please excuse all the typos. i'm really tired.

dear tom cruise,

how are you? good? that's good.

i'm glad to see that you are so overcome with joy lately, what with all the couch-dancing and floor-punching and flashing of those pearly whites. you are truly a brainwashed psycho marvel to behold. i mean, it must be hard for you sometimes, being a mega-rich and super-famous white man in contemporary society. i feel for you. i really, really do. poor baby.

i am writing to you not as a fan - although 'cocktail' is like totally my fave movie 4 evs - but as a young woman saved by your crusade against the evils of psychiatry and mood-altering medication.

you see tommy - can i call you tommy? - for several years now i have been struggling with depression. for longer than i can remember there has been a black hole deep down inside of me that opens and closes at random, sometimes with neither cause nor warning. at first i blamed it on the eating disorder, but i beat that long ago. and yet the black hole did not close. so then i thought my parents' ill health could be the root cause of my sorrow. but no, no, wrong again.

and now thanks to you tommy - fuck it, i'm calling you tommy. cope - i have discovered the error of my ways, the arbiter of my anguish, the thorn in my side. thank you for guiding me along the path to stark-raving mad self-righteous ignorance clarity and true happiness. i once was lost, but now i'm found. was blind but now i see.

so today i fired my psychologist and threw out every last pack of my anti-depressants. and i feel shit scared and suicidal GREAT!

and lord l. ron knows i sure am going to a save a lot on medical bills now. maybe i can finally buy my mum that necklace she's had her eye on. but then again i guess i'll need the money to pay my membership fees for your totally respectable and not at all cult-like or money-hungry organisation church.

one more thing tommy, can you let me know asap how you we feel about birth control pills? i'm just not sure whether or not i should be taking them now that i'm a bonafide brainwashed lunatic scientologist.

thanks again, and i'll see you at the next ritual sacrifice innocent gathering.

la nadine

x

p.s. hi to mimi nicole roger penelope katie.

p.p.s. you want me to go round to brooke's house tonight and give her a knuckle sandwich and a nice hot cup of shut the fuck up?

she's like the wind

on the last post i wrote about my wonderful beautician and dear friend, some unidentified generous and modest soul pointed out the meaning of 'penultimate', a word i had used in the title of said post.

this was his/her comment:

Anonymous said...

pe·nul·ti·mate (p-nlt-mt) adj.

1. Next to last.

just thought you should know

i never properly thanked this anonymous lord of the lexicon for his/her valuable contribution to both my blog and my understanding of the english language. not once have i expressed my gratitude to him/her for taking the time out of his/her presumably busy schedule to look up the meaning of a word - of which i obviously had no clue and had used in a vain attempt to make myself appear smarter than i actually am - and then go even further out of his/her way to provide said meaning in the comments section of my blog.

so, anonymous, whoever or whatever you are, thank you. this post - this FINAL post about my beautician - is dedicated to you. for without you, who knows, i could have been writing post after post of reasons i love this hungarian vixen without ever once realising how i had solemnly vowed in my use of the word 'penultimate' to only post one more. and what a fucking tragedy that would have been.

it just so happens however, that despite my completely ignorant usage of the big word, i was having some sort of psychic episode at the time i wrote the post in question. because you see on saturday i received a call from my self-appointed second mummy, and she tearily informed me that she was leaving for hungary next week and may not be coming back. ever.

maybe krankiboy is right. maybe i do have psychic nipples. they do tend to tingle when its about to rain. and when squeezed. in fact, they're tingling right now. you can guess for which reason.

anyway, as many of you will know, the goddess of wax has been the subject of many a post on this here blog over the past year. i have talked often about my obsession with this hot hungarian honey. i have marveled over her ability to transport me back to brazil with a few painless rips. i have relayed her hilarious anecdotes about her most impressive sex life. and i have gushed over how she is a truly magical soul with a heart of pure gold.

and now she is leaving. going back to the mother country to look after her an ailing loved one. of course we will keep in touch. but its never the same is it?

no longer will my hairy bits be so perfectly preened. no longer will i cry on her shoulder. no longer will we smoke cigarettes together out the back of the shop. no longer will i receive text messages from her late at night, boasting of her most recent sexual conquest.

as i said in the first post i ever wrote about this most selfless of souls, sometimes special people present themselves in the most surprising of situations. even when they're ripping all the hair from your follicles.

goodbye beautiful woman. i will miss you. as will my eyebrows.

x

p.s. anonymous, if there are any words written above of which you feel i should be told the correct meaning, please don't hesitate to post them in the comments section with their full dictionary explanations.

could my beloved lord randolph forphington III be texting me from the hereafter?

today i received the following text message from an unknown number:

'hey i love ü will ü go out with me'

to which i promptly replied:

'that's nice. and you are?'

