that's LA big piece of jewish candy to you!

the other night my friend g referred to me as a "big piece of jewish candy."

and despite having no memory regarding the context in which he said it (vodkafied as i was at the time), i kinda love the title.

i've been called worse, that's for sure.

much worse.

remembrance

today while doing whatever it is you are doing to commemorate anzac day/take advantage of the mid-week day off, please take a moment to remember 'the forgotten':

that is, those aboriginal and torres strait islander men and women who have served australia in all wars and peace-keeping missions since federation, yet have never received recognition equivalent to their non-indigenous counterparts.

think especially about the fact that many of these servicemen and women fought and died for "their country" at a time when they were not even legally recognised (nor treated) as citizens.

and think about what that has meant for them and their families who have historically been denied the honours and social services available to white diggers and their families.

i'm not asking you to question the validity of anzac day, nor am i attempting to discredit/undermine the efforts of non-indigenous ex-servicemen and women.

i'm just suggesting that you think about it.

i know i will.

back to regular, dumb blonde-like posting tomorrow, i promise.

x

brain crush sex dream charlie kilo

a brain crush is when you find yourself uncontrollably obsessed with another person's brain. you find yourself wanting, nay needing to know what said person thinks about everything, thus texting/emailing/telepathically sending them constant questions.

one can also form a brain crush on a celebrity, whether dead or alive. for example i have longstanding brain crushes on bill hicks (dead) and martin millar (alive), among MANY others.

brain crushes can often lead to strong friendships, full of intense discussions about all manner of topics.

however they can also lead to apprehended violence orders.

this is a very fine line, people. A VERY FINE LINE.

a brain crush is different from a sex crush - in which you desperately want to make the hot monkey love with the target of the crush - but can very easily lead to one if the crusher (he/she who has the crush) is not careful.

it is also different from a friend crush (when one is jonesing to be friends with a particular individual), a style crush (the desire to dress like another human), a talent crush (obvious), and so on.

i know it's complicated but try and keep up will you. if it will help, get yourself a pen and a piece of paper and draw yourself a diagram. or, even better, a mind map. i LOVE mind maps.

now sometimes a crushee (he/she upon whom the crush lies) may think a brain crush is in fact a sex/love crush, based on the obsessive, crazy stalker ways of their crusher.

this can lead to awkwardness. or worse (unspecified).

so recently i seem to have developed sex crushes on two of my current brain crushes.

i've had sex dreams about both of them and i woke feeling strange. and not just in the pants region.

i is all conflicted.

i don't want to have sex crushes on my brain crushes.

i prefer my crushes separated and compartmentalised. like in that movie where the guy builds a tiny wall on his plate around his peas so they don't merge with his mashed potatoes but somehow a few rogue peas always manage to escape their pea prison and seek refuge in the mashed potatoes thus creating an anarchic, mushy vegetable commune. i think it was in 'toys'. then again i could have just made all that up.

DO YOU SEE WHAT THIS MIXED UP CRUSH CONFUSION IS DOING TO MY BRAIN?

i used to be a smart girl. perhaps even the type of girl upon whom somebody, somewhere would have a brain crush (probably not though).

but now i'm just a crushed up mess.

help.

please.

update

so optus finally got back to me about the fuck-up.

a few weeks ago i received a call from the (very nice) man i first spoke with/ranted uncontrollably at. he informed me that my mother's name had now been removed from all optus mailing lists, and asked me if i still wanted a written letter of apology.

hell yeah i did.

the letter in question arrived late last week. it contained written confirmation of mum being listed as "deceased" on all optus databases, an apology for any distress caused to myself and my sister, and an assurance that this would not happen again.

it also contained more spelling and grammar mistakes than would george bush's personal diary ("deer direy, toodai wee bommd eyeraq agen. thay eevn let mee paress tha buten. chaynee woz like soooo jeluss. it woz orsum").

i considered highlighting all the errors and sending it back to optus, complete with proofreading notes in the margin. but i decided that would be a monumental waste of my most precious time and energy.

so instead i got obscenely drunk and painted sydney a whole new shade of cherry red. that'll learn 'em!

i guess i should just be satisfied that i got the letter at all, no matter how poorly written it was.

or something humble and mature like that.

