Wednesday, October 29, 2008

on the lighter side of life

I realise again why mothers of little babies don't usually have make up, or have the time to trim their eyebrows.

On our recent trip to Marseille, I decided stubbornly to invest in a bloody costly shiseido pack, including an oh so luscious-better-than-orgasm lipcolor that was perfect pour moi!!! chocolatey nude moisturising stuff that lasted, even after my 3 coffee at work.

It was worth very penny, or shall I say, worth $26US at ICN airport.

Last week, my MM went through my "kuluku Prada" bag (tell you about that later), discovered my pride and joy lippy and dipped her fingers in until it was but a blob of mushy remains on the carpet, clothes, couch and little MM.

Since that fateful moment, I have changed my attitude to parenting.

MM will get that smack on the backside without warning, she will wipe that colour off the couch, she will weed the grass if she fails her exam and she will repay me when she gets her first job.

My rules or "hit of road Jack"

So back to Loreal on sale I go.

Who was I kidding anyway? Theres nothing Shiseido about this hot mama (love flattering myself on my OWN blog) I'm always going to be the half price diva, the MTA voucher Queen, the Goddess on a very tight budget and very big shopping list.

So I came up with a cunning plan, since we're constantly frequented by wanna be politicians wanting our votes, I approched the MP from Ham East today at the Mall and made an offer he will refuse.

"Book with me and I give you my tick mate"

Speaking of voting, I wish I could vote OBAMA.

COz Helen Clark is a bit mafu(stale) now, she's been in the job too long and she's turning New Zealand into a pitiful state, with a huge braindrain problem and escalating crime in her leadership.

Sad that National leaning towards the opposite extreme though, but then again, shit happens.

I'm glad to see Taito Phillip Field setting up his own PAcific Party.

I am all for brown people leading the way and I have a soft spot for Taito, every time I see him, he says "Hows your mom?" and I smile and feel spe"th"ial, even though I know for sure the bastard says that to every young coconut voter he comes across.

Winnie Laban on the other hand, now that's class I say.

She is the epitome of the beautiful ideal Pacific woman (without the rolls).
She is strong, articulate, tall (that counts) and isn't afraid to switch off and drag a few ciggies at the car park.

Where Taito faltered, she stepped in and said "Hold up, let the woman show ya the way".

So, go Lumanuvao Winnie Laban, "o ou mama na"

Monday, October 06, 2008

Sa fai la'u miti

I have 17 draft entries in here, unpublished, unfinished because

I hav'nt the time to correct and approve my own writing.

I am my worst critic.

My mood is so kaleidoscopic that I crinch at an entry that only yesterday I wrote so passionately about.

Let me share an intriguing fact about me.

Yes, Because its all about Me. A'u. Moi'.

I am an eloquent writer in my sleep.

In fact, I win Nobel Prizes from my writings in my sleep

At times, I am woken from my narratives because I want to word it properly.

However, transcending from dream to thinking disrupts my slumber.

Once conscious, I find myself dissapointed I have forgotten my superbly worded story in the back of my sleeping mind.

Last night, I was woken abruptly from my dreamlike fagogo by the violence of my thoughts.

I was being choked, suffocated and gasping for air.

I was hanging from a banana tree next to a green mountain.

As I fought for my life, I realised that the banana tree was bending slowly to the weight of my beautiful body (Like I said, its a dream, anything is possible).

In a painfully slow motion, the banana tree fell towards to earth, unto my head.

I woke up frightfully, relieved that it was only a dream.

As I lay myself to sleep, my miti spirit roams again.

Hmmmm, where shall I take you next?

CandyLand? Lech in Winter? Strawberry flavoured clouds? Half naked Sparkan men serving you Vailima? under a fuafua tree?

I struggle at first to manipulate my wandering thoughts.

Dream happy dreams, dream happy dreams

Only to find that once again, my wishes are ignored and I'm once again stuck between two faafafines on a Pasi o le Vaa bus crawling towards Mulifanua.

My alarm clock strikes 6am and I realise that that, wasn't a dream, that was a fucken memory.