bedrooms and hallways (aka longest. post. eva)

so, melbourne so far. what can i say? there's no place like my new home. if the gods had packed me in a different box of chocolates i would be unhitching the trailer and relocating down here right the fuck now. but alas, 'tis not to be. so i'll just have to visit lots.

i was met at the airport by a hot-damn sexy man holding a hot pink sign reading 'nadstown'. *swoon*. he and his chauffeur, the studly greg, took me to ding dong lounge to see a lesbian activist play the xylophone badly and then to a chinese joint for dinner. i accidentally ate food that had already been in knifey's mouth. it gave me boy cooties. i’m not complaining.

then they dropped me at my fiancee's house where it has been alleged that i proceeded to fuck a fella in the hallway after pashing a different fella on the doorstep. one of these allegations is true. your call on which and with who.

we drank red wine and talked about the good old days (those 2 other times we've met) and then we went to sleep. in separate rooms. shame. but apparently i made the sex with ms fits in the hallway. i'm not sure though. don't believe everything you read.

the next day was boxing day. the morning was spent drinking coffee and playing dress ups and then the studly sherriff took me on a debaucherous cruise around melbourne's waters for the next 6 hours. his friend's tried to adopt me and make me their plaything. i resisted. it wasn't easy but i did.

then we went to a party where people were drinking absynthe and possibly under the influence of illicit substances. here i met book book and fluffy for the very first time. he dazzled me with his huge wit and she may or may not have fucked me in the hallway. lovely people, the both of them.

when we got home, at midnight if you'd believe it, we turned on the tv and i discovered that a tsunami may have stolen my friends. after a few minutes of hysteria ms fits managed to calm me down enough to make some phone calls to friends and embassies in search of news. noone knew anything, but its all alright and everyone is okay. well, except for the 50,000 poor souls who didn't make it. and for them i have cried more than once.

day three in melbourne brought more friends around for brunch, bonding and bloody marys. and then i went over to knifey's to play. to play monopoly that is. i don't know what you were thinking, sicko, but you can stop it now. its all good clean wholesome fun in melbourne. unless i'm in a hallway. maybe.

the next day we headed for the country. and by "we" i mean myself, ms fits, sherriff, book book and genny b. i'm over linking. it's so one paragraph ago. you know who they are. must i do everything for you people?

we stayed at a vegan hippy commune hostel where we broke the rules by eating of the cheese and drinking of the alcohol. we are bad ass mofos. don't mess with us.

in the country we did all of the following things:

- ate more cheese than you ever thought possible;

- drank more wine than i ever thought possible;

- had the best pub meal eva in the best pub eva owned by the best couple eva;

- placed bets on celebrity deaths of 2005 (my money's on anna nicole smith);

- learned to spit corks into a bucket for sport;

- named a shot. well, genny b did. go to the farmer's arms in daylesford, victoria and treat yourself to a 'fuck me doctor' at once;

- gave ourselves medical porn names (nurse titty-fuck at your service);

- read books by the fire and be-d civilised and grown up;

- founded a book club. you too can join 'book book club club'. it's free;

- crashed a high-fallutin' restaurant and got a glimpse of our future selves. ha ha;

- had a FIVE PERSON, CHAMPAGNE-FUELLED SPA PARTY. for real;

- overdosed on bad puns and good company.

and now i am back in the burbs, and what's the first thing i do? blog. well, the third thing actually. first i called the hot-damn sexy man. and then i was in terrible need of a good scrub and some hair-care. hygiene first kids. well, second.

tonight promises more good times. i am dining with the lovely nat. the lovely nat who is NOT A BLOGGER! the lovely nat whom i met IN REAL LIFE many years ago. are you shocked? has your world been thrown into chaos by the knowledge that i have friends outside of the dorkosphere? deep breaths. in. out. in. out. all better?

i also plan to get my nurse on and care for the injured with intensive monopoly therapy (imt). nurse t-f to the rescue, stat.

so that's melbourne in a nutshell so far. more soon. until then please donate to the 'get melbourne out of the nutshell' relief fund. it's not nice being trapped in a nutshell.

drunk elf stylez

this week's "my personal hero" award goes to my awesome colleague nicole.

first she GAVE ME HER POLAROID CAMERA!!!

and then she sent me the best christmas email ever!!!

checkin' it out bloggahz:

christmas wishes from the goddess of wax

here are the final reasons i love my beautician for 2004:

- me: "nice santa hat, woman. who are you meant to be, santa's wifey?"

my beautician: "i'm nobody's wifey, honey. i'm santa's mistress."

