Constance Hall's Blog, page 11

Parental Alienation

Her children were supposed to be holidaying in Beirut with their dad, only they were never returned home…

Sally later shared he cut off all contact to her, their mother, torturing her and devastating the kids.

In a failed attempted to recover them with 60 Minutes, Sally became very well known. Then the internet did what the internet does and instead of supporting a woman on the edge, a women who had lost it all at the hands of who she deeply felt was an abusive and controlling man, it turned on her.

Labeling her whatever they felt the need to label her, in order to not have to treat her like a victim.

Often people struggle to accept women as victims, it doesn’t sit well with society. They like to use terms like “asking for it,” and “manipulative,” when confronted with a woman who truly is simply a victim.

I don’t know why, maybe if we see it as somehow the victim’s fault we feel more assured that it won’t happen to us.

But unfortunately, marrying a fuckwit (male or female) happens as spontaneously as being struck by lightning, there’s no discrimination. People change and then lives are ruined.

I learned a long time ago that you don’t need to be a fool to be fooled by the wrong man.

But bet your visitation rights on it…… Sally is a victim. A victim of parental alienation, a term that’s far more serious than a bunch of blokes sitting at a pub bitching about their ex’s.

And the saddest part is that Sally isn’t the only victim of Parental Alienation. Her beloved children are suffering just as much.

Sally has no contact with her children, none. She scrolls the internet for hours hoping to find a sign or a photo to show her that her babies are happy.

So last week when Sally’s mum’s friend found that her children’s school had put up a photo of her beloved daughter’s class she jumped on it to zoom in on gorgeous Lahela.

But the photo broke her to tears, the photo broke me to tears and I’m sure it’s moving you as we speak.

 

Sally’s close friend Lisa wrote this post and wanted us to read it.

“There is a little girl in the photo who looks like she is a million miles away. She possibly is, a million miles away with her mummy, in the only place she is allowed… Her mind. Where she goes to relive the memories of the times she had 2 parents in her life” Full post is here.

That photo reminded me of a saying that I recently learned to be true, “There is no such thing as other peoples children.”

If you felt at all maternal looking at that photo of a little girl who needs her mum, you understand that saying too. She is our little girl, our little broken hearted girl.

Sally wrote this to me yesterday, “People say a child taken by a stranger is horrific and requires urgent help. But when a child is taken by another parent they assume it’s ok because the child is still loved and has its needs met. But the truth is that a lot of the time parental alienation neglects the child’s emotional needs in a haze of hate and revenge. Ali took my kids because he knew how much they meant to me and he thrives on hurting me. But what he can’t see is the pain in our children eyes. I am lost, nobody is helping me, 300 unanswered emails, crying at lawyers that this is just another night without my children. The Family Law Courts need an overhaul.”

How could someone find a role for a child in a game of hate and revenge?

Being friends with Sally can feel like being friends with someone with a terminal illness at times, you love them, you like each other’s photos on Facebook, you inbox them when something relevant comes up, you see her smile and you automatically smile because you know, that deep down she is suffering in ways that you hope to never relate to.

And you’d do anything in your power to make things better for her.

But you just can’t.

I wonder if that sweet little girl knows that on the other side of the world, is a mum who fights every day, who cries every day, who send her love every day and who is sitting in a crowded room looking out of the window with the exact same look of pain on her face.

For Sally’s story, download or buy her book “All for my Children” instead of reading any of the bullshit clickbait stories in the media.

Love you Sally.

Con xx

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This little Queenie went to work, and this little Queenie stayed home

Mothers and working is a ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ scenario.

Archaic ideas make it impossible to be the holier than thou sacred mother, and have a life and earn some cash all at the same time.

Well I refuse to be dammed.

Here are some things I have noticed.

It’s not my money.

Someone needs to care for the kids in order for any money to come in. I know this all too well.

That someone this time is my partner. Despite him still working he has taken on a much heavier parenting role nowadays, I could not do this without the support of my husband. My kids happiness is my first priority, before work, before marriage I need to see their little faces smile just to function.

The fact that my husband has sacrificed his time, his work and his life to put those smiles on those faces so that I can work freely, makes any money I earn not my own.

So often I hear about friends who have no access to cash, that need to ask the bread winner for money when they want to do something. It’s degrading. Nobody should have to elevate another human to the status of the treasurer of the family just because they need a new pair of sandals.

Not to mention, how is that person supposed to ever leave if they aren’t happy? Whether you like to think about divorce or not the truth is that whoever has access to the majority of the cash has an unfair advantage in the case of making decisions about going or staying. Financial control is abuse.

Money earned in a partnership that involves children is 100%, indisputably, undoubtedly ours. Divided down the middle if need be, its not handed out in rations and the primary earner holds authority over it.

True equality starts at home, with every single pay check.

I’ve become less of a ball buster.

I used to bust Bill’s balls, the thought of him working all week and then fucking off out with friends on the weekend felt like torture.

