A Dying Star

Then and Now

2012-03-13T06:20:00.002+11:00

I really hope no one ever invents time travel, if they did then I might have to go back in time and that might mean re-living my twenties, and fuuuuuuck that.

I had a twenties night out this past weekend, and I can say I have never been more happy to be old and boring and 31 and married.

It all started with my youth guilt, you know when you're hanging out with a bunch of youthful 20 year olds, and they're all going to a party and you think "man I never go to parties anymore!" and you think "fuck it! I'm not gonna go home and watch 90210, i'm goin out! with the kids!"

bad idea.

I have become.. how can I say.. a comfortability snob in my age, what was once acceptable to me in my 20's has become nothing short of a walking nightmare in my 30's.

These are thing I don't like to do anymore: (in no particular order)..

Have the owner of the bar assume it was me who threw up all over the floor because I was the one standing in it.

Generally be out past 11.30pm

Still be out at 2am.

Be delirious and yet still not home at 4am.

Trying to sleep on a mattress in an alleyway whilst my friends score drugs in a car from a strange man.

Standing on the street ringing someone's door buzzer for at least 15 minutes with no answer.

Spewing hot chips in the taxi all the ride home.

I just really really hate going out. These days the most dangerous thing in my life is getting a nap injury whilst I sleep on the couch on a saturday night:

Leg cramps from being in a weird position for hours.

Over-heating from too much blanky.

I'm having that 'Friends' realisation moment, when Ross and Chandler were supposed to meet up with their friend Gandalf (the party wizard)

and they pack their fresh socks, passport and snake bite kit... only to end up at the cafe afterwards and they're all "does the music have to be so loud?" and Joey is like "we aren't 19 anymore!" and Ross is all "so what if I like to go home, throw on some Kenny G and take a bath"

could I BE anymore lame?

Instinctively Extinct

2012-02-21T03:33:00.009+11:00

Next on the England Domination Tour:

Welcome to the Lyme Regis!

........... purdy.

Mark & I decided that for our wedding anniversary this year we would go to Switzerland, do some hanging in the HR Giger Museum and do some dramatic hikes that defy death at some stage around the Swiss Alps.

Why then? you ask, are you showing us pictures of the Lyme Regis? Well that is because the Switzerland trip was post-poned.. goddam having a job! I bitched and moaned and in the end made Mark book the most expensive B&B I could find (and believe me I looked hard!) it had to be spectacular spectacular if it was going to beat the Switzerland trip.

Luckily for Mark's ballsack, I love roadtrips. We skived off work on Friday and drove down early..once we were officially in Dorset I have to say half the time it was like being in a painting.

Nothing but rolling hills and fantastic beaches. Tell me that Durdle Door doesn't look like a cove where Pirates would land and bury treasure.. next time I'm bringing a metal detector.

And on we drove... and drove... and drove... and nowhere was open for lunch. That is my one complaint.. They call this area of England the Jurassic Coast - because the cliffs date back to the Dinosaur Period and you can hunt for fossils (geek trips!) however due to the lack of any food in the region, it was no surprise to me that the dinosaurs went extinct in the first place. Who do I have to kill to get a sandwich around here!

Luckily we ended up at our B&B and I ate my body weight in Devonshire Scones with clotted cream and jam.. bring on the heart attack (this might also have contributed to the dinosaurs downfall? who can resist a clotted cream and jam scone? aka: the stegosaurus weak point)

Saturday we drove into Devon (where the cliffs are really old - Triassic!... someone needs to make Triassic Park the movie, where the Ammonites all swim around and get into unsuspecting and cynical scientists snorkels suffocating them as they look at Plesiosaurs)

Tell me what is better than: sheep/cliffs/pebbly beaches/and waves? NOTHING BEATS THAT! I love beaches in winter. Bikini's are OUT. Layers are IN.

The next geek-filled activity on my list was fossil hunting... as our chirpy receptionist told us that a family went out the day before and came back with ten! well game on random family I've never met! I'm going to bring back a hundred. So I armed myself with my hammer and walked through the town looking like a deranged killer, and went to the fossil beach.

Unfortunately even though I had my trusty fossil findin' hammer, the downfall was this: I had no idea what I was looking for. I was essentially just picking up rocks, and smashing them into smaller rocks, because what is a fossil? an old rock. I probably smashed to pieces some ancient oyster shell or something, they should have a check sheet for retards before they go handing hammers out to people.

So nice.

And then Mark got a virus and couldn't move off the bathroom floor, so our Sunday plans were scuppered. We drove to Studland Bay (where we were going to go to the Naturalist Beach and get naked!............. not.. but we would have taken our pants off and stood behind the sign)

My big plans for Studland Bay were to walk to Old Harry's Rocks which is about a 3 mile hike, which compared to our ridiculous 15 mile hike over the Seven Sisters is nothing.. but I failed to take into account that mark had no food left in his body and only had about 2 hours sleep...and with that we left our car in the car park and walked off without any food/phones/asthma inhalers!.............. Dramatic Hike 2!

We got about a quarter of the way there when Mark admitted he was not superman and would probably pass out and fall down a cliff and get trapped in the bushes and die, and I'd have to tell everyone that my husband disappeared on one of my stupid Hikes.

KILLER HIKES... that's my retirement plan.

The Journey of My Sole

2012-02-16T00:56:00.013+11:00

I LOVE THESE SHOES!!!!!!!!!!!

whilst I have many mental illness idiosyncrasies, one of my main problems is being unable to throw away shoes. those shoes have a history! my memories are attached to those shoes. This is where my shoes have taken me... the journey of my sole

Being held at gunpoint in Prague.

Being lost in the map in Amsterdam

Waiting in line to see Michelangelo's David in Tuscany

Being a hardcore punk in Cork

Making fart jokes in Berlin

Statue Miming in Oslo

Jiving next to some giant speakers in Ladbroke Grove

Hanging out in Washington Square Park, New York City

to be honest I can't really bring myself to throw them out, even though they are covered in dirty crap and mud and practically falling off my feet. I have put them in the bin, but I think they either deserve a proper burial or to be dipped in bronze and placed on a plaque to mark the history they served in my life.

Snow Day!

2012-02-07T00:58:00.006+11:00

If I was being honest, I would say this winter was a huge disappointment. There was no snow in the lead-up to Christmas, it was unseasonably warm and temperate the whole time.. what's the point in having three fur coats if you can't even wear them?! all those rabbits died for nothing!!

Luckily all that changed this weekend.

SNOW DAY!

Mark and I were sitting at home on Saturday night, because we are married and boring. I was moisturising my elbows, and he was reading internet forums (rockin it!) when I looked outside my window and by god! Snow!