- "i think i'm going to host my christmas dinner this year in nothing but an apron. and i'm only wearing that to prevent pubic hair from falling in the potato salad. my son will love it."

tune in next year for more pearls of smutty wisdom from this kind, caring, generous, beautiful, hot hungarian vixen.

sweetest. girl. eva.

yesterday i got an email from my lovely friend clare.

clare is a relatively new friend, but ours is an intense bond built on shared experiences of the parental loss variety. we met through a mutual friend (andrew the boob-toucher) earlier this year, and it was one of those examples of instant platonic female chemistry in which all around look on in wonder and think to themselves "wow, those two girls are seriously hitting it off." or perhaps in some misguided cases "wow, those two chicks are like totally gonna pash. lesbians are like so ace. maybe they'll let me watch them fuck."

anyway, clare and her man had me over to their place for dinner last week. we ate yummy risotto and drank nice wine and pretended to be grown ups. i like playing grown ups. almost as much as i like playing dress ups. but not as much as i like playing tie-me-ups.

fuck i digress a lot. sorry bout that. kisses. mwa.

so during dinner i admitted to this wonderful sigh-inducing couple that i am a card-carrying member of the dorkosphere. i confessed to having my own blog, and to my unhealthy addiction to several other blogs. i even went so far as to divulge that i have initiated several friendships...*gulp*..."over the internet" . and that on my christmas break i am going to melbourne during which time i will meet some of these people. they seemed to take this information in with neither shock nor judgement, and were even somewhat encouraging of me being a nerdy nerd from nerdsville. although they did seem to get tired rather quickly after that. hmmmm.

and then yesterday i received an email from clare. the body of said email was nothing out of the ordinary. "how are you". "have a good trip". "lets catch up when you get back". that sort of thing. until the last bit, which went a little something like this:

"hey, did you hear about the lady who had her unborn baby ripped out after she was strangled by a friend from her internet chat site??? Be careful about the people you meet on line. Sorry to sound like a frumpish mother..."

and now i love clare all the more. times infinity. the fact that someone i have known for such a short period of time would worry about my wellbeing is a most tingly feeling. i would say its a totally "jizz-inducing" feeling, but i promised the schmitz i'd refrain from using that phrase again. and i keep my promises.

clare. rulez. 4. eva.

a very bloggy holiday

there are only 4 sleeps left until i go to melbourne for the great blogger love-off. that is less than the number of fingers on my right hand (i have 3 left index fingers). that is less than the number of bruises on my legs from the evil breakdancing class from hell. that is less than the cast of 'party of five' (not counting all the extras. like hot hot hot hottie jeremy london).

now being the superficial clothes-whore that i so very much am, i am already obsessing over what i should take with me. as well as over whether or not to dye my hair. and of course over what needs waxing and just how much of it should be ripped off. okay, so i will pretty much be taking EVERYTHING I OWN, cause i can't bear the thought of what will happen if i don't take that one particular black boobie-showing top and then i end up going somewhere that DEMANDS the wearing of black boobie-showing tops just like it. imagine the horror!

but the biggest problem is that i have NO IDEA what is planned for my trip down south other than a boat ride and a monopoly marathon. and even though i know that the organisers of these events will tell me that i need not bring anything more than a positive attitude (and probably a whole lotta lube), i am now all stressy about being unprepared. and i HATE being unprepared. maybe even more than i hate being uninformed. and definitely more than i hate being undecided.

and so in desperation i turn to y'all for advice. just imagine that i'm sending out an s.o.s to the (blog)world. i'm dialing 1800 B-L-O-G H-E-L-P and holding for an operator. i'm down on my hands and knees in a french maids outfit and you're my firm (yet oh-so tender) bossman giving me orders. i'm...no wait, i think i'll leave you with that last image. i know i enjoyed it. mmm...