When someone is with their children on their own ALL DAY EVERY DAY the only break they get is when someone joins them to share the load on weekends.

Just simply putting one of the twins in their car seats for me when I had done it 679 times that week feels like a massive break. Family time was my only rest. So when I had been looking forward to it all week and then come Saturday morning Bill snuck out for a 3 hour coffee on his own, I would be waiting for him at home, peacefully packing his belongings into garbage bags and calmly fucking them out onto the road waiting for his confused self to return to world war 3.

I actually couldn’t care less anymore.

When I am out of the house, even if it is to work it is peaceful.

-It is a drive without kids pulling each others hair in the back seat,

-It’s getting petrol without buying 4 kinder fucking surprises for my children to scream over because Billie-Violet got a turtle and all turtles in the world are rightfully Arlo’s, she swapped with him and out of spite he throws his kinder toy out the window on the freeway, she throws her bottle of water at his head.

-Its hours to myself, to achieve goals and feel accomplished, there is no accomplishment to be felt spending 40 minutes cleaning a bath tub to see out of the corner of your eye a 2 year old pecker leaning over the ledge and literally pissing on my hard work. FUN

So by the time I come home, I am so refreshed, so happy and so calm that I actually want my kids, because essentially I love them more then life, I love spending time with them, I just get so overwhelmed by the relentlessness of every day and every night.. for the rest of my life….

With that happiness, with that rested soul and energy, I don’t need Bill to share the load with me, if he’s there, awesome. If he’s not I can cope on my own. Be free little butterfly.

I don’t ever use the term “part time mum, part time worker.”

Whether you’re working full time or part time or your children stay with your ex-husband one week and you one week, you are a full-time mum. Your children are never away from your heart, the majority of your decisions are made with them in your mind, you work to create a better life for yourself and them, you stay at home because they need you there and you enjoy being there, or maybe you stay at home because its a privilege denied to your own single mum, or maybe you work because its a privilege denied to many women before you.

But you have always been and will always be a full-time mum.

So what’s harder? Paid work or unpaid full-time home work?

For me, Staying at home is more emotionally draining and gong to work is more physically draining, I choose physical stress over the mental stress at the moment.

Last week I had to work interstate for a night, I ran a bath… I entered it on my own… I shaved my armpits and like a real bad arse i left the razor on the side of the bath- nobody cut themselves with it… I then left a glass of water by the side of my bed… A luxury I’d been denied for years… And to top if all off I had a glorious wank, the kind of wank you’d write home about if you let anyone at home know how much you love a good wank.

And then I returned home to find a human shit in my Ugg Boot.

So lets get real, both are just different kinds of next to impossible and then we’re expected to forge a respectful and loving marriage in the between…. LOL my husband and I wave goodbye to each other in the mornings with the middle finger perched high enough outside the car window for the whole street to get a glimpse at our #maritalbliss.

Whatever we choose to do, we do it for one reason. Because its what’s right for us right now.

And we are full time, full-hearted, full figured or fully slim and perfectly imperfect Queens.

Doing our shiz and doing it our way.

Con

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You can buy Like a Queen here– now shipped worldwide!

The Tales Of The Great Vagina Dress

I love a good fanny slip.

Possibly coz I’m a nudist and I love women, possibly coz I’m a bit pervy and am always interested in fanny fashion.

So I’m going to say it, I wasn’t one of those deeply offended chicks when Chrissy Teigan popped a flap last week at the AMA awards.

You wanna hear something funny? When my husband and I first got together (back when we used to have fun) we got drunk one night and I drew 2 huge eyes on a piece of cardboard, cut them out and stuck them on the pubes above his dick, it was seriously then funniest thing we had ever seen, it made his knob look like a nose, his pubes were eyebrows, like you would cry laughing if I showed you the picture. We sent a photo to all of our close friends and they called immediately laughing hysterically.

One night while reminiscing the incident I told my friends that we should do it again, this time using my vagina….. Silence……

Everyone stopped laughing and one of our friends said, “TOO FAR CON!!!!”

What? We send each other dick pics…. we are besties and joke about everything. What about my fanny is too far?

My cousin shows his bum crack every time he bends over, pretty much the whole thing hangs out.

I was bush walking with my friend and her husband recently and he stopped for a wee, he barely turned around so immersed in the conversation and I definitely copped an eye full of side dick.

We joke about men wanking, men getting stiffies, yet we barely acknowledge that chicks don’t mind a little clit tickle and often crack a slippery when we’re turned on or ovulating or just feel like a damn good rogering. Shhhhh we better not talk about that….

Men appear to have more rights to their own bodies then women do. I could write a book and call it “The casually loveable penis and his mysteriously aloof friend”

I have 2 sons and 2 daughters, I’ve noticed a vast difference in the way that our own family treats their nudity. Boys are harmless, entitled to cruise around the house in the nud after a bath while everyone chases the girls around with their undies shoving them on as quickly as possible.