It was so cool. We haven't seen our street in snow because we moved in during Spring, and our street was covered in it! soooooo nice. Snow definitely does things to people. All social boundaries break down and people are just nicer to each other.. (I propose this only happens in climates when snowfall is a rarity, and not say if you lived in the snow all the time - where your instincts are to probably kill each other)

For instance - it was midnight and there were kids running around in the street having snowball fights and building snowmen.. MIDNIGHT! shouldn't you kids be in bed? or at least be under adult supervision? Pedophiles don't stay inside just because its snowing (unless studies have shown otherwise??) Everyone was loving it. I myself was at my window in my dressing gown (old lady!) and waving at groups of 'youths' who I would normally run the other direction from... "yeah come down and play in the snow with us...... we'll build snowmen, and only then will we stab and mug you.." I wasn't going outside even if it was beautiful out there. Once my elbows are moisturised I'm stayin in!

The next morning however I set an alarm!!!! (sick) to get up at 8am so I could go outside and be in the snow. If you take the snow ratio out of that plan, it was me getting up at 8am to cross a dangerous road crossing and go to the park to watch people carry their little plastic bags of dog poo around (so degrading)

However the park was full of families having a ball, building snowmen, frolicking, leaving their frozen snow-poo's on the ground.

Purdy!

Monday however!!!!!!!!!!!!!! all the snow melted overnight and it's slushy and icy and horrible and I just want the snow back! Damn this heatwave! (zero degrees)

hate nods

2012-02-03T23:51:00.004+11:00

this is not a unique situation by any means, but I thought I would share how this situation has unraveled and what we as as a civilized society can do about it.

When Acquaintances Go Bad.

Around this time last year I was doing my comedy course (I have the certificate now! I know what is funny) and my course was run literally around the corner from where I work - this was good because it meant I could finish work and be in class within 2 minutes. It is now bad because I see my course coordinator in the street all the time and we have gone from hugs and kisses/casual chit chat/nods/eyebrow raising/pretending we don't know each other/outright hatred.

Why does this happen?

Is it because as humans we have a low threshold for small talk? or is that just me. I just can't have the same banal conversation about: what do you DO again? 500 times over, and eventually I will just stop talking to you. So yeah this all my fault really.

Saying that - if every time we stopped to chat on the street we could talk about something interesting I would look forward to bumping into you - rather than dreading seeing your balding head come bopping down the road towards me.

Example: "so what are your plans for when all the bees disappear and all life on earth is over because pollination comes to a halt?" well that's obvious - move back to Australia, our bees are fine and in abundance, we will beat your ass at anything athletic and horticultural related - world!

But instead I think we are both doing the "pretending to be on the phone" trick when we see each other. Too Busy! On a phone call! Can't chat about boring shit right now! Which in itself is something we could totally talk about.

I think we need to instigate some sort of hand signal - something which means "I acknowledge your existence, I just can't speak to you. now or ever" something like a Star Trek hand signal?

we're still friends! don't talk to me.

Dramatic Hikes

2012-01-29T21:35:00.013+11:00

Have you ever played this game: "Whose Fault Is It?" It is a game that is played consistently in my house-hold. That is one of the problems when two idiots join forces and get married, my whole life is going to be one big "Whose Fault Is It" if I ever procreate.

Question: Whose Fault Is It - when two idiots go on a cliff-side Hike and need to be rescued at sunset by a racist-jew taxi driver?

a) Idiot Number 1

b) Idiot Number 2

well the answer to that is a trick question, the real answer is Big Daddy and Mother Superior, whom if they had never gone back to Australia to live the good life and be with their families would still be with us, going on roadtrips and generally stopping us from making stupid decisions. We shouldn't be allowed to use our brains in the wild.

Ok, the Hike.

At work this week I was itching to get into the wilderness, a bit of the ocean and fresh air was what I needed in my bones. So I looked online for some places we could catch a train to in under 2 hours, and what coastlines they had to offer. I came across a little seaside town called Seaford, whose website was linked to a nice coastal walk, which really didn't look that far, and considering the walk was put together by a nature loving little old lady hike groups, I printed out the 15 pages and got to deciding on an inappropriate hike outfit choices.

The first fight of the the day: The Trains Fault. We got half way and the train splits in half, the announcement says: stay in the first half of the train to go somewhere we've never heard of, or stay in the other half of the train to go another place we've never heard. So we ask someone who works on the train who gives us the wrong information and we miss the train we are supposed to be on and are stuck in the middle nowhere waiting for the next train. (which never would have happened if someone had googled the network rail map - no fingers pointing, but that person would be the person with the iPhone. not me)

Finally we get to Seaford.

This was our first port of call:

The beach where all the Tetris pieces come to die.

Then we hiked for about an hour and got to the goal of the hike: The Seven Sisters.

Yes that's right, we hiked for an hour, before we could even begin the proper part of the hike. this is where the hike started going downhill.. we get all the way to the bottom of this valley, and there is a river standing in the way of crossing from one side of the beach to the other.. so we walk up the river a bit more, and then realise we have to trek the whole way inland to get to to the bridge so we can cross. The whole way was filled with Mud Traps, Thorny Bushes, Landslides. We had to walk at the pace of a snail to get through the bog, whilst seasoned 70 year olds breezed past us with their hiking sticks an mud proof boots and wind resistant pants.

I was almost ready to give up by the time we made it to the bridge, so we went to a pub and sat and decided on a plan. It was at this time that I learnt my husband doesn't believe in sunsets.. My main point of needing to hurry up and get on with the hike is that we only had two and a half hours left of daylight to walk essentially 12 miles of mountains. Mark's retort was that even if the sun set we would still be able to see where we are going... (did I mention we needed to be rescued?)

By the time we hiked back down to the start of the Seven Sisters we have this much time to do it in:

and judging by my fingers-to-the-horizon-to-the-sun time telling method, we only had 9 fingers to do it in. So we power walked the shit out of those Seven Sisters.

It was a great walk. However once we finally made it to the end of the Seven Sisters we were in trouble. Because there was no town in site.. only more cliffs. Every time we found a spot with 3G the map would tell us 4 more Miles, it was like we had taken Magic Mushrooms, there was no end of the hike in site.

The problem was that we were at a point of no return - there was no way we could walk back over the Seven Sisters (we only had 3 fingers left by the sun) and we didn't know how much further it would take to walk into civilisation. It was at this point we started panicking and decided we would have to sleep on the mountain.

Mark decided he would turn off his iPhone because the stupid map kept telling us 4 more miles anyway, and he would conserve the batteries energy so that if needed we could hike down the mountain with the light from his Torch App.

That is what our hike had come too. Living in bushes by the light of a torch app.

I decided the best thing to do would be to start walking along the road, should some nice person offer us a lift (nobody did), because the one bus stop we found only had buses running on Sunday.. wtf kind of stupid town is this hike part of?

