Owner: The Domestic Minx URL:http://thedomesticminx.squarespace.com Join Date: Wed, 21 Mar 2007 02:32:44 -0500 Rating:0 Site Description: Being a minx is delicious.
Add a big dollop of domesticity and you could have a recipe for disaster.
A hip-swinging, shot-slinging, globe-trotting member of the jet-setting elite leaves her expat world for housework, teenagers and a chance to write her Site statistics:Click here
domestic (animal) bliss 2007-03-20 08:21:48
Domestic tasks performed today:
Arose at 4:50 am to prepare coffee and toast for grateful husband and snarling, insomniac youngest son.
While enjoying morning brew, kept one eye on Sky News and other intensely green one on flight path of distant planes, lights blinking, long distance trajectories aimed at exotic locations.
Made marital bed with predictable excavation of small Italian greyhound masquerading as pet dog.
Abandoned sweeping of floors in favour of vacuum cleaner as have become incalculably bored with creative, yet unruly, gatherings of sand, dust and dehydrated food products.
Despite proclamations of thorough cleaning, inspected youngest son's bedroom for dubious matter and inappropriately located detritis.
Removed predictable cache of empty contact lens cases and cigarette packets, removed large quantities of sand from floor, plucked discarded and dehydrated contact lenses from underside of foot, straightened porn collection under bed after resuming search for ex
bedhead-deadhead 2007-03-19 03:03:13
It's not simply bedhead
.
I have woken up in a most befuddled mood this morning.
I may have got the downstairs sorted, but I am certainly not feeling on top of things.
My head is a mess.
Perhaps, despite my most valiant efforts, it is because an Issue has still not been addressed.
There is still an elephant in the room. He languishes. And he's laughing at me.
I blame my husband. The one with The Face.
After enduring repeated and protracted facial expressions of the admonishing kind, I finally initiated the process of resolution to clear a corner of our lives of My Stuff.
The idea to empty the storage unit was greeted warmly at first, almost vigorously, and for a moment I wore a glow of chuffed golden pride.
It didn't last long before the same idea was shoved in the too-hard basket, another storage compartment for which we have no room.
My disappointment proved no match for the variety of excuses offered.
"I'm exhausted and I've really been looking forward to doing no
saint pat and the snakes in my secret garden 2007-03-17 10:26:14 To be sure, I know what I should've done with my pubes for St Patrick's Day!
I wonder if a wee bit of green food colouring on my Medusa will do the trick?
St Pat may have driven all the snakes out of Ireland,
but he can't possibly banish them from my secret garden!
Wishing you all the luck of the Irish today!
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields,
And until we meet again,
May God hold you
In the palm of his hand."
Given my ancestry, I like to remember this over a glass of Guinness:
"Thirst is a shameless disease so here's to a shameful cure."
Cheers! Slainte! and Guid forder!
manicuring the minge 2007-03-17 02:15:33 I have been giving serious thought to pubic hair.
I have had cause to contemplate the entire pubic region since this morning when, in the course of my domestic ministrations, I stumbled upon an old and well thumbed magazine of a pornographic nature. The rogue Playmates Centrefold Edition had escaped the confines of a vast porn collection squirreled beneath my sons bed and lay partly, well fully, exposed at Miss December 1985.
And there it was. In all it's glory. A big, bold, hairy bush.
It took me by surprise really. It was so proud and vibrant. And so rude.
Not cheeky and overt like the bald assortment of waxen mounds and airbrushed labia I've encountered before beneath the bed, but rude and confrontational in a way that was raw and primitive, uncensored and untrimmed.
It was National Geographic.
Why was it so shocking?
Since when did the bush become so politically incorrect?
I was 11 years old when the hairy bush was de rigeur. But a small, skinny 11 year old nerd nee
the elephant in the storage unit 2007-03-15 02:10:04 Along with wardrobes, closets, shelves and the garden shed, the Storage Unit appears to be simply another repository for the infinite number of things that constitute My Stuff.
At it's most obvious it is a 3.0 × 4.4m monument to Greed.
But without question, it is the Elephant in our Room, and has become an inconvenient metaphor for those awkward, undignified and ill-fitting elements of my past and my self that I prefer to hide, to box away, refuse to discuss or simply ignore.