People in general are less comfortable with females nudity then mens.

Im not saying that everyone would have been cool with a penis flop on the catwalk, clearly folks would have been up in arms over that too. What Im saying is…. did anyone die? Did womens wages instantly decline? Did anyone feel like they had the right to grab it after they saw it? No, in fact, the biggest effect her fanny had on the world was a bit of global minge trim motivation, all thanks to Chrissy.

You see my fanny, like Chrissy’s pops out all the time. My husband refers to it as a “Flap attack” when one of my flaps pops out the side of my undies and I’m sitting on the couch crossed legged, he points and chants the word ‘flaaaaaap attack’

I laugh, I don’t see the vulva as a sacred or dirty or serious or even that mysterious. Its just another piece of skin, with a pretty vertical smile, some are hairy and some are bald, some are tanned and some are pale, some (like mine) carry a little bit of extra chub to keep themselves warm in winter.

Some happen to sit on top of 2 long legs and pop out to say hi at award ceremonies.

Is that anti-feminism? Is that a step back for womankind? God no.

Lighten up world, its a fanny not a nuclear bomb. And when they aren’t being violated or disrespected I’d like to see more of them.

But I’m a nudist. And I love women.

Con xxxx

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When to Step in

I mean I’ve always had the no stance, I want nothing but secret chocolates and snuggles with my friends kids… Not only because (and I can admit) them liking me is important for my self-worth, but also because I know how important a relationship with me is to them.

You see Maggie Dent (the only parenting expert I ever turn to in times of need), has a beautiful theory called the Lighthouse Theory. Sometimes kids, teenagers in particular can’t be reached by their own parents. So in a crisis they tend to turn to a lighthouse, aunty or a friend of their parents that is easy to talk to.

I get that because I was the same, I would cringe at the idea of talking to my mum about some boyfriend or vagina problem. But I’d openly chat for hours to my aunties or friends parents. It’s just easier sometimes. So I want to be there for my friends’ kids in that way and I want my friends to be there for my kids, the older I get the more pride I swallow and the more I realise that it’s not just me who is raising these kids, it really does take a village.

So when it’s my friend’s kids turn to be a dick I step aside, sometimes even high five the little shit as my mates role their eyes at me, I can’t help it. I have a soft spot for the naughty ones.

However a few months ago I was at the park with Arlo and his mate and a little girl who couldn’t have been older than 4 was demolishing the playground. She was kicking kids off the slides and charging around the platforms like some sort of little lord.

It was actually hilarious- I have never seen such a tiny girl cause so much havoc.

Arlo is not a dobber, he is a law of the jungle kind of kid. He never hurts anyone, it’s kind of hard to hurt him (unless you stub his toe) so it’s really unusual for him to interrupt me to dob on a little girl, he came over to me to tell me that a little girl had kicked him. I did my usual energy-conserving mum-of-4 parenting and told him to just play somewhere else. 5 minutes later he came over to me in tears and told me that she had thrown sand in his eyes and as he said it his mate came running over crying his eyes out too, she had slapped him. Great… I obviously have to get off my arse and intervene.

I looked around for her mum, it was a very busy day, one of those sunny winter days where everyone capitalises and picnics the fuck out of every park. The kid’s mum was probably hiding somewhere with a bottle of Gin enjoying the peace.

I had no choice.

Little Miss Playground Queen was now reigning everything. Stomping, throwing things, I think she was even singing Christina Aguilera’s Fighter as she ruled the see-saw, loving herself sick.

I walked towards her, she had a short curly bob, it was perfect. She glared at me as moved in closer. I know what she was thinking, “hmmmm, who’s this bitch getting up in my grill… killing my vibe.. who dares..”

“Hi sweetie, do you think that you could chill on the kicking and sand throwing? My kids are all a bit sad coz they really wanted to play up here with you.”

Her eyes narrowed, She responded with a poised statement. “Fine… the boys can play there,” and she pointed to a tiny patch of mud.

The boys were happy with that and I felt like the negotiator of the year.

And that was kind of that. I was starting to think that stepping in is the new me.

However a couple of weeks ago my Billie-Violet was having a really hard time, she was struggling with some of her friends. She had been in trouble with Bill for not cleaning her room and answering back and I had walked in on her in her bedroom crying to a photo of my dad, her passed away poppy. It wasn’t the “look at me, I’m crying to get out of trouble” kind of cry either, and trust me I have seen that. But she was struggling.

So I grabbed her bike and took her to the park. She merrily rode around getting a bit of colour in her soul again when a little toddler walked in front of her bike- and she knocked him over.

She was mortified, the toddler was fine he ran off giggling, thankfully toddlers are made of rubber but his dad stormed over to her and yelled, “You’re a stupid little girl, you shouldn’t be riding around here!”

