strawberry kisses

the fruity flavoured condoms have arrived. the "wet gold stuff" lube too. 500 of each in fact.

hands up if you feel like a (really safe yet playful) pimp?

*puts both hands in the air*

i'm up with the smarts. yeah.

the following are the 2 questions that i got definitively right in pub trivia last night, without any help from anyone else:

- who played the character cecilia carol bloom?

- what 80s tv character was played by neil patrick harris?

now if that doesn't give you insight into my sad, simple little brain, nothing will.

fred the faker and the stupid pigeon

today i almost witnessed the deaths of 2 birds: fred the faker and the stupid pigeon.

my friend fleur and i spotted fred the faker - a tiny sparrow-like thing - hobbling across a major sydney road, seemingly unaware that he was blessed with the magic of flight. after a few seconds of girlie panic we realised that his leg was broken. and after a few more seconds of karma-checking, we decided to save him from a squashy death. we ran into the middle of the road and i bundled fred in a jacket while fleur stood spread-eagled, ready to stop oncoming cars from propelling me into the past tense. fred was saved! we placed him in fleur's bag and hailed down a bus to take us to the nearest vet. it was during this bus ride we realised that we were the most wonderful people on earth and that movies would one day be made about our kindness and heroism. however, what happened next was possibly the most shameful act ever performed by a bird against humanity. as we got off the bus and waited to cross the road, fred up and flew away. with ease. no goodbye. no "ta for the ride, laydeez". just a poo in a bag and a bitter memory. conned into giving a free ride home to a badass bird faking an injury.

and that is the story of fred the faker.

the story of the stupid pigeon is much shorter. it flew headfirst into the bonnet of my car, causing both daniel boud and myself to scream like girlie girls (well, one of us did. you can guess who), and then flew away again uninjured.

and that is the story of the stupid pigeon.

if i were a more spiritual, tree-hugging, nightmare hippy girl, i would probably think that these two close encounters of the bird kind was some sort of cryptic message from the almighty (call him/her what you will). and then i'd write bad poetry about it.

but i'm a dirty cynic, so i'm gonna chalk it up to coincidence and write about it on my blog instead.

silly duffahs

book book gave me his telephone number yesterday before ever having met me in person.

ms fits did this a few weeks ago.

did either of them consider that i could be a crazy perverted middle-aged retired cop named gus with a hard-on for maiming young melbourne dwellers and easy access to their home addresses through my old buddies on the force?

i'm not of course. but they didn't know that for sure when they handed over their digits like virgin spinsters at a b'n's ball, did they?

i am the pudding masher!

or so declared my friend josh after i mashed his pudding last night.

and by this i actually mean his chocolate fudge pudding and not his penis or any other juvenile euphemism you were thinking i was making.

pudding eaters, beware.

three-way stalk off: the sequel

cyclone holly is set to blow back into sydney this weekend to do important writerly stuff and also to visit boud and i.

the itinerary is now half-filled, but we need to think of more ways in which to entertain and impress her in case our chiseled features and dazzling wit aren't enough this time.

last time she came here we ate german food and drank tequila in dingy-is-the-new-black, inner-city establishments. she seemed content with this arrangement. perhaps even happy. after all she is coming back again.

but i feel that the ante needs upping this time if we are to expect a third visit.

suggestions?

and, of course, the question begs asking as before:

what am i going to wear?

chop wood, get water

it seems the natives were getting restless while the mayor of nadstown (me, dimwits) took a brief break from blogworld.

you see, i have in fact begun writing several posts in this time, however all were subsequently scrapped due to their varying degrees of hair-pulling boredom and stab-me-in-the-eye patheticness.

for example:

there was the post about how i have become somewhat of a food sado-masochist. how i can no longer enjoy a meal unless my mouth is on fire and my heart pulsating like a 14 year old boy's at the first sight of girl-nipple.

- that got scrapped.

then there was the post about how i would like to see andrew bolt go the way of the nerdy villain in buffy who got filleted by a saucy lesbian witch* with a chip on her shoulder.