Rampant Consumerism
Mindless Materialism
Senseless Accumulation
Sentimental Hoarding
A Short Attention Span
Loose Ends
Miserable Failures
Aborted Missions
Abandoned Projects
Unfinished Business
They're all there in the storage
unit.
A Volatile Temper, Acid Tongue and General Intolerance of the Vulgar & Foolish have been impossible to contain.
Unfortunately, so has Bad Bill Paying, which has helped deliver this metaphor to it's current location.
The storage unit is an expensive way of no Read more:elephant
trenches 2007-03-13 05:55:24 I'm not in the Lifetime Achievement area yet -
I'm still battling it out in the trenches.
Michael Caine
I have spent the day with Rebecca, my utterly gorgeous friend
and mother of three very small children.
In a rare break from tradition she ventured, sans enfants, into my world, a long glass of wine away from her entourage of children, nappies and unfinished sentences.
It was a glorious escape. There was coffee in abundance, a variety of sinful pastries and the inevitable Wine of Celebration.
Stories were told langorously from start to finish, dreams were exposed in all their ridiculous and delicious glory and expletives were tossed about with careless and reckless abandon.
Freedom.
Like a radiant Rubenesque madonna my friend embraced her emancipation with a vigour I had almost forgotten. She was a vision both intoxicating and refreshing to behold.
On the other hand, it appears I take my decadence for granted.
To my younger friends I seem an enviable creature of leis
roses 2007-03-12 00:31:10
There is floral carpet in the funeral home.
Roses, old and faded, tumble and twine in eternally vigorous and joyful abundance at my feet. Their flourishing is so incongruous that I am transfixed for a moment, lost in their abandon. I trace their stems with the heel of my boot.
My feet are tired and swollen and after 42 hours of travel this is truly the very last place I want to be.
Or expected to be.
I clasp my mum's hand as we are led into the adjoining room. I don't look up as I follow the tumble of roses to my Nan's casket.
When I do, the sight of her is explosive..
"Nan".
The words catch in my throat and hot tears splash onto my cheeks.
Nothing has prepared me for this.
It hurts.
My chest heaves and breaths leap out between uncalculated sobs as I reach out to touch her face. Oh! So hard and cold. So cold.
Almost unrecognizable, she is bone thin and I am overwhelmed by her skeletal appearance.
"She's at peace now." comes a voice. "She was happy when she died
sculpture by the sea 2007-03-11 10:51:43 Seen at the Sculpture by the Sea Exhibition at Cottesloe Beach.
This just about sums up my various feelings after walking sixteen kilometeters through sand to enjoy the annual Cottesloe Sculpture by the Sea exhibition.
Three beers sorted out the gaping mouth issues in order to dull the pain of aching legs, one sunburned shoulder and what was once a parched orifice.
There are no more words, only the dull sounds of therapeutic gluggings... Read more:sculpture
domestic minx circa 1525 2007-03-07 08:24:28 The Domestic Minx will lament no more her domestic tribulations.
They are frivolous at best when compared to those of my ancestral minxes, whose daily list of obligations were conveniently outlined for all Good Wives to read (assuming they could) in the Good Wife Guide of 1525.
Given the unsettling amount of animal husbandry required on a daily basis, it appears there was little hope of the average wife emerging from growing piles of fecal matter to become a Domestic Minx.
Not so this jammy tart.
She has good reason to smirk.
She's just landed the toffiest geezer in the village and
has opened the door to a new life with servants and handmaidens.
No chickens and swine and milking of kine.
No baking and brewing withal and no wretched piles of animal faeces to spoil her day.
There's just that spot of Good Husbandry to attend to...
Meet the Domestic Minx, circa 1525.
The Good Wife
When thou art up and ready
Then first sweep the house.
Dress up they dishboard and se
scent of sun, sex and sirenuse 2007-03-22 04:35:02 It was all in the bottle.
The rampant tumble of bougainvillea spilling over whitewashed walls, the jewelled flash of majolica embracing basilica, vertically twisting cobblestoned alleys leading to the surprise of turquoise waters peeping over low stone walls, the waft of lemons growing luxuriantly between naively painted houses, collectively teetering like a multi faceted jewel towards the sea, the seductive glimpse of sirenuse forever luring and enticing.
