kill me now

things i've done recently that could possibly be construed as sad:

- started a blog.

- spent 3 hours hanging out at my workplace on my day off.

- driven around aimlessly for 2 hours listening to 'love song dedications'. i still wonder if raeleen forgave scottie for screwing her sister sharon. he felt really bad about it. both times.

- written several text messages that i'll never send to people i'll never laugh about it with.

- risked illness by wearing a damp top because it completed the perfect "casual chic" outfit i'd been planning all day.

- planned the "casual chic" outfit all day.

- became irrationally upset that i don't have enough money to dye my hair. or buy the skirt i've been obsessing over. or the shoes.

- made an appointment with my hairdresser, lay-byed the skirt and bought the shoes nonetheless. hey, everyone deserves a treat!

- let my friend andrew touch my boobs. again.

- and again.

- rung up every video store in my local area in search of a copy of before sunrise, then watched it so i would be prepared to see before sunset.

- seen before sunset*.

*don't get angry at me boud. i did like it a lot. it was in fact charming and funny. but it makes for good blogging to pretend like i'm too cool for it.

its not on if its not on

a few years ago i helped put together a few sex education seminars for the kids at the youth centre i volunteered at. this is something i feel quite passionately about, believing as i do that the amount of sex education provided to adolescents in this country (at least in the public school system) is beyond a joke.

i have been asked to assist in organising further seminars this year. i have accepted the invitation, and will soon be busy organising free condoms and gift packs to be handed out at each seminar.

i am always amazed at how easy it is to convince condom manufacturers to send large boxes filled with condoms to my house. just by telling them i am a "youth liaison officer" (wanker) running sexual health programs at a community youth centre, certain companies have had the packages signed, sealed and delivered to my doorstep within a few days.

last time i did this was most amusing as i purposefully failed to tell my parents that 4 or 5 boxes of condoms would be delivered to the house in the space of a week. hilarity ensued. and i heard my mother say "slut" for the first (and only) time. this time its less funny, as the prospect of having several boxes of condoms at my disposal just seems like the world is mocking me for having ABSOLUTELY NO USE FOR THEM!

so, if any of you are still too embarrassed to buy condoms from the corner shop in case the salesperson tells your mum, i'm sure i can save you a few.

whats with that?

today my beautiful* friend peta and i went for a walk along the eastern coastline of sydney. its always a beautiful way to spend a few hours, with the added bonus of excercise kudos.

along the way, we happened upon two surfboard-yielding lads who said "hello" to us. we said "hello" back, and kept on our merry way. as you do.

apparently this was not the right way to handle the situation.

"stupid stuck up bitches. think they're too good for us, huh?" they commented as we passed by.

i think we were supposed to stop and spill our life stories to the boys, before stripping naked and giving them head.

how silly of us. we'll know better next time.

*and i don't mean this in the usual "all my friends are beautiful" way that most girls have when describing their other female friends no matter what they look like. she really is beautiful. i had a non-sexual crush on her for years before we were friends. and now i wonder why every boy she passes on the street doesn't crash into a pole after seeing her. and she's smart too. and really nice. oh dear, i think the crush is back.

i hate babs

i have always been somewhat impartial to barbara streisand. i loved funny girl, hated the prince of tides, and sometimes catch myself singing along to people at the occasional wedding or barmitzvah (usually while tanked on kosher wine). however after watching oprah interview babs the other day, my indifference has faded and murderous scorn has taken its place.

reasons why babs must die:

- her primary belief system (and main line of conversation) is that the flowers directly outside a room should colour coordinate with the decor of the room itself. hmm, and i though buddhism was deep.

- her insistence that she's "loving the aging process". i'd be loving it too if i'd had as many facelifts as she has.

- her constant moaning about how years of wearing stilettos on and off the stage have ruined her feet, while at the same time wearing a pair of 9 inch heels. buy some bloody birkenstocks, babs.

- her ruining of one of my favourite songs*. not because she sung it badly - i'll admit that the lady can belt out a lovely tune - but because she had photos of her late dog running on a screen behind her throughout the performance. how poignant.

