Category Archives: More like Betsy

My thighs! My thighs!

A few months ago I said I was going to try out for roller derby. I hadn’t skated since primary school – apart from a few times in the hall at boarding school in year 8 – so I made a plan. It was an awesome plan involving Rollerfit (a fitness class on skates) to get used to being on wheels again, and the gym to “get fit”, which is as nicely vague as “getting my shit together”. So not really a plan at all, but two basic things so I’m not completely shit.

I went to Rollerfit four or five times, and then I got sick. Proper sick. Sick for two months. I was meant to go to hospital at one point to be put on an antibiotic drip, but going to emergency at midnight on a Saturday? No thank you. Even had to have a CT scan on my head to see why I was a dizzy snot factory. It’s still a mystery, but I’m better now and have some funny stories about the oxycodone days.

Anyway, suddenly – suddenly! – it was tryouts. At the info session I discovered that everyone else has been doing the raw meat course to prepare them for it. Oh well. And I still had the wrong skates. Oh well. But at least I wasn’t grey anymore. Yay normal face colour.

And I fucking did it! I got in!

Hang on, let me say that properly.



Ron Swanson

The glorious Ron Swanson doing the “News with Nipples is on the team” dance. The young people will be doing it in the discotheques soon.

Yesterday was our first fresh meat training session and faaaark me, do I hurt today. Two hours of knee slides, double knee slides, 180 degree knee slides, baseball slides, and hanging out in derby stance. I LOVED it but today my thighs certainly don’t love it. Nor does the side I did most of my baseball slides on – although it’s more accurate to call them “half stacking it and once getting a wheel in a place it has no business being in” slides.

Here’s a demo of 180 degree and baseball slides:

Oh, I got a pair of derby skates. They have the Black Wheels of Death so of course I stacked it while standing still. New wheels will have to wait ’til pay day.

I haven’t played sport or been on a team in 23 years and now I am doing both. Voluntarily. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

A post in which I examine my attitudes towards stuff I know nothing about

This is one of those posts where I’m mainly talking out my arse. Feel free to just look at the picture above and think about boobs and delicious boob cakes.

Mmmm, boob cakes…

Two women rang the buzzer this morning, wanting to talk about a god. I don’t know which god.

The conversation went like this:

Suspected God-woman: Hi, how are you?

Me: I’m well, thanks. You?

God-woman: I’m good. We’re just talking to people about some community work in the local area.

Me: Is this a god thing?

God-woman: Yes.

Me: Oh, then sorry, I’m not interested. I don’t believe in your god or any other god.

Confirmed God-woman: Have you always felt this way?

Me: Yes, I have. But you have a nice day.

And then I smiled at them to let them know I wasn’t going to be nasty, and gently closed the door.

They had a small child with them, probably three or four years old, which annoyed me because I thought “they’re bringing the child along so people don’t abuse them” and “they’re indoctrinating that child”.

And the more I thought about these things, the more I realised I am an idiot. Maybe the mother couldn’t get childcare? Maybe she was a stay-at-home parent? Maybe she didn’t think twice about bringing her child along, since they go to church and other church activities as a family. And maybe she did bring her child because it stops people being arseholes, and is that really such a bad thing? Just because you don’t like what someone is selling, there’s no need to be a jerkhead about it. You can just close the door and then they are magically gone.

But the indoctrination point made me realise I am a hypocrite. I have no problem with people taking their kids to anti-war/anti-discrimination/anti-violence rallies. I say this as someone who doesn’t have kids – and so it’s likely that I’m talking out my arse – but I’d like to think it teaches them to be engaged citizens who stand up for things that are important to them. And that it’s important to create a society that doesn’t fuck people over. Yet I tut tut when I see photos of kids at anti-carbon pricing/anti-marriage equality rallies, when it’s exactly the same thing. Same with including your child in an activity to promote a religion that’s important to you.

I feel like there should be some sort of deep insight at the end of this post. There isn’t. Other than to say, I’d like to think I’m above being a hypocrite in my attitudes, but turns out I’m just like everyone else. That’s a bit shit.

I’ll be back soon

I promise.

Just working on my Top Secret Project.

In the meantime, thought I’d share my new year’s resolutions with you. I don’t normally make them, because what’s the point, right? But these two are EXCELLENT (if I do say so myself).

1. Eat more dumplings.

2. Drink more Dark and Stormy cocktails.

What have you got?

Got jerks?

So, this charming comment was left on my blog yesterday, by some dickwad called “you stinkfucker”:

you sade old hag, with your smelly cunt hope you get aids,your husband left you for some one else know your bitter and twisted fuck off you old cunt,hope you die and give the world some peace.

And this one:

your just a dirty slut so is jenna price, you give woman a bad name why dont you pick on muslims on how they treat woman you sad little fuck, god help you

Such a generic insult. Yawn. And it’s wrong – I don’t have a husband. But I am 36, so I’m sure some younger people would say I have an old cunt.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with comments like this. On twitter, some people retweet abuse so everyone can see the pathetic little person who wrote it. Others block and report. When I get them on here, I read them to ManFriend, we laugh at the person who wrote it, and then I file them in a folder in case I ever need to pass that info on to the police.