Positano was balmy, beautiful and bejewelled.
It was an anniversary spent wrapped in each others arms like the pair of lovesick teenagers we once were, enjoying a lingering affair with the Amalfi Coast, our days spent soaked in her juices, lapping at her beauty and legends with an intoxicated fascination. We spent our days stumbling down narrow twisting cobblestoned streets drunk on Nastro Azzurro, limoncello, Lachryma Christi and visions of mermaids.
So when the call, indeed the nectar, of the sirens lured us into Carthusia
reasons to be cheerful. part one 2007-03-25 05:23:18
Sunday morning.
Birds are singing, sun is shining.
Adoring husband has prepared most decadent of cooked breakfasts eaten and enjoyed in glorious sunshine to ludicrously joyful chorus of magpies.
Small sacrifice made of only two small crispy bacon pieces to lurking cat and skulking, staring dog.
Three day migraine with accompanying bobble head and dependence on Mersyndol for sanity has run it's course, almost.
Realized with joy that daylight saving is over and there is more time today than yesterday.
Return to bed, putting extra time to good use...
Renewed burst of energy has caused husband to launch into spontaneous frenzy of window cleaning activity.
Joyful ministrations unexpectedly extending to all glassed or shiny surfaces which are being systematically polished in obsessive/compulsive manner.
Resultant joy at diminishing of domestic tasks has percolating effect extended to small animals whose previously vile indiscretions have become source of laughter and joy.
(
the crucible 2007-03-26 04:46:20 I was six feet away from a Crucible Moment.
She studied me, her face a shifting, sliding kaleidoscope of facial expressions.
Unsure of what to expect I sat, mesmerized by the maniacal display before me, knowing all too well that a call to this Vice President's Office meant only Bad Things.
Despite, perhaps because of, my popularity and success as a teacher, glowing references and a tireless devotion to the school and social community in this loneliest of outposts, I had fallen foul of the Most Evil Woman in Power.
She studied me as an entomologist interrogates something small and exotic wriggling under their microscope.
Sensing my discomfort, and evidently wallowing in it, a measure of Psychology 101 nonetheless convinced her to lead with The Kind Face and after alternating flashes of Unabashed Loathing, Envious Contempt, Deep Discomfort and what looked like Pure Evil, she arrived at the Comforting but Condescending Smile.
She shuffled the file of papers in front of her
sinful 2007-03-27 10:17:58 A Domestic Minx has her guilty secrets.
Saucy, sexy sinful secrets.
Slippery sliding spiralling secrets.
Things that can never, will never, ever ever be repeated.
Consumed with my own dirtiness and the collective weight of my furtive wickedness I decided this morning to wash my sins away.
After crumbling a candy pink bar of Lush Two Timing Tart under the jet of hot streaming water I prepared for divine absolution.
Like a looming cumulus a voluminous froth of foaming bubbles rose to the lip of the bath and within a moment of tentative toe testing I had slithered my slinky little body into the rosy waters of redemption.
Ahhhh…I closed my eyes, an apocalypse of sins seeping from my pores as the steaming water lapped at each part of me.
Mmmm…the bubbles rose and sputtered, a spume of heavenly froth around my hair as I lay back in the water to rest my head.
“sssss” they whispered at my ear as I closed my eyes, absently running my hands over my skin, luxuriat
la cucaracha - gone daddy gone? 2007-03-29 16:47:54 I have something to confess.
You may find it a little disturbing perhaps, a little socially unacceptable.
You may perhaps find it a little dirty.
And, sadly, I don't mean dirty in that deliciously naughty way either...
Okay.
Are you ready?
I. Like. Cockroaches.
There...
Yes. La Cucaracha. My Friend.
I may be The Domestic Minx.
Decadent, darling and delicious,
Domestic Dynamo
and Dominatrix of my Domain,
but to the shadowy world of Insects
I am Minx Domestica -
World Campaigner for Insect Rights
and Defender of the Arthropods.
While I will happily slap, kick, bite, scratch and create havoc with particularly vile members of my human species,
I can not, will not and do not inflict pain on those little insect interlopers that, through various misadventures, find their way into my parlour.