*smile from charlie chaplin's modern times.

mammas home

i'm back kiddies. mummy missed you all and promises to never go away again. unless of course you're naughty little munchkins, and then she'll go to the store for milk and cigarettes and NEVER EVER come back. she'll probably take up with some bearded trucker named hal, who'll call her darlin and sing johnny cash songs to her while she rides shotgun in his semi-trailer, painting her toenails 'harlot pink' and wearing nothing but denim short shorts and a smile. until that fateful day when the law catches up with hal for "that incident" back in '98 ("i swear, she told me she was 13", he'll say), and mamma's forced to pull beers (among other things) for the fellas at the only pub in a town like alice, saving all her pennies for hal's bail money and regretting the day she left you, but too ashamed to come crawling back.

nads like bono, indeed.

i thought i'd guestblog nadstown in her absence, gallivanting 'round fair Oz as she is.
she'll be so happy i put up this photo, no? nads loves Bono as much as the next person, especially if that person is me.

so long suckers!

Promise me you'll never forget me because if i thought you would i'd never leave.

- Winnie the Pooh

18 million dollar whore

in the news today: this story tells how iorworth hoare, who is serving a life sentence for rape, has won $A18m in the british lotto.

since the win was announced, hoare has received an uncanny number of marriage proposals from single women who find missing teeth and love/hate knuckle tatts "devastatingly sexy", who have "believed in his innocence all along" and who "don't mind giving up a saturday morning every now and then to come to the jail for a conjugal visit".

some things i think he will do with the money:

- get himself the best darn high-class prison bitch money can buy (apparently that's guido, the puerto rican tranny from cell b).

- bankroll a new d-i-y renovation reality tv series: the prison block.

- "anonymously donate" a generous sum to the judge presiding over his appeal to pay for his "pretty little daughter's" college tuition.

- buy the canterbury bulldogs and fly them all over for a visit and a good old yarn.

any more suggestions for the world's newest highroller?

you know you're a freaking weirdo when...

here are some posts from a fan website for old wacko. i'd comment further, but i'm still undecided if i'm highly amused, or really really scared.

you know you're a michael jackson fan when:

- Someone asks you to sign their annual and while you're trying to think of what to write, the first thing that comes into your head is "I wish you better than your heart desires and your first kiss from a boy."

- You are 3 years old and you'd rather watch taped videos of Michael Jackson than Barney or Sesame Street. (my grandson does!)

- You learn to read the newspapers more carefully to try to figure out if you're getting fact or fiction (MJ fans...the Thinking Fans! :)

- You are willing to die for him.. (if they only had radio and Television in heaven, so you can still watch and hear Michael)

- You stay up all night crying wondering why you couldn't be 20 years older.*

- I had one really weird dream where Joe beat Janet and Michael finally blew up (we were in the hot tub). He said "That bastard is never going to touch any of us again." So the three of us went over to Joe's and MJ beat the crap out of him.....Then we went to Janet's concert and you could see that she had used make up to cover her black eye..... (Oh we got married somewhere in there too [minor detail hee hee]) I had a really sad MJ dream once too.......

*HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...

my premonitions for my upcoming family holiday

in a few days i am heading off on a holiday with my mother, sister and brother-in-law. having not been on a family holiday in about 15 years, not since becoming a "mature" and "independent" "woman" that is, i am unsure of what to expect. here are some of my predictions:

- at least one of us contracting some sort of serious or bizarre injury/illness of the kind that can only be sustained by a card-carrying member of my family (such as the notorious seal-biting episode);

- getting "busted" hiding in a dark corner while sucking frantically on a cigarette despite having vowed to "take this opportunity to try and quit that filthy habit";

- having a glass of wine or two with EVERY meal, to prove that i am in fact grown up and way hip, rather than still "the baby" of the family;

- flirting shamelessly with every waiter/room attendant/male (aged 18 - 35) that i encounter for the same reason;

- throwing at least one ridiculous pms-induced monster tantrum that serves to reinforce my status as not only the baby, but also the supreme brat;

- in the spirit of family bonding, revealing one too many truths about sex and/or drugs in my teenage years and then not being able to look anyone in the eye for at least three days;

- feeling like a shallow waste-of-space when gazing upon uluru wearing designer jeans and too much makeup;

- denouncing my superficial ways and determining to find a more meaningful existence - like helping people and having a compost bin and good stuff like that;

- two words (or is it three?): mini-bar raid.

an eviction notice to the occupants of the sharehouse in my head

to (undisclosed recipients),

you are hereby notified that YOU ARE BEING EVICTED from my thoughts for the following reason:

- distracting the landlady to such an extent that she can no longer function like a normal person.

please vacate the premises immediately, or the sheriff will be called in, and things will get nasty (and probably rather kinky).

why i'm letting down the feminist revolution

- i still wait for the boy to make the first move.