Finally the sun had set and we were in the middle of nowhere and I decided the only course of action left to us was Rescue.. Rescue by a local taxi company..

To be honest, I think we did pretty good - we did walk about 18 miles, and the only thing holding us back was the lack of sunlight. Maybe seaside hikes are best left to summertime, not the middle of winter, when the sun sets at 4pm.

As much as I love the countryside I have to say I am loving being back home, where I can walk 50m in any direction to public transport. Fresh Air = Bah.

It was a dramatic hike to say the least. If you ever need to get rid of someone (permanently) I know the perfect hike to send them on. Rachel's Dramatic Hikes! Opening Fall of 2012 (just in time for the Apocalypse)

stupid cliffs.

TECHNICALLY DEFORMED

2012-01-15T03:35:00.000+11:00

Anti Resolutions

2012-01-11T22:35:00.004+11:00

I think I am a jinx.

Whenever I have grand plans in doing something whether it be a health related matter, lifestyle or holiday something always happens that tips the scales in the exact opposite direction of where I wanted to be headed.

I know that New Years Resolutions are ridiculous and unattainable, but I thought I would get the jump on that by having a time-span on my resolutions. ie: 1 month.

For 1 month I wouldn't drink, eat meat, or have sugar.

Do you really want to know how long that lasted.

I think it's safe to say that by evening of January 2nd, I cracked under the pressure.

I blame the outside influences happening in my life at the time.

NO ALCOHOL - impossible, given that I had the deadly black dogs fear about going back to work, and on our first day back at work on the Wednesday we were all down the pub drinking Bellini's into the night. Then I had a friend come visit and stay with me and am I NOT going to go out to loads of Bars during her visit? that would make a bad friend, and even worse, a bad hostess.

NO MEAT - have you ever been to a farmers market? then you will know how hard it is to leave those things without 10 hessian bags (save the planet, man) of produce. When you can buy a branch of Brussel Sprouts for £1 what kind of backwards idiot would say no to that? I mean, yeah I don't actually eat Brussel Sprouts, but I do like having branches of things in my kitchen, makes me feel like Nigella Lawson, plus those things are bad-ass. If anyone ever tried to attack me in my house I would swing that Brussel Sprout Branch at their face so hard I would be going to down for involuntary manslaughter. Safety! It is as much a weapon of mass destruction as it is an inedible disgusting branch of uselessness.

(I dare you not to buy one of these on a whim!)

So needless to say, I didn't eat the sprouts, but I did eat a giant pork burrito. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you. deliciousness.

NO SUGAR: probably the hardest one to conquer. Especially given that I had discovered Matchmakers. Picture This: I'm horizontal on the couch. In my Pyjamas. In a sleeping bag. Resting a box of matchmakers on my boob ledge. Now times that by everyday. for Two Weeks. and that was my Christmas vacation! Bliss.

The only issue I have with London is that it's sugary treats are rubbish. I am always having to beg people to send me treats from home, things just don't taste the same here. A Bounty Bar in England tastes like a rabies monkey's asshole. disgusting.

Then I discovered Matchmakers. Everything is just better in stick form! Stick Figures. Stick Insects. Supermodels, and Chocolate. Imagine a peppermint crisp, now put that in stick form. The greatest thing about food in stick form is that it doesn't feel like you are doing anything bad.

"how can this bad for me, it is the width of my pinky finger" (eats 200 of them in one sitting)

I currently have 3 boxes in my desk drawer at work. 3 boxes.

Woo First Week Back! Kicking Goals!!!!!!!!

A Merry Stroggles Christmas

2011-12-25T23:58:00.000+11:00

Enjoy!

A little taste of Lazlo before he makes his debut in the Stroggles NYC filmclip that has been 5 months in the making.

See on the New Years Eve Flipside.

the 12 parties of Christmas.

2011-12-24T08:09:00.003+11:00

On the 12th day of Christmas, I went to a party, for Massive Music in the East... caught a Tiffany Cab home and made the driver take us all over London looking for a chicken shop that was open at a quarter to three.

On the 11th day of Christmas, I snuck into Ridley Scott's Party. (I carried a watermelon - nee: Speaker).."Hey Ridley - that scene at the end of Thelma and Louise was a real mood killer" - please employ me!

On the 10th day of Christmas, I went to a Model Agency Party.. no thanks no more canapes for me, goddam beautiful stick insects everywhere. They can all hide behind my knee.

On the 9th day of Christmas, I went to my work christmas party, and now no one can look anyone in the eye, such a weird vibe, to be held hostage at someone's apartment and pass out in the gutters. At least we made it home and accidentally stole someone's wallet who turns out to be my long lost cousin. I get to work in the morning and there's a butcher knife sticking out of the floorboards at my desk. Ninja Fights!! how could I forget thee?

On the 8th day of Christmas, I did Karaokeeeeee. Sung Born Slippy.

On the 7th day of Christmas, I woke up with a tattoo, and a bloody nose from some random party.

On the 6th day of Christmas, I lost my bra, and had a bruised knee.

On the 5th day of Christmas, everybody wanted to kill each other and nobody went to a party.

On the 4th day of Christmas, I wasn't going to party, but ended up at Chinatown eating Chinese at midnight, then to the Experimental Cocktail Bar in the secret entrance. Cocktails for Free!

On the 3rd day of Christmas, we got banned from our local pub, because it's owned by Gordon Ramsey - and we were so drunk we were all swimming laps on the floor.

On the 2nd day of Christmas, I didn't leave the house - it's now been two days and i'm quite stinky.

On the 1st day of Christmas - I have to catch a cab across the city with a turducken and eggnog to the next party.

Is it any wonder everyone ends up suicidal and depressed at christmas?! all these parties could kill a person. I hereby Christen the Christmas Season - Hunter S Thompson Season.

Ergh. New Years Eve. More Party.

too many eggs

2011-12-11T09:19:00.002+11:00

If there is one thing you need to know about me - I am easily influenced. I am also married to a complete idiot.. so let's just start the story knowing those two facts.

So, it's a saturday night, I have been napping all afternoon, sleeping through Mark's shit show that he wants to watch 5 episodes of (just you wait till it's my turn, and I make you watch 6 episodes of The O.C.... my time will come) then we decide to watch Breaking Bad, and it's an episode where they are all cooking up Meth, and then Walt goes inside and makes omelettes.. and you know what i'm thinking at this point..... 'Damn I feel like an omelette now too!'.. good thing I didn't sit there thinking 'Damn! I feel like some Meth' - who knows where we would be right now.

