Death through the eyes of 15 year old me

On the 19th of September 16 years ago I was exposed to the first death of a family member. On this day all those years ago my father passed away. I always get told that I look like him and that I have his eyes and this makes me smile. I was trying to think of something to write that would encaptulate him and his spirit but I always seem to come up short with getting the words to work so have decided to post this instead. As an angst ridden angry teenager I was set a task in Year 10 English class to write a story about an experience that had changed my life. With the pain of my dad passing still fresh in my soul I wrote the following - Deaths Story. I cringe a little bit with reading it back but I didnt want to change it to read more like me, because I owe it to 15 year old me to be true to myself. 

As I was typing this story out off a hand written piece of paper it was as if I was in that moment again, I remember what I put in my lunch box the day he died (a Rolo snack that I never ended up eating), what I was eating when the phone rung  to say he was gone(two minute noodles from the small microwave container whilst sitting on our lounge room mat) and what I wore to the funeral (a long black dress and a black and white stripped mid drift jumper from Red Backs in MIdland) and it made me get a lump in my throat. 15 year olds with terrible grammar and sentence execution have a habit of stripping the emotions back to bareness and have an innocence that the 30 year old me probably lost a long time ago.

If you knew my dad please take a moment to think of him, for all his failings he was an amazing man and an amazing father and I miss him every day. I have written more about him here if you would like to get to know him a bit better. But here is what 15 year old Kerry thought...

Deaths Story 

I was woken on that morning to the sound of the phone, I wasn't bothered to find out who it was so I went back to sleep. About 5 minutes later I was woken up by my mum and the news she had to tell me was not what I wanted to hear. She told me that my dad was in RPH and he wasn't in a very good state. I immediately started to cry because he was everything to me and without him life wouldn't be worth living. 

I made my lunch and walked to school the same as I did every day but today was going to be different in a way I couldn't explain at the time. It was as if I knew something bad was going to happen. I went to see Melissa as soon as I got to school to tell her what had happened because I was meant to be going to a dance with her, but that was never to happen. 

My classes went by in a blur. I was walking around in a daze and Michelle must have sensed that something was wrong, she asked what was up and I told her "nothing" so she started to guess and on about her third guess she asked me if it was my dad. I looked up at her in surprise because I hadn't told her anything about my dad. She came and sat down next to me and started patting me on that back and saying that she had seen that it made people feel better. It did for a little while and I started to forget what was going on but then suddenly I would remember and it would hit me so hard I thought my heart was going to break. The rest of my classes were much the same. If it hadn't have been for my friends I wouldn't have made it to lunch. 

When lunch finally came around I didn't want to leave school to go to the hospital because I didn't want to see what was at the other end, even though I knew it was my dad, the one who had helped give me life, who had made me. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him I just didn't want to see the machines. All the way to the hospital I was thinking of things to say, questions to ask, but when we got to the hospital I knew all hope of those questions being answered was gone. 

When we got out of the elevator we came face to face with my uncle and for the second time that day someone said something that I didn't want to hear. The reality of his words took a while to hit but when they did I still didn't want to believe them. It was as if "he isn't going to make it through the night" was the title of a movie or a line in a book. I remember thinking that it couldn't happen and it wasn't happening, but no matter how hard I tried to fool myself I knew it could happen and it was happening and it was happening to me. I cried like there was no tomorrow but still i hoped that some how he would prove them wrong, to show he was a fighter and he wouldn't give up the fight for his life. He did fight but in the end he wasn't strong enough. He stayed until he knew it was safe to go, to venture to greener pastures. 

We had already left the hospital by this time and we were at home waiting. Every time the phone rang I felt like I was going to be sick. For the next few hours the phone became my enemy. When the phone call we were waiting for finally came through I knew straight away from the tone in my mothers voice that he was gone. I didn't cry at first, I couldn't. I knew that I had to be strong, not only for myself but for my sister. Straight away I knew what I had to do, who I had to call. 