i have so far received no response, and am therefore all a-flutter with theories as to the true identity of the sender.

here's what i got so far:

1) it's a friend who has a new number and is playing a funny ha ha on me;

2) it's a friend who has a new number, is aware of my hatred of people who do not put question marks at the end of written questions, and is playing a funny ha ha on me;

3) it's german hotness daniel brühl. he's read my blog and realised that we are totally meant for each other. this can be explained by the use of umlauts on the letter 'u'. cause he's german, and they write funny like that. for him i am willing to overlook the lack of punctuation due to english not being his first language;

4) it's a brand spanking new stalker who has been given my digits by some disrespectful bastard who failed to ask for my permission first.

i'm guessing the answer is either numbers 1 or 2; i'm hoping the answer is number 3; and i'm greasing my knuckles in case the answer is number 4.

i'll keep you posted. i know you're all anxious to get to the bottom of this too.

any other theories in the meantime?

ah, the serenity

so my weekend away with the fam was lovely. it was raining for the whole four days which meant we could do little more than stay inside and play board games. and i loved it!

also, you are now reading the words of the reigning c****n/r**h family trivial pursuit master and commander of the universe.

you're right, you're not worthy.

things that did or did not happen over the course of the weekend:

- i didn't have to shave my preggers sister's legs as was the threat looming over me at the start of the getaway.

- i also didn't have to deliver my nephew into the world, as was the other constant threat looming over me. thank fuck!

- i went a whole four days with neither alcohol nor cigarettes. no, we're not amish. but the pregnant one and the sick one aren't really much for making with the toxic substances.

- no make-up, no hair gel, no bra, NO WORRIES!

- i had the time and headspace to call some beautiful souls whom i have neglected over the past year due to the tyranny of insanity.

- i cried more than once when i looked over at my magical mother and knew she was silently wondering how long the calm will last before the storm returns.

- i had the best bath one can have when not on a balcony by the beach with a beautiful woman. i swear, the tub in this place was big enough for the next all-blogger spa party. well, bath party anyway.

- i got in touch with nature. including an air guitar playing kangaroo whom i named "barry".

- there was no internet access anywhere so i was forced to take a much needed break from the blogosphere. i was however a little bit anxious to be missing out on the latest tom and katie updates. but i felt confident that my sources would keep me up to date on any new developments.

- the lack of internet access however meant that i had to dictate my guest post on reasons you will hate me to poor jessculture over the phone. bless her patient little soul.

- in dictating said post to the lovely jess, my family overheard me saying "i now have no qualm about stripping naked in front of a group of near strangers, jumping in a spa and letting them tongue kiss me and touch my baps as they please". and now they keep looking at me funny.

- the lack of internet access also meant that when i returned home to my life-partner computer, some cheeky (yet devilishly handsome)bastard had stolen my idea for my next post. oh well, he did it way better than i could have anyway. funny, clever man that he is.

- i ate so much that i think i made up for all those hungry teenage years of nothing but carrot sticks and rice crackers. and just when i thought i couldn't be more depressed about my looks, a friend of mine tells me he's getting paid to get fat for a film he's about to shoot. fucking actors! they can pile on the pounds, declare its "for a film", and still get laid. well, at least my baps get bigger by the kilo, even if my purse doesn't.

- i made peace with my demons. well, maybe one or two of them. i think i'll keep the rest around for just a little while longer.

still, its good to be back home. after all, you can take me out of the city, but i'll only stay if the pubs are pumping and the boys worth jumping.

so, did you miss me?

it hurts

i'm going to the country for a few days to bond with the pregnant one and the sick one.

if there's internet access i'll post. if there's not...

cope.

sorry kids, but mummy's just too hungover to be witty today.

fucking karaoke. its just plain evil.

x

and it might just kill me yet

remember ally mcbeal? of course you do. she was that crazy sheila on tv a few years ago with the body of a pre-pubescent boy and the face of a genetically modified duck. she was apparently a lawyer, but more resembled a waitress in a texan waffle house*. and she was somehow allowed to exist in normal society despite displaying the classic symptoms of both paranoid schitzophrenia and bipolar disorder.



i don't know what the writing in the background means as, like dannii minogue, i don't speak asian. but i'm guessing its something along these lines:

"so. not. hot. BLEUGH!"

i think this character also may have set the feminist movement back about 40 years. but that's just my radical, lefty, militant femmo opinion. you are most welcome to disagree with me. i'm open to other opinions. sometimes.

i will ashamedly confess to watching the show from time to time, mostly during robert downey jr's stint as ally's shrink/love-interest. i don't care what they say about that man. i loves him. he is talented as all fuck and he can snort cocaine off my baps any time he wants. i'm still not so sure this was such a good move though.