- that too got scrapped.

then there was the one about all the things i'd like to do to all the sorry fuckers who mock my penchant for inventory yet continue to read my blog and even dare to demand i write when i just don't fucking feel like it. it was in list form too. take that! (actually, i love youse all and have made with the fuzzy tinglies from each of your requests for nadstown updates).

- scrapped.

and lastly the one about how for the past year or so everywhere i look, everything i (try to) read, every movie i see, song i hear, reality tv show i endure reminds me of how my father died a horrible death and my mum got that sick bastard cancer. even sex and the fucking city, which is supposed to be about a gal's three trusty pleasures - cocks, couture and cosmopolitans - is now tackling "the cancer issue". kill me now.

- yep: scrapped.

i promise i will emerge from my self-indulgent bubble soon and attempt to "make the good funnies"** once again. until then, forgive me?



*maybe family first are right about that after all.

**thanks for that ms f.

i may never recover

things that were more than a bit disturbing at the daceyville public school infants disco*:

- 5 year olds in make up

- 5 year olds in boob tubes

- 5 year olds in miniskirts

- 5 year olds with tight jeans tucked into ugh boots

- 5 year olds booty dancing like pros

- 5 year olds gyrating against other 5 year olds

and also:

- overweight middle-aged parents in (pastel) make up

- overweight middle-aged parents in boob tubes

- overweight middle-aged parents in miniskirts

- overweight middle-aged parents with tight jeans tucked into ugh boots

- overweight middle-aged parents booty dancing (not at all like pros)

- overweight middle-aged parents gyrating against other overweight middle-aged parents

*save your kiddie-porn-loving, dirty pedophile quips for soemone else. my mama's a teacher and i always go to the disco to dance with the youngins. ok so maybe i do deserve a few kiddie-porn-loving, dirty pedophile quips. bring it on. i can take it.

i made a promise to a friend

wanted:

8 nubile virgins.

for grape-feeding, domestic servitude and sexual subservience.

must have own palm-frond fan and white flowing robes.

talent on the harp applauded but not essential.

successful applicants will have a positive "can do" attitude and an openness to trying new things.

absolutely no wages but excellent incentives (womanhood, multiple orgasms, etc).

fair maidens only. guy sebastian need not apply.

applications to be addressed to "oh sweet and lofty master" and submitted in writing before the next full moon.

the bestest in my entire life ever

last night my friend boink (yes, boink. you got a problem with the name boink? well, do ya, punk?) gave me a piggy back. a great piggy back. probably the bestest piggy back i have ever received in my entire life ever.

i must admit though that after 5 vodka sodas and several stubbies of beer, everything that happens always seems like the biggest or bestest thing in my entire life ever. and i like to share these epiphanies with others.

for example last night i also had the bestest game of bowling in my entire life ever. and i lost my most favourite earrings in my entire life ever. and i admitted to the biggest crush i've ever had in my entire life ever.

get the point?

yet still i believe, despite acknowledging my predisposition towards drunken confession and exaggeration, that boink treated me to an award-winning piggy back ride this evening just past.

and so here are the reasons why you haven't lived until you've ridden on boink's back*:

- he speeds

- he twirls

- he dips

- he whirls

- he goes "beep beep"

- among other sound effects

- he can go backwards

- he asks you to stop choking him in a most polite and gentlemanly manner

- he remains calm in an attempted hostile takeover situation

- he's a master of the scary-forward-bendover move

- and he has the stamina of a racehorse**


*and i mean this in a totally platonic, non-sexually implicative, childlike fun kinda way.