*reminisces*

...anyhoo, here's my question:

IF YOU WERE GOING ON A HOLIDAY TO CAVORT WITH A BUNCH OF BLOGGERS YOU'VE NEVER MET AND WHOM YOU KNOW ARE PLANNING ALL MANNER OF CRAZY SHENANIGANS BUT WHO REFUSE TO FILL YOU IN ON WHAT EXACTLY THOSE MAY BE, WHAT WOULD YOU TAKE?

think of this as one of those "if you were stuck on a deserted island, and you could only take 3 things..." type exercises. it'll be fun. and everybody likes fun, don't they?

soppy sopp from soppsville (i wouldn't even bother reading this if i were you)

so apparently it's time to get all inner and reflecty and consider the train wreck that has been 2004. those of you who know me outside of le internet know exactly why the train went off the rails and crashed into itself at full speed. and for those of you that know only the snarky jizzwitch* i present online, maybe one day i'll tell you all about it.

i am trying hard not to get too tingly about the end of 2004, chuffed as i am that it is soon to be deceased. this is because i left lady jizz all over the place when 2003 died, and i think it's ghost came back to haunt me for it.

i have definitely learned a lot this year - about myself, others and the world at large - and i think i am a better person for it. others may disagree, and say i've changed for the worse, but hey, can't please 'em all can i?

so yeah, 2004. it was a year in which i returned hastily from my overseas lodgings (again), grieved for a parent, almost lost another, gained friends, lost friends, became a brunette, wore a miniskirt, waxed everything i possibly could, forgot how to concentrate, deferred uni, read a grand miserable total of one book, spent more time in hospital waiting rooms than i can account for, lost my passion, abandoned the children, begged their forgiveness, drank too much, ate too much, ate much too little, gained weight, lost weight, cried me an ocean, danced up a storm, lost my mind, found a substitute, did some stalking, got stalked right back, discovered online spa parties, got the tingles over a monopoly board, and started this here blog thing that i am still not 100% sure about to be completely honest but which has brought so many new wonderful people into my head that i will go on with it regardless.

my new years resolutions are to survive 2005 with my sanity intact (well, at least no more decayed than it already is). to find my passion and get back to my community aid roots. and to once again get through 365 days without chemical assistance of the anti-sadness variety.

that is of course unless i am threatened with the loss of yet another loved one. because then it's gonna be open season in crazytown and i'll be first in line for tickets.

and so, without further delay, here is the queen of nadstown's 2004 chrismakah message to the people in (and out of) her life:

love you: to my family. whether by blood or by bond. whether here, gone or undecided. you complete me. no joke.

thank you: to those people that have enriched my life this year through love, laughter, knowledge or kindness. and especially to those that held my hand and whispered sweet cliches in my ear when i absolutely, positively, really and truly believed that my world was ending.

miss you: to those that wanted to do all of the above but couldn't due to the tyranny of distance.

bless you: to all those who may have tried in vain to be there for me but who i pushed away for reasons unexplainable.

and,

fuck you: to those that walked away without bothering to say goodbye.

oh, and to dementia and cancer: FUCK YOU TWO THE MOSTEST.

but to all you lovely people who come here for some unknown reason to read my dribble: merry christmas, happy chanukah, good festivus, enjoy chrismakah, happy new year, festive idol worship, have a great goat sacrifice, or whatever it is that you're all about celebrating.

eat lots. drink lots. give lots. love lots. share lots. smile lots. sing lots. dance lots. laugh lots. hug lots. kiss lots. shag lots.

and always, ALWAYS, be good to my mother.


*best. word. ever. thanks kranki.

i'm in a glass case of emotion

lisa s. and i learned a very important lesson last night:

if you want people to come to your bbq, you should probably try inviting them first.

i think there's something in that for all of us, don't you?

my thighs hurt

this just in: i am way too old, and WAY too uncool to learn to breakdance. i am all about the BOOTY and not in anyway about the break. so the next substitute dance teacher who fills in for the hungarian hip hop master and decides to "mix it up a little" by insisting we "make friends with the floor" is going to end up with a very nasty case of i-got-bitch-slapped-by-a-pale-busty-curly-haired-white-girl.

this also just in (to my inbox): red betty b's most eloquent and highly informative review of her new toy. for my eyes only however.

and this too:



mmmm...gael garcia bernal. que lindo. que sabroso. DAMN!

the story of how toto got screwed

you know how i told you that on the weekend i went to see the schmitz's play? "no"? what do you mean "no"? have you not been paying attention to anything i've said? and "who's the schmitz" you say? fuck me, have i been talking to myself here? do any of you actually read this blog?