Maybe it was a little close to the play equipment, but fuck me he was such a bully.

My blood boiled. Fierce warrior mum kicked in. I gave him a mouthful about yelling at kids you don’t know. Billie-Violet buried her head into me crying, yet grateful that I had her back.

Still, no winners.

I realised that day my main gripe with disciplining kids who aren’t yours is that you don’t know their story. You don’t know if this is something they do all the time or something that was a pure accident. You don’t know if that little girl has spent the day crying for her dead Poppy, or if she purposely hits toddlers in parks on her bike every weekend.

You just don’t know.

Obviously, there isn’t a cut and dry answer. When someone is hurting your kid it doesn’t matter who, a child or a grown man, the first thing you need to do is stop that shit..

Now it isn’t a do or don’t type of conversation, everyone handles situations differently. But I do know that the words that come out of adults who aren’t your parents cut children a lot deeper than those of your own folks. So for me?

Going to extreme measures to sort it out with the kids parents before even thinking of approaching the kid is the only way.

I’ll stick to being a lighthouse for other children, someone that hopefully one day they can approach if they ever need anything and I’ll leave the hard arse shit to the mums and dads.

Love Con xxx

4 things that upset me when I first became a mum that I am #nofucks about now

or “you know it’s traumatic to a baby when her mum ignores her crying” I was like, “yep… I’m a child abusing, over protecting huge fuck up that should die. I would dispute them with facts, kind of like the way keyboard warriors love a good ‘statistic’ I’d be like “Well I researched and early anxiety in children is actually linked to….. and not….. (note that I have gaps because I cant for the life of me remember what any of these facts are now) Come my forth baby and people would say “Oh no you cant burp him in that position, its proven to force the gas back down creating bubbles of baby gas fart bombs inside the third chamber of the left compartment of the large intestine and make his reflux worse.” And I just stare back and finally say “Thank you, thank you so much.”

2) My lack of social life. I used to enviously watch on from my computer screen (I didn’t get an iPhone until my second baby) Covered in sour milk while Bill went out with the boys and sent me a text telling me how much of a great night he’s having and how I ‘should check out this new bar in town’ while I felt like a loser with no friends and no nice clothes and no reason to wash the yellow baby shit out of my hair, old before my time. Now days I’m still at home with my children, Bill has joined me though and I see other peoples boyfriends getting tagged in pictures, at new bars, out with the boys while their girlfriends are at home with new babies and the realisation hits me, they are the losers. Missing once in a life time moments for another night out that will eventually all blur into one.

3) Stuff, stuff upset me when I had my first baby. We lived in a tiny flat and my new baby was sharing a room with my step daughter and we couldn’t afford to buy a cot so I had to ask around and borrow one from a friend of my mums ex boyfriend. Id go to friends houses and they had everything from designer nappy bags to top of the range baby bouncers that looked like NASA had beamed them down from space. Ive never been materialistic in my life, something about having my first baby made me feel like I needed stuff. If Im getting thrown food at by a small arsehole it just seemed to pack a bigger punch that the highchair was a second hand $24 ikea one, surly hurled mash felt ok from a $300 brand new one? I had a $500 car that rarely started, once I had a friend’s new girlfriend walk me and my baby to our car and she couldn’t believe it was mine… “Hang on? Aren’t you supposed to get a Prado when you have a baby? Like… this isn’t even safe? if you crashed and shit this thing would disintegrate”

Me “yeah… lets call Bill and tell him to grab me a Prado on his way home and shit… cos its that easy and like me and the baby are gonna die on our way home if you dont… and shit..”

By the time I had my forth baby I had lost my drive for stuff, the twins live in hand me downs and I have a firm belief that owning an expensive car won’t make my life anymore satisfying. We do have more then we did back then, it doesn’t necessarily make me a happier person, I will always find an excuse to complain, thats my skill.

At one point I wanted a thermomix, because everyone told me it would make my life easier. I opted for the cheaper version, the Bellini. As suspected I used it 3 times and its now a constant remember of how little cooking I do. Basically if I was to pay over 2k for an appliance it would want to cook from scratch, wash my dishes and give my husband a blow job once the kids were asleep.

Stuff breaks, it gets old and to be honest it just doesn’t inspire me. Holidays do, cocktails on holidays are my kind of stuff.

Most of all, when I had my first child I feared women. I knew that they had been doing this longer then me, like when you start a new job and all the old experts are watching the way you do things and sometimes even laughing while you fumbled your way through unknown territory awkwardly trying to look fluent, adequate, unique.

I thought that was what joining this cycle of mothers was, so I kept my distance and did my own thing and subsequently it became the loneliest time of my life.