FOR FUCK'S SAKE!

shame optus, shame.

yo' mama

this morning while walking my nephew around the burbs, a man hollered "YUMMY MUMMY!" at me from his vehicle.

i'm not sure whether to be flattered by the "yummy" or offended about the "mummy"*.

oh well, back to packing my life up.

chag sameach**.




*not that there's anything wrong with being a mummy. in fact some of my best friends are yummy mummies. and granted i was pushing a stroller with an actual baby inside it. so the man's assumption was valid i suppose. i just hope i don't resemble someone who has recently given birth and looks yummy nonetheless. MY TITS ARE REAL!

**it's passover for those of you not in the (jew) know.

fasten your seatbelts...

several readers of nadstown have expressed concern over my last post which, they say, appeared to be far removed from my usual writing style.

"are you alright, la nadine?" asked many a kindly soul, apparently worried that the unusual post evidenced a departure from sanity on my behalf.

"did someone else write that?" was another common question.

and lastly "shittest. post. ever." critiqued more than one armchair reviewer(all of whom obviously haven't read my archives).

in answer/response to all of you, i'm just having a wacky ol' time at the moment, and i guess the last post reflects that.

i am packing up my late parents' house for my pending move to 'Elsewhere, NSW'. and with this task comes the burden of emotion.

and we all know what emotion can do to a self-confessed (and heavily medicated) drama queen.

i'm angry. i'm sad. i'm horny. i'm numb. i'm scared. i'm manic. i'm lethargic. i'm ugly. i'm selfish.

i'm also jealous of everybody who isn't angry or sad or horny or numb or scared or manic or lethargic or ugly or selfish.

and i HATE being jealous.

in the past week i have given away to charity the entire contents of my mother's wardrobe (bar her wedding dress and a particularly HOT italian clutch bag), sold furniture i have scratched away at since childhood, read through the divorce proceedings of my father's first marriage, discovered that my mother kept every single letter i ever wrote her (including the one in which i proclaimed i was "too stupid to go to school anymore"), cried over many an old photograph from happier times (when i had two living parents and a cat), and lost countless hours of sleep feeling guilty about "moving on".

but don't cry for me blogospherina.

as with the heartache will come closure. and with closure will come catharsis. and with catharsis will come sanity.

or at least a little of each of them anyway.

i hope. OH, HOW I HOPE.

so bear with me over the next little while, as i prepare to bid farewell to my nightmare on elm st. cause if you think the last post was weird/awful, i fear it may have only been a taster of things to come.

and if you don't hear from me for in the coming days/weeks/months, it is because my mother taught me that if i don't have anything nice to say, i shouldn't say anything at all. and for the first time in my life i'm considering heeding that lesson.

x

journal of attention disorders (jad)

i have a friend called jad.

jad is lots of fun.

when you google image search "jad" this is one of the pictures that comes up:
















that is not jad.

not the jad i know anyway.

it may be another person/alien/hybrid thing named jad.

but it is not the jad i know.

the jad i know is very lazy.

let's call him 'lazy jad'.

lazy jad gave me a whoopee cushion last week.

i asked him for one last october.

as i said before, jad is VERY lazy.

hence his nickname: 'lazy jad'.

when you google image search "whoopee cushion", this is one of the pictures that comes up:













this is a (blurry) picture of bea arthur.

bea arthur is an actress.

she is very funny and talented.

she was in the tv shows maude and 'the golden girls'.

(among other things).

i really liked the golden girls when i was a young girl.

i watched it again on christmas day last year with jess.

i still really liked it.

so did jess.

you should watch it again/for the first time too.

its really good.

i don't know what bea arthur has to do with whoopee cushions though.

maybe somebody thought she was lots of fun to bounce on.

that's a bit wrong though.

she's not a jumping castle.

when you google image search "jumping castle", this is one of the pictures that comes up:




















this is a (picture of a) jumping castle.

it looks like lots of fun.

lazy jad is lots of fun.

the end.

give me a j...

in the words of many a pint-sized genius:

der.

and, continuing on with the playground theme, to the haters, in particular martin ferguson and wayne swan:

i know you are but what am i?