*moment of enlightenment*

well, anyway last friday night i went to see 'this blasted earth' at the old fitzroy hotel. it was cowritten by travis cotton and actor/writer/blogfucker toby schmitz (who i assume will be taking out an avo on me as soon as he re-enters the country). and it was the funniest. play. ever.

go see it. go see it now. or your children will be butt ugly and they'll live with you forever.

but i am not here to talk about the schmitz (for a change). nor about the fantastic piece of playwriting he and his friend so kindly gave the world for christmas. no, i am here to present you with a bit of dialogue. one of those surprising interactions that make you laugh so hard that tequila comes out of your nose and a whole pub of strangers stare at you in horror.

the conversation was between my stunning friend lisa s. and random sleazy drunk guy #5. he followed random sleazy drunk guys #1 through #4 who attempted in vain to make with the flirting with lisa s. and i. well, really just with her, i was just standing next to her. because you see, not only is lisa s. absolutely a treat to gaze upon, but she is also - unlike myself and most of my female brethren - totally friendly and approachable. lovely girl. *sigh*

and so the conversation went:

rsdg #5: (imagine incoherent 8th grader with a learning disability) hey girlsh, ya'memba when in the wishard of osh, how everyone gots sumthink?

lisa s.: yes.

me: *rolls eyes*

rsdg #5: (putting arms around both of us) likes, the lion gots da heart or sumthink, and like da shcarecrow gots the udda stuff, and likes...yeah...ya know?

lisa s.: yes. i remember.

me: *removes arm from shoulder*

*stares blankly*

rsdg #5: well, like, what did the dog get, huh? you know...like...um...whats hish name...toto? yeah, what did toto get?

lisa s.: TOTO GOT SCREWED. *removes arm from shoulder, turns abruptly and heads off in search of more tequila*

me: *laughs hysterically*

*praises lisa s.*

*wants to make tshirt*

i just love it when people do something so completely out of character but in a totally good and funny-making way.

gold.

oh, and speaking of the unexpected, do you have any idea what its like to be drinking at a pub with the girls, and to look up and see a bunch of kids from the youth centre you have volunteered at for 4 years walk in? kids you have tutored, counselled, and taught how to use condoms effectively? do you know what its like to then walk up to them all authoritarian-like and demand to know what they're doing being in a pub on a school night, only to have them remind you that they're all 18 and finished high school?

no?

well, its horrifying. absolutely fucking horrifying. and depressing. i'm getting old.

fantasy shower party. who's in?

i am presently housesitting across the road from where i call home. this is a fantabulous arrangement, as it feels like i'm on a holiday, but i don't have to worry about forgetting to pack anything. and i HATE forgetting to take stuff on a holiday. like the time i forgot to pack a bikini for thailand. or the time i went to israel and left my machine gun at home.

anyhoo, tis a large house, built over two stories on a sizeable block of land. there is a pool, a bbq, many tvs, and a kitchen that makes me want to put on a pommy voice and film myself cooking naked. but the best thing about the house is the shower in the master bedroom. which is where i sleep because i'm the master. well, actually i'm the mistress. let's call it the mistress bedroom instead. okay?

this ain't no ordinary shower kiddies. oh no. this shower is special. this shower is magical. this shower makes all other showers bow down in wet worship before its spray. this shower has...wait for it:

FIVE. ADJUSTABLE. JETS.

you have never in your life experienced anything even remotely close to its wonder. not even if you've done anal. and yes, by that i mean YOU.

last time i stayed there my spunkrat friend jules (he of the sexiest voice ever) disappeared into the magical fantasy shower chamber for a good 45 minutes. and when he emerged, he described the experience as being like "a full body massage from five naked hawaiian honeyz all at once". another friend (who has requested to remain anonymous because he's a dentist) said he felt like he was being licked by angels at the gates of heaven. corny much? but that's the glory of this shower. it makes dreams come true.

this morning i showered with every member of team fizli at the same time. and also their pets. oh, and of course, the schmitz. and red betty b. and her brand new mermaid pearl vibrator. and daniel boud. and elmo. and little lalita. and seth cohen. and...well, that was actually it, it would've been crowded with any more than that i think.

