really shit. And it was. I ran away form home when I was 17 and stayed with friends and extended family whilst I was doing my HSC. But you know? I friggen love my Dad. He fucked up. I get it, he gets it. And he has tried really hard to fix it, and I wouldn't swap him for any other dad in the world. Oh, and then there's me......

7. I have been attacked by a disproportionate number of animals: Including - dogs, ducks, wallabies, kookaburras, giraffes and dolphins. I wouldn't trust flipper for shit.
__________________________________________________________________________________

There! I hope you have a little more insight into La Pants (pro-tip: I now refer to myself as Pants in internal dialogue. taking blogging a little too seriously, perhaps?)

I would now like to pass on this honour to some other bloggers of merit: Kitty, Sulky Girl, and Staple Gun (who doubtlessly won't participate as he is (a) notoriously non-disclosive and (b) not regularly friggen blogging anymore, the bastard). Post your 7 items, lovers, I'll be a waiting.

xx

love

Blast from the past (part 2)

Well shit fuck cunt, turns out my Brazilian ex has already descended upon our sunny shores. Whilst I had not replied to his previous message, I received this one yesterday:


"hey how are you ? lets go to wharf to have a fill (sic) drinks? i hope i can see you ..."


I presume this means he is staying in Manly at the moment, which is about 1/2 an hour from me, but still too close for comfort. I decided I needed to reply:


"Hi [name removed], welcome back to australia :)

I'm really busy at the moment, with work and full-time uni, plus I'm not really looking for any male company if you get what I mean, so I'll pass.

Hope you understand!

Sarah [that's me]"


I know. Its not exactly assertive-central is it? But I just didn't feel right totally shutting him down. Ha! What a joke. Why do I care about hurting his feelings, when every single fibre in my being screams at me to keep as much distance between us as possible? I don't know, but even in writing that I feel horribly mean. Nice-girl syndrome, what a cop-out. 

Help needed

Dear fellow blog-type people,

I need to chose a fiction book suitable for Year 9 students to build a series of lessons plans around. Seeing as the majority of things I read involves swear words, sexing or other themes not suitable for younger minds, I was wondering if any of you had any suggestions? I was originally thinking of 'Into the Wild", but it's non-fiction. Or else maybe one of the less sexually charged Tim Winton books?

Thanking you in advance for your help,

Ms. Pants.

Blast from the past??

I used to go out with a Brazilian boy... about two years ago. He was much too young for me, so much so I often felt kind of dirty (and not in a fun way) sleeping with him because he looked dead set 16. I ended it for many reasons, including:

•  I was genuinely scared he was going to rip my clitoris off when having sex with him (i.e. he was wayyyyy too rough).
• He harangued me for sex constantly - and for me to complain about that, it's saying something because I have an extremely healthy sex drive apart from the odd celibate bout. I looked constantly tired for the 6 months or so we were together because he would literally wake me up four times a night every night, as well as being pressured to fuck before bed and before I got up. I mean, all things considered 2 or 3 times a night is perfectly adequate for me. Otherwise I walk funny.
• Head-jobs pretty much entailed him skull fucking me until I choked. Some people are into that. And there is a (consensual) time and place for it.  BUT NOT ALL THE TIME WITHOUT GAUGING THE SITUATION.
• He was outrageously jealous and would spit the dummy if I went to the bathroom by myself whilst we were out and took longer that what he thought was the necessary time.
• He picked fights with me on purpose to test the strength of my passion.
• ... and the absolute deal breaker: he dragged me out of bed by my hair to make him dinner one night (!!!??? How the fuck did that happen to me???)

God, he sounds quite the shit doesn't he? Well there were, of course, good points too. I loved him very much, at one stage. Just can't remember any terribly convincing reasons why. He wasn't just an abusive control-freak who used me like a cum receptacle, he was an abusive control-freak who used me like a cum receptacle who also had some ultimately non-memorable positive qualities :)

He took it badly when we parted. Not terribly surprising I guess.