Anyway, stinkfucker’s IP address revealed they’re an Optus customer, so I tweeted the company and got a quick response:

Tweet from NWN about abusive Optus customer and the prompt reply from Optus

Tweets between NWN and Optus

I freakin’ love social media.

I can’t stop people leaving comments like this, but I can make it someone else’s problem. And by someone else, I mean their ISP. In the case of Optus, the consumer terms fine print says:

5.3 Permitted uses of the service
(b) You must not use, or attempt to use, the service:
(ii) to transmit, publish or communicate material which is defamatory, offensive, abusive, indecent, menacing or unwanted

And then this:
(a) We may ask you to stop doing something which we reasonably believe is contrary to paragraph (b) above. You must immediately comply with any such request. If you do not, then we may take any steps reasonably necessary to ensure compliance with paragraph (b) above or the request.
(b) You acknowledge that, where the service is a carriage service, we, or any supplier whose network is used to supply the service, may be required to intercept communications over the service and may also monitor your usage of the service and communications sent over it.
(c) If you do not comply with this clause 5.3, we may be entitled to cancel the service under clause 11.3(a) (v) or (vi) or suspend the service under 12.1(a)(vii) or (viii).

The Optus Internet Abuse SWAT Team* also replied promptly, letting me know they’d be contacting the dumb jerk with a warning. I like it.

So, my new policy is to Report. Every. Single. One.

(*may not actually be called this BUT IT SHOULD BE)

Best. Birthday. Ever

Last night.

Zombie Prom.

I think you will all agree that this is a pretty special dress:

Hey, I spent a good $10 on this dress.

ManFriend looked incredible, as always:

Zombie ManFriend


Thank you to my wonderful friends for making it an awesome night.

Zombie Prom

Zombie Prom

Fear and writing

Have you read 50 Shades of Grey? I haven’t. And I won’t. One of the things I’ve learned over the years of sticky-beaking at other people’s stuff (ie, house hunting) is that there are some people who only own two books – The Da Vinci Code and Harry Potter. Call me crazy, but it seems to me that the third book they’ll buy is 50 Shades.

I highly recommend Katrina Lumsden’s fabulous reviews of the 50 Shades trilogy. From now on, all book reviews should contain gifs. Go and read them, I’ll still be here. I’ll put the kettle on.

The thing that’s most frightening about all the 50 Shades reviews is they all say the same thing: the writing is terrible.

As a writer, that terrifies me.

Sure, I write here for you. I self-publish – without a sub-editor and usually without too much thought – several times a week. Oh, ok, several times a month. I have no fear of publishing here. I should have that fear. It’s permanent and here for anyone who wants to Google me (or any of these terms).

But fiction, that’s a whole other kettle of sphincter clenching.

I’ve started writing again, for the first time in about 20 years. I’m fucking rusty (ew, that sounds tetanus-y). I had to have quite a few wines (ie, get drunk) before I could show my first story to ManFriend. I know, I know, you should never ask your partner to be your Reader because they’re not going to say anything bad about your writing. But I wanted him to really like it – even though it’s not his genre – and say how awesome I am at writing. That’s a lot of pressure. Particularly as, like I said, I’m very fucking rusty.

But what if it gets published and people say, “hey, the story’s ok, but the writing is awful“? I’d be mortified. How must E.L James be feeling about what’s being said about her books? She’s sold 20 million copies, but that criticism has gotta hurt. Hurt all the way to the bank, sure, but still hurt. I can’t stop thinking about what bad reviews would feel like. (Wow, could I sound any more arrogant? It’s not like an editor’s never told me a story is shit, but I’m talking loads of bad reviews.) I’m not suggesting that reviews should only be nice. Just using the reviews to share a fear that what if I’m no good at the thing I want to do?

This is me

News with Nipples at Franz Josef glacier in NZ

News with Nipples at Franz Josef glacier in NZ

(Ok, so it’s me from 2009, but all my recent photos include friends or the incredibly handsome ManFriend and it’s not my place to post photos of them here.)

The News with Nipples isn’t a pokey little place on the internet anymore. Ha ha, pokey little place. So I reckon it’s time to put a face to the nipples and introduce myself to new readers. Helloooo, new readers! My, what an intelligent, sexy bunch you are. Ha ha, sexy bunch. Gawd, it never ends. Ha, ends.

I’m a former journalist and now world’s worst doctoral student. I’m researching online news quality and what it means for young people who get their news this way. I drink too much, swear all the time, and have tinnitus from seeing bands. I think summer is revolting and winter is fabulous. At the moment, I’m single-handedly eating all the chocolate caramel slice in the bakeries in this suburb.

This is me. Tell me about you.