anyway, the reason for this post was that there was actually one thing i took away from this television series that has stuck with me ever since:

the theme song.

ally's first shrink told her that in order to get through life, once MUST have a theme song. something to hum to oneself when everything goes awry. music therapy, if you will.

now i have had situational theme songs before, as i'm sure we all have. everclear's 'you make me feel like a whore' got me through a particularly painful crush. and the cowboy junkies's 'i'm so lonesome i could cry' for some reason nursed me through my father's death. but I never really thought about it much.

until, that is, I heard the mountain goats' new single, and i just burst into tears there and then, driving along in my car on my way to dance class. it was, like, they were, like, totally speaking my mind, dude.

since then i have been humming the song to myself as i walk down the street and wander around the office in my tiny little "power suits", whining about how my childhood sweetheart married someone else and telling people how we used to sniff each other's bu...

oh wait, that was ally mcbeal not me. my childhood sweetheart didn't marry someone else. he's not allowed too, cause he's a raging homosexual.

anyway, i believe the song is called 'this year', and the chorus goes like this:

"i am gonna make it through this year if it kills me".

me too, mountain goats, me too. i hope.

*hums*



*not that there's anything wrong with being a waitress in a texan waffle house. some of my best friends are waitresses in texan waffle houses. it's a bill hicks reference. cope.

i still love gael garcia bernal too. 4 evs.

after a week of constant research and essay writing, my brain has sunk to the bottom of an academic quagmire and i have nothing left to give. therefore today's post is somewhat of a cop out. sorry. not really. you'll cope.

its been a while since i've posted a guilt-free three list, and considering that being trapped in academia has left me drained yet incredibly horny, i figure its a good time to do it.

pity that there's no one around to make me feel guilty for wanting to make the hot monkey sex with the below three hotnesses. unless that is, you count my hot water bottle. and believe me, he's its quite the contender for my love. so warm. so cuddly. loves to spoon with me all night long. but also happy to be pushed to the other side of the bed if i get too hot. doesn't get out of bed in the morning without acknowledging my existence. the perfect man inanimate object towards whom i have never had impure thoughts i swear.

*boils kettle*

*in a mate's way*

so here is my guilt-free three for this tuesday, june 21, 2005:

1) the thinking woman's german hotness daniel brühl:



2) fuck me dead christian bale is too HOTT for words:



3) okay so maybe he's dead, but his brain makes me weak at the knees and wet in the pants and okay so its REALLY REALLY WRONG but its not like i'm actually going to get to fuck the other two so just leave me alone in my weird, wrong fantasies about bill hicks okay:



so there you have it. take them as you will. just don't take them without inviting me along too.

and don't take bill hicks at all. necrophilia is wrong. and not at all funny.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CLEMMY!!!

just for you, cynic

the punk's little brother hari is coming to sydney to stay with her for a few days. i have known him since he was 4. he is now 14. he used to do strip shows and other dances for us. i will be sure to remind him of this VERY LOUDLY when i see him. 14 year old boys love being reminded of their funny childhood ways.

anyway, the punk's beautiful mother has sent her a list of foods hari IS WILLING to eat.

these are:

- pumpkin
- broccoli
- spinach
- chicken schnitzel
- spaghetti
- potatoes
- cous cous
- weet bix
- milk
- vege curry (not too hot)
- tofu
- apples
- eggs (omelettes , fried etc)
- tomato sauce

in addition to this list of great culinary exploration, the punk's mother has also provided a list of foods hari IS NOT WILLING to eat.

these are:

- tomatoes (but will have it on pasta as long as it is in a sauce and NOT cut up real tomato)
- mushrooms
- rice (but he likes fried rice)
- red meat
- chicken that tastes like chicken
- any other fruit (other than strawberries – but they are expensive at the moment)

so if anyone knows any good recipes involving weetbix, tofu, apples and schnitzel, but NOT involving real tomatoes, fruit other than strawberries (unless they're cheap) and chicken that tastes like chicken, please email me IMMEDIATELY.

a 14 year old boys eating pleasure is at stake here, people.

take the pressure down. doo doo, doo doo.

the other night i ran into my friend marvin, and he busted me for being a slack bitch with ABSOLUTELY NO EXCUSE for faltering on my part of our 'word-of-the-week' bargain.

and despite my inherent instinct to defend myself against all criticism, valid or not, i was forced to drop to my knees and beg for his mercy. in a mate's way. oh for fucks sake, its a metaphor, get your mind out of the gutter.

there were tears, there was cursing, there was even the threat of mutilation. but eventually i managed to convince my master (as i have now agreed to address him) to give me one last chance.

and so this week i MUST include both "digit" and "goiter" in a post, otherwise i will be forced to hang my head in shame for all eternity.