WOO HOO!

but tomorrow i think i'd just like to shower with YOU.

grand master kirk daddy (omg!!! i posted images!!!)

i just heard some news. its big news. bigger than you. bigger than me. and maybe not bigger than jesus, but he's involved anyway. as he ALWAYS is.

you know how the story goes with child stars?

whether it's sex:



drugs eating disorders:



fraud:



or kiddy fiddling:



most of them tend to go a bit "off the rails" due to the awful torment and cruel fate of being filthy rich and adored by millions.

but nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared me for THIS.

that's right kiddies, ex 'growing pains' heartthrob and born again christian kirk cameron has founded a program with ray "what a questionable last name for a minister" comfort to "teach christians how to share their faith effectively".

i honestly don't know what's more insane - the 'dungeons and dragons' meets 'the price is right' appeal of the program, or the fact that an (unfortunately unlinkable)) article i read on the topic claimed that kirk is currently "considering acting offers".

toto got screwed

its 9am on sunday morning and i am in my office. i have been here for an hour already and i don't see myself leaving anytime before dark. there are only 3 things that are in any way good about this situation:

1) i am wearing a miniskirt and thongs in my office because it's sunday and ain't nobody gonna make me wear "appropriate office attire" on sunday. in fact, maybe i'll take off my bra too. then again, maybe not.

2) the gorgeous elo (who may update her blog sometime in 2005) has come in for the day to help me out. and she brought interpol with her. bless.

3) i may actually earn enough in overtime this week to make up for the INSANELY expensive top i bought yesterday (you'd be so proud of me, lala baby) and also have enough money to eat carbs and buy team fizli's drinks/love in melbourne.

luckily i said no to alcohol last night so i am not in danger of spewing all over my keyboard. i did, however, almost get beaten up by a bunch of teenage girls who took offense to me and my homegirls keera and alice walking down the street talking to each other. we were deeply involved in a discussion about the lameness of a segment called "how to please him" in an issue of cosmo and how disappointed we were that it was not counterbalanced with a segment entitled "how to make the lazy, selfish bastard please the fuck out of you".

anyway, they got all fight-picky when we walked past and made with the mature and oh-so-original screaming of "what the fuck did you say, sluts? you fucking sluts? slutty slut sluts from slutsville. fuckity fuck fuck. grrrrrrrr". they also started following us. until we got to the pub, which you can only enter if you are over 18 or smart enough to get yourself a kickass fake id, of which these chicks were neither. thus they either saw the error of their ways and went home to brush their teeth and read 'looking for alibrandi', or more likely went off to hunt down some "victims" willing to indulge them in their attempts at grizzliness.

needless to say, despite their utterly futile attempts at picking a fight with three passive princesses who would rather "talk things through" than throw any kind of punch, i still made my friend mitchell walk me back to my car in case i got all bloodied up by troubled teens with no curfew.

are you cowering in the shadows of my glimmering tuffness right now?

suspenders, saddos, and the schmitz

my friend keera is HOT. she is blonde and busty and wears clothes that every boy (and most girls if they are at peace with their sexuality) would like to see on the floor next to their beds after the making of the sex. she is a fashion designer and at present works in a fancy schmancy lingerie shop in the sydney cbd. last night, they had a vip discount night and i was honoured to be included on the invitation list. and even though i've never bought anything from there and it was a severe case of nepotism i felt special nonetheless. it's nice to feel special isn't it?

so i eagerly ran along to said vip discount night determined to stock up on those pieces essential to any modern gal's wardrobe: corsets, suspender belts, diamante- encrusted bras, see-through negligees, crotchless g-strings...you know, the basics. and i tried on piece after piece of exquisite lingerie and even those pieces of slutty hoochy-wear that i would probably never use but that took my fancy anyway. and what did i leave with? nothing. nada. nil.

was there ever a torture more ego-slicing and soul-destroying than lingerie/bikini shopping? how is it that a bra can look so jizz-inducing on the hanger yet make my breasts look like ill-fitting ice cream cones? why, why must the salesgirls tell me that a certain pair of panties "look fantastic on everybody"? are they trying to fuck with me intentionally? will the male population ever understand the implant-advocating, eating disorder-encouraging, "does my bum look big in this tiny piece of fabric" pain of it all? (i mean other than those bed-wetting oedipal fetishists who get around in high cut knickers all day at the office because it makes them feel "naughty").

i give up. never again. i will fashion an eve-inspired leaf ensemble to cover and protect me for the rest of my time on this evil, fickle planet we call hell.

and just so this post is not solely about my underwear - because i know one day i'll think back to that crazy time in my life when i used to write that little website, did you know that herb, before i met you and settled down on the ranch, oh what was it called again, a grog? blob? spod? and blush a thousand blushes - here is a list of things i did last night that might possibly be construed as sad, stupid, or worthy of a good beating:

- drank more tequila than i consumed during an entire year in latin america.

