retail therapy (or 'i am a superficial twat')

i need help.

serious help.

apparently the therapy i’ve been having to overcome my shopping addiction (i kid you not) has not been very helpful.

i know this because today i received a phone call from my bank in which i was asked to confirm whether or not i was responsible for the EXCESSIVE EXPENDITURE on my credit card over the weekend.

unfortunately i was.

its just that when i’m feeling sad/lonely/fat/stressed nothing cheers me up quite like a new pair of stilettos and other such shiny trinkets.

and lately i’ve been feeling muchly the sad/lonely/fat/stressed on a quasi-regular basis.

*tear.*

the thing is that if i keep going the way i have been, on top of sad/lonely/fat/stressed-ness, i’m also gonna start feeling muchly the broke/hungry/cold/unwashed.

i have a problem.

a serious problem.

HELP ME!

or don’t.

no pressure.

eat your heart out, amanda woodward!

things i am thus far LOVING about the advertising world:

- i sure do feel a whole lot lighter without that pesky soul i've been dragging around with me all my life;

- the excuse to dress up everyday - just call me corporate barbie;

- MOVEMBER BABY - i have been walking around in a constant state of orgasmic bliss, as my office building is filled to bursting with a zillion cute boys rocking the porn mo like there's no tomorrow. i fucking love dirty porn mos. i am up to at least three underwear changes a day, and counting;

- work crushes - having worked freelance at home for so long, i forgot how fun it is to invent reasons to walk past someone's desk every five minutes in the hope they'll fall madly in lust with me and ask me to "stay late and work on some 'briefs'";

- the fully stocked open bar IN MY OFFICE - i swear if i'm not a card-carrying member of alcos anonymous by autumn, i'm doing something wrong;

- the constant self-validation - "its ok, i'll just work here for a year or so, make a bunch of money and then start up a non-profit organization that gives poor people free stuff";

- the gazillion story office building at the apex of which is my desk. not only does it have a killer view, but it is also handy should the urge to kill myself for turning into a soulless, corporate wanker ever take complete hold of my being;

- the hookers and blow (actually, these are my dear colleague mr kiel's favourite advertising perks. but i'm quite enjoying them too).

i'd TOTALLY hit it. is that wrong?

last night at the musicoz awards, my hot date and i were playing 'i'd hit it' about the presenters, performers, nominees and awards winners.

for those of you not "in the know", 'id hit it' is an amazing game of intellect and skill in which you exclaim to the other players whether or not you'd make the sex with any person in your line of vision.

try it, i think you'll like it.

so anyway, throughout the course of the evening i learned that my date would pretty much "hit" anything with two legs and an inverted pee hole, from john williamson's nubile young daughter to the new age yodeller with enormous cans.

i, however, was having a much harder time designating prospective lovemuffins, and by intermission i had only consented to "hit" a drunken timmy rogers and a middle-aged russian instrumentalist named igor.

the pickins were depressingly slim i'm afraid, and hard as it may be to believe i wanted to get naked with neither richard wilkins nor the regional head of telstra who presented one of the awards.

until...

a seemingly reggae-influenced band called 'the shades' took out one category and onto the stage sauntered four 15 year old mini-hotties, all of them just barely taller than the presenters stand.

they were playing it cool, neither jumping up and down nor exposing themselves a la a certain ex-channel ten personality whose name had been removed from the presenter's list after the arias post-haste.

and the first thing they did was give props to the absent 5th member of the band whose "MUM WOULDN'T LET HIM GO TO THE AWARDS BECAUSE HE STILL HAS END-OF-YEAR EXAMS!!!"


*swoon*


and so i spent the rest of my night in a state of mild catatonic arousal, following the underaged ones around, and wondering (inappropriately loudly) how wrong it would be to offer them a fiveway and/or a spa party.

hey, if mary-kay letourneau can do it...


WHAT?!?


its been at least a month and i'm getting antsy here. gimme a break. i wouldn't really do anything with a group of mid-pubescent teens.


but here's a very poor quality pic of them for your enjoyment nonetheless:
















i'm so going to hell.

...

belinda emmett's death from breast cancer this weekend is a tragedy.

it is a tragedy NOT because she was a public figure, and NOT because she was rove mcmanus's wife.

it is a tragedy because she was 32 years old when she died.

and that is way, way, way too young.