I refuse to squash ants, spray spiders, ensnare creatures on the wing or lower my foot upon those that crawl.
Why?
I say "Why not?"
From my earliest years I have been Protec
crowning glory / morning glory 2007-03-31 03:57:51
It was a red herring.
A singular hair of such resplendent scarlet loveliness it was almost luminescent.
I held it gently between my fingers and wondered why?
Why, in God's name, weren't there more of them!
Evidently lonely in a tangled forest of fine blonde foliage, the rogue hair
had come away without resistance as I sat nonchalantly twirling and twisting and pulling at the birds nest that was my Saturday morning bedhead.
Entangled in my fingers was an enigma.
"Oh my.." I breathed as I stretched it out before me.
Was this the Jessica Rabbit transformation I had been dreaming of?
"Are there more of you?" I whispered, curling its exotic vermilion beauty around my fingertip.
"I offer no resistance if you and your kind plan to take over the miserable forces stationed atop yonder hill."
There was no reply, the mysterious interloper fiery, scintillating, silent in my hands.
I glanced towards the mirror, at the cloud of inconsequential blonde fluff, the elaborate entanglemen Read more:glory
for sale - delusions of glamour 2007-04-01 11:25:22
Public Sale of Goods
At Home of Domestic Minx
3, Wisteria Lane,
La La Land
April 1, 2007
Lot One
The Delusions of Glamour Collection
Small, Personal and Treasured Selection
of Wigs and Hairpieces
with Mysterious Transformational Properties
1 long blonde ringletted wig.
Guaranteed embodiment of Victorian London Tart, complete with convincing faux Cockney accent, uplifting of cleavage via simultaneous appearance of corsetry, fishnet stockings and Victorian lace-up 'ows about a good Friar Tuck boots.
Bottom pinching, nipple squeezing and jolly good rogering to be expected.
1 long blonde curly wig ideal for 70's Rock Chick magnetism.
Upon adherance to head, wearer will immediately feel at home wearing totally awesome and far out thigh reducing micro shorts, man, with skin tight Rolling Stones Tongue tanktop and tall black platform boots. Owner will gain immediate access, In Through the Out Door, to all areas via "Fuck Off I'm With The Band" backstage pass.
1 Read more:glamour
wild thing 2007-04-03 00:47:29
Today I travel in and out of days to Where the Wild Things Are!!
This morning I initiate a transformation from bland, empty nursery room to a wildly enchanted and forested world dangling with vines and dripping with adventure.
Only this one will be minus actual wild things, and Max.
Wild foliage only.
My youngest and most elegantly accomplished sister-in-law Melinda is expecting her first baby in nine weeks time and has given me the opportunity to work some tamed magic on this baldest of canvases before he arrives.
Oh how I love the thrill and adventure of creating atmosphere! (Some may say I like to create a scene but it simply isn't true!!!)
Constantly inventing and reinventing the ambiance of our home, I most recently transformed it into a chic French boudoir, Rouge Rouge, the scene creating a deliciously defining moment for the same Melinda as she kicked up her heels as Bachelorette in elegant and decadent style.
Unfortunately, the night proved too potent for the poor girl
faux pas 2007-04-04 11:06:12
I like to consider myself a fashionable minx.
I read Vogue.
I watch Fashion TV.
I shop. A lot actually.
But there are skeletons in my closet...
They rattle about, disturbing my sleep, unsettling my demeanour, crudely reminding me of the embarrassing and profoundly unfashionable moments in my life.
I know them all by name and
I know them too well
Fashion faux pas.
Wardrobe Malfunctions.
and, most heinous of all,
those dirty incidents involving The Fashion Police.
I still recoil at the memory of a perfectly atrocious royal blue jogger suit with red numerical details. Purchased in the deeply unfashionable outpost of Balikpapan in Borneo it cost all of $8.00 and while bearing the virtue of being convincingly similar to one Madonna had been sporting, it also presented itself as the perfect lounge wear for the long haul flight from Kalimantan to London. It was 1997 and I had been in the jungle too long. Passing through customs I realized my mistake. The royal blue jogger suit with
chicken thighs 2007-04-03 12:08:56 It's been a long day.
I have a headache.
My fingers are sore, my body tired.