**once again, this is a literal reference to how long he managed to carry me for, meaning no erotic innuendo whatsoever. i think i must be coming down with something.

as positive as it gets

in an unprecedented and frankly quite uncomfortable act, i have something positive to say for once. sort of. i can't promise anything of course. but i'll try.

today i received a package in the mail. the package contained 2 books. the first book was 'leviathan' by paul austen. the second was 'johnny panic and the bible of dreams' by sylvia plath.

the package was sent by a new friend, a friend i have made through this crazy little thing called blog.

this package - or more the kindness of its sender - has put a smile on my ever-scowling face and made a very difficult week that little bit easier for me.

i'll admit that i was a bit worried that i had given my address (my work po box that is, i'm not a complete moron) to a crazy psycho weirdo perevert who was going to send me pickled rats tails and blood-soaked pubic hair.

i'll also admit that my suspicions have not totally disappeared yet (come on, it's sylvia plath after all). and that i have advised this lady to hunt him down and remove his maleness should i mysteriously vanish anytime soon.

but considering that the books are quality choices which arrived with neither animal nor genital parts, i am willing to accept that my new friend's intentions are pure and non-homicidal. for now.

i think i might also have to make sex with him now as promised.

we'll see.

oooh i wanna dance with somebody

in dance class tonight my teacher asked me what it would take to make me freestyle with more confidence.

"about 8 vodka shots and a horny sailor," i replied.

sadly, she thought i was joking.

it's all made up anyway

in this month's 'cosmo', men were asked what they would never give up for a woman. answers mainly encompassed the usual predictable dribble including "beer", "boys nights", "wanking", "motor bike" and of course "dignity".

however my favourite answer was:

"my xbox, snowboard and dirty magazine collection..." - daniel, 19, plumber

i really don't think 'daniel, 19, plumber' has anything to worry about. as if he'll ever get a real-life woman. what with his busy schedule, where would he find the time for her?

please take note

- to all (vaguely) hot boys WITH girlfriends:

fuck off and leave me alone.

- to all (vaguely) hot boys WITHOUT girlfriends:

where the fuck are you hiding?

not one for the kiddies

sorry mum, but she challenged me.

jake gyllenhaal's penis was very, very confused. he had woken up with a dry mouth and a splitting headache in a very unfamiliar place. he seemed to be trapped in a dark, watertight room that gave him a not-so-fresh sick-to-his-stomach kinda feeling.

"where am i", jake gyllenhaal's penis pondered.

"and how did i get here?" he pondered some more.

all in a tizz, he tried to recall the events of the previous evening. he had begun the night with his best mate, jake gyllenhaal's right hand, watching a mail-order russian porn movie entitled "чуваки черного хода, имеющие поединки подушки и fisting друг друг" ("backdoor bimbos having pillow fights and fisting each other").

pulsating with energy like a toddler on a mechanical pony, jake gyllenhaal's penis had decided to leave the gimp chamber in which he lived to go out and find some fun. so with his usual wingman, jake gyllenhaal's nipple, in tow, he had headed for the screaming eagle, his favourite trashy dive.

after a few jizz sucking sluts (the screaming eagle's special concoctions known to make a man both blind and incredibly virile) jake gyllenhaal's penis was bursting with man-juice and ready for some action. so when he heard strangely familiar a husky female voice somewhere in the room say to him, "jake gyllenhaal's penis, you can toss my salad any day", he acted quickly, blindly fumbling his way across the bar in the direction of the husky temptress, and whisking her back to the gimp chamber for some hot lovin'.

"but who was she?" jake gyllenhaal's penis pondered.

"and why did her voice sound so familiar?" he pondered some more.

and that's when he realised, with a suicidal mix of horror and disgust, just who that husky voice belonged to. she was none other than amanda vanstone, the federal minister for immigraton and multicultural and indigenous affairs. and he, jake gyllenhaal's penis was trapped in the suffocating folds of amanda vanstone's panties. probably never to see the light of day again.

election results 2004

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nobody puts baby in a corner

tonight is my 5 year high school reunion. this event seems a little bit redundant to me due to the fact that my life continues to be one long high school reunion. but i am going nonetheless. if only for the free glass champagne.

if i seem somewhat hesitant about this auspicious event (some would say milestone) it is not because i don't want to see those characters who starred in the tragi-comic tale that was my high school experience (think degrassi on acid).

nor am i having a romy and michelle's-type moment and stressing about not having acheieved anything since graduating**. i've acheieved heaps. like this blog for example. oh fuck. I'M NOTHING.

but no.

my reluctance to attend stems mainly from the fact that at our last reunion* i was so hormonally imbalanced (ok, depressed) that i spent the majority of the evening convulsing in a corner like a bad actor in an 8os horror movie.

i am therefore hoping that tonight's events take place in a circular room without corners.