FUCK ME DEAD, PRESSURE MUCH?

by the end of this week i have to:

1) include the above words in a blog post;

2) finish two essays on feminist politics;

3) write a discussion report on the global sex trade;

4) spend 6 hours in a car with my heavily pregnant sister and sick mum;

and, the most scary of all,

4) WRITE A GUEST POST FOR REASONS YOU WILL HATE ME.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

i fear a breakdown is imminent.

if you never hear from me again, i've either been found by the police running up and down bondi beach naked, shouting "johnny farnham stole my soul", or i've grown a huge goiter(!) on the side of my neck from all the stress and am hibernating until it goes away.

always remember that i love youse all. well, most of you. some of you not so much to be honest.

goodbye. maybe forever.

la nadine

another shmaltzy one. you love it. fo shiz.

the dismal state of affairs that has classified my existence for the past few years has been well publicised on this here blog (i.e. i have bitched and moaned about my life a lot in a cheap ploy for sympathy like the whiny little attention whore that i am.)

as each new blow has been dealt to me and mine i have struggled with decisions regarding privacy and the protection of my family. i began by hinting ever so slightly that things were not so very kosher in nadstown. but eventually - after much painful deliberation over the 'publish post' key - the truth came out and i bared my naked soul for all to perve on.

wow, i think i've finally hit "woe is me" rock bottom. linking to an old sympathy-chasing post from a brand new sympathy-chasing post. could i be any more transparent? i think i probably could, but lets not find out. yet.

*cancels sky-writer*

anyway, its 2am and i'm awake and not drunk - alright, i'm a smidge tipsy - and i'm feeling kinda saccharine and i really just wanted to shout love across cyberspace to those beautiful creatures who have shared my ouchies and made the soul-baring worth it with their blessed words and fuck-me-dead actions because i don't think i could've stayed in nadstown this long without their kindness and encouragement and even though things have gotten worse rather than better back at the ranch i still manage to smile and giggle at least some of the time and pretend that everything's peachy and that tomorrow i'll be waking up roses and then i'll realise what i just wrote and probably take this mushy crap down quicker than you can say "fruity bitch".

*exhales*

so, yeah, ta lovelies. all of you. friends and strangers alike. spa buddies past, present and future. don't hate me cause i didn't link to you.

x

free sex, drugs, cash or ego-stroking to anyone willing to write these fucking essays for me. please. i'm begging you.

fuck me sideways with a rissole. no really.

(after writing most of this post last night, i dreamt of french maids' outfits and men in capes. BEST. DREAMS. EVA.)

i've long maintained a mild fascination with fetishism.

i'm not talking the usual slap'n'tickle, doctors and nurses shit that most people dabble in on the odd occasion (DON'T THEY?). no, no petals, i'm talking the goat-sodomizing, nappy-wearing, scat-loving activities of the truly experimental amongst us. bless their hearts.

i am forever intrigued by the fact that anyone i know, my friends, neighbours, and...oh fuck the horror...family could be getting down with mummification behind closed doors. hell, i could be getting down with mummification for all you people know.

i'm not, by the way, but i could be.

not that there's anything wrong with that. and not that i actually want to know if those i love do it or not. its just a funny part of the social world that interests me some. i mean we all have sex, we just don't all have to sacrifice a chicken before we cum all over our partners face. and that's what the sociologist in me yearns to understand.

my introduction to the world of fetish came when i saw an episode of some tv show (i can't remember which exactly) in which this dude, a rich, smarmy corporate type, all balding and shiny, got off on seeing women step on cockroaches in bright red stilettos.

gross much? i haven't been able to wear red stilettos without treading extra-carefully amidst the noise and haste ever since.

now this particular tv show aired a long time before my own sexual awakening. this was back when i still believed that if a mummy and a daddy love each other very much, they lie down in a big bed together and then a baby comes out of mummy's hoo hoo.

sorry to spoil it for anyone out there who still believes that (i'm looking at you, alex hawke) but the truth is...PEOPLE HAVE SEX JUST FOR THE FUN OF IT! and another thing while i'm at it, kids, your parents have been lying to you all these years. there is no santa claus. CAUSE JESUS KILLED HIM!

now i had a point planned for this post. what was it again? think woman, THINK!

oh yes, dogging.

random passerby: "what's that you say?"

i said the point of this post was dogging.

random passerby: "what is this dogging you speak of?"

well friend, according to dogging central, ("your number one dogging information resource"):

"the term dogging refers to either having or observing exhibitionist sex in a public or semi-public place, usually outdoors. sometimes the voyeurs join in on the sex, usually they just watch from nearby."

random passerby: "but what kind of weird-ass crazies would get into that?"

oh random passerby, so naive you are, so judgmental. everyone has their sexual quirks, and as long as they are not hurting anyone else (unless specifically asked/commanded to of course) we have not the right to chastise them for fulfilling their desires.