Awaiting me is the unholy prospect of cooking another wretched meal for a family of ravenous beasts.
Sitting on the bench top, glistening raw and obscene, is my nemesis, and saviour:
The 600g pack of defrosted chicken thighs.
Oh how best to annoint and honour you, my plump young friend...
Ahhh, my love,
my sweet and dimpled thighs.
Oh, how I have wiled the hours dreaming of your loosened flesh,
envisioned thoughts of what I might do with you,
how I might prepare and annoint you,
oh but to titillate and EAT you.
To lick your moist sweetness from my fingers and devour you...
You have consumed my every thought, my every waking moment.
Though I toiled and laboured
deep in the heart of where the wild things are.
Even as my fingers lay bruised and dirtied by efforts at the nursery wall
conjuring images of wild and primitive places,
were thoughts of you, my sweet,
my honeyed pink and flaccid thighs,
my dele
death by chocolate 2007-04-08 08:09:03 For most of us Easter brings with it symbols of New Life;
Jesus, bunnies, chickens and lots and lots of chocolate eggs.
In the privacy of my home, however, in the sanctuary of my own bedroom, lurks the ghost of Easter past, an Easter so tainted with horror that the memory of it disturbs me even now in the retelling.
I don’t know why I bought it.
I have never been partial to the smearing of food products on my own luscious and saucy body. I don’t thrill to the thought of the inevitable souring of cream laying rancid on my warm breasts or the squelchy browning of banana pulp between my thighs. On a scale of one to ten the prospect of enjoying sweet sticky mango flesh on my bare buttocks is also dismissively low.
And yet here I was, Easter 2006, armed with a rather tastelessly decorated jar of Chocolate Flavoured Body Sauce with which to smear my own husband. He seemed rather taken with the gesture really and flattered that I wished to fashion him into my own Frankenst Read more:death
the year of living... glamorously 2007-04-10 00:20:42 Indonesia. 1998.
The Year of Living Dangerously Glamorously. Darling.
1998 in Indonesia was a curious amalgam of experiences for an expat.
Dodging volatile bands of anti-Suharto demonstrators and evacuating the country on company jets was juxtaposed by a delicious decadence that would often find us in Bali for a weekend of surfing, sunshine, chilling out over a Bintang and taking gentle strolls along the beach.
While delicious decadence is the birthright of every minx, it is combining those exotic spices of danger and political intrigue in a glamorous way that adds pizzazz to the most diabolical of circumstances.
Glamour in the face of adversity and all that is unpleasant.
It is what distinguishes the Minx from the Mob.
It is as indispensable as a G and T on a Southeast Asian balcony.
Admittedly, Bali Beach can be more Bintang than gin and tonic, but it is entirely deserving of its own glamour.
Bohemian glamour.
Perhaps even a bohemian movie star glamour.
It is a
money 2007-04-12 14:14:14 Tonight I was going to write something rude and rapacious about The Joy of Sex
until something caught my eye, something so compelling, heart-stopping and diabolical that it stopped me in my tracks.
Five unpaid and ludicrously overdue bills lay on my desk:
One Imminent Suspension from Synergy,
the electricity people
Late Rates
Overdue Notice from The Water Corporation
Immediate Demand of Payment from Telstra, and
The Storage Unit Thing (let's not go there...)
Oh, I don't know what it is about bills, but they barely garner my attention.
I am wont to leave them for weeks on end until there are pleading, often rude demands for their remuneration.
Unfortunately, other people in the family have spied their non-payment.
So tonight I stand ashamed.
Yes, I am Bad With Money.
Inexcusably, avoidably, reprehensibly bad with money.
It leaks, it evaporates, it condenses somewhere else.
I simply don't know where it goes.
In the past I knew exactly where it went.
I spent it.
Clot
la fée verte 2007-04-13 12:53:58
Born with the Moon in Cancer
Choose her a name she will answer to
Call her Green and the winters cannot fade her
Call her Green for the children who've made her
Little Green, be a gypsy dancer
Through some queer chance, through a glass darkly, I am,
I have become, la fee verte.
The Green Fairy.
Awakening suddenly last night in the slippery miasma of sleep and wayward dreams I found myself with wings, the winged and dark proprieter of L'Absinthe Bar.