- messaged someone at midnight to let them know that i "can't stop thinking about them".

- told travis cotton, co-writer (with the schmitz!) of the awe-inspiring hilarity that was 'this blasted earth', in my best sober, smart-voice that he "did a really good job" in writing the play (because i'm such a total authority on playwriting), while trying really hard not to fall into his lap from a tequila overdose.

- went to kings cross oportos at 2am and made VERY LOUD fun of the pathetic people who go to kings cross oportos at 2am. the VERY LARGE, torana-owning, muscle tee-wearing people who go to kings cross oportos at 2am.

okay, so maybe retrospective blushing is inevitable no matter what i write now.

in other news, the schmitz has really and truly started a blog. he is all like "i'm such a luddite" and "nobody will ever read this", as were most of us when first we popped our blogger cherries. i am a bit disappointed that he didn't call it "schmitzel sandwich" upon my insistence. and he seems reluctant to join spa party. but he'll come around eventually. i can't control everyone immediately. well, except YOU.

enjoy coke

so my community theatre group are wanting to put on a production of our new play. its the story of a gay-homosexual-lesbian-palestinian-jewish-uzbekistani-disabled-illiterate-sexually-abused-teenage-homeless-prisoner who falls in love with an unmarried-single-parent-unemployed-mentally-unstable-indigenous-muslim-greek-immigrant-refugee-boat-person-who's-probably-a-freedom-hating-terrorist.

its called "fuck you elitist wankers, enjoy your season tickets to the opera".

but apparently we cannot get funding from the australia council for the arts' community cultural development board because as of yesterday, it no longer fucking exists. this is at the whim of some high-falluting bureaucratic dickheads who think that community arts projects do not "excite audiences" enough and are taking money away from poor, struggling, more "worthy" groups like opera australia and the australian ballet.

i love this country more and more, funding cut by funding cut. kranki's island is sounding better to me every day. who wants to go there with me right the fuck now? we can play monopoly and make out by the sea.

gracias a todos para una oferta tan generosa

today some lovely and talented people, most of whom i have never met, made me an amazing and incredibly generous offer which i unfortunately had to turn down due to those stabbing headaches otherwise known as "responsibilities". of which i have many because i'm a big girl and the queen of the castle and master of my domain and so totally the boss of you, so there.

anyway, having endured a year that can be best described as akin to spending 365 days with wetsand in my underwear, gestures of kindness such as this make me instantly weepy and eventually force whoever is physically closest to me at the time to beg and plead for me to stop hugging and kissing them. well, not always.

and so to these six delightful souls - you know who you are. as does anyone with half a brain who reads this blog. which possibly excludes YOU - i would like to say thank you, from the bottom of my blackened heart. a thousand times. in every language on www.freetranslation.com: gracias. merci. toda raba. спасибо. vielen dank. takk de. obrigado. dank u.

youse complete me. youse make me feel like a natural woman. youse are the gin in my tonic and the vodka in my orange. i miss youse, but i haven't met youse yet. youse, youse, wherefore art thou, youse? YOUSE ARE THE WIND BENEATH MY FUCKING WINGS.

team fizli 4 eva and eva and eva.

p.s: take that james, you sorry pansy. who got out of bed on the wrong side today, huh? i made with the happies for an entire post. i wasn't angry or tasteless or "pinko" at all. at least i don't think i was "pinko". still not sure about that one. and i didn't engage in "root-tooting vehemence" either. until now, that is. james hun, i hope you choke on that enormous carrot lodged in your anus as it makes its way up to your throat. and i really hope the michael bolton track on your love song dedication cd provides the soundtrack to your gruesome, chokey end.

p.p.s: last. james slaying. ever. too tingly now.