*pats random passerby on the head*

dogging central tells us that:

"couples into exhibitionism are usually in their 30s to 50s, though some may be older or younger. observers are usually single men. most doggers are middle class, and most lead quite average lives apart from their "hobby"."

random passerby: "where?"

"doggers mostly choose open air, somewhat out of the way places, often in or near country parks. car parks are also quite common congregating spots, and occasionally cinema halls."

random passerby: "how?"

"doggers usually contact one another online, through chat rooms, forums, bulletin boards and newsgroups. someone will issue an invite to watch, or inquire if there is anyone interested in performing in a certain area. further details for meeting may be arranged online, or via cell phone or messaging. some may just show up at a known dogging spot and see if anyone else turns up."

random passerby: "illegal, yes?"

"dogging is somewhat of a legal grey area..."

random passerby: "what abou..."

oh for fucks sake just go and check out the site already, you're bugging me now and i have an essay to write. make sure to read the dogger's stories and the 10 COMMANDMENTS OF DOGGING!

gold. bizarre yes. but FUCKING GOLD!

random passerby: "okay i'm going. sheesh! moody much? but just one more thing before i go. la nadine, is dogging the new black?"

it might well be, random passerby, it might very well be indeed.





(please note that i am actually more amused by the website than by the pratice of dogging itself. as miss elmo and miss jess have both rightly pointed out, as fetishes go this one is pretty fucking tame.)

postcards from the edge

if there is anything better than a hot bath on a wooden balcony that overlooks the ocean, glass of red in one hand and a beautiful woman's legs entangled with your own, i dare you to tell me what it is.

and i'm a neurotic bitch too (please, don't hate me cause i'm generalizing)

the blogosphere has recently experienced an invasion. a new crop of bloggers have emerged, and they have made it clear that they are here to stay. but don't be alarmed, they come in peace. i think.

they are sydney actors, and it seems that some of them have worked out how to use the internet for more than googling themselves in a narcissistic frenzy of confidence boosting. ("i am famous! see, there i am in that film still behind the guy who's behind the girl who's standing next to hugo weaving").

it started with the schmitz, who stumbled upon nadstown during a spot of self-googlage, and decided to stay despite my unabashed stalking of him and my incessant desire to make him into an eastern european-style sandwich. then came the delightful cotton who after some initial teething problems has become quite the diligent and masterful blogger of late. and most recently we have been joined by my beloved roguey and the almost naked darcy, who are currently embroiled in a heated chicken/egg type debate over which of them blogged first. whatevs.

now, for awhile there i was skeptical. "will these attention whores stop at nothing for some free publicity?" i asked myself. but now i have had the pleasure of meeting almost all of these smart, multi-talented HOTNESSES and now...

I WANNA BE A BLOGTOR TOO!

(look johnny, mummy coined a phrase!)

however i am going to have to do this in reverse order, being already a blogger, but not an actor. i gave up that dream many years ago, when - on stage mind you - i realised i really didn't like being looked at. but i am willing to reignite my thespian flame in order to fit in with this new wacky crowd i am running with.

and besides, i am so totally actress material.

what's that? you doubt me do you? well here's your proof then, bee-atch:

REASONS I HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO BE AN ACTRESS

- i love talking about myself.

- i am totally insecure about my body and looks.

- i am a very good waitress.

- i have a therapist.

- some of my best friends are anti-depressants.

- i've had "work done" (tonsil removal counts, right?).

- there is tragedy in my life. oprah and i will have lots to talk about.

- i've done charity work for a cambodian orphanage. its the new black.

- i know people who know people in the industry.

- i am willing to sleep my way to the top. hell, even the middle will do.

- i'll do older men, i'll do younger men, or i'll "vow to stay a virgin until i'm married". whatever it takes to keep my name in nw each week.

- oh, and those 8 years of drama school. i guess that might help too.

so kids, here i go. i'm off to find me an agent.

*gets headshots taken*

*freaks out*

*remembers why she gave up the dream in the first place*

*gives up the dream again*

*embraces medicocre existence away from the spotlight*

*googles self*

shower party is NOT the new spa party.

things said yesterday at my preggers sister's baby shower:

- oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh.

- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

- woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow.

- you're sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo huge.

- look at those amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing boobs.

- you wanna touch it? no not there. its much lower.

- it feels better when you rub it like this.

- oooh yes baby, mummy likes that. (i swear, someone actually said this. i'm not lying. for once).

is it wrong to have impure thoughts at your future nephew's baby shower?

you don't need to answer that.

i feel so dirty.

WRONG!

*bangs head against wall*

random boring thoughts on a monday that you probably could live a full and happy life without ever knowing

- taking an 89 year old, a 77 year old, a cancer sufferer and a pregnant woman out for the day should be the next series of survivor. survivor: la nadine's family.