Anyway, after a time he returned to Brazil, and unfortunately I didn't get to say goodbye because he was being a bit stalky and I wouldn't take his calls or reply to his messages.

He's contacted me since then, starting about 8 months ago. We don't speak much, I don't like to encourage him, and his written English isn't great either.

I've found out via fb message he's coming back to Australia. Apparently bringing presents for me (which I shall NOT accept). I'm kind of scared. I may be being unreasonable, but I feel trapped, hunted. I haven't replied yet, but part of me wants to scream NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Rather a large part really...

To Sir, With love

I have a tutor in the English department - American Literature studies. He's quite the dish: floppy hair, casually unbuttoned shirt, and pithy literary observations. Probably in his early to mid thirties.

I first saw him in a carpeted corridor of the big old turreted sandstone building that the English Department lives in... I was rushing around, trying to find the ladies room prior to my first class... nearly ran him down as I hurried along. I slowed down after I passed him, turned around, looked at his back and thought "dannnnng. Hot doctorate student...". Finally I got back to my classroom, opened the heavy wooden doors panelled with lead glass and... oohhhh, I just died right there and then.

I flirt with him in class on Fridays. I sit up the front and contribute to every discussion. I giggle at his jokes. We sit in the same row of seats in lectures on Tuesdays. I blush when I look up and see his eyes on me. I wish I were brave enough to hold the gaze. We talk after the lectures, walking that extra slow walk you walk when you want to prolong it. He asks me questions about my old degree, what I'm doing now. All I can ask about is the criteria for the assessment task. But we know that's not what I really want to ask him. He looks so good in the afternoon sunlight.  It will be tits-out Tuesdays in terms of my outfits from now on.

I face-stalked him, because I'm creepy like that ( I didn't friend request him though). His picture was overtly sexual- he was seated on a chair, and appeared to be biting into his shoulder with his eyes raised to the camera, kind of like he was muffling a moan or something. Now I see it is some picture featuring leaves. Bummer. I still have that image etched in exquisite detail in my mind though.

I hope to see a re-enactment in the flesh one day, though. Preferably in his office with tree tops visible through the opened window as my barely stifled cries drift out to the ears of the students below, unnoticed. Perhaps they will think its a bird...

I'm hot for teacher.

<--Fuck me. Please, oh god, right now

Poetry Corner with Pants

It's been a bloggy day. I write whilst inspiration strikes me. The below is me at my most cynical. I'm no great poet, but it feels good to write it, flat out, 10 minutes, no revision, just put it on the page as is. Cheaper than therapy, clunky angst-y symbolism or no.
__________________________________________________________________________________

The last years of this haze,

Spent increasingly unamazed,

By the fruits of my youth,

Left hanging on the branches of a tree untended-

A spindly thing, yet it bursts out a growth,

Or even the occasional blossom, a kind of pathetic blossom, really,

Given the light that has bathed its days,

And that’s only if you look at it with a kind eye,

And then, as I said, it’s not much to write about.

You’d blame the gardener,

As some are wont to do,

But he had other things to do,

Practical, pragmatic things to do,

And he never loved the tree less than any other tree, besides.

He’d probably say he loved it more, if you’d ask him,

But no one does.

Like I said, it ain’t much of a tree.

And no one cares what gardeners think anyway.

It’s not like what it is in the movies.

Or on the posters.

Or in the books.

You can spend your days haunted by looks

You didn’t get from strangers in the street,

And you can have the whole goddamned world at your feet,

You can dance the whole damned dance without missing a beat-

But the music stops and you forget the song.

And besides, it’s been far too long,

Since you thought someone moves like you do.

But they do, you don’t see it.

You fell down your rabbit hole of dreams,

And getting what you wanted didn’t end up as good as it seemed,

When you dreamt your dream whilst doing something lesser.