It's 10am, we go to the kitchen, and I scrounge the ingredients for an omelette from our 'university' kitchen - I call it the 'university' kitchen, because we never buy any food - so there is always just one lone tomato, 2 ancient bacon rashes, some instant coffee, a crusty square of cheese, and yakult - we never ever go food shopping.. It's like we are poverty stricken university slackers. But we AREN'T! I just spent £400 on my hair, we aint no slackers!! we are just life slackers who need a maid to do our shopping for us.. sooooo lazy.

Where was I??? right - I was making a Meth-Omelette.

I'm making the Omelette - Mark chimes in and is like "Dang! I want me some of that Omelette" to which I reply "Not a problem! We will share this bitch"..... then I say "I hope we have enough eggs"... and that's where the night goes downhill.

Mark decided to go to the 2am shop to buy more eggs - meanwhile I have cooked the delicious omelette which is easily big enough for two people, but I still have the extra ingredients prepared for when Mark comes back with the eggs to make a second omelette.

Mark comes back and I am eating my half of the omelette and Mark cracks his two eggs, and now I am full, and don't want anymore omelette.

Dilemma.

You know what that idiot does!!! (Mark just in case I need to clarify - My Idiot Husband) he freaks out.. He doesn't want to share my half of the omelette because he is a judgemental douche - who judges books by their covers - (yes my omelette was a big eggy mess, but it was delicious!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)... and he's standing there with 2 raw eggs in a bowl, and 6 bacon rashes in a pan, and he goes "I'm not even hungry" - doesn't even taste my magic eggs, so we throw everything in the bin.

Well why the hell are we up to our eyeballs in eggs at 10.30pm on a Saturday Night then? If you aren't even hungry for eggs?!

At this stage I feel I need to make a website called www.nobodylikesyou.com and put a picture of Mark's stupid head on it.

We are never buying eggs ever again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Keep on Rollin, I'm Josh Brolin

2011-12-08T03:07:00.005+11:00

Hi, My name is Rachel. I am 5'9. Brunette (not for long). Dislikes: having to check my shoes for spiders. Likes: writing hillbilly songs about Josh Brolin.

I call this one - Josh Brolin, Goes Strollin... off my soon to be released album 'Hillbillies in London'

(banjo's playing)

I just gotta keep on rollin, because my name is Josh Brolin.
Sometimes down the street that i'm strollin, People wave Hi to Josh Brolin.
My Identity was stolen, doesn't matter cos I'm Josh Brolin,
I'll hunt you down and make you swollen, punch you hard cos i'm Josh Brolin.
If you're wife is too controllin, slap that bitch, like Josh Brolin.
I just gotta keep on Tollin, Tollin becuase I'm Josh Brolin.
Imma goin Tempin Bowlin - that's what I do - I'm Josh Brolin.

- Josh Brolin 2011.

All I want for Christmas is my Clothes Back!!

2011-12-08T00:29:00.008+11:00

saw this whilst walking to work this morning:

(Translation: Landlord, I want my clothes back. Please check your mail & get in touch! I second that! Me too, I third that, give us our clothes back!)

Does this mean there are 3 naked people running around my neighborhood hiding out in bushes waiting for this landlord to give them their clothes back?

And did that first person already write to the landlord asking for their clothes back and get denied?? "fill in the appropriate form please"

Sounds like a story for A Current Affair!!!!!!!!!!! Not that it even exists in this country.

Did I tell you about the time I was accosted outside of my place of work at Channel 9 when a crazy lady cornered me in the car-park clearly off her face on meth, saying that her boyfriend was trying to kill her and she needed A Current Affair to step in and save her from a grisly death, otherwise her death would be on the hands of the TV station.

What this country needs now is more naked people anyway. I hope they don't get their clothes back.

DYSTOPIAN NUDIST COLONY: population: 3

Who wants to talk about my Hair?

2011-12-06T21:04:00.003+11:00

To call me obsessive would be understating it a bit. I'm actually surprised anyone will come within a two meter radius of me because they will all be bombarded with one topic and one topic alone. My Hair.

Let's talk about my hair shall we - if you want to talk about the news, or the eurozone breakdown go somewhere else.. (to be fair I did come up with a song about the economic collapse of the Eurozone.......... "I'm outta time, and all we've only got 10 days to save the Euro" - 4 Minutes, Madonna.)

It all started when I saw a picture of Rachel Bilson's hair, and I thought to myself - that is what I need on my head right now. If I could fly to HWood and scalp Rachel Bilson and wear the top of her head around that would be amazing, unfortunately I had to settle for the next best thing - going to a hairdresser, and anyone who knows me knows that me and hairdressers do not mix.

I'm never happy.......My fringe is shit... that blowdry was rubbish.. she used hair straighteners on my head.....they put layers on my head...

I will sit and stew in hairdresser hatred for days after going to the hairdressers, so you can imagine my anxiety levels when I went to the hairdressers and asked them to make me blonde. Oh god. To be fair it's only supposed to be 50% blonde, but that didn't stop me being 100% terrified.

5 hours later, and I left the hairdresser looking............... almost exactly the same as when I went in.... hmm.. subtle... All the changes were in the middle of my hair?? why?? And whilst everyone told me it looked good - it didn't look good enough to me... so I did the only thing I could do..

I went home and stared at myself in the mirror for 5 hours.

Then I went around to anyone I could find with eyeballs and did a multiple choice questionnaire on the state of my hair.

Does it look good? yes.. Does it look like the picture?? no.

Oh what to do, what to do. I called up the hairdressers to ask them what exactly they envisioned for my hair - and they did their usual Hairdresser Voodoo on me. Just once I would like to be able to walk into a hairdressers probably with some kind of dream catcher around my neck - put the picture in front of their face and go "Why Don't I Look Like This!!!!!!!!!" and don't give me any of your "gradual process" BS.

This is some important shit right here. If the whole world is going down in some Eurozone Double Dip recession, I at least want to have great hair whilst I scrounge around for potatoes and beans, and trade my body for firewood.

Stache Fear

2011-12-02T21:09:00.004+11:00

Finally, it is December. That's a good thing, That's a damn good thing. You know why?! Cos that means that Movember is over... Movember, what a conundrum... on the one hand it's good because there's loads of men around the city sporting porno handle bar moustache's - which is fine from a distance, it's very very bad however when you have a husband who has a moustache, and you actually have a deep seated fear and hatred of moustaches.

I couldn't tell you where my hatred of moustaches comes from but i've had it my whole life- when I was a child I not only hated moustaches, I was also deathly afraid of them. If I saw a man on the street with a moustache I would burst into tears. Imagine the state I was in when my parents tried to use aversion therapy on me and had a man with a moustache baby sit me for the night. I have never been so terrified in my whole life. I fucking hated moustaches. I hid in a cupboard and cried the whole night, terrified to close my eyes in case he killed me in my sleep.

Hate moustaches.