- driving to palm beach in the middle of the night to drink pisco, play board games and smoke cigars with a bunch of slashies (actors/bloggers) was the best fun i've had in ages. thanks to roguemaze and filthpig (whose blog has ceased to exist) for having me. and when i say "having me", i mean...cooking me breakfast in the morning.

- filthpig is actually a very tidy person. who woulda thunk?

- never play 'i never' when fuck-me-sideways drunk and surrounded by boys. things will come out. private things. i never learn.

- cotton promised us that if fremantle lost against the swans he would kill himself. they lost. they really, REALLY lost. pity that. he's such a good egg. but a promise is a promise and thus he must die. please go and pay your last respects on his blog.

- gavin wanganeen and greg conescu are footballers of some sort. i think the first one plays afl and the other one nrl. i could be wrong. whatevs.

- i don't know how i lived before i met jessculture. i feel like i've found my religion, my goddess. except that she doesn't expect me to sacrifice goats or fast for a month or give away my first born or anything. at least, i don't think she does.

- apparently "beau" is "da bomb". "beau" left this comment on an old post today:

go and have a sleep you big doll bludger and if you want a smash you come to 911 read street kenwick perth W.A. you knob head.

p.s. beau is da bomb

"beau", if you're reading this, i'd love to "have a sleep" but my "doll"* money came in today so i have to drive to the rsl and put it all on the pokies so i can win enough to fly to 911 read street kenwick perth W.A for a "smash".

and besides, its really hard to sleep with this knob on my head.

*"beau" spels werds goood.

- i have lost the ability to write essays and am surely going to fail university. guess i might end up a "doll" bludger after all. maybe "beau" is from the future. hmmm...

10 things to do before roguemaze dies

1) finish university. (sadly, this seems to be the most unlikely goal on the list).

2) see my name in print. (and not in the sense of "young girl arrested for lewd behaviour on parliament house steps" like last time. but rather something that would make my family proud).

3) visit my parents' places of birth - egypt and poland. actually i think now its egypt and the ukraine. i'm never certain anymore. ethnic fuckers keep changing their borders.

4) booty dance back up for justin, xtina or missy

5) rescue someone from something bad. just one person. i'm not trying to save the world here. i lost my youthful naive tree-hugging idealism days years ago.

6) work out who or what the fuck is responsible for killing off my family. i'm reaching the anger stage of grieving people. oh yes, its coming. didn't think i could stay calm forever did you?

7) learn to fix something. like a toaster or a car or something.

8) fall in love. or at least sustain a relationship for longer than 3 days.

9) perpetuate an 'ism'.

10) tongue kiss each and every funny, brainy piece of hotness that has entered my sphere of consciousness since i entered this crazy, mixed up world called blog. 5 down, oodles to go...

a midnight trip to the servo with the josh

last night the josh and la nadine spent a lovely evening watching bill hicks stand-up dvds and eating japanese food. they took a break to go to the servo for cancer sticks. the following hilarity ensued:

the josh: do you want me to get you anything?

la nadine: yeah, porn.

(the josh gets out of the car and walks inside the servo. meanwhile in the car la nadine checks her phone for texts for the trillionth time in an hour. when suddenly la nadine's phone starts ringing. it is the josh. she answers.)

la nadine: yes?

the josh: would you prefer to see ashley olsen's boob or teri hatcher's vadge?

la nadine: huh?

the josh: you said you wanted porn.

la nadine: i was kidding. hurry up and buy your smokes. i'm tired.

("ah the josh, what a kooky character", thinks la nadine as she hangs up the phone. when she has finished checking for text messages that might have come during the two minutes she was talking to the josh, she looks up to see the josh standing at the window of the servo. he is holding up two different skin mags and mouthing the words 'WHICH ONE' at her. "fuck me", she exhales, dialing the josh's number. the josh answers.)

the josh: so which one do you want?

la nadine: neither. please come back to the car now. please.

(the josh walks to the counter with both perverse publications. la nadine starts to worry. she knows what the josh is capable of. the josh starts talking to the station attendant. he has still not hung up on la nadine)

the josh: excuse me, which of these do you recommend?

servo dude: huh?

the josh: the red-faced girl in the silver car over there flailing her arms about like a psycho asked me to get her some porn but refuses to tell me exactly which porn she wants me to get. can you help?

(la nadine screams at the josh to "SHUT THE FUCK UP AND PUT THE PORN AWAY!". she really never thought this was a sentence she would be shouting at the josh over the phone in a servo car park.)

servo dude: (obviously horrified yet grinning all the same) um...i don't know which is better.

the josh: whatever. i'll just take both of them for the indecisive bitch. oh, and a packet of dunhill blues thanks.