Come my 3rd and 4th child I now know, not that I am adequate or that I am now the expert, now I know that it doesn’t matter how many babies you have your never an expert on anything but your own journey…. and even thats a stretch… I have 4 kids and I have no idea what the answers for your baby’s latest issue is, but I love chatting about them and working out what the fuck we are all going to do and bitch about our husbands pretending to have the parenting capacity of a drunk horse and make each other food (un pack each others take away). My fear of having to compete with other mothers went when I realised, that there is no competition at all, just a whole pile of glorious Queens wondering why the fuck there is shit in our hair and who we have become.

4) My first baby I feared other women, by the forth I knew I wouldn’t survive without them.

Love Con xxx

Public Appearance Número Uno

I have been getting asked to do these more and more lately, but I’m terrible in front of crowds and have panic attacks about speaking in public.

However this was for the Rafiki fundraiser, Rafiki is special and close to my heart and I have the utmost respect for the women who run it, women who save the lives of traumatised children every day… makes my nervousness seem kind of insignificant.

Byron Bay was everything and more than I expected. The hotel was situated inside an actual rain forrest, everyone was wearing flowy bohemian clothes.. I actually felt like I had died and gone to heaven.

I walked into the hotel that they had booked for us and Bill and I were greeted with presents, Rafiki jumpers for the kids, products created by local businesses, a new dress. My head started to spin, I’ve never been spoilt like this before, never. I couldn’t help but feel like I was not worthy of all of the attention and special treatment.

The women who run this show do FAR more than I ever did, fuck even the women that I have brought with me have dedicated more of their lives to helping others.

I remind myself to just be grateful and clear self doubt out of my head constantly, it creeps back, that’s just human nature.

I finally got to meet the women who started and run Rafiki, even though I felt like I have known them for a very long time, this was the first face to face meeting we had had and like I expected we all felt like family. They are funny and real with beautiful husbands, normal people that just happen to dedicate their entire lives to saving children in Kenya, I should have been star struck in the presence of such greatness, but these chicks were normal and comforting, I suppose you have to have a comforting nature to deal with traumatised people every day.

Missing the kids is always hard for me, I see a pool, I think of Arlo in it, I see a tree, I think of Billie-Violet in it… I don’t really think of the twins much lol but come on the are sooooo god damn hard at the moment.

My sister came up to see me from Melbourne, my bestie from Sydney and I brought my closest friends from Perth, everyone wanting to support Rafiki and have a night or 2 away from our kids, it was sort of like a dream come true. I kept expecting to wake up.

Lisa Magill from Terminally Fabulous drove down with her entire family of Irish greatness, Kat Abianc brought her famous model son Parker for the night, Celeste Barber graced us all with her presence and we were gearing up for a brilliant night. My nerves were creeping in, I missed the kids and I didn’t feel worthy of a quarter of the attention I was receiving but I gave it my best and headed over.

Public appearances are strange, you meet all these people that you have heaps in common with, in every day life I don’t meet many people at all that I have anything in common with. Yet you only have a couple of minutes to chat to everyone because you need to move onto the next people. Queens were sharing very intimate details of their lives with me, I wanted to do my usual and find a dark corner to just chat and drink the night away but I was pulled to the next group, where I would fall in love with another queen and the same thing would happen.

The speeches at a Rafiki fundraiser will touch your heart in places it hasn’t been touched before. When they show videos of the children talking, when you hear Sarah and Annemarie talk, the sponsors and supporters talk, you just become overwhelmed with joy and sadness all at once. Moved is an understatement.

I spoke, I was 3 wines in, I saw some ladies had sat on the floor and I thought that it looked a lot less nerve racking, so I sat on the stage and I made Bill sit with me, he did so, he was kind of my rock and everything was actually ok, I enjoyed speaking and felt like I was talking to friends.

I noticed people in the crowd, a drunk chick who was heckling me with love bombs, a tall goddess like chick with a flawless outfit on and long thick hair, an older lady possibly around 70 with white hair and an amazing lace outfit on, all so admirable, all beautiful.

After the speeches I went back to meeting people, it was fun, my guards were down and I was really enjoying myself.

I went to the toilet, it took 15 minutes as I ended up toilet room chatting and taking selfies the whole time.

As I walked out of the door, the first moment I had been alone for even one second and I was approached by the older women that I had been admiring.

She came over to me all gracefully and I stopped to talk. The words she said stopped me in my tracks,

“Constance you do not belong here”

“Sorry?” I responded

“You have destroyed tonight. You have destroyed Rafiki. You talk about sex with your husband publicly, you are completely driven by your own ego. Your ego and trashy nature has ruined this foundation.”

The room started spinning as I waited for the punch line. My guards were completely down, everyone had been so nice to me. I actually have never had so many nice things said about me as I had that evening and now this. Everything that I had thought was so beautiful about this women changed as I realised that she had waited all night to get me alone so that she could try and hurt me as deeply as she could.

I didn’t respond. I instantly walked out onto the court yard where another Queen gave me a hug and asked for a selfie. I burst into tears.