So for the past month I have been kinda wanting to smash Mark in the face. Luckily now it is December and my need to commit violent acts against him has diminished.. slightly.

another thing that happened at the party

2011-11-22T20:54:00.003+11:00

So picture this, a party full of only ridiculously good looking people, there must have been a bouncer standing outside on the stairs getting rid of all the ugly people (not that I would have seen them) and I end up in the backyard standing next to the hottest Calvin Klein model I have ever seen.

Now... no one probably knows that but I embarked upon some much trying vegetarianism for about 6 months... I say trying because as soon as I stepped off the plane in New York I was shoving smokey bbq ribs down my face like the world was going to end... but I figured it was New York, so it's perfectly acceptable to break the rule.

I tried hard, I mean I really tried. Mushrooms and Spinach for dinner 5 nights a week, but then it started to get colder, and I realised then that Vegetarianism is only something I could realistically do during summer. And that is because I have 3 amazing fur coats, and I'm not about stop wearing them because of my new-found animal rights ethics.

Those animals died ages ago. Would a rabbit rather die and live forever on my body? or be mauled to death in the woods by a hungry fox?? I'd take the coat hanger option any day. The animal kingdom is a cut throat place. I should know. I've been watching Frozen Planet. David Attenborough paints a grizzly picture. Why should I suffer in the cold?? a vegetarian jacket made out of hemp and linseed isn't going to keep anyone warm during the London winter. So I wore my amazing new furcoat to the party, and ended up next to the Calvin Klein model. The Vegetarian Calvin Klein Model.

Now I should also mention that this was the night I decided to fuck my vegetarianism right off. There was a BBQ and they were cooking a pig and steak, and I was pretty much just stuffing pork and steak dripping with blood straight down my face with my bare hands.

At that moment I was the poster girl for everything wrong with the world... according to vegetarians.

Needless to say - the Calvin Klein Model didn't stick around. Whatevs. At least I don't need to have B12 injections.

Plus my furcoat cost £30, and you couldn't even buy 30 live rabbits for that these days. If anything I am economically thrifty, and isn't that more important that being a murderer in this day and age of the double dip recession?? yes.

Laddies Forever

2011-11-21T01:12:00.007+11:00

(to the tune of Remember the Time - Michael Jackson)

Do you Remember

When we lived in Ladbroke Grove,

It was 2009 back then.

Do you Remember,

Living on a main road,

We got vibrated off the couch,

So why did it end?

Do you Remember

The garbage trees.

Every morning the street would stink.

Do you Remember,

The Ladbroke Grove times,

They just go on and on

In the back of my mind.

I miss Ladbroke Grove... when we moved to Maida Vale to be neighbours with Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow to drink smug eggnog lattes at the Starbucks I always knew I'd be missing Ladbroke Grove.

Don't get me wrong, I love where we live in Maida Vale - living in a 3 floor split storey flat with more room than we can ever need (truth be told we moved so that Lenny would run up and down the stairs to lose some weight - fucking fat ass) It's a great street, I wake to the sounds of birds singing rather than hobo's. And you know what.............. that is lame.

Last night I went to a house-party back in the Grove, and the first person I bumped into on the street was one of the local derelicts who walks around all day singing. I miss that guy. I miss throwing our garbage onto the street and then calling up the council clean up line to complain that my eggs are still out there glued to the pavement and they better clean that shit up now!!!!!!!!!! I don't pay council tax to live like this. clean those eggs up now bitches!

I miss going to the gym and seeing the vaginas of women of nationalities from around the world. You know whose muffs I see at Maida Vale gym?? Aspirational types who go for Starbucks afterwards. There is nothing saggy and scary in there... boring.

The house-party which was one block down from where we used to live was one of my top-5 parties of all time. Reasons: the flat was owned by a mega rich guy who had the place pimped out. We could stand around in the backyard smoking next to the housed in fire, or sit under the canopy on the giant couch watching the waterfall and the coloured lights reflecting into the unseasonably balmy november sky.

Or you could go inside and dance under the best chandelier I have ever seen.

Minted. Great Taste. The DJ was excellent and there was more wine than I could ever swim through if we poured it into a pool.

Not only that but famous people were there. Famous. I love famous people. If you looked up starfucker in the dictionary there'd be a picture of me. except I don't fuck them. instead I corner them, pretend I don't know who they are and lure them into a conversation about something banal like how my cat needs it's nails trimmed because they are too long and are ruining all my blankets woven by Tibetan Monks.

Binky was there: If you haven't see Made in Chelsea, then I can't even talk to you. Go download an episode then come back and finish reading. Brill.

It was my belief that if I could corner Binky, become best-friends, then I would be in Made in Chelsea season 3.. like... I could so be in that show. I would just need to work on my pout.

I have to be honest though, I am never the one who clocks any of these people. I have people blinkers on at all times, everyone is in sea of nameless faces unless I personally know you and you are standing in front of me. Mark however has 'Celebrity Radar' whilst I 'm walking along the street looking at the ground to make sure I don't step in poo, he's looking everyone in the face making sure they aren't someone famous that we should make friends with. Half the time I don't even believe him when he tells me he's at a bar at Soho drinking with Keira Knightley. I mean?? sif. She doesn't drink. She's an anorexic robot.

However Mark totally clocked Chiwetel Ejiofor, and it was him. So of course we made him come over and join our group, pretended we didn't know who he was and told him the whole story about Lenny coming to London and bonded over taking our pets across international borders. New Friend. He is filming a movie with Brad Pitt and Michael Fassbender next year. Hello!!!! I want to go to that party. I will go up to Brad Pitt pretend I don't know him and talk about how vets are always trying to gyp you with weight loss food for cats when we all know that you just need to exercise your cat, but ever tried making a cat run on a treadmill???

So yeah, we are moving back to Ladbroke Grove. We've had some good times Maida Vale, some good quiet times, but to be honest I can't sleep properly without the sound of the 452 whizzing past and my Opera singer downstairs neighbour going through her octave exercises at 7am on Sunday morning.

Plus my knee has been playing up which I blamed on having reactive arthritis - cos that's what all the cool kids have - but after one party in Ladbroke Grove it is back to normal, so I can only assume my knee was going through a malaise of missing Laddies and was punishing me. Point taken Knee. Point Taken.

Livin in the Now. Right Now

2011-11-19T07:35:00.002+11:00

Bah!

I have the black dogs. ie: the feeling of fear you get after a night out when you feel like you are being hounded by a roving pack of black dogs.