(the josh pays for the mags and fags and returns to the car. the servo dude looks like he just saw his mother blow his uncle - obviously horrified yet grinning all the same. la nadine is laughing so hard her sides hurt. all is well with the world for a few minutes. but then the josh shows la nadine teri hatcher's vadge and the happies disappear. possibly forever.)

wrap me in plastic and call me trashbag

wrong conversations i had on the weekend:

my shrink: you "googled" him? is this a new sex move thing that i'm not aware of?

me: (too busy laughing uncontrollably to respond.)

x

my sister: the baby's bending it like beckham again.

me: can i feel it?

my sister: not unless you wanna touch me like beckham.

me: what, how does beckham touch...OH...GROSS!

x

the lovely roguemaze: so, those are the famous baps. nice. there's an actress i wanna fuck with baps just like those.

me: good luck with that, blog whore.

x

new pash-buddy: okay then, dutch*.

me: fuck you.

*apparently this was a reference to arnold schwarzenazis character in 'predator'. i have no idea what the reference was all about, but i'm angry nonetheless. is he thinking about large austrian neo-con fucktards when he pashes me? grrrrr.

x

new pash-buddy: now that you've pashed my friend, do you mind if i go home with someone else tonight?

me: not one bit, dutch.

x

friend: i'm about to get into a serious relationship. pash me again.

me: (too busy googling him to respond.)

x

71 yo italian stallion at my local cafe: bella bambina, i am so upset today.

me: why's that gianni?

71 yo italian stallion at my local cafe: my doctor he says that i cannot go to italy to visit my sister this year. he says that there is something wrong with my heart. i tell him that there is nothing wrong with my heart.

me: how do you know that, gianni?

71 yo italian stallion at my local cafe: because everyday i walk 10 kilometres AND I CAN STILL FUCK LIKE A RABBIT. ask my wife, she'll tell you.

me: (too busy spitting coffee all over myself to respond.)

x

happy birthday, elmossy!

has everyone here met elmo?

no? some of you haven't?

well in that case, elmo meet everyone; everyone meet elmo.

elmo is a buddy of mine from way back. we met in our fist year of high school, and we have remained close ever since. it is she who made me blog in the first place. so blame her.

anyway, here are some things about elmo that you may or may not know, and that she may or may not want me to tell you:

- she plays the drums like a freeeeeeeeeeeeeekin' geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenius;

- she is obsessed with this little known irish pub band. perhaps you've heard of them?

- she is adamant that the moon landing was a ruse. she's so cute when she talks conspiracy theories. you just want to pinch her cheeks and pat her on the head;

- she loves bette midler just as much as i do and secretly wishes she was a middle-aged jewish woman with a killer rack and a potty mouth;

- she overfeeds her cat. poor, fatty miro;

- she likes to pretend she is a non-smoker. this is bullshit. she loves nicotine. she wants to marry it and have its cancerous little babies and grow old with it on a tobacco farm in cuba;

- she attempted to take a cardboard cutout of robert de niro (stolen from hoyts in a late night heist) to our year 12 formal as her date;

- her most favouritist thing ever is when i do the kylie minogue 'impossible princess' dance for her;

- she tries to make me see really bad movies with her despite the gazillion times i've told i hate big budget epic crap and/or anything starring russell crowe;

- she has ABSOLUTELY NO tolerance for pain yet has somehow managed to acquire 8 tattoos and lord knows how many piercings. you'll have to ask her where they all are because i'm not allowed to say rude words;

- the bitch owes me $50. she has owed me $50 for about 6 years. actually, with interest i'd say she now owes me more like...well, lets see...if i just do some calculations...ah yes...that seems about right...she now owes me ONE TRILLION DOLLARS. give or take a million or two.

and these last two facts bring me to the point of this here blog post. yup, this one has a point. thought i'd try something new today.

you see folks, about 6 years ago elmo and i made a bet. after she had gotten her first tatt, i bet her $50 that she would have another one before the year was out. i sensed a growing thirst for body art arising within her. a thirst that could not be quenched by one little star alone. and i was right.

i am very intuitive, people. like this morning, my friend was supposed to pick me up at 10, but i was ready at 9.45 and she was early. coincidence? as if.

but elmo denied her fetishist love of ink and even shook my hand to officialise the wager.

she was all like: "no way nigga, i ain't never gettin' that shit done to me again, one is enough yo, fo shizzle."

and i was all like: "you trippin' bitch. big ups yoself for believin' da hype."

werd.

since then she has adorned herself with 7 more inky treats, and still i have not seen my well-deserved money.

and what's more, she saw no problem with calling me the other day and ask if i'll go with her to get another tattoo. ANOTHER FUCKING TATTOO!

i was so angry i almost hung up the phone. the nerve! THE FUCKING NERVE! just who does she think she is?

oh, that's right, she thinks she's my friend. and its her birthday today. damn.