- if he ever actually makes that move, i then wait for him to call.

- if he does by some miracle call i giggle like a schoolgirl at least three times throughout the conversation.

- if he suggests an outing of some sort (i believe they're called "dates") i agonise every minute until then over what i will wear.

- if i can't decide what to wear on said date, i base my decision on whatever gives me the biggest breasts and the smallest waist.

- if there is no call, or no date, i dress like this every day until i get over him just in case i see him on the train/at the supermarket/anywhere at all. this, of course, never happens. but my cleavage does score me a few free drinks from the bartender at my local.

- if we go to dinner, i will order something small and carb-free, and then only eat half of it anyway so he thinks i'm demure and don't eat very much. just to clarify: i'm not, and i do.

- if the situation/relationship/fantasy ends abruptly at any stage, or never happens in the first place, i decide it is because my arse is too big and immediately embark on a rigorous no-carb diet and thrice daily boxercise regime.

- i begin calling all of my girlfriends each and every day and blubbering to each of them for a hours at a time about how fat and unlovable i am. when they stop answering my calls, i start calling their boyfriends instead.

- when their boyfriends change their numbers, i read cosmo, cleo, marie claire and elle from cover to cover in search of answers. i end up very confused because cosmo says i should "stop thinking about that zero, and find me a hero", while cleo is telling me to "take control of my life and sms my crush after pilates class".

- after i regain consciousness in hospital after passing out from carb-deprived starvation and boxercise overload, i feel a secret pride, as i now have something in common with mary-kate olsen. "maybe i can sell my story to new idea", i think to myself. however, i have noone to share my joy with because i have no friends and no boyfriend.

- when my doctor comes to check up on me, i instantly fall in love with him and feel that he has special feelings for me too. after all i am, like, soooooooooooooooooooooooo skinny now. boys love that.

- when i go home i buy 3 new pairs of shoes and a black lace push-up bra for when i see the doctor next.

- and then i wait for him to call.

i never learn

a few years ago i was asked to write some case studies for a very serious and prestigious teenage girls' magazine. this means that i made up "real life" stories that were relevant to certain articles. sorry to burst any bubbles, but those stories are indeed ficticious. i tried to spice things up a bit by giving the characters ethnically diverse names such as "ameesha" and "raghnild", however the magazine didn't think that such names complimented the images of bikini-clad skinny white girls that appropriately accompanied every article. and so "ameesha" became "tina" who blamed herself for her parents' divorce; and "raghnild" was changed to "bridget" whose boyfriend was pressuring her to have sexual intercourse with him before they were over 16 and legally married.

when i sat down to research the first case study, i made the disturbing mistake of typing the words "teenage", "girls" and "sex" into the search engine at the same time. i was promptly presented with a smorgasboard of smut from which to choose. what did i want to look at first: "lithe little lesbians", "cheerleaders' cherries" or "penny's pool party"? i must admit i was curious (i believe there's a porn-lover in all of us, just waiting to be released), but i was so worried my boss would walk by my desk and see me surfing the triple x wave that i quickly shut down my computer and then erased the internet history as soon as i turned it back on.

since that day i have been ever so careful about what i type into google when researching something at work. but today i slipped.

i am currently compiling information for articles to be written about nurses. knowing as i do - due to the birthday wishes of every ex-boyfriend to date - that nurses rate in the top ten male fantasies of all time, i should have considered that the number of nurse fetish sites on the web may even outnumber those dedicated to teenage titties. however, it seems i had a momentary mental blank, and proceeded to enter a combination of words into google that was just asking for trouble. computer shutdown. history erased once again.

will i ever learn?