Last night I went to a party in shoreditch (trendy trendy shoreditch. oh so trendy. plant some trees shoreditch. why does everyone have half a shaved head in shoreditch?) but first we went to a quintessential film premier for a series which is highlighting the whole 'bankers rule the world. fuck the banks' movement that is happening right now. A 'charity' film one might say...(although truth be told - everyone got paid who worked on that film.. ummm... yeah) A film outlining how banks set the prices for food and the cost of living and that's why there are million of people living below the poverty line and dying of starvation around the world. So of course the film screening would be in a poor townhouse with people in hemp clothes serving fallafels and hummus.

So Cliche.

Why do poor people and people who pretend to care about poor people all dress in terrible clothes and eat lentils and not shave properly? Did all the do-gooders get together and decide that this would be their utilitarian uniform so they can all spot each other in a crowd. so ridiculous.

What was most ridiculous about this whole screening was that the film is essentially putting the message out there about Banks being the Bad Guys.. and yet the people who attended this screening were.... investors (bankers) and women in fur coats.. who all stood around eating their dried up fallafels pretending to care about the world whilst wide eyed and youthful hopeful types swanned around with petitions that no one signed, sporting their Occupy London badges (fuck off now) and then telling people that when they finish their unpaid internship at the charity they are going to open a fashion label for high street designs. yeah that's a really charitable job. at least you're giving 5 year old kidnapped indian kids a chance to earn some cold hard cash. except we don't want that. because cash is bad.

That was the first stop of the evening. After choking down the driest fallafels in the world we went to the party in shoreditch where everyone was there to meet people to make them rich! rich! rich! there is nothing more soul destroying that standing in a room of 400 leaching parasitic industry people who you all know are there to network with each other and talk about work whilst a crazy rave band from Berlin plays music so freakin loud my heart had an irregular heartbeat. You can't network when you can't even hear yourself think. The last thing I want to do is scream into some strangers face 'so what do you dooooooo' whilst the stink of hummus rams up their nostrils from my poverty screening breath. Who will give me work then?? so instead of that everyone dances badly, and drinks the free drinks, and then you get a cab home at 4am and make the driver drive around for half an hour whilst you look for a chicken shop because only a dried up chicken wing that has been sitting in a warmed oven shelf is going to make the vomit go away.

The whole going out thing is a false economy.

Qui Here

2011-11-10T01:02:00.007+11:00

So I went to Rome.. again.. I am saying this like it was soooooooooo hard to go to Rome. When you hear the backstory though, you'll allow me for the rolling of eyes at my wondrous adventure tales.

When I first went to Rome in 2005, I was pretty sure Rome was like - the greatest city in the world, however 6 years later and a country on the brink of economic collapse, and I'm not so sure. Maybe that is because I have been to so many places since then (god i'm cool!) but seriously - Rome is good, but it's not the bomb that I once thought it was.

soooooooo seen this already.

Rome is full of gigantic old impressive things. I for one - love gigantic old impressive things. But you see, I've already seen all the old gigantic impressive things... been there! done that! ...........Naples was better.

When I went to Naples last year we stayed with an Italian man in his apartment he lives with his mother but rents out rooms and calls it a B&B. It was pretty weird.. "so this your kitchen... and your mum doesn't speak English" it was like visiting relatives, except we obviously weren't related.. at all. The gist of these Italian weirdos in their B&B apartment was that Naples should be the go-to place of Italy, being that it has wayyyy more old impressive things than Rome, it is actually a UNESCO listed city! You can't walk two feet without seeing something amazing. But everyone is scared of the Mafia in Naples (pure speculation) and Rome is spreading viscous rumors - it's basically a soap opera every day of the year in Italy.

But Rome is in Italy, and Italy is awesome.

I wandered around Rome looking like a slut (apparently) and everybody stared at me all day. Have they not seen a pair of Pins before?!

(i'm not wearing any underpants, and I'm here to see the Pope!)

One of the things I get most pleasure from when I'm on holidays is actually very nerdy and stupid. I love spotting SPACE INVADER artworks... I know this may sound ridiculous in Italy, the global hotspot of amazing artworks, but there is some primal pleasure I get out of finding Space Invaders. I have found them all around London, Amsterdam, New York, and now Rome. Mark & I were walking along on our first night wondering if Space Invader would be in Rome, when we walked out of an alleyway and saw one on the corner of a giant staircase. Score. We high-fived then some local Italian told us about a virtually unknown Michelangelo statue in a church at the top of the staircase - it's like Space Invader was leaving clues for us.

Space Invader at the Vatican!!

Our main reason for going to Rome again was going there with Marks Family, which is good because Mark's dad speaks fluent Italian, the bad being that they are old and crippled and can't walk anywhere...(sooooo slow!! can we walk further than 5 meters without someone having a heart attack)

We ended the trip in Frascati - which is a hillside village whose main attraction is it's Villas.. the Villas are however not open to the public, so you have two options.. look at the church (takes 5 seconds) or watch a pigeon cleaning fleas off itself in the church square.

We rented a Villa which would normally be full of jaunty Italians making noise and having mozzarella ball fights in the ballroom (probably?) but this villa was empty being that it is off-season, so basically we had the place to ourselves to do The Shining re-enactments.

Redrum!!!!!!!!!!!

Italy! Qui.

Marriage = Breaking Stuff

2011-10-15T00:36:00.002+11:00

This to me is being married in a nutshell... (married to me)

You go upstairs to find your husband complaining about the broken blinds in the bedroom. And because he is standing there like an idiot, complaining about broken blinds, you do the only thing you can do to help the situation....

You break the blinds a bit more.

I call it "helping".. as in; "at least I'm not standing around like an idiot doing nothing about the situation".. sure I probably made the situation ten times worse than what it was 5 seconds ago, but at least now we are working as a team to correct the problem that I caused.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Do you remember me ever doing a short course in 'Blind Repairwork'?? because I'm just pulling on strings and fucking things up on my own over here.

And that's what marriage is - going to bed angry, sure in your own version of events that it was the other person who completely broke the blinds in the first place.

My Version: I walked up the stairs and you were standing there with a broken blind in your hand, therefore YOU broke the blinds, any extra breaking I did after that is superfluous to the fact that you had already broken them by the time I got there.

Not My Version: the blinds were a tiny bit broken till you got your hands on them, and now they are completely fucked, and we have to sleep with a towel over our sunlight to act as a curtain so the people in the building next to us don't watch us and touch themselves inappropriately whilst we sleep.

I find being angry helps me sleep better anyway.

Reasons why I hate Coffs Harbour

2011-09-27T00:59:00.011+10:00

I'm pretty sure I have mentioned my hatred of Coffs Harbour on here before. Like I would rather be massacred by the mob than have to go undercover in the witness protection program in Coffs Harbour... it wasn't always this way though... I had spent many a childhood day at a Coffs Harbour beach eating delicious - yet racially incorrect biscuits.
Good Times.

However all this changed when I got married and projectile vomited everywhere.