I picked up the phone and dialled the number. Steven answered and he must have sensed that something was up because he started asking questions, questions that I couldnt answer, I asked if Amy was there because I thought it would have been easier to talk to her. He told me that she wasn't so I told him to ring his mum and get her to ring me straight away. In the state that I was in without even really knowing what I was doing I told him that my dad was dead, The phone went really quiet but before he hung up he told me that everything was going to be ok and he would get his mum to ring me back. When she rang back I started to cry because speaking to her made everything more real, more believable. I realised that I was a real person and things like this happen to real people, people like me. I was 14 and living the rest of my life fatherless seemed like the end of the world. It still does. 

I went to school on Monday because I couldn't stay home or I would think about it. My friends were really great. They gave me support and made everything a whole lot easier to deal with. I'm surprised my friends don't hate me because I was mean to them. I snapped at them and was just a horrible person. I pitied the people who didn't know what had happened because I was being so mean and so unlike myself they wouldn't have known what was going on inside my head. 

Whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was him in the hospital, hooked up to all the machines and not at all looking like himself. Not like the dad who I had grown up with, not like the dad who had taught me to always believe in myself and most of all not like the Dad who had loved me. When he died I felt a feeling I had never felt towards him in such a way. Hatred took over my body, it engulfed me, it became me, it lived my life. I hated him for leaving me, I hated god for taking him, I hated the world because it had life and he didn't but most of all I hated myself for always putting off ringing him. 

The Wednesday of his funeral came and I felt sick like I had never felt before. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even close my eyes. We drove out to the ceremony and we stopped so we could follow the hurse in. All my uncles got out of their cars to follow the hurse up to the chapel. I only then started to believe it was happening. When we walked into the chapel "Delta Dawn" was playing. It was his favourite song, a beautiful song for a beautiful person. When everyone was seated they wheeled the coffin in to the front of the chapel and put it on the alter. I had to say my last goodbyes and it was something that I didn't want to do. I walked up to the alter to place my flowers on the top of the coffin, that was about as much as I could take. I started to cry. Soft sobs were all that came out but what I really wanted to do was scream. 

After the ceremony we went back to my uncles house for the wake. My cousin told me she hadn't spoken to me because she didn't know what to say. I guess a lot of people had the same problem. I know I did. I just didn't know what to say to my Grandma, because there was no words that I could say that could explain how I was feeling. I felt bad for her because she had so much heart ache already, first losing her husband (my granddad) and then her youngest son (my dad). 

I went to school on Thursday because I knew that's what he would have wanted me to do, to get on with my life the best way that I could. If my dads death taught me anything, it has taught me that your friends are the people who stand by you in your hard times and are always there for you to cry on their shoulder. 

I believe that he heard everything I said to him that day and I believe that he knew that I was there trying to help him through but most of all I believe that he knew I loved him. He always used to say "only the good die young so I will live forever" and he will because he will live in my heart and the hearts of those that knew him. 

The 19th of September will always be a special day for me because I now know that he is resting in peace. As each day goes by the pain gets a little bit easier to deal with and they say that time heals all wounds, even the ones in your heart 

In loving memory of Grant William Wasley - 6th Dec 1958 - 19th Sept 1997

Love and Remembrance 

Miss K

The art of the Pick Up

On having a conversation with the Army Brat after my post on Anal Sex, he made the comment of "You are good at vomiting on men and picking them up" and it made me think that maybe I pick up men in a non conventional fashion. But really is that surprising when I tend to do everything in a bit of a left of centre way? If you are in the market for a significant other (or not so significant if that's what you are looking for) maybe you would like to take a page out of my book

* Disclaimer - I am currently single so I do not know the tested longevity of these methods

The Vomit - I don't know the theory behind this one, but I have had it work for me three times. Two long term boyfriends and a foray into Anal Sex have all been secured after a sudden bought of techni colouring burping. Could it be the damsel in distress persona that draws them to me or do they really have an extreme like for carrots?

The Eat - Classic Kerry Pick Up, find a man, eat his food, stay for conversation. In honesty this one comes fraught with danger and it could end badly for those playing at home but it has seemed to have worked for me. It might be slightly easier if you have something to offer in return, maybe a delectable treat of your own or a little kiss to fill the void that stealing the food has left. 

