I am the Queen of disjointed thinking. I like your hat! :-D

Story Time!

I know I haven’t written in a while, but I have been creating!  Here’s a little proof.  I hope you enjoy these little videos, they were fun to make. 🙂

Lots of love,

Pretty Kitty x

days like crazy paving

A college-aged woman goes to a party with friends. A guy who’s had his eye on her for a while sees his chance and starts plying her with alcohol, hoping to turn a long-standing “no” into a brief window of “yes”. Eventually, the young woman falls unconscious. The guy, figuring she won’t remember any of this tomorrow, has sex with her. The next day, nobody questions the motives of the guy who deliberately got a girl who didn’t want to sleep with him drunk so he could have sex with her, but everyone wants to know why the woman wasn’t more responsible. You have to be careful at parties, you know. Don’t you know what kinds of risks you’re opening yourself up to when you drink too much around the wrong people?

An older woman puts on a dress that makes her feel young again and heads into town for a…

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They are equally terrible and excellent.  Enjoy!  Or don’t.  I hope you do though.

The Pretty Kitty. 🙂 x


I just went to Coles to buy lentils, and I started crying because I just couldn’t take it.  Not the anxiety that normally bothers me, not the people all around, I was oddly ok with that.  I couldn’t take the embarrassment.  Fortunately (unfortunately??) relentless bullying since I was three years old right through school and a bit beyond has made me the best secret crier ever, so I was able to limit further embarrassment.

I’m not embarrassed because of anything I’ve done or anything I do, I’m embarrassed because of how I look.  I’ve always been self conscious because of how I look; I find myself really hideously ugly.  I’m not fishing and I don’t want it contradicted.  Beauty is an incredibly personal thing, and I happen to find myself very ugly.  But I’ve never been embarrassed by how I look, that’s a very different thing.  I’d never chosen how I look, so I had nothing to be embarrassed about.  I’ve chosen now.  I made a decision.  I chose to get very visible, always there braces on my teeth.  I decided to do this to myself.  I decided to do it not because of how I look but because one day I’d like to be able to speak without my stray eye tooth scraping my mouth and making me sore and sometimes making my mouth bleed.  I want to be able to chew my food.  I really don’t care about how my teeth look, I accept that I am ugly.
People keep trying to comfort me about my braces by saying things like, “It will be worth it!  You’ll look so much better!” Why would you just call me ugly like that?!  I already know!  I don’t need you to tell me!

Sometimes I try to make the most of it.  I got pink bands on last month because I knew I had a nail polish exactly the same colour.  I wear a lot of bright colours in a futile effort to distract people from my face, so really I can match any band colour if I put my mind to it.  For a little bit of fun, I took this picture and posted it to my locked Instagram account:



It was called sexually provocative, which left me very confused as I never knew ugly women could be sexually provocative, and I was also at a loss as to how else I was supposed to shop my teeth matched my fingers.  Very confusing!

So now I’m ashamed.  Apparently even though I’m ugly I can be accidentally sexually provocative, so I have that to deal with along with being embarrassed that I’ve done this to my body plus being embarrassed that people think I’ve done this to my body in order to look better.
I don’t believe I will or even can look better, but is it really your place to tell me how ugly I am now?

This is a very venty post and I fully understand if you think I’m too weird to be friends with now, especially since you now know my mental state with regards to my appearance,
And yet I remain,
The Pretty Kitty.

The following is a list of what I did to combat anxiety yesterday.  Yesterday was not a typical day (I had a medical appointment) so my anti-anxiety measures went into overdrive.   More about that later, if I remember.

  1. Wear superhero undies.
    Notes: obviously you will inherit the powers of your chosen hero.
  2. Leave home several hours before appointment time.
    Notes: walk as much of the journey as possible.  Walking calms my anxiety somewhat.  It’s very hot so it’s ok to get on a bus for most of it.  Buses make me anxious but it’s not peak hour so I should get a seat at the very front of the bus which is a bit ok.
  3. Listen to the same song (through headphones) on repeat infinite times.
    Notes: it’s alright to occasionally mouth words or accidentally sing a bit because YOLAMTARTON (You Only Live As Many Times As Required To Obtain Nirvana)
    Notes on notes: maybe choose something not by Lil’ Kim next time, if you’re going to mouth words and sing bits, which you will because songs are awesome.
  4. Draw a bumble bee.
    Notes: dot eyes inexpressive, add circles.  Now bee looks surprised, give her a smiley mouth.
    Notes on notes: now bee looks horny.
  5. Join the library.
    Notes: it will be difficult to repeat this in the future as one may only join the library once and have one library card.
  6. Drink lots of water
    Notes: doing this anyhow as I’m going to an ultrasound.  Normally would not drink this much water for anxiety.  Feel a bit full
  7. Always carry a dinosaur or dragon, especially a soft toy one.
    Notes: none.  This explains itself.
    Notes on notes: RAWR!  STOMP! *chews*

So this is what I did yesterday to combat my anxiety.  It worked (also they have me on anti-anxiety pills now, which contributes) right up until I was reading the consent form for my ultrasound when I freaked out a little, but fortunately I had my dinosaur on hand.
I hope you can use or adapt some of these to help you.

Love and laughs,
The Pretty Kitty

Missing Mo

I feel like every time I write a post here, it’s because I have bad news.  That’s what it is this time, as well.

On the 8th of April, I lost a member of my family.  My little black cat died.  His name was Mollimer Horatio, because his parents were Molly and Mortimer and the name “Horatio” means “worthy of love”, so it’s basically the best name ever.  Mollimer was called “Mo” for short.

A little background: Molly is my mum’s cat, Mortimer was a stray until he adopted me in his old age.  One night Molly removed a window screen and unlatched a window before jumping down onto the lid of the wheelie bin and running away.  Since cats don’t have thumbs, she must have been quite determined to get out, not to mention it is a double-storey house.  Molly was young and a very small cat and it was late at night, so we set about trying to find her immediately.  As it turned out, she had gone left when we went right; we did find her that night, but several weeks later it appeared that she had swallowed a small pumpkin whole…

You may know my dad worked away on oil rigs for several years and, like most people in that job, didn’t like being away and missing important events.  One completely normal afternoon, Dad was lamenting that he misses everything special and would probably be away when Molly had her kittens.  This prompted me to go check on Molly.  I found her in her “nest”, cleaning one kitten and pushing out another!  Molly had four kittens, the last one born was Mo.

From the second he was born Mo had to be heard!  He had the loudest kitten squark which grew into the loudest tomcat meow.  Mo enjoyed art, music and science.  His hobbies included singing,  walking all over my freshly painted canvasses and hiding in tall grass pretending to be a panther.  Mo didn’t like anyone at all ever (except me).  Every cat stereotype was right there in my Mo.  There are very few good pictures of Mo because whenever he saw a camera he would shout, “NO CAMERAS!” and either hiss, hide or show us his bum end.

Mo was only six years old.  He had a medical condition which required surgery when he was quite young, but it had given him no trouble since, until it did.

The two things that bother me most are that Mo died at my parent’s house in Maryborough, and I am in Brisbane, and that Margret Thatcher died the same day.  I don’t even know why that second thing bothers me and all things aside I doubt she did it on purpose.

My Mo.  My baby.  Song of my heart!  I miss you.

There’s so much more I want to tell you all.  There’s so much more you need to know about how wonderful he was, is and always will be.  I can’t write any more; there’s not enough tissues in the world.

Please go hug your furbaby or other loved one.

Signed with hope,
Pretty Kitty.