*runs along the beach in slow motion towards her six hot lovers while totally protected by new libra ultra-thins with wings*

so in love with team fizli 4 eva

these. are. the. nicest. people. EVA.

and i plan to tongue kiss each and every one of them in a not so disney but more french drama kinda way.

team. fizli. owns. me. now.

i heart james

tonight someone left a hurtful comment on an old post. "james", as he so proudly proclaimed his name to be, accused me of being a snarky bitch who exists in her own little fantasy world of fear and loathing. he also called me "unproductive". and "pinko", whatever the fuck that means.

but the best thing about "james" is that he found my blog while researching his "love song dedication cd". he must be a real catch. i wish i had a soppy repressed violent alcoholic just like "james" as my boyfriend. but alas, all the good ones are taken.

see for yourself:

wow
thats a hell of a lot of anger you have brewing hun.
i stumbled across this site looking for a track list for my love song dedication cd, and i got a whole load of root-tooting vehemence.
how do u manage to wake up every single day on the wrong side of the bed?
i posted anonymously because i couldn't be bothered signing up, but my name is james.
im hoping that maybe one day u might crawl out of ur pinko existence and connect with the real world in a happy, productive way....

"james" is of course right about all the above things (except for the pinko bit. i think. but then again maybe not). he knows me really well and obvioulsy read the blog really thoroughly because i never say anything nice or happy at all. but only i'm allowed to call me a detached vehement cunt and get away with it.

and so i would like to dedicate a lovesong to "james", who fails to see the irony in leaving a nasty comment on a meaningless blog accusing said blog's author of being too angry and unproductive.

the song is called "hey james, why don't you find better things to do than leaving hateful comments on a blog that has nothing to do with you and your pathetic little love song dedication cd for your obviously buck-toothed girlfriend and leave me the fuck alone to bask in my cleverly expressed and mostly exaggerated for humour's sake wrath? (and if you ever call me "hun" again i'm going to hunt you down and mess your shit up good). doo wop. doo wop."

catchy, huh?

does anyone else have a love song dedication for james? maybe something about puppies and rainbows and candy and kisses?

worst. restaurant. ever.

on friday night i went out for dinner with my family. my beautiful mother had decided that we all deserved a treat (as everyone does) and made reservations at a new high-fallutin' establishment on the waterfront. so i got all dolled up and i got me to the church on time. and by "dolled up" i mean i put on some mascara and my good jeans. and by "church" i mean restaurant.

what ensued was the worst dining experience of my entire twenty three years*. it beats the time i found a huge snail in my tabouli. it beats the time the waiter spilled both red wine and fettucine melanzana all over my hot new dress. it even beats the time my spunky date and i both got food poisoning and thus couldn't shag on our first tenth date because we were too busy exorcising satan from our innards.

worst. restaurant. ever.

we arrived at 7pm to discover that we were the only people in the whole place. after a characteristically witty and hilarious remark by me on the lack of other diners in the place, the waiter assured us that they did have other reservations for the evening. he lied.

our drinks and bread arrived quickly, as you would expect when there is ABSOLUTELY NOBODY ELSE to serve. and we set about ordering our food. my brother-in-law and i ordered an entree of garlic king prawns to share and the rest of the fam just ordered mains. the prawns also arrived quickly, however i am still puzzled as to their description as "king" prawns. they must have been kings of a race of midget size-challenged shellfish, because to me they just looked (and tasted) like bait. bait covered in so much gratuitous garlic that i may never kiss a boy again. so garlic breath right now.

anyway, we polished off the midget prawns in about 30 seconds, and waited for the mains to come. and then we waited some more. and then 45 minutes later when we had waited more then we could possibly wait and couldn't bear to wait any longer, we called the waiter/barman/runner/one-man restaurant band over and asked where the hell our food was. he went to "check" on the progress, and came back to inform us that it was now being "plated up" (which made me a little tingly. i love technical speak of any kind). apparently thems were some mighty difficult plates to maneuver because 15 minutes later, as we were cursing our pushover ways and looking around for hidden cameras, the food arrived.

my "chargrilled sword steak" was a tiny piece of limp fish covered in heated up thousand island dressing that john west would have kicked to the curb. my sister's "well done rump steak" was rare slab of offcut that even my cat would have trouble ingesting. and my mum and bro's schnitzels were definitely mccain frozen dinners reheated one too many times.

AND IT WAS ALL FREEZING FUCKING COLD.