The Tail - This may be the worlds best line / ice breaker and I use it regularly, sometimes it is hard to find an opening line so I simply say "If you had a tail what kind of tail would you have?". Its a question out of the blue, catches them off guard and intrigues them. It also gives me a good chance to see what kind of person they are. If they look at me in irritation then I know that they are probably not someone that I would like to spend my time with. If they think about it and give me an answer they will probably get a high five and if its a good enough answer, a prolonged conversation.

The Conversation Injection - This one works well when you find yourself in a situation where you are alone and need a quick fix of friends. Find a group of people that look interesting to talk to (or house a boy that you would like to engage with) and casually slide into the group undetected and after listening for a while inject some witty retort. Most people are open to conversations and it might be weird for a few seconds but use this to your advantage. Make a joke out of it and move forward. This also works well if you are on the dance floor, get rid of trying to be sexy and instead switch it up to trying to be fun. There are 1 million girls out there that are primped to the nines but most guys see the maintenance that would be involved in keeping them, guys go for fun... always (well the ones that you would want to be with anyway)

The Beard Stroke - this one hardly needs any explanation, as detailed in various other posts I have an extreme love of beards. I love to stroke them and fondle them and rub them just for good measure and the best thing about beards is that they are attached to the faces of men. Doing the beard stroke is like killing two birds with one stone, I get to do something that I like while setting up something to like in the future. 

The Worst Pick Up Line - The more terrible the better, its about engaging them and making them laugh. Laughter is the key to the soul (or is that the eyes... or the tummy... orr shiiitttt) and people will drop their defences and let you into them a little bit more if you can make them laugh. I like such line as "nice shoes, show me your cock", "does this rag smell like chloroform?" or "so you come here often?" (that one is always a winner). I spoke with a friend about the use of terrible pick up lines and she said that she would just laugh in someones face if they tried but laughter is the best medicine.

I have also realised that the only way that any of these pick up techniques work is if you deliver them with pure confidence (well other than the vomit, I don't know how one can be confident as your stomach is turning itself inside out and your head is captaining the porcelain bus). As Willy Wonka said, Confidence is Key, if you are interested in the look of someone grow some balls and go and speak to them, confidence is sexy and it will take you far in life and whats the worst that can happen? They can say no and last time I checked "No" never killed anyone. I may not have been a career Recruiter but in the time I spent in it, I did learn the valuable lesson of being a point of difference, my pick ups may be full of corn but at least I stand out from the field of cotton. 

Love and Loving

Miss K

The Beard Essentials

I am not sure if I have mentioned it before but I dig beards. Like I mean, I reaaaallllllyyyyyy dig beards. I have been trying to trace the origins of this love for a while, did I simply wake up one day and feel the love for the furry face or does its origins date back to a land before time. In my late teens and early 20s when I entered the dating game (yep I do believe that it is a game) beards where the worlds biggest turn off, beards to me meant old people and pash rash. It wasn't a common sight to go out and see a sea of woolen faces. I would date a guy and make him shave all the time because I didn't like the fuzz. It wasn't until I was 28 that I started to appreciate the beard, it was becoming more main stream and hairy men where popping up everywhere. Here is my whats whats of beards

- My two favourite men in the world had beards. My dad and bubble-o-bill. They say a girls first love is her dad, my first love came with a beard. It only makes sense that my future  loves come with a beard as well. 

- Beards are manly, as a women my genetic instinct is to want manly men to hunterer and gatherer for me. 

- They look like comfortable warm places to build nests, as a "bird" its only natural to want to nest. 

- I live in the land of hipster beards. My daily commute is full of them, every man and his goat are sporting some sort of facial growth. You don't hear me complaining, just embracing. 

- Beards are like the Titanic, the ultimate ice breaker. I'm a friendly kind of lass and like to talk to the masses and if you've got a little something something in and around your face hole I'm probably going to talk to you

- There is a song that quotes "if your dad doesn't have a beard, you have two mums", I couldn't live with myself if that was to happen and I was to enforce that on my children. I need to know that I am procreating with a man of adequate facial growth (and/or ability)

Lifes Important Bearded Men

My Dad - always had a beard, its who he was. I remember him picking us up from school once and he had had a shave and I walked straight past him. Beards really do make a man recognisable. 