*calls elmo*

*agrees to hold her hand*

*calls debt collectors*

mr mojo risin'

dear mr mojo,

welcome back, old friend! i missed you while you were gone. i felt empty and lost and alone. i was like a toothbrush with no bristles; like a sabertooth tiger with no sabertooth; like a...woman with no mojo.

but now that you are back, just think of all the fun that we will have together. and by "fun" i mean hot sex. and by "together" i mean with boys.

mojey baby, please promise that this visit will not be as brief as the last time you popped into (and then promptly out of) my life. it took me so long to get you back again. and now i worry that our time together is limited, you unpredictable little intangible thingamajig, you.

not that i didn't have a great time while you were on "long service leave" - what with all the pash parties and spa parties and bap grabbing and elbow biting (that's right, you heard me: elbow biting) - but it just wasn't the same without you. a hot pash with a dear friend just ain't the same as making happies with a sexy new conquest. yet for awhile there, it was all i needed and/or wanted.

but not anymore, mojikins, oh no. mama needs a whole lot more than that now. a WHOLE LOT MORE. ya dig?

but alas, i predict a cool change inside soon. deep, deep down where the wild things are. you're leaving soon aren't you? you're packing up the mojovan and heading north for the winter? aren't you? AREN'T YOU?

ANSWER ME DAMMIT, YOU COMMITMENT-PHOBIC PIECE OF UNIDENTIFIABLE NOTHINGNESS!

i guess i better get the fuck out of this office and into the real world quicksmart, while there's still time to make use of you, huh?

love you long time,

la nadine

xox

i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am.

cause this is what happens:

i have a good friend named tim. tim is da bomb diggy fo shizzle. he is smart and loyal and fun and HOTT. and he can cook. and he has a great arse. and he has cute nipples. and if his lovely girlfriend ever reads this i am a dead woman for sure. but that's the chance i'm willing to take in order to spread the word about this - dare i say it - PERFECT MAN to the masses.

that's right ladies. he exists. the man of your dreams actually exists. you know, the one responsible for the soreness in your wrist and the wet patches on your sheets. he really and truly exists. and his name is tim. perfect tim, if you please.

unfortunately he's taken though. VERY TAKEN. like all the good ones. selfish bastards.

perfect tim recently got his first real big person's fancy pants job. in fact, his new job is so fancy pants that he is being flown to amsterdam for two months for intensive porn-watching and pot-smoking training. the lucky cunt. i wanna be flown to amsterdam to watch porn and smoke pot be trained intensively too.

now perfect tim has explained to me a gazillion times what exactly it is that he will be doing in his new fancy pants job. but being that i am just a lowly humanities student, any job description more complicated than "answers phone" or "pours beer" sounds like this to me: "bdjfgdshbkfhsdfjsaldfjsdio." and to be honest, any job description more complicated than "answers phone" or "pours beer" just bores me to tears. in a mate's way.

perfect tim's new official job title is 'options trader'. apparently this has something to do with shares and the stockmarket and money and other economonomical stuff that i don't understand one bit. i usually tune out shortly after the first mention of shares. cause although sharing is caring, i really just don't care for shares.

sorry timmy. i'm still gosh darn proud of you, dear friend. whatever the fuck it is that you do.

i do very much like the idea of trading some of my options however. cause many of my options have really sucked cocks lately. and not in a randy first tenth date kinda way. more in a "kill me now and feed my body to the lions so that it never endures another painful day on this retchid earth " kinda way. so if tim can get me some new options through his new fancy pants dutchy job, he will be more than perfect. he will be my god. and i will worship him 4 evs.

*erects shrine in blind faith*

*worships*

*feels a bit wrong*

*erects fake wall to hide shrine of platonic, taken friend*

*thinks of something else to build so she can say "erects" again*

*erects new monument/building thingy*

*types erects for no reason whatsoever*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

thought i'd never stop, didn't ya? i wasn't sure if i would either. but now i have. HA!

i need sleep.

but anyway, i've thought about it long and hard (*erects*), and here are some of the people/inanimate objects i would like to trade my options with:

- someone who's finished university already (unless they studied some sort of contagious diseases-specialising science-nerd degree. ew);

- someone with two healthy parents (obviously excluding people who's parents are homicidal maniacs and/or cousins);

- someone with something resembling a successful career (again excluding homicidal maniacs and science-nerdiness);

- gael garcia bernal's favourite t-shirt;

- daniel bruhl's pillow;

- pele almqvist's pants;

- one of the above foreign hotnesses' girlfriends (in this case i'm willing to make an exception for homicidal maniacs).

am i asking too much of perfect tim? i think not.

*goes to bed*

*regrets*