WORST. RESTAURANT. EVER.

now, i come from a long line of passive diners who would rather eat their own shoes than send anything back, and who have NEVER even entertained the thought of walking out of a restaurant without paying, no matter how bad the food or service. but last friday night something happened. something amazing. my family got its groove back.

the restaurant was freezing cold. the entree was shocking. the mains were an hour late. the waiter bit back that he thought we'd "want to wait" after our one tiny shared entree. the food was cold and horrible. and we were fucking angry (well, i found the whole thing kinda hilarious, but i take pleasure in the faults of others and also enjoy a good confrontation).

and so we got up, told the guy what we thought of his restaurant (unfortunately minus the words "cunt", "fuck" or "up your anus" because even when angry my family are still a polite bunch who don't like to make with the swears under any circumstance) and walked out without paying.

and fuck me dead with a rissole if it wasn't the most liberating experience of the last year. all our rage, frustration and anger with the unfairness of this bastardly universe was channeled into this one act of restaurant-leaving. as i said before, we are a passive people, so be proud that we even did this, because normally we would have just tipped more out of sympathy for the poor folk who don't know how to run a bloody restaurant.

and then, at 9 o'clock, 2 hours after we had sat down to eat, hungry and in a bit of disbelief, we hightailed it to the nearest hungarian joint and gorged ourselves on goulash, gnockel, dumplings and schnitzel like grandma used to make it (before she became a raging crackwhore). when the food came within 10 minutes of our ordering it, i told the waitress i loved her and proposed marriage there and then. i meant it too. but she just giggled uncomfortably and ran away as fast as her squat little hungarian legs would carry her bulky hungarian frame.

and then i went home and spent 3 hours in interstate telephonic bliss.

the end.

longest. blog post. ever.


*anyone who dares to tell me i'm "still a baby" will have to learn to live a life without a complete set of genitals. anyone who gets off on my tender age can continue to do so freely and with my blessings.

whats that lassie? pastor irene's a lesbian? we better go get the sherriff!

a lesbian methodist minister in pughtown, pennsylvania has been found guilty by an ecclesiastical court of breaking church law by being openly homosexual.

her charges included:

- carpet munching in the first degree.

- diminished responsibility for hairy armpits.

- just being a big, fat, dirty lesbian in general.

she was however found not-guilty of man-hating by reason of insanity on the condition that she must enter a 12-step rehabilitation program to learn to love penis again.

her punishment has yet to be decided, but in an act of international faith and generosity, members of australia's family first party have offered to douse her in holy water and burn her at the stake free of charge.

happy. happy. joy. joy.

this one's for you, kranki

the carb army: a mission statement.

the carb army is a small but growing conglomerate of people dedicated to guilt-free carb-munching in all its wondrous forms and at all times throughout the day.

we say no to fad diets. we say no to bad breath. we say no to energy drainage. we say no to a world in which neck-sagging, bone-protruding thinness is upheld as the ideal of female beauty.

we know that any form of trend dieting is ridiculous as one will inevitably regain any weight lost (and then some probably) once having returned to their normal eating patterns.

we admit that some of us (who shall remain nameless) may have lived on a diet of apples and carrot sticks in our youth. we have moved on since then.

we accept that a healthy diet and exercise regime are necessary elements of life in this cancer-ridden and obesity-fraught new world order. we don't necessarily adhere to these principles, but we accept them nonetheless.

we remember that dr. robert atkins died young due to a severe blockage in his second artery.

we worry that our atkins and zone-loving adversaries will also die horrible early deaths, with fat bursting forth from their pores and hearts exploding through their chests from overconsumption of fatty goodness. they may be our enemies, but we don't wish them dead.

we welcome all willing participants onto our side, and aim to spread the word on thick slices of fresh crusty bread throughout the world.

this is war, comrades. the revolution is coming. choose your allies. eat pasta.

fuck. me. dead. the. schmitz. emailed. me. back.

i have nothing else to add. i have to lie down now. and maybe eat some sandwiches.

wanna join me?

so obsessive psycho bitch from geeky stalker hell right now.

lost and found

has anyone seen fleur's underwear? anyone?

other than her husband of course. and those yankee sailors. oh, and that hockey team.

no?

well, if you see them on ebay with a tagline that claims they bear the image of elvis in his fat druggo pantsuit years, please let me know asap.

they were stolen from her hotel room on her wedding night.

skanky thieves. skanky thieves with hot panties now. really hot panties. believe me. i saw 'em.