My Step Dad - he used to have a beard when we were growing up. It was a bit of a Ned Beard and for years after he shaved it off he would flick the bottom of his chin after eating to dislodge any stored food. I think that's called muscle memory (or insanity)

My first bearded boyfriend - he had a beard and I probably noticed that before I noticed anything else about him. We hooked up and then he shaved his beard off. It was like he lost 1000 watts of sexuality with the removal of his face rug. I refused to see him for two weeks until he grew it back.

My go to guy - Ricki Hall. That's really all I need to say. If ever I am feeling down and need a cheer me up, I put that guy into google and I instantly feel better. EVERYWHERE. INSTANTLY. BETTER. Tattoos and beards. You fucking bet you.

What types of Beard are you?

The Patchy - look its probably important to address this one first because its what the majority of you can grown. If its patchy don't waste my time. Don't pretend to be something that you aren't and just give it up. I am sure you have a lovely personality, people will eventually forgive you for your inability for facial follicle.

The Moustachy - I moustache you a question? does the rest of your face get cold while your top lip is cloaked in glory? Yeah I thought so. Really its all in or all off. Rocking the moustache alone kinda makes you look like Mario, do you want to look like a middle aged plumber that's on a never ending mission to rescue a princess that keeps getting herself kidnapped? Yeah I thought so.

The Ned - You've got the beard, you've grown the beard, you've cultivated the beard, you may have gone a bit too far with the beard (yeah I know, who knew there was a limit). You are starting to get mistaken for a member of the ZZ Top, and that shit wasn't cool since the 70s. You need to cultivate more civilised and less homeless.

The Prickle - I think back in the day they used to call this the designer stubble, it was the look made famous by David Beckham (I think) and while it may look trendy it can cause havoc to the face of your would be admirers. That shit scratches and ain't no body got time for that. Have it or don't, there really is no room for half measures.

The Perfect - For me this is about the well groomed, enough length to give you softness and something to stroke. Distinguished and giving off the illusion that you read many leather bound books. That's the kind of look that we are after here. Like early Ricki Hall. If that shit is on your face, I am on you're face. 

What ever has brought on this new wave of beardedness, fingers crossed it continues. I want to immerse myself in all of it, build myself a nest and be done with it. Please be free to make up your own mind on your enjoyment of the beard, heck actually I hope you hate them, that will just means more bearded men for me. 

Love and Stroking 

Miss K 

Back Door Sluts... ahhh Number 1?

When I was younger and coming into my sexual maturity the idea of any man entering me, being it back door, front door or food hatch was startling and really quiet scary. As time went on and I became more experienced the boundaries were pushed, the inhibitions were dropped and the experiences were more to write home about. I guess it was only a matter of time before the envelope was pushed back (only slight pun intended). This is taboo, its the things of Greek men, priests and offers of reward in exchange of diamonds. Welcome to my world of anal sex. 

Experience 1 - Testing the Waters

 Let me set the scene for you, a Tokyo love hotel with a  guy from Chile that I'd just met on a crowded Midnight train a few hours earlier. I think his name was Paulo or Pedro or something of equal racial stereotype. We were getting acquainted with each other in a room that cost 14,000 Yen (which he paid for) when he decided that I'd like a bit of rim action. Needless to say I was taken a back and there would have been some involuntary clench so I quickly pulled up anchor and steered the motion of the ocean in a different direction. This was how I was first exposed to the tastes of the other side of life. 

Experience 2 - Did that just happen?