But is it any better,

When you look the horse in the mouth,

And only see teeth?

The fear that lies beneath,

And pushes you along to better things,

Your personal spring,

And your own ragged blossom.

An open letter to everyone in my life

...excluding me and my own drama, natch.

I have enough problems of my own, thank you very muchly.

Lady Lezzy Pants

Just had a wee squizz at my "reoccurring themes" cloud (it's over there on your right). It seems I now love more girls than I do boys. This could explain a lot, really. I'd quite happily vigorously embrace lezzdom if i could work my way around the vagina with a little more panache and enthusiasm. And if I didn't like dick quite so much.

Oh well.

Looks like Lady has some homework.

Or I could just not let my sexual orientation be dictated (ha! She said dick!) by some abstract cluster of themes extracted from this rambling pile of horse-shit which has become my online diary dearest.

More Vivienne x Melissa Shoe Love

Lady Pants

c/o Lady Pants International HQ

69 Rampant Horder Avenue

Poverty Town

RE: Purchasing

ATTN: Male Readers - you can tune out now, unless you are into feet and shoes, in which case, knock yourselves out, sweethearts (blatant gender stereotyping *cough*).

_________________________________________________________________________________

Purchased online after months of lust at 2am Saturday morning.

Don't ask me where I'll wear these, what I'll wear them with, or even if I'll be able to walk in them.

A whole lotta Hermes - the Greek God, not the brand - with a healthy smattering of Japanese Geisha girl.

If I could fuck a shoe, these would be it.

They look a bit like shoes for polio sufferers, don't they? Or at least slightly orthotic.

And yet... I WANT. RIGHT NOW.

The ugly/beautiful specimen in motion

Vivienne Westwood, fuck I love you.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Whilst surfing the blogosphere (Helen Razer's, actually, it's a hoot. link is here. I think I'm in love. Via News With Nipples which is also excellent, thought provoking and more than worth your time. Shit this is a rather large side-track, isn't it?) I found this spectacular vaginal product: MY NEW PINK BUTTON 


Oh shit. Really? You really care about how pink your pussy lips are? Or rather you care what 'he' thinks of them? I wouldn't be able to tell you what colour my vagina is, I've been too busy ENJOYING my fanny, faded flaps or no. And I don't hear of many products to fix dull scrote skin tones.


I did happen to find these little gems of customer feedback on the site, which I strongly suspect may have something to do with Ms Razer:


(And I quote)

"For a long time I have felt my sex lust decreasing, much due to the fact that my wife is getting older and lesser attractive for each year. One of my biggest concerns has been the unattractive gray colour which her labia has attained during recent years. It simply isn't pleasing to the eye anymore. We've tried all sorts of things to spice it up, from car batteries and buttplugs, to whips and strap-ons, all to no avail. In hindsight most of these things were just silly, since they didn't get to the root of the problem, which of course was her labia. And getting to the root of the problem is exactly what this product does! It has revitalized our sex life completely. Now having intercourse doesn't feel as much like necrophilia anymore, but rather brings back sweet memories of having sex with 16 year old Croatian prostitutes, much like I used to do during the war! 

Thank you My New Pink Button!"

And also:

"I got the ole misses some of this cooter cream cause although she is a classic let's just say she wasn't garage kept. We both enjoyed ourselves as I waxed her squack and the dye really brought out the original finish. My only question comment is that I wish it had that new car smell, or maybe leather. But anyway, I've been inside my wife all week and it's been a great ride.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

Suck on my potentially discoloured flaps, Pussy Police. I like, nay, LOVE my cunt just the way it is!


[Edited to add]


I do realise this is a bit hypocritical of me seeing as I have big fake tits and $700 worth ofcollagen under my eyes, not to mention the fact I have been known to diet wildly and take crazy asian diet pills in the past - FEMINIST FAIL - but, whilst I'm not perfect, I'm entitled to my opinions. And my opinion is that this is BAT-SHIT FUCKING CRAZY.

