riddle me this (and that).

someone to whom you have confessed your desire to make the hot, naughty, oh-baby-yes-right-there-oh-lord-that's-good sex with tells you they "don't want to ruin the close friendship".

and even though you are indeed pals, you know for certain that this person:

a) doesn't know your last name;

b) doesn't know your birthday;

c) wouldn't have a fucking clue what you do with your life.

so riddle me this: if that's a close friendship, does that mean i'm "bff" with EVERYONE WHO EVER LIVED EVER?

---

please riddle me this also: i'm considering changing my profile picture.

you know what they say - 'if you can't change your life, change your blogger profile picture'.

or something like that anyway.

so would a change present a major problem for anyone?

talk to me, people. i value your opinions. swears.

---

UPDATE: PROFILE PIC CHANGED!

deal with that, change haters!

so, do we like it?

i think it works because it maintains my anonymity while showing just a hint of cans.

but i need your approval, dear readers.

VALIDATE ME!

am i not pretty enough?

today i received an email from devastatingly hot rocktographer daniel "all the ladies want to touch me, and some of the boys do too" boud.


it said: "I saw this on the internet somewhere and thought of you."


and it was accompanied by the picture below:



























i honestly don't know whether to laugh or cry.


*wanders off humming christina aguilera's 'beautiful'*

millions of peaches, peaches for me...

it's no secret how much i hate october (aka 'the month that killed my parents').

but just in case you weren't aware, it is my personal belief that october sucks scabby cocks in hell and we'd all be better off if september became november and then, HEY PRESTO, its chrismakuh again!

my profuse apologies to all born in october - in particular to my good friends of the libra and scorpio kind - but i just can't help the way i feel. it's not you, its october.

but despite the fact that i usually spend this entire god-awful, parent-murdering month in a constant state of black, i found several things to smile about over the past weekend.

i also cried the fuck out of saturday (aka 'the day that killed my mother'), but that's to be expected only one year on. or two or three or twenty i predict.

but lets concentrate on the happies today. they were due to the following occurences:


- i moved into my beautiful, newly renovated apartment;

- i slept in my own bed for the first time in a year;

- i was finally reunited with that birthday card;

- i ate too much cheese and drank golden pash cocktails with wonderful friends;

- i ate duck pancakes and got high on bad coffee with this fine sheila;

- i somehow ended up backstage at a 'presidents of the usa' concert;

- i laughed my arse off whilst backstage at a 'presidents of the usa' concert;

- i saw four penises and one set of boobs whilst backstage at a 'presidents of the usa' concert;

- i asked my companions if i was dreaming or if i really was backstage at a 'presidents of the usa' concert because how the fuck are they still touring despite being the worst band ever other than perhaps 'eskimo joe' and who the bejeesus would pay to go to a 'presidents of the usa' concert anyway?

- my companions answered my question in unison, with one simple word: "christians". and looking at the crowd, i knew they were so very, very right. not that there's anything wrong with that. except for...oh wait, i'm concentrating on the happies today. as you were.


and by sunday night i was so exhausted from all the moving and crying and laughing and perving that i made it almost all the way home before realising i no longer lived there and had to turn around and go back the other way.

thank fuck november is almost here. i can't wait be a (quasi-)normal person again.

exeunt.

is it just me?

or is the following slogan i saw today on a sign advertising children's summer sport camps a little strange?

slogan: "IF NOTHING CHANGES, NOTHING CHANGES. CHANGE IF YOU KNOW YOU SHOULD."

WOTTHAFUK?!?

- firstly: "if nothing changes, nothing changes."

der.

- and second: "change if you know you should."

just who are these happy campmongers implying needs to change?

are they saying parents should change by sending their kids to hell summer sport camp instead of letting them sit at home all day through summer eating candy and watching violent movies?

or are they calling on the poor, innocent little fatty boombas of australia to check themselves before they wreck themselves?

i'm confus-ed.

it certainly seems to me that whoever made this sign could have used the help of the sloganizer.

and possibly a good, hard kick in the groinal region.

won't somebody please think of the children.

as you can see, i gots nuthin.

it's 'begin writing a blog post in which you reminisce about your first concert but then remember you've already written a blog post in which you reminisce about your first concert so then just link to that and post a picture of the group who performed at your first concert instead and get on with your day' day in nadstown.

WOO HOO!

click here to read a blog post in which i reminisce about my first concert.

please enjoy a picture of the group who performed at my first concert:

the la nadine can't afford to wear prada

things discussed at the swanky fashion shindig i attended last night:


- boys;

- shoes;

- boys' shoes;

- boobs (mine and assorted others);

- tacos;

- lindsay lohan's vadge;

- james mathison's underwear;

- world peace (sort of) (not really).


my brain, like, totally hurts from, like, talking about all that deep, intellectual stuff.

i feel so well-rounded as a person right now.

and really fucking sore in the head region.

damn free champagne cocktails! cursed be thy sweet, pink-hued, alcoholic goodness.

CURSED BE!

the money pit

as some of you may know i bought an apartment earlier this year.

i know, how grown up is that?

and for the past four months i have been busy renovating the fuck out of my new abode so as to get it to a manner to which i wish to become accustomed.

and believe me it ain't been easy.

but my little corner of the world is almost ready for inhabitation, with the floors and carpet going in as i type.

and i cannot tell you how relieved i will be when it is done.

thus, with the light at the end of the interior decoration tunnel clearly visible, i present to you...


'things i have learned since deciding to buy a fixer-upperer':


- there are, like, a gazillion different types of toilets. and the people who sell them take them very seriously;

- there are, like, a gazillion trillion types of door handles, and the people who sell them take them even more seriously than the toilet merchants;

- despite all myths to the contrary, it is possible to find good tradesmen, builders, designers, etc. even ones who go above and beyond the call of duty, picking you up from work, buying you breakfast, etc;

- even if you pick paint that you believe to be the whitest of white, your walls may in fact turn out a most repulsive shade of lilac;

- spa jets in the bathtub may turn out to be too much of a luxury, but a pole in the living room is a MUST;

- it is possible to get excited about light fittings no matter how much you resist;

- even a custom-built, mega wardrobe may not be enough to fit all your clothes and shoes (if you're a clinically dperessed, raging clotheswhore who self-medicates through shopping like me, that is);

- you may think your style is classic early twentieth century art nouveau, but your apartment may still end up resembling a 1970s whorehouse.


i should totally have my own show now: 'la nadine eye for the straight guy'.

whaddya reckon?

regular, quasi-interesting posting will resume just as soon as i get my life in order. but until then...

sometimes it's hard to be a woman.


discuss.