56 years old is also way, way, way too young to die.

that's how old my mum was when breast cancer claimed her life last year.

and i'll bet that many of the loved ones of the 7 women killed each day by this most heinous of illnesses will tell you that their mother/sister/friend/lover was way, way, way too young to die.

please donate to breast cancer research.

or perhaps you'd like to donate to alzheimers research

alzheimers being the bastard that killed my father, aged 62.

hell, donate to anything, anything at all.

medical research, anti-hunger networks, humanitarian aid efforts, whatever.

there's a lot of things killing people out there.

x

i ain't nobody's second best

last night my flatmate and i were sitting on our brand new swivel bar stools, drinking chardonnay and eating white castello cheese on crackers with spiced pear paste. dolly parton was on the stereo and dinner was on its way.

good times.

until...

we got onto the subject of past dalliances of the sexual variety, in particular one of mine. let's just call him 'assface'.

assface was around briefly when i was but a wee lass of nineteen. he was a friend of a friend and despite (or perhaps because of?) his lack of hygiene and slacker lifestyle i fell in lust with him.

we danced the dance for a few weeks until one morning while we were lying in bed enjoying a post-coital cigarette, assface turned to me and said:


"i don't think i'm really all that into you. i just don't think i should settle for second best."


WTF?!?

WHO SAYS THAT?!?


at the time i could only stare blankly at him before hurriedly getting dressed and uttering something about him getting one last poke in before running humiliated from his house.

but the story doesn't end there. oh no.

years later i saw assface at a party. i considered ignoring his existence but decided to all about maturity instead. so i said hello.

the rest of the conversation went something like this:


assface: "oh hey."

me: "how are you?"

assface: "yeah, good. i heard you've had a rough trot though. i'm sorry to hear about your parents."

me: "thanks. its been an awful few years."

assface: "i imagine so. well, i guess if you weren't fucked up before i guess you must be pretty fucked up now then."


WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

WHO SAYS THAT?


cue me staring blankly at him again before hurrying off in a dumbfounded haze of hate.


luckily i haven't seen him since then. thank fuck.

and so ends the story of assface.

ain't he a peach?

lullabies to paralyse

i think i may have had an epiphany.

or perhaps i'm just high on red wine and bath fumes.

whatevs, just humour me for a minute, will you?

ta. you're too, too kind.

so i was lying in bed just now, drifting off, images of joaquin phoenix caressing my thoughts and tickling my thighs, listening to the cowboy junkies as i have done almost every night for many, many years now.

and just as i was about to cross over into sleepytown, my brain shouted this at me:

"OHMIGAWD! IT'S THE COWBOY JUNKIES! IT'S THEIR FRICKING FAULT YOU'RE SUCH A MESS! THOSE SWEET, HAUNTING BALLADS HAVE REALLY FUCKED YOUR SHIT UP GOOD!"

?!?

could it be true? could my lullaby music be the secret to my sadness?

i know of course that i can't blame this most wonderful of bands for all my problems, being that i was well fucked up before i owned a copy of 'the trinity sessions'. and i'm almost certain the cowboy junkies didn't kill my parents.

but surely falling asleep night after night listening to songs such as 'i'm so lonesome i could cry', 'i don't get it' and 'to love is to bury' must have certain adverse affects on one's soul.

WHY DID I NOT REALISE THIS BEFORE? AM I REALLY THAT DAFT? WHAT ELSE AM I MISSING?

the problem is however, that even though i've had this grand epiphany, and i realise that i should probably seek out some less depressing sleepytime tunes, i don't think i can fall asleep without hearing the beautiful songs of loss and sorrow i've come to depend on to sing my into slumber.

and what use is an epiphany if you can't act on it accordingly?

i'm all conflicted.

please advise.

yay! it's multiple choice thursday!

it's been an eventful few weeks for several reasons.

there's been a house move, a wedding, an almost romance (or two), an interstate trip and a whole lotta alcohol.

and one event in particular has me all a-flutter today.

but rather than tell you about it straight up, i thought i'd make a little quiz for you.

don't worry, it's quite possibly the easiest quiz in the history of quizzes ever.

so leave your answers to the three questions below in the comments section and i will divulge all next week.

enjoy!

---

- QUESTION ONE

who said the following to me this afternoon:

"the more you let me in, the more we can achieve".

was it:

a) fruity new boyfriend;

b) door-knocking mormon;

c) overzealous gynecologist;

d) hot, french massage therapist?


- QUESTION TWO

who provided me with the "happy ending" i so very much needed after my recent disappointing rejection?

was it:

a) old crush i had a drink with last night;

b) quasi-regular fuck buddy;

c) new pearl rabbit vibrator;

d) hot, french massage therapist?


- QUESTION THREE

who freaked me out by making cat noises in the middle of being "let in", before i realised there was an actual cat in the room?

was it:

a) overzealous gynecologist;

b) quasi-regular fuck buddy;

c) new pearl rabbit vibrator;

d) hot, french massage therapist?

---

i told you it was easy.

have a good weekend y'all!

x