Dark, delicious and decadent, verdant with the absinthe of wormwood and artemesia,
heavy with intoxication and visions of la Moulin Rouge, I wafted, winged and green, to slip sweet intoxication upon the tongue of my ardent lovers, their mouths awakened and desirous of my kiss, sweet bitter kiss, swift promise of aphrodisia and sweet delusion.
Poets, artists, bohemia all, gathering for the touch of my wings, I carried them to delectable escape, the liberation of la Belle Epoque.
Oh la louche, such intoxia poured, warmed and bitt
accumulation 2007-04-15 11:11:28
I have sat in contemplation all morning, deeply coveting a darling little Fendi bag,
all green and shiny and small.
After much consderation, however, I'm afraid there is little chance of it making it's way into my winter collection.
I have a problem with Accumulation.
While this manifests itself in such locations as cupboards, shelves, wardrobes and The Storage Unit, it chooses also to follow me about like a bad smell.
It was brought to my attention earlier today as I casually wondered why my handbag was so disproportionately heavy.
As I emptied it of its contents there ensued from every corner of the house the raucous sounds of snorting and scornful laughter.
Personally, I am surprised that so much had made its way into my handbag and remained unaddressed for so long.
I had been looking for a pen all morning!!
For those of you interested in the entirely uninteresting contents of my handbag I have produced an exhaustive list of the accumulations for you to peruse at y
hands on 2007-04-14 11:43:42
I am a Domestic Minx
and it is to be expected that I will, on occasion, be sullied, gratuitously,
and I will be dirty...
I mean, do you really want to know where my hands have been this week?
While I have had my hands in a few pleasant places this week, please turn away now if you are a little squeamish or likely to fall ill at the mention of repugnant substances.
I assure you, of course, that I will not mention dishwater and how many times my poor beleaguered domestic paws have been plunged into the sink.
It goes with the territory really, doesn't it, darling?
Sunday:
Easter Sunday.
Naturally I had my fingers all over the chocolate.
After last year’s miserable and painful fiasco, that is ALL I had in the chocolate. No other body parts, I promise...
With the exception of my tongue, my chocolate smeared lips and my greedy gobbling mouth.
Monday:
It was a public holiday so I had lots of fun with my husband - cleaning behind the shed...( ooohhh...)
My hands wer
knickers 2007-04-16 03:59:45 This morning I realised that I have developed disturbing
Lingerie Issues.
While I cannot complain that my lingerie collection is not vast, varied or voluptuous, fit to burst with the variety of paraphernalia spilling from it, there has been a sad degeneration in my own personal choice of what to wear.
Lately I have horrified myself by resorting to the same three underpants in daily succession, and always with the same predictable bra or two.
It is a miserable development and one that every Minx, especially those of a Domestic nature, must avoid at all costs.
It is a Sign.
A Warning Bell sounding out loud and clear that one is in Grave Danger.
Danger of becoming Blasé.
Oh a Minx simply cannot become Blasé about her Undergarments!
I can only put it down to a brief but bothersome period of debilitating domesticity.
It is sadly obvious that my wretched state of mind has been reflected, both symbolically and tragically, in my unimaginative choice of underwear.
Three pairs of Read more:knickers
oh the boa 2007-04-18 12:41:10
With feather boa, like Lotte Lenya,
high heels and a vicious tongue,
Jesus, 'domestic minx', tu est tres fantastique!
So kinky gerlinky, so much fun!
Something magical happens when a boa is worn.
In fact, so strange is the transformation that it is almost as if the boa does the wearing...
Drape one about the neck and see what happens..
Oooh, a fluttering, a feathering, such light-hearted fabulousness that just oozes Dahhhling...
Rampant mincing, fabulous posturing and a pronounced rounding of the vowels dances in quickly!
Oh pop the champagne cork, darling!
for there will be partying, burlesque style.
Glasses clinking and bubbly drinking,
spontaneous flapper high kicks and suggestive lolloping diva decadence.
Bedroom becomes boudoir with a waft of the feathers.
Nothing, nothing spells sex like Boa.
Wrap me darling.
Unwrap me.
Go down with my eiderdown!
Tie me up and tie me down...
Ahh, feather boa..
Dear friend and passport to pleasure.
So many incarnations, so man
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