I’m usually so strong, I get trolled all the time and just ignore- Block- ignore- block but this was completely unexpected, all the feelings of not being worthy of this treatment, missing my kids, vulnerably speaking in public just piled on top of me like a wave that finally pulled me down.

My sister and my friend, like all big sisters and protective friends were furious and found her immediately asking her what her problem was. She stayed true to her word, told them that I don’t belong here. Even called my friend a cunt which was almost impressive of a women her age, while I tried to bring myself back and get on with my night.

Nothing was really getting through to me, everyone was so supportive and calling me a queen and telling me to straighten my crown but my panic attack was strong and I was struggling to pull myself out of it and considering leaving. Until a beautiful heavily intoxicated women pushed everyone out of the way, handed me a drink and said this.

“Con, you know those women that you love so much, the ones you call your Queens?”

“Yeah” I responded

“Well guess what? A large majority of them feel like this every day. Probably not to this extent but there is always someone making them feel like shit about themselves, an in law or the ‘perfect mums’ or just some areshole on the street… And guess where they turn to laugh it off?”

“where?”

“You fuck head. Now get over it, we all meet arseholes.”

And just like that I skulled a wine and I got over it, I felt less alone, I remembered my crew, my Queens. I decided to hone in on the millions of lovely things I’d heard all night instead of the one cuntish thing.

Eventually this lady was escorted out, her family and her were standing really close and glaring at me while I drew the raffle tickets, Queens were reporting that she was approaching them with more poison, fucking with me is one thing, fucking with my Queens is a total other story. To be honest I can’t explain it, I can’t explain it, I have done stupid things, selfish things and Ive responded to things in ways that I am not proud of but one thing I don’t do is go out of my way to tear people down, that kind of nastiness is rare and its out of my realm of understanding.

I know that isn’t the last time someone will be horrible to me but now I’m learning to keep it in perspective.

The rest of the night was an absolute ball, I drunkenly stayed up until 2am having profound conversations with other drunk queens, probably solved the worlds problems before falling asleep mid sentence and deciding it was time to let go of the night.

I had the best time in Byron Bay and thanks to Rafiki I am moving through my fears of public appearances and even managed to speak without my irritable bowel taking over the stage.

I am endlessly grateful to be a part of Rafiki and to have been taken there and spoilt like a true Queen.

Back to reality and my house was even messier than I left it, my babysitter had reversed my car into a tree, my kids refused to go to school because “its not fair that you got a holiday” and I gained 2 kgs while I was away.

But along with this dose of reality comes a refreshing stability. It’s a beautiful reality to be privileged with.

Until next time Byron.

con xxx

The R word

This beautiful woman is always friendly, caring and considerate.

She first contacted me when I was thrown into the spotlight for ‘going viral’, so to speak.

In a time where I was being contacted non stop by people who wanted something from me, she was this shining little light and out of nowhere contacted me to help me and guide me out of the ‘what the fuck is going on’ state I had found myself in.

Amongst other things she showed me how to get my Facebook account verified (that blue tick near my name.. I had no idea what that even meant before she called me) and become a big deal public fucking figure and shit.

You know those people that just help and don’t want anything in return despite you being all inspector suspicious they just actually are.. like kind and sweet, for no reason…

Well that’s Kat. So now that we have established what a genuinely Queenly human she is… I want to tell you… that she, our beautiful Kat spent last week genuinely fucked off.

Kat has a son, he has Down syndrome and nothing gets the Queen riled quite like hearing the term “retard” thrown around like some kind of flippant insult.

And that’s exactly what happened last week.







Last week, Australian Tennis hero (I use the term hero because I have no idea what we actually call sporting champions these days) Bernard Tomic in a post match media conference said the sentence “Unfortunately I had to stand on the court like a retard.”

And fuck me, Ive never seen Kat so mad, actually I’ve never even seen her a bit mad… But she was really mad.

Because as Kat said to me, Bernard wasn’t saying “fuck wit,” he wasn’t saying “dick head”. He was saying that the biggest loser you can be is a retard.

Now I used to use the word retard, Kat has even admitted that she used to use the word retard, Allan from the hangover brought it back with his interestingly pronounced version of the word Retard…. It was funny..

But guess what? The word nigger was probably funny to someone once too. However now you’d get glassed for even whispering the word in most places.

It’s kind of hard for anybody whose children don’t have any disabilities to understand what the word ‘Retard’ really feels like to a mother of a child with a disability. You have to really put yourself in her shoes.

I did so by asking myself, when someone in my house uses that word (I have teenage brothers, I hear it a lot,) what are they trying to say…. Well they are trying to point out that something or someone was uncoordinated? Fucked up? that it was ‘embarrassing..? that you should be embarrassed for doing it? Stupid?

You see I’m not a precious mum, my son Arlo is a red head and I joke that he’s my little ranga all the time, I teach my kids to laugh at themselves, to not take the world so seriously…

And then I really put myself in Kat’s shoes….

