oh, wouldn't it be loverly...

so i've started house hunting. tired of sleeping on a fold out couch in my sister's sunroom, i've decided its time to find me a place to call my very own.

yup, that's right bitches, i'm buying property. actual property.

and fuck me sideways if it isn't a stupid bitch of an awful pastime.

at first i was all excited, driving merrily from house inspection to house inspection, singing every appropriate cheesy song from "all i want is a room somewhere..." to "our house..."

but as time drags on and i continue to share a wardrobe with my six month old nephew - and anyone who knows me knows how much i value my closet space - my initial enthusiasm is rapidly diminishing.

i mean, i can barely decide what type of underwear to purchase, so how the hell am i going to buy a whole fucking house?

there are just so many decisions to be made, and i honestly don't know if my poor, scattered brain is up to the challenge.

for example:

do i want to live in a house in suburb X or an appartment in suburb Y? do i want a ground floor appartment with a garden or a higher floor with a balcony? do i really want the worst pub in sydney to be my local? just how big should the second bedroom be? and how far away from my bedroom should it be so i can have loud, violent sex? do i really need a study or can i set up my workspace in the living room? is carpet really all that bad? why are there no spas in places within my price range? how much storage space do i need? does it matter if...

blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahBLAH!

for fuck's sake people, all i want is to live somewhere vaguely nice in which i won't be awoken at six every morning by a (very adorable) crying newborn baby.

and another thing while i'm on the subject (because i know you're all still reading this INCREDIBLY interesting diatribe), why is the real estate world so very much like the dating world?

think about it, the two cardinal rules of buying a house are thus:

1) don't ever let them know just how interested you are, and;

2) shop around before you make a commitment.

sound familiar, ladies?

no wonder i'm hating this house hunting thing so much.

but i guess in the long run whether you're dating a man or buying property from him, you're gonna get screwed one way or another.

i just wonder if a real estate agent will hold me in the morning.

very greek. very now. very brilliant.

last night i decided that there could be no better way to celebrate 'invasion day' eve than by attending an australian play. set in ancient greece. whatevs.

and fuck me dead with a rissole, the play was GENIUS!

go and see 'the suitors'. go and see it now. go and support independent theatre in this bottom dollar-obsessed country. go and admire the incredible talents of co-writers and actors john leary and patrick bramall. go and drool over how HOT they both look in tablecloths togas. go and wish it was you - and not the wonderful zoe carides - whose affections they are fighting for. go and laugh so hard that you begin to worry milk will come out of your nose even though you haven't consumed any in days. go and tell the entire cast that they are geniuses, thus unwittingly diminishing the value of the compliment through over-use.

OH, JUST FUCKING GO AND SEE IT, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!

actually, i think i might go and see it again. so i guess i'll see you there. let's sit in the back row and make out. but only between scenes of course. we wouldn't want to miss anything. not with eye candy this tasty to look at:




















on a side note, i just want to note how strange it was for me to attend the play last night with writer/actor/hotness the schmitz: he whom i stalked so effectively last year that he eventually withdrew the restraining order i now count him as a dear friend.

watch your back, patrick bramall, for you could be next on my "to stalk" list.

single people be warned: its that time of year again.

i can't decide if this is the best or worst valentine's day card i've ever seen:




















your thoughts?

this is the 300th post on this blog. it is just as inane as the other 299 that came before it.

10 ways i could have better spent the time it took me to write 300 blog posts over the past 20 months:

1) studying;

2) exercising;

3) writing my "masterpiece";

4) working (considering i was in fact at work when i wrote most of them);

5) eating cheese;

6) having sex;

7) having sex;

8) finding inner peace (well, looking for it anyway);

9) stalking the gyllenhaal siblings;

10) adopting cambodian orphans.

why on earth do you people continue to read my pointless drivel?

don't you have jobs to do / books to read / lovers to pleasure?

coping mechanisms

grief counselling: $80 a session

retail therapy: $300 a session

alcoholism: $200 a session

finding my late mother's 1972 travel diary: PRICELESS.

i'm not a violent person, but...

things that are really getting on my (rather fragile) nerves at the moment:

- unwanted parking help from random male passersby.

i'm a woman, not a fucking moron.

- the phrase: "i've been meaning to call you but...".

spare me.

so, what's got YOUR goat recently?

welcome to two thousand and sex, population: all of us.

so new years was incredible. i spent it in a mansion, atop a mountain, surrounded by friends, eating amazing food, drinking fuck-me-dead cocktails and having many a champagne-enhanced spa party to pass the time.

for a more detailed and eloquent description of the festivities, see here.

certainly one of the best things about this new years past was the fact that for the first time in many years, i had NO BOY TROUBLE WHATSOEVER!

i was not stood up, dumped, cheated on nor used by a member of the opposite sex.

i was boy-less and care-free, and i LOVED IT!

i did, however, indulge in a spot of dirty texting in the wee hours of the new year morning, but that's neither here nor there really.

anyway, going against my usual mantra - "new years resolutions are for sorry cunts" - i have decided to make some this year. six of them in fact. cause its two thousand and SIX.

actually, that's a lie. not the part about it being 2006 (it most certainly is 2006) just the bit about the last numeral of the year being in any way responsible for the number of resolutions i have made.

i can't lie to you.

group hug?

um, so anyway, here are my six resolutions for two thousand and six:

- quit smoking.

i've decided my chances of dying of cancer are high enough already.

- pole dance my way to hotness.

i've conquered the art of the booty dance, and its time to make the pole my bitch.

- learn to play the drums.

as if! but i'm gonna try.

- cook more often

i can't live on take-away forever. or can i?

- not lose any more family members.

possibly the most difficult item on the list to achieve, considering my recent past.

- buy a house.

some cheeky bugger pointed out to me that this isn't actually a resolution, per se, being both necessary and inevitable. well, ms fits that person has cooties. big, fat ones. in a mates way. x

i also aim to further my career as an actual paid writer, and to start doing volunteer work again. but i've already listed six things, and "here are my eight resolutions for two thousand and six" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

as you were.

and you smell like one too!

at a wedding today i was told that i look exactly like a gargoyle on a statue in london.

the maker of said comparison looked exactly like rob schneider's semi-retarded, midget cousin.

and he seemed to think he was paying me a compliment.

i took slight offense to his words nonetheless.

the end.