Saturday afternoon, beautiful summer sun, beer garden and cold cider. Beers with a friend from interstate. One cider turned into five and before I knew it, it was 6 o'clock and I was vomiting on myself in the cobbled alleyway. The next amount of time (maybe lets say a few hours but who can be sure) I had a shower, sat on a balcony waiting for pizza, passed out for a bit and engaged in some wild adult entertainment (which I am still to this day unsure how it started). This guy knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask for it. He was persuasive, I was drunk and I thought his penis was small enough to be a good starting point (and probably I mainly wanted to please him)

After our juices and energy were spent we both did the required roll over to sleep. I woke up to the vibration of my phone and opened my bleery eyes to a text from my best friend. Pain radiated from my head and my arse and places I didn't even know I had, it was all bad. I sent her a quick reply of "I think I just had bum sex =/ am I ever going to be able to poo again? He is sleeping, is it OK to sneak out?". So that's what my life had come to, anal sex and sneaking out on men. 

Despite her advice to stay and her reassurance that I would be able to poo again I decided to make a break for it and go home to lick my wounds (not literally, I'm not a cat). I grabbed my clothes, dressed quickly and pulled the door shut behind me. As I walked to get a taxi I got a lot of strange looks, honestly how could they know? did I have a big sign on my head that said "I JUST DID ANAL!!!" or was I walking like I had just gotten off a horse. I grabbed the first taxi I found and the first question the taxi driver and his shocked look gave me was "Are you OK?". I assured him I was fine and gave him my home coordinates. I opened my front door and the sight that greeted me made me understand the looks of concern. My dress was ripped, my hair was a big mess, my mascara was writing lines down my face and my lipstick was taking a trip to my ear. I looked like I'd been attacked and thrown in a bush. I learnt a valuable lesson that evening, when sneaking out of a hotel, always check a mirror before you exit into the night, oh and also, it might hurt to sit down for a week but you can most certainly poo again. 

Experience 3 - The Diversion Technique

I met a guy at a bar, we got on well, we decided to get on "better". We got on better and after a few times things took a turn for the south, the deep south. On a trip to down town pants land, the said boy kept taking my hand and putting it in the area of the anus. The more I pulled my hand away the more he put it back there so clearly one of us was not getting the message. I thought that a change in direction was needed but knew that things were going to continue along his path of liking. I didn't overly protest and infact left it happen. Not because I overly wanted too but because I wanted the encounter to be over and I wanted to please him. 

This encounter gave way to the question of why it was OK for them to touch me there, but why I was not OK to touch them there? I have a friend who openly admits to using the services of prostitutes and he will go so far as to pay them extra so they will slip a finger whilst giving him a blow job. Would I do the finger slip for an extra quid? Maybe guys are OK with it because they have watched a lot of porn and the "glory" hole has been glorified and the idea of getting a bit dirty doesn't phase them and really whats the difference between a finger and a penis anyway?

Experience 4 - The 30 Life Crisis

On the night of my 30th Birthday I managed to ensnare a 23 year old bearded boy from Perth into my web of overt sexuality. We talked, we danced, we ended up back at his hotel (because whats a birthday without Birthday sex?) and we got busy. I think being 30 I felt like I had something to prove to him and also maybe to myself. I asked him what he wanted, told him I would give him that and we would see what would happen when the dust settled. This kid was packing a bit of a punch in the pants department so when he very innocently said "I've never tried anal" I was thinking that I would need to negate on my offer of giving him what he wanted, but like a trooper I pushed through. Don't they say that third time is a charm? (experience four, is really experience three if you get me). So first time for him and third time for me and it was carnage, I'm not even going to lie. There was mess and muck and a very traumatised 23 year old at the end of it. For once in my life I stayed to cuddle and was sure to check the mirror when I slipped out in the morning. 

So what have we learnt from this? Anal sex is funny, it normally involves alcohol and a desire to please ones part time partner. Ive given it a red hot shot and have come to the conclusion that it may only be something that is pulled out for Bank Holidays, Birthdays and Diamonds. I was always told, don't knock it to you've tried it. Ive given it a try and let me tell you, no one wins when you're on the return stroke and have pulled out to far and then a surprise attack is launched on the doomhole. This is max pain for all parties involved and nothing can fix that but a bit of spit and a Disney band aid.