*yes, we've already had one. reunions are us. everybody loves reunions. blah blah blah. geeks.

**i do however hope to end up in a limo without my top on at some point tonight.

biggest breasts for the smallest waist

yesterday boud showed me some wacky nerdy software he has which shows you how people have come across your blog on the intermanet.

i was tickled to discover that webgeeks and blogfreaks in such faraway lands as andorra and hungary have read my feckless utterings about nothing in particular.

here is a list of some of the phrases people typed into search engines which led them to nadstown:

- nadine sexparty

- rainbow party teen sex xxx pictures

- horny bridesmaids

- hungary girls love sex

- brazilian pussy pictures

- male prison bitches

- touch my boobs

- my boyfriend loves to touch my boobs

- bulldogs cheerleaders wearing miniskirts

- jake gyllenhall's penis

- biggest breasts for the smallest waist

- my wife wearing a maids outfit

and now here is a list of "random" words that will (hopefully) bring even more crazy sicko perverts to nadstown in the future:

- pulsating

- mail-order

- pillow fight

- screaming eagle

- gimp chamber

- jake gyllenhall's penis (i just like the idea)

- nipple

- backdoor bimbos

- watertight

- jizz sucking sluts (okay, so maybe i did some crazy sicko pervert style research)

- fisting

- salad tossing

- man-juice

- amanda vanstone's panties (for all the really and truly crazy sicko perverts)

- toddler (don't hate me cause i'm topical)

i just hope i don't get busted for child pornography now. oh wait, i'm not a crazy sicko pervert sailor. pppphhhheeeeeeeeeeeewwww.

snug criminals

it has occured to me that i haven't seen anyone walking around with their jeans tucked into their ugh boots in at least a few weeks.

could the madness have possibly ended?

or did the fashion police finally start making arrests?

prozac o'clock

you know its probably time to go back on the medication when:

- you cry during community service announcements

- you lose the will to shop

- you listen to nick cave and the cowboy junkies obsessively (more so than usual)

- you are personally offended by other people's happiness (they are obviously just mocking you with it)

- you use the words "unfair" and "deserve" a lot

- your beautician asks you to write her a list of 5 things you like about yourself...

- and you get stuck after 3 (1.left breast, 2.right breast, 3.dazzling wit...)

- everything that has ever happened to anyone EVAR is obviously ALL ABOUT YOU

- you get angry at your recently widowed, cancer-suffering mum because she doesn't understand how hard your life is

- your psychologist starts reading your blog for "insight"...

- and this is what you write

i definitely don't hate her

at some point during the inaugural meeting of the mutual interstate blogger appreciation society*, ms fits and i got engaged. i think this happened somewhere between the shcnitzel feast and the threeway pash. but maybe it was during the third round of tequila shots. its all a little bit fuzzy.

we plan to stay true to the geeky way in which we met by marrying online and honeymooning in cyberspace. anyone know any good cyber-celebrants?

there are some who would say that we are "rushing into things" and that we should "get to know each other better" before exchanging vows. but we both love 'the magic faraway tree' and we've, like, totally tongue-kissed. and so to these people i say "pffffft".

there are also some who would say that our pending girl-on-girl nuptials are "illegal" and "against nature". these people are all related to one another and each has a third nipple and a sixth toe. to these people i say "go back to texas, inbred honkeys".

then there are those who would say, "but you want to find a good husband and have lots of babies". and to them i say "don't worry, you can buy sperm on the net now, mum". and then "please stop crying mum." and probably also "mum, put down the knife".

who knew that same-sex interstate cyber-marriages could be so complicated? maybe we should just call the whole thing off and write that play we talked about instead...


*current members being myself, my new fiance, this hot dude and this fine lass.