Mark & I decided to drive to our Honeymoon destination, and as much as I detest long boring drives up the north coast, it at least it gave us the opportunity to argue and nag at each other for 8 straight hours.. ahhh married life.

Our first pit-stop before reaching our Honeymoon Destination was Coffs Harbour, we drove all day - and then rather than having a microsleep and driving into an oncoming vehicle - we decided to get a room and relax.

Microsleeps - more dangerous than wearing a shirt like that. To be honest if I saw a guy standing by the road in a loud purple shirt with clocks all over it I would probably crash my car into a tree anyway. Way to go Dr Karl.

Anyway! We got our room, went out for some nice seafood chowder then back to the room for a night of sexy just married times.... we had a spa filled with bubble bath, which after 10 mins of sitting and vibrating in - I had to lurch out of the tub - slide across the floor like slimy legged slug and projectile vomit everywhere.

SO SEXY!!!!!!!!

This is why I hate Coffs Harbour.

Here's a tip - don't eat a seafood chowder then slowly simmer yourself in a scented bubble bath...especially when you've only been married 24 hours.

Bad Times. Very Bad Times.

the NYC baby-haters

2011-09-15T19:08:00.008+10:00

People in New York love their dogs... love them. They will get up at 5am and take their dogs to a dog park underneath an abandoned roller coaster on the Hudson river and stand around whilst their dog does an electric blue poo... (OK - so maybe that is not every dog owner)

What they don't like is babies. They love dogs more than babies. And this is never more prevalent than when you do a stand up gig for the first time in a comedy club on the mean streets of New York (53rd and 9th to be exact)...

I've been doing stand up gigs in London so when I booked my trip to NY I was like "hey! I should book a stand-up gig!" what better city to do stand-up than the city of Seinfeld?? I booked one, and so I packed my tight nut hugging blue jeans, a blazer with leather elbow pads and white sneakers and I was on my way! All the way to the Broadway Comedy Club.

My gig was on the second day of the trip, so I was hoping the jetlag would have worn off by then, if not it would have been pretty funny watching me mumbling and falling asleep onstage. Luckily it had worn off, but I was still pooing my pants about it.

This was at an actual real comedy club, like they had a framed microphone of Kathy Griffin's in the bar. Historical.. and here I was all the way from England to tell jokes about my loss of bladder control.

Also I was last.

I had two friends come to the gig, and the baby.. (who also counts because she gave feedback throughout the whole night) Comedians are prepared for most things.. heckling, broken microphones, lights shining in your eyes... but no one was prepared for the tiny squawks of that baby.

The thing is - this is one of the best behaved babies in the world... she wasn't screaming, just making baby comments about the jokes she was hearing. But it threw everyone off and throughout the night "who brings a baby to a comedy club" was the gag of the night.. they should be thanking me for bringing the baby, they all got brand new bits out of that!

So finally when it was my turn, a) the microphone breaks and some guy in the first row goes "oooh death on stage" and b) I have to tell everyone that YES! I BROUGHT THE BABY!! what??? that's how you do a gig in London?!! There's no two drink minimum - you bring a baby and go on stage. You would think these New Yorkians would be better prepared for the unexpected.

Oh and when traveling the world and doing ATM humour jokes, make sure that you are in a country where they actually use pin-machine card readers.... otherwise you're just an idiot standing on stage miming pressing buttons and no one knows what you're talking about.

But hey, they laughed at my stupid jokes and I won the free t-shirt at the end (the pity shirt).

Yay for me.

Conquering Life Goals.

Tick.

Stoopin NYC style

2011-09-13T20:47:00.009+10:00

You know when you have a holiday there is always some sort of theme song that encapsulates the feel of the occasion? Everyone thought that I would come back singing that Alicia Keys song "Newwwwww Yooooooooooork" and not that I didn't hum that a few times, but what really represents the trip for me was when I was sitting at the airport on the way home and the song from Dirty Dancing was stuck in my head
"I've had the time of my liiiiiife...... and I owe it all you youuuuu"

I guess because I did have the time of my life. Nothing beats going to NYC and chillin with your bestie and your bestie's baby whilst wandering the streets of the Lower East Side. Girls Day Out!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In New York, I had the best: pizza, popcorn, chicken, ribs, bagels, breakfast tapas - all diets are put on hold on a holiday like this. Vegetarian??? good luck. I was up to my eyeballs in rib-meat by the second day.

But mainly - this is a city where I got to go to the Jim Henson exhibition at the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria (the history of Muppets!!!!) and then go to FAO Schwartz and design my own Muppet.

Introducing Lazlo Monstero:

Lazlo is named after Lazlo MoHoly-Nagy of the MOMA. The MOMA is a funny place - Modern Art is so hit and miss. Blank Canvas', stripes on the wall, a billion paintbrushes glued together, and a hairy teacup.

Lazlo is the star of the latest and greatest Stroggles Filmclip - which will be making its debut sometime in the next few weeks. Till then here is a sneak peak:

This clip is epic and will put me on the map. If the map in question is a weirdo map.

The funny thing is that you can dress like this and dance like a mental patient on an upper east side stoop and no one bats an eyelid. Much like the mental patient rollerskating rink in Central Park which is my favourite place on earth - you got your eclectic skaters, your dancing hobos, and old guys who dance on the spot for hours on end. Obviously I rented a pair of $7 skates from a homeless lady and joined in. Best money ever spent.

We also drank True Blood in the park, and then whilst watching the True Blood finale on HBO. omg HBO. I would die for that.

I was there for the 10 year anniversary of September 11, which was remembered in true NYC style. Flags everywhere!!!!!!! and the buildings lit up in Red, White, and Blue - and the shining lights of the two towers up in the clouds. Amaze.

The problem is that now London is to me what Sydney is to London. Stupid NYC and its fricken off the charts awesomeness... I mean - I brought Lox and Cream Cheese Bagels from the place where the SOUP NAZI eats!!!!!!!!!!!!! the SOUP NAZI! Hello!

Loved it. Best Holiday Ever. Beat that!!!!!!!!!!!! Italy.

The Single Dad Lonely Tomato Firesled Plan

2011-09-05T20:01:00.004+10:00

I don't want to brag, but I am just full of brilliant ideas. Brilliant Ideas just fall out of me like dead greying pubes fall off a 90 year old lady as she takes 2 hours to climb five stairs.