Oh and one more thing, don't forget the lube

Love and Shit 

Miss K 

I gave the bitch a hug, bitches love hugs *cough*

Winter is a time for comfort food, flannelette sheets, fluffy slippers and cuddles. I personally never really liked winter, the cold and the miserable and the cuddling. That’s right, I hate the cuddling. I can hear you all gasping as you read this, who hates cuddling? What kind of person doesn't like to get all snuggly and share their body heat? This kind of person. Hugs are by definition the best thing since sliced bread to most girls, but not to me. Have I some how managed to get the defective female gene? I was once told that I was very self aware, so using this reflective skill I have come up with some plausible reasons for my aversion to cuddling. 

Family

I never grew up in a cuddly family, we would generally show our affection by way of insult and this worked for us. We didn't need to cuddle and hug and proclaim our undying love to each other to know that we are there for each other. For me this was the norm and there is nothing wrong with that. 

Would I be different if I had have been hugged more as a child?

Assaults

As I have written about before I was the victim (I hate that word) of a sexual assault a few years ago and this has certainly had some affect on the way that I am with people and their proximity to me. I don’t know if it is ever really a conscious thing when I shy away from people but if you are drunk and try to get in my space to hug me or hold me chances are I am going to run for the hills. I have trust issues, I am not afraid to admit that. I need to feel in control and if someone holds me too tight, my control slips away.

Would I be different if I hadn't been assaulted?

Social Awkwardness

It has started to dawn on me that maybe I am socially awkward. I hate those times at work when its someone's birthday and we all do a singing and a cheering and then there comes the time for the birthday person to hug and kiss everyone in thanks. The idea of this bizarre ritual freaks me out. I stand in line diligently, wait until its my turn and then go to my happy place while I wait for it to all be over. I don’t know these people (well not really) what makes it ok for them to touch me? Weren't we taught stranger danger at school? This is the same for all social situations, if one person hugs another person on leaving it is the social norm for everyone to hug. I am that strange person that kind of just hangs around in the back ground hoping that nobody knows that I exist. I guess I kind of find it all fake... why would this person want to hug me when they don't even know me?

Would I be different if I wasn't socially awkward?

Drug Manipulations

I was once best friends with a Heroin addict socio-path (from what I have read these two things actually go hand in hand with each other) He managed to break down my defences easily and before I knew it I was so dependant on this cuddly monster that I didn't know how to function without him. I felt like something was missing when I was away from him and when I was with him I would always be touching him or he would have his arm around me. It was a strange phenomenon and I felt safe. It wasn't until later on when he screwed me over and stole from me that I realised that he had used the touching as manipulation. He made me so reliant on him and wanting his approval that if  I would say no to him he would punish me by not touching me…. So I would say yes just to have that security.  In breaking my trust did he also break my desire to have people close to me?

Would I be different if I hadn't been friends with a socio-path?

Connection and Meaning

I guess for me I think that cuddling is something special and something sacred (wow that sounds really gay). I know there is a difference between a hug between friends and laying still sharing a moment with someone you care about. For me the moments with someone that you care for are few and few between and because of that I may put more emphasis on them than other people. The idea of sharing a bed with someone for the pure reason to cuddle kind of seems pointless unless you have that deeper something. Have I been reading to many romance novels so think that connection is actually a thing?

Would I be different if I didn't put so much stock in connection?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate everyone and I will hug people but normally its only after I have known them for a while.  I guess its like a dog sniffing another dogs butt, once I know they are safe its ok to let my guard down and play with them (or am I getting the butt sniffing thing wrong? I know there is a correct dog metaphor in there somewhere). There are also some cases where I feel instantly at ease with people and will seek them out for hugs. Sadly there doesn't really seem to be an exact science to this. 

I guess its something that I just need to deal with and get over, I did some research about the benefits of hugging and they are all things that I could do with in my life. Did you know that cuddling a partner can improve the healing process of bruises and wounds due to the release of Oxytocin or that it reduces stress and the risk of heart disease. A good dose of cuddling can lower your blood pressure, drop your anxiety levels and boost your memory. I am working on it and expanding my circle all the time and remember if I cuddle you, make sure you realise how special you are. 

Don’t hug me, I will hug you 

Love and Snugglets

Miss K 

These cuddles I am actually ok with