I envisioned that 2 famous important tennis players in the one week, stood on national television, in the spotlight as we all worshipped them and they stated,

“I was forced to stand around like a fucked up little uncoordinated Embarrassment, like a stupid Arlo.”

And my heart broke. Not just for Kat, not just for Parker. But for anybody with a disability, for all of us and our ignorance.

So Kat did what fierce, lioness, warrior bitches do and she started a petition, asking for an apology. Not trying to get the guy fired or ruin anyone’s careers. She wanted it to be known that this isn’t ok, because do you know what? It isn’t ok. It just isn’t.







Then a second player, Nick Kyrgios, said it as a throwaway comment on court in the same week and had to address it publicly at a press conference.

Can you imagine the hurt you would feel? If that was your happy, unassuming little boy? Forced to live in a world that doesn’t stick up for him?

Well you don’t have to, coz Parker has Kat and she does not stop, we saw an apology from Bernard. An apology from a 23 year old who should have known better, but it doesn’t stop here. We want a policy change. We don’t think it should be up to Australian disability organisations to police when these terms are flippantly thrown around in the public eye by sports figures.. Tennis Australia has policy against racial slurs, discrimination, they even have one against derogatory language, now we want them to have a public conversation about it, and if they STILL don’t think minority slurs are covered they need further policies, to prevent hurtful stabs at our disabled community.

Because they more than matter.

Kat, I am promising you that I wont use the R word ever again. As a woman who freely throws around the word cunt, the R word is now a step too far, even for a foul mouthed swearer like myself.

Kat is hoping that people in the spotlight, playground, sports field and well people everywhere learn that the ‘R’ word, may seem like shits and giggles, it may seem a bit of fun.. But for a hell of a lot of families out there.. It’s poison, plain and simple.

Let it be poison to all of us and stop making fuckwits out of ourselves by abolishing the term.

Con

 

Wedding Appropriate

and captioned asking the audience if it was ‘wedding appropriate’ attire.

The post went on to explain that the Queen, (who remained anonymous but is a friend of the writer of the original post) in the picture was at a wedding on the previous weekend where she was allegedly met with quite a bit of bullying.

She claims to have been treated rudely by other women and targeted for wearing this dress,

“a women came up from behind and slapped her on the bum and claimed it was a dare from a group of other women who were watching and snickering. Someone else seemingly purposely spilt beer on her.”

The post was concluded with “Ok but wait, she wants to know, did she bring any of this on herself by wearing this to the wedding…..?”

I thought Id take the time to answer that question my self.

With a Big. Fat. NO.

No my dear sexy tight dress Queen you did not.

In fact looking back on my wedding I am disappointed that I didn’t write on the invitations, “Please flaunt it, flaunt your body, whether it be rolls or muscles, skinnyminnies and magnificent curves, tall ones, short ones, round ones straight ones, I want a selection. Id like to see them all flaunted.

I especially like what you wore to this wedding because it oozes pride and fuck, you should be SOOOOO proud, that bod of yours looks very well worked out, you don’t roll out of bed, land on your Maccas left overs, peel them off your thigh and shove them in your gob to get a bod like this, this is dedication.

I am dedicated too, I had kids, I LOOOOVE chocolate, people recovering from car accidents and strokes are better runners then me, its true, I have seen them at the gym, their OTs and them laugh at me. Its cool, I actually only go to the gym to get away from my kids, sometimes I hide in the change rooms eating biscuits, on my iPhone while the kids are at the creche, heaven.

Sorry sexy lady in the tight dress at the wedding, Im getting sidetracked. I saw a lot of comments saying that you were trying to out do the bride at the wedding…. I don’t know if any of these commenters have ever been a bride, especially considering a lot of them were middle aged men, fuck stranger things have happened.

But from my experience, being a bride is the one day where you couldn’t give a flying fuck what your friends are wearing, you are too wrapped up in the glory that is you, you try and be polite, kind and considerate, but in your heads its all “me me me me me me, Im glorious, Im amazing, look at my spray tan, me me me, I love my hair, don’t touch me Im fabulous, me me me, who am I marrying again? me me me Oh there the lucky fucker is. Me me me me me me”

To think that a bride would waste her breath being jealous is an insult to the self indulgent total legendary, no fucks diva that is the modern day bride. Do not worry about out doing a bride, you never will!!!!!!

But sexy Lady in the tight dress, now that we are talking Id really like to tell you something that is much more serious then a glorious bride being amazing on her wedding day..

The only thing that was inappropriate at this wedding that you went to on the weekend was the way YOU were treated.

In fact, inappropriate isn’t the word. That was utterly disgusting. Nobody has the right to laugh at you, spill drinks on you or slap your sexy bitch arse. Ever.

Is it ok to bully a Queen because you think she is dressed inappropriately? No

Is it ok to bully a Queen because you are jealous of her? No.

So when is it ok to bully a Queen? Never Arseholes.