Sadness

I started this post with the idea I was going to show you a piccie of some shoes I bought online at 2 am, tired after uni all day and work all night, in need of cheering up.

But ...

My brother got admitted to a mental ward last night. I think he is coming home today. I'm glad we are starting to take his actions more seriously. I am sad because yes he is violent, but also he is a beautiful fragile boy adrift on foreign seas in this strange land where he feels so alone. And no one knows what to do for him. So we just try to keep everyone safe.

I'm crying again.

I'm trying to keep positive. Maybe this will shock him into new, more healthy behaviour. But I don't want to be unrealistic either.

I'll show my new shoes later. It seems too flippant to post them now.

Stuff which interests me, but probably not you...

I'm leading a tutorial on Edgar Allen Poe today (actually in 15 mins). And becasue this is MY blog, and I can, I thought I'd provide you with a little linky-winky for a blog-thingy I have created for the lesson:

http://www.poeengl2603.wordpress.com/home

Enjoy! Or not!

Lady Pants Confession #3

On my iPod I have hidden:


1. Shakira
2. All Saints
3. Christina Aguilera (But I only like the song she does with lil kim)
4. Justin Timberlake
5. Lady Gaga


I live in constant fear of public party shuffle.


I stand by my inclusion of Phil Collins - If it's good enough for Patrick Bateman, it's good enough for me.


What music do you own that you are ashamed of yet secretly adore?

Pants update

I'm pretty preoccupied at the moment, and to avoid the risk of fading into obscurity I thought I pop down a few points describing the state of play in Lady-Land at the moment:


1. I love my Masters of Teaching (School Counselling) course, even though it is possibly the worst organised thing I have ever participated in, and that, for the most part, the calibre of my fellow candidates is surprisingly low to say the very fucking least. Beyond that I am stimulated, challenged, scared shitless and excited.


2. I did a school visit to the Mt Druitt area of Sydney today. I was shocked. The kids, whilst absolute ratbags, were lovely. The year nine english class I attended was doing YEAR THREE spelling and comprehension work. Houston, we have a serious fucking problem. The highlight of the day was when I shhhhhhh!'d a group of Year 9 boys AND THEY STOPPED TALKING. Immediately. I can't believe they actually listened to me. Don't they know I have no effing idea what I'm doing?? Oh, and being called "Miisssss!" is absolutely bizarre. I obviously still haven't come to grips with the fact I'm not still a teenager myself.


3. My brother's mental health issues are getting worse (he has Asperger's  Syndrome). Whilst my Dad was away on business a few weeks ago, he held my mother hostage for seven hours whilst he interrogated her with endless questions, kicking her when she got the answer "wrong", or if he thought she was just trying to say what he wanted to hear. And yet I saw him a week or so later (the day my family decided to tell me what he had done), and he sat on the floor and massaged my feet. I only just restrained myself from kicking him in the head. I am extremely concerned, to say the least. He is a wonderful, troubled human, and I understand why my parents continue to want to care for him, but Christ, don't they deserve some respite? And I'm becoming very concerned about everyones' safety.


4. [As requested, content removed in the sake of preserving appearances. I trust this suffices. I also trust my eternal displeasure is apparent through every bile-ridden word of this]


5. I am working far too fucking much... again.


6. I am plagued by a general sense of not liking other people terribly much at the moment. I'm wondering if misanthropy is a bad personal quality for a counsellor to possess?


But, you know, even though most of this list is negative, and even though I'm mere moments away from totally fucking losing my marbles, I am, in some inexplicable way, happy? Or maybe just manic. Hmmmph. 


POSTSCRIPT: For those of you who were privy to my academic meltdown earlier this year, I ended up getting a Distinction (79%) for that course. Not quite the perfect HD I was aiming for, but hey. PRETTY FUCKING GOOD, I reckon. I'll call that a win.