Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Permission to be offensive wrong and mine, the boner edition.



My girl, she turned five.

This means a great many things to me, mostly awesome, brilliant and beautiful things.  My kid is my moon, she is a beautiful thing, she is amazing, scarily smart and she knows me. she sees me, and she loves me anyway.

People shouldn't be trusted with such beautiful innocence, but Im fucking glad I was trusted with hers.

I'm not dwelling on the fucked stuff anymore, I won't ever forget the really fucked stuff. I think that it's important to remember it, to respect it.

I respect the really fucked stuff the way I respect the power of a nuclear bomb.
I despise it, but it would be really unwise to ever forget its destructive nature, or turn a blind eye to the deformed black dog that was born of its aftermath.

I respect that dog, it bites. I know this, I am his maker. I know how he moves, I respect that he will follow me, that I will not always be able to avoid staring the dog in the eye, challenging his position.
But I don't have to feed him.
I can get practiced enough to pull some Caesar Milan out of my ass when I have to. When Im too tired to, when Im exhausted already from avoiding it, when I'm blind I need to pull that shit out of the air like Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die, all up in its fucking face, while its snarling, rabid, frothing and snapping in mine.

I can't forget it, but I won't dwell in it, and I won't feed it.

This is hard, but you know, Life's hard, and right now, my dicks pretty fucking hard, because Stuff is exciting.

I look back at the last twelve months and I feel aged.
Not in a OMG, quick, pour me into a black Cher unitard and fishnets, I want to dry hump a cannon and survive on a diet of sailor ejaculate and as much coke as I can snuff through my deviated septum' kind of aged, but more of a Morgan Freeman, comfortable enough, I fit my skin, I know where I stand, so fuck it all, you know.. peaceful and calm, Barry white sings me to sleep, kind of aged.
I feel older.

In order for me not to dwell on the really fucked stuff, this space needs to change. *Press play on sad music.

Ive loved this space, it loved me, then hated me, then I vomited on it, then loved me again.

I have made a great many beautiful friends, I've eaten meals made by celebrity chefs, had an imaginary affair with Benji Madden in the newspaper, Ive partied with Jimmy Barnes, I've slow swished my hair in front of a green screen for an online hair commercial, I was airbrushed within a pixel of my life, they lifted my boobs, and made my arms thinner, and teeth whiter and I felt so beautiful. I became the toilet spray chick in nine countries.

I had my hair did by celebrity employed stylists, I accidentally told the Australian 20/20 cricket team that I know nothing about cricket and I think the games are too long and that their white pants where a poor choice. I've spilled my guts to Kyle Sandilands and been made fun of by Peter Berner and Will Ferral.
I've been an embarrassing, EMBARRASSING, cringeworthy fan girl.

I was published in places that made me feel validated, I was a wanker for a bit, I had a bio, I  spoke about myself in the third person, I've tweeted with Rove McManus about graffiti, I beat Keith Urban at twitter for six whole hours.
I hunted both Hugh Jackman and Ed Sheeran, found them both, and Ed Sheerans mum sent me a bracelet for loving her sons original rap. I was nominated for awards by people who weren't my mum.
I won a blogging gold medal.

I have attended the openings of movies, centres, studios, lunch boxes and launched stuff. I've been panel interviewed, and I gave smart and articulate answers, and I also said ridiculous things.. So many ridiculous things.
Things that make me cringe and want to curl up and pretend I never said them, but instead  of forgetting, I would dwell on them, reliving every idiotic syllable till I was icy cold and ashen in the face.

I've been interviewed on television and radio, like people cared what I thought, what people said about me, which in turn made me care what I said, wrote, took pictures of, commented on and eventually I gave a fuck about what I thought, I second guessed myself, and over thought about everything like a fuckwitt.

The truth was that no one cared but me.

I became obsessed with statistics and comments, virility, likes and shares, media kits and PR invitations, momentum, who spoke at what and WHAAAY DON'T THEY LOOVE ME!?!

I felt like I did not belong there, that I was somehow undeserving, and pretty soon, everyone would know that I was only pretending to know what I was doing.

 So, so fucking sad.

So, honestly... Here goes, I wrote under a different name, because then it wasn't me being a dickhead, I wasn't exposing my flaws, it wasn't  me being judged, and you know what? I could do it. I felt deserving and I enjoyed not giving a single fuck.
It helped me learn I could do it, I deserved it and I didn't have to doubt it.

It was like taking a shower in Oprah's piss, spiritual, life and self affirming, growth and enlightening, light bulb moments, blowing up out of sockets type-a shit.

So next year, this place will be mine, the way I want it, I will no longer be doing sponsored posts, I will still have to make a living here, but it won't be with sponsored posts.

I have taken the time to figure out what it is I love to do, and not the things I feel like I should be doing.

Wherever it takes me is where I'll be, and right now, this is where I am.

I'm almost finished writing THE book, never has PMS been so hilarious OH MAH GAH IM NEARLY DONE!!.. and most exciting of all, I begin filming a year long documentary in December.

A FUCKING DOCUMENTARY YO!!! I wish I could tell you more about it, but I'm so fucking Louie Theroux right now.

It's important to remember that I would have never done any of this stuff without the shit bits too. The everything about my blog, I couldn't have one it without the good stuff, you there, reading when you don't have to, the community, the good stuff, the people who offered me support and solid advice when I was so, so needy and whiny and repulsive, ya know who ya are.. but also the shit stuff, the PND, the judgment, the trolls, some of the PR, the ridiculous lies, (except the Benji Madden one, I was pretty chuffed to be honest with that one) The misspelt words, bad photos and shitty grammar.. the everything.
I have learned so much.

Imma kiss this blog goodbye for now, don't panic, she will be back!  I just need to send her off to be un-photoshopped, let her boobs back down and caffeine stain her teeth a bit. To let my number one search term be 'Tits in the air' and her permission to be offensive, and wrong, honest and mine.

See you next year! And please in the interest of prosperity.. ignore my massive boner, it's awkward all round.. I know, but completely unavoidable right now.

Cheers,
Em x































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