You keep on Queening on my sexy friend, if I ever get married again (No offence Bill) Im finding you, inviting you and getting you an elephant to ride in on. Pride in ones self should be celebrated, you should be celebrated.

Love Con

you can read the original post here xxx

 

Teachers

and when I was a teenager they barely knew who I was due to my reports with a high achieving score on ‘days absent.’

So when my eldest child started school, I avoided teachers like the plague, knowing that not only am I now being judged on my own behaviour but also on my children’s.

And we all know my kids aren’t the best behaved kids…

One of my kids teaches her mate the word fuck, the other clever little bastard learnt how to spell fuck, one of my kids decided it was Pants Off Friday and I only learnt on her return home that she didn’t feel the need to wear undies that day. When you go to a teacher to try to explain to her that you didn’t know your kid wasn’t wearing undies the day before and that you do not condone fanny flashing in any way, shape or form, expect to be met with a really comfortable not-awkward-at-all silence…

And now Arlo is reverting back to his daycare days and screaming his head off when I leave him at kindy…

And all I can think of is the judgments, ‘Yep….. they are always late, Yep…… the mums never wearing shoes…. Yep I heard the mum swearing on the phone the other day…… Yep I heard they had major marriage problems’…. and now I imagine… ‘Yep… no wonder the kid has separation anxiety… she’s always on Facebook..’

So last week when Arlo’s tantrum ripped my heart out, stomped on it and left me with the biggest anxiety attack of my life, all I wanted to do is scoop him back up and chuck him in the car and flick the bird to everyone and all of their judgments. Only I knew that he needed me to make a Mum decision and do the right thing..I had no idea what the right thing to do was, my heart says, ‘pick him up, drive him to a drive through, get him a burger, take him to Toy World for a shop until you drop session and then bring him home to stroke his ginger locks’.. but my head was all ‘Be Strong woman.. you are trying to not raise an ARSE’.. So I turned to the teacher… And I asked her, ‘what the hell should I do?’

Now most sane people would strive to be as far away as humanly possible from said screaming exorcism needing 4 year old.. and demand I chuck him in the car and bring him back when he’s behaving reasonably. But not this teacher, this teacher looked at me with the kindest of all eyes and said ‘Constance, he will be just fine, I promise. You go and I will call you if he doesn’t settle’ so out I walked, confident that my boy is in her warm hands but still heart achingly anxious. Only, before I got to the car she was outside behind me,

‘Just letting you know that Arlo has already calmed down and he’s doing a puzzle and he’s just beautiful, have a good day Constance, he’s fine.’

I nearly cried.

Determined to get to learn more of this heavenly creature I have since got to know her better and while chatting about the crazy things these kids say she said to me,

‘Oh I just think I am so lucky, most peoples work colleagues are adults or the same age as them, my colleagues are these 4 year olds and they really the funniest and most beautiful little people to spend your days with.’

That day when I picked my daughter up (fully dressed thank you very much) I asked her how if she likes her teacher and she responded ‘yep… she’s always nice. And when we get in trouble she doesn’t yell at us, she joke yells so we know that we were naughty but we are too busy laughing to be scared..’

Joke yells???? I fucking LOVE that.

So there you have it…. my relationship with teachers is changing. My beautiful experiences as a mother with her kids at school far outweigh my shit ones as a kid.

Love Con xxx

I’m so Sorry

I was a gay club regular, the security knew me by name and I travelled with a large pack

Of my homosexual Queens.

Why?

Because night clubs freaked me out, everywhere you turn someone is trying to grope you, bashing each other, telling you that you were too fat for those pants.. Someone was always Rejecting/cracking onto/or bitching about someone.

The Gay bars however…. Did not freak me out. Men would be laughing and sharing drinks and dancing, with me, with each other. Women were safe, lesbian, hetro, homosexual, We celebrated each other, our friendships were deep and our nights out reflected the pure joy of good honest shitfaced fun.

When I drunkenly danced in a circle of shirtless bodies and smiling faces I was happy because I was safe, safe to let my guards down, safe to just enjoy.

And now, that very safety that bubbles around these loving people was bursted, in the most undeserving fashion.

To think that one deranged hateful prick can destroy so much beauty with one act.. Just inspires rage.

Nothing good comes from rage..

So today instead, I am focusing all of my energy toward my love for the gay community.

Thank you for being so endlessly fabulous and kind and accepting. Thank you for keeping me safe.

No words from my mouth will do the sorrow or anger justice.

But I know this, the gay community has not only survived ridicule, persecution, not only survived a government that refused to treat a disease that was killing its members and to this day it is still not only surviving but thriving with an abundance of love in a world that won’t permit them a legal marriage.

They will survive this, they will get stronger, their love will be seen by more. There is no stopping a force driven by love and that is exactly what homosexuality is.

A force driven by love.

To the gay, lesbian, bi and transgender community. I am so sorry.