Please do not poke my subconscious with a stick – the top 9 things that shit me

Appropriate image from here.

What shit really pisses you off?

Are there things that people do, say, situations that press your buttons?

There are strong, ingrained detestations that creep up on me. I’m regularly surprised, because I forget they’re there. Which is pretty dumb because how can someone forget about the shit that really shits you? That shit is crazy.

Here are the Top Ten Nine* Things That Give Me The Major Shittings. Enjoy. 

  1. Pee on the toilet seat. You know what I’m talking about. That is unpleasant shit.
  2. Stale bread. My definition of stale is “was not baked today”. Yes I am a bread Nazi. I confess. Stale bread might as well be shit.
  3. Slamming doors. My child does this every ten seconds and it’s giving me a serious case of the screaming shits.
  4. Intolerance**. Except of stale bread, slamming doors and sitting in someone else’s pee. You have a free intolerance pass for those. It is TOTALLY OK to be a bigoted right-wing extremist all over THAT shit.
  5. Being told what I can or can’t do. For my psyche, this is like stomping up to a deep, dark spider hole, poking a great big fuck-off stick into the hole a few times and shouting:


    The likely ending to this scenario is you staggering off screaming into the distance with a huge hairy arachnid wrapped around your face trying to sink its fangs into your brain through whichever eye socket is most handy.

  6. Cliques***. I see them every-fucking-where, even in groups that profess to be against cliques. Let’s try to be accepting of people and how crazy they all are. Our own brand of crazy shit doesn’t make us better than those people over there with a different brand of crazy shit. It’s all crazy shit, and in the end none of us get out alive, whatever brand of shit we subscribe to. Let’s just get over cliquey shit and move on.
  7. Media indoctrination of bullshit gender stereotypes that entrench the “women are all busy mums rolling their eyes at their incompetent husbands” attitude. We couldn’t present that scenario with the genders reversed so why do we do it? Men, don’t put up with that shit.
  8. Persistent hot days with warm nights that sap my energy and make intelligent (cough) blog writing impossible. They shit me because I have to resort to lame whiney-arse Top Ten Nine lists that nobody cares about.
  9. Pointless Top Ten Nine lists of crap nobody cares about, because they’re shit.

What’s on your top ten nine list of shittingest things?

* I’m as amazed as you are that there are currently only nine. I’m sure it won’t last.
** See also: Cliques

*** See also: Intolerance


The emotional shit-storm of high school.
It was the best I could do.
You wanted to see a real storm of shit? No? Then shush.

Dear readers,

I have a favour to ask.

I keep waking up at sparrow’s fart.

What even is that? Do sparrows fart? I’ve never heard one, have you? Would it be very loud? Sparrows’ arses must be very small, wouldn’t you think?

And while we’re at it with stupid sayings, why do we call someone a “something extraordinaire”?

A “blogger extraordinaire”.

A “saxophonist extraordinaire”.

Like, someone can be a “blogger ordinaire”, or a “saxophonist ordinaire”?

Where was I?

Ah yes. Sparrow’s fart. At this time of the month I’m always awake early. Which is just fabulous.*

Human creatures crave connections. As a species we’re social, like our primate neighbours. We naturally tend towards grouping together, fitting in and feeling that others understand us. That craving for connectedness – the need to feel an emotional connection to another – is wonderful and terrible.

I was bullied at school (and later at university), picked on, harassed and generally made fun of, because I didn’t fit in.

I was a freak, different, weird.

I WANTED to fit in. Desperately.

So what happens when you’re denied connectedness when you need it most? You either grow a big fat denial gland and decide it’s not what you want, or you soldier on and try not to hurt too much.

My denial gland refuses to function so I soldiered on and learned that most things turn out for the best eventually. Looking back, I would have dealt with those bullies differently.

I’ve had bouts of Depression and Anxiety Disorder over the years. That’s hardly a brave revelation in these times of chronic over-sharing (hello I am the shameless QUEEN of this).

Currently I’m officially well, which is quite wonderful.

This current bout of wellness has unearthed a new challenge. For a week and a half every month, I become that anxious, horrible, aggressive person I am when I’m sick. I get PMT so badly now that for almost half the month I’m someone else. I’m Hormone Helen.

I lose that feeling of connectedness, of belonging. The walls close in. To me, it seems that everyone is having wonderful conversations without me. Everyone has bazillions of wonderful, close friends that I don’t have. I feel excluded and worthless, my connection to everyone summarily cut off.

All my connections severed.

With ironic cruelty, the need for connectedness becomes immeasurably stronger, just at the time when it’s been severed.

I’m thrown back into the emotional shit-storm of high school crapulousness. I’m that weird kid again that almost everyone hates. I blather all over social media, trying to reconnect. I usually fail because HELLO when I’m like that I’m not good company. I’m flat out crazy (and not in my usual froggy way). The snake starts eating its own tail.

When Hormone Helen isn’t visiting, everything’s fine. So I know she lies, just like Depression lies, like Anxiety Disorder lies.

So I try to wait out this week and a half each month, hoping that I don’t become so horrible that everyone, including my family, finally decides enough is enough.

You may spot Hormone Helen on my Twitter feed now and then. Please say hi to her, give her a hug and then tell her to get the fuck off social media before she hurts herself.


The Frog – Chronic Over-Sharer Ordinaire

* This is a lie.

The Zone of Repugnance – you’re soaking in it

I really love youse giiiizzzze. Yes, I’m talking to you. My loyal and varied readers. This is a small lily pad that hasn’t been floating long, doesn’t have that many of you but WOW what great folk you are. I have a rowdy, sweary, (frequently) ovary-carrying (if not using) community on here. You comment regularly, engage on Twitter and Facebook and you spread the good word about the bad frog.
But I’m curious.
What do you get from this lily pad?
After all, it’s brought you this:


And this:


And a bit of this:


It also had to audacity to throw this at you:


Note: These spectacular boobs are not mine.
(More’s the pity)

With a side-order of this:


And then there was nasal tufftage bloopers:

There’s a concept in natural sciences called the Zone of Repugnance. This is the area in and immediately around a grazing animal’s faeces.

YES! I’m talking shit again.

And toilets, officially, since a horse’s bog is sometimes… a bog. More often a field or paddock.

Stay with me.

Animals won’t eat in that zone. Yes, a horse is often seen stepping on tippy-hoof around a pile of its own dung to avoid accidentally eating any of it.

You haven’t seen that? You need to hang around paddocks more.

There is ONE organism, though, that positively thrives in the Zone of Repugnance.

There’s a saprobe fungus that grows really quickly in horse manure. That’s the only place it grows. It doesn’t mind that it gets shit thrown at it, or that its environment is a bit smelly and often questionable. It loves that shit.


Still with me?

While other less courageous readers are carefully grazing around the edges of the Blogosphere, you giiiiiiiizzzzze are my saprobe fungus, living in my blog’s Zone of Repugnance. You thrive on the stuff I throw out there and LOVE YOU FOR IT.

And now, assuming I haven’t scared you all away by calling you all shit-eating fungi…

Why do you read my blog?
No, really.
I neeeeeed to knoooooooow!