December 28th, 2010 10:55am - Home for Birthday
December 25th 2011 7:55pm - Gilligan's and Shaka Shaka Shaka
December 24th 2010 9:50am - Dirty Head
December 20th, 2010 8:25am - December 2010 Photo of the Month
December 17th 2010 9:43pm - A Toilet and a Plane Flight
December 14th 2010 8:00pm - Goddamn Cameras
December 12th 2010 10:23pm - Phone out Window
December 9th 11:30pm 2011 - Bathroom at the Point
"Logical. But I think I might just pee."
"Kara, do you love me?"
"Sometimes you have to squeeze it out. I'm squeezing it out now. I have a little bum. Not a lot of poos come out at one time."
December 5th 2010 9:30pm - Chief Warrant Officer
December 1st, 2010 11:23am - December 2011 Quote of the Month
November 29th, 2010 7:30pm - Thanksgiving in NZ with Five Kids
November 16th, 2010 11:20pm - Photo of the Month
November 13th, 2010 11:08pm - Quotebook
November 8th 2010 7:10pm - Left at a Birthday Party
November 3rd, 2010 11:04am - November 2011 Quote of the Month
November 2nd, 2011 10:27pm - Wet Doodle
October 25th 10:12am - October 2010 Photo of the Month
October 21st, 2010 12:15am - Baby Terrorist
October 20th 9:14am - October 2010 Quote of the Month
October 16th 2010 7:20pm - Little Boy vs Man
October 14th 10:10pm - Luging in Queenstown
October 9th, 2010 7:05pm - It Smells Pretty
October 8th, 2010 10:45am - Little Nipples
I've never been concerned with the size of my boobs. Men have bigger knockers than I do. Ten-year-old girls have more pronounced bazongas. If I had juicy juicy mangoes, I'd accidentally hit them. I'd trip over them. I'd run them into walls. My mom's offered me breast implants because she wants me to be happy and confident.
If I had hooters, all of my shirts would be slutty and inappropriate, and I guarantee that within two years, the silicone would rupture, deflate, or explode. I'd get hit directly in the milk wagon by a baseball, a goat would jump on me, or I'd run into a tree attempting to snowboard. I've repeatedly replied no thanks to the fake ta ta's. It wouldn't be a good investment. They just wouldn't last long.
While my mom and I frequently discuss my fun bag deficiency, we have never reviewed my nipples. We were in Queenstown, and my mom asked me to rub lotion into her upper back. As I smoothed the cream between her shoulder blades, she turned around and placed her hands on my shoulders.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Sorry for what?"
"I think you have little nipples, and you probably got them from me. I'm sorry. My mom had such beautiful large ones."
October 6th, 2010 12:37pm - Queenstown, Mom, Bar, Boys
My mom, her friend, and I ambled through the QVB, Sydney's Queen Victoria Building. I left them for three minutes to find a bathroom. When I returned, they had moved. Fifteen minutes, two phone calls and a text later, my mom said that they'd gone out for a coffee. They were at a pub three blocks away. The pub didn't serve coffee.
When my mom and I cruised on over to Queenstown, New Zealand, we wanted to hit up the bars. A few nights ago, we went to the Ballarat Trading Company. The lighting was dim and the atmosphere old school. There was a piano, guns and animal heads on the walls, and framed black-and-white photos everywhere. The country of New Zealand does not have bears. Regardless of the fact that the Trading Co. boasted a stuffed bear standing up, there were maybe six people in the bar.
"Whadday wanta drink?"
"Chardonnay, thanks!" my mom exclaimed.
We danced. I don't just mean me and one of the guys. I mean, one of the guys started swaying, my mom mistook it for dancing and began dancing. The other drunkard smiled and almost fell over. I joined in because I felt awkward.
The guys rocked out. They sang, they laughed, they screamed. They amused me. After they paid for four drinks for us, I announced that it was my round. The guys wanted whiskey, my mom and I wanted wine. I turned around to the bar and ordered two whiskeys and two glasses of wine. The bartender asked if the whiskeys were for the guys.
"Yes," I replied.
"Awesome, saves me money!" I said and turned back around with the two wine glasses. The guys were gone.
"What happened?" I asked my mom. "Did you scare them off?"
I was joking, but my mom replied, "maybe..."
She had lectured them and verbally abused them for allowing a girl to pay.
"I never ever ever pay," she had said to them. "I'm a girl, and girls don't pay. You never make girls pay. What kind of men are you? Seriously, what kind of men are you that you make girls pay? Do you have balls?"
They ran away. I attempted to explain the concept that after taking advantage of guys and their drinks, it's only polite to reciprocate. Girls should buy one round after the guy has paid for two or three. My mom had none of it.
"Girls never pay," she repeated.