BRILLIANT IDEA No 1: My Single Dad (.com)
If anyone else out there has a single dad. Raise Yo Hands! It's hard having a single dad. Watching him watch Pink Floyd and Fleetwood Mac DVD's every night. Alone. Dad's deserve more than that. But at the same time, I would rather my dad be alone forever than with some gold diggin ho! Which is why I think someone needs to make a website called mysingledad.com. This website would be run by the children of single dads, to weed out all the evil stepmothers and find compatible nice ladies for our dad's to spend the rest of their lives with.. because let's be honest, put a Dad on an internet dating site on his own and he's going to end up either speaking to a Russian prostitute who will rob him of his life savings, or some serial killer in Wisconsin who tucks his peen in between his legs and wears his grandmother's robe whilst i-chatting with your dad. I don't want that for my dad!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Dad.

Likes: collecting empty bottles and lining them up along the kitchen cupboards
Dislikes: buying new furniture
Smells like: Patchouli Oil
Looks like: Clint Eastwood

BRILLIANT IDEA No 2: The Lonely Tomato Breakfast Guide

Let's talk about food for a minute, and specifically meals times. Dinner is the most annoying meal of all meals. It's tedious, it's at the end of the day, I have to go out of my way to hunt for ingredients, and it takes up precious evening hours slaving away in the kitchen when I could be lying horizontal reading a good book or watching illegally downloaded True Blood episodes. Lunchtime is a close second in the annoyance factor, because if you don't eat it you are in a world of trouble. Don't eat lunch then go out drinking after work? Helllo Drunken Mess. Don't eat lunch then go to the gym? Helllloooo passing out in the park and being eaten alive by hungry squirrels. I feel like lunch is a forced meal also. Basically I don't like eating because I have to. Being human is such a farce. I bet Robot Clones of the future won't have to deal with this problem.

Breakfast however - talk about the best meal in the universe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love Breakfast. I love going out and finding a good breakfast place. I go on holidays purely to find an amazing breakfast place and then be smug about it to other travellers. Which is why I think someone needs to make a Breakfast Guide, purely breakfast. Not Brunch. Not Lunch. Die Dinner.

My breakfast guide would be titled 'The Lonely Tomato' (like the Lonely Planet series) named after that stupid piece of pity tomato that no one eats. I mean when I've got 2 x eggs Benedict, a hash brown and some sauteed mushrooms on my plate - wtf does that Tomato think is going to happen?? Poor thing. Everyone hates that Tomato.

BRILLIANT IDEA No 3: Firesleds

Ever tried walking across the North Pole. That shit is haaaaarrrrrrrd. It's not all flat snow and dog-sledding all day. It's a lot of walking, and stupid ski's, and climbing over boulders and generally a lot of hard work, and you know what - I didn't spend all my life savings to come to the north pole and have to fight my way through 10 miles of square boulders every day!!!!!!!!!!!!

You know what we need to fix this problem.

Firesleds.

Think of your typical arctic sled... now put the element of fire onto the front of that sled. Well who is cruising through the North Pole now?!?!?!

Me and My Firesled will see you ski-pole losers at the tip of the world. We'll be the first ones there. I'll warm up the jacuzzi for ya.

Tell me why I am not a millionaire entrepreneur already?!

Put some Stitches on It

2011-09-01T18:55:00.003+10:00

So apparently Beyonce is pregnant. Who Cares! (not me). I for one - care not for Beyonce, her music bores me, as does her big hair, tiny hot pants, and fat ass music videos. Could someone explain to me how 3 chicks dancing on a white cyc is the "greatest film clip of all time" ??!

The only good thing to come out of Beyonce's pregnancy, is if she does the typical Beyonce thing: ie "if I am going to be pregnant I am going to be the BEST and MOST pregnant person of all time!" and she re-releases her greatest hits, but remixes them Pregnancy Style.

'There's a baby coming out of my vagina
Put some stitches on it.
If there's a baby coming out of my vagina
Put some stitches on it.
I don't wanna be a whiner
But put some stitches on it.
Whoa oh oh. Oh oh oh.. Oh oh oh."

doin it the Antelope Way

2011-08-30T20:36:00.006+10:00

sometimes I think us humans have many things we can learn from the animal kingdom. I usually think these thoughts after a lengthy afternoon spent wallowing in my own stench watching nature documentaries.

I'm not condoning bestiality or anything, but animal sex is quite interesting. I like the do or die way that animals decide who to mate with. Just once I would like to be the woman that all the male elephant seals have a giant battle over. not once have I ever been at the center of a row like that. No one has ever lost their nostril over wanting me that bad.

(sexy.)

There are other ways in which I am sexually jealous of the animal kingdom - they have things sorted out, they have got down to the basics of it, no messing around here.

Take for instance the white eared kob antelope of Uganda.

Life would have been soooooooo much easier if we could all adopt the mating rituals of the white eared kob....

Male pees on the ground. Female pees all over the kobs face. Then they get it on.

What can be easier than that!??!?!!

No more leg shaving, ill-fitting bras and pointy underwire, no more reading boring newspapers to come up with intellectual conversation, no more pretending to like sport and beer, no more listening to moany womens conversations about if he likes you or not. The antelopes truly have the romance of relationships down to its most basic tactics.

Probably a good thing I'm married because I would be the hairy lady who pees everywhere trying to find a mate... "Do you think you can do better than that!!!!" (I am that lady anyway come to think of it)

Made in Funda

2011-08-30T19:37:00.005+10:00

One of the best shows on the teev this year was Made in Chelsea. It was just sooooooooo stupid and over the top ridiculous, that it could only be awesome. The clothes were awesome, the conversations that ended in long awkward blank stares and silences were awesome, Olly the Bi (but clearly just Gay) and his singer girlfriend were awesome. Then you have Spencer and his model girlfriend Funda - writing new laws of awesomeness in having a complicated and stupid relationship.

Funda was this high class model/dancer, who made herself a six figure salary, and therefore didn't need no mans taking care of her! (swish swish Finger-Z in your face Spencer)

So high class.... she must have been running low on G-String funds hence needed to do this United Stationary Catalogue.. for 2011..

The best one is of her playing peek-a-boo with the scissors. I'm sure if she had acted this carefree with a love of stationary Spencer wouldn't have dumped her, then gone to the south of France with Caggie, and professed his undying love for her, then had to endure a really awkward fancy garden BBQ when Funda walks in and is all "wtf spencer!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

sooooooooo awesome.

Carnival is the Best. Bold. Underline.

2011-08-30T00:30:00.010+10:00

Our first apartment in London was on Ladbroke Grove, on the third floor: as in the perfect position to watch the Notting Hill Carnival go past. It would have made up for being vibrated off the couch every time the 452 went whizzing past.. yet my brain once again failed me last year - because I booked a trip to Barcelona on that August Long Weekend, missed out on the Carnival and got third-degree-burns from my boobs down. We came home that long weekend on the Monday night, we had to beg the police to let our taxi down our street, because I would never have made it down there alive. There were Bins on fire, Chickens being roasted on sticks in the middle of the road, and people just passed out on the street.

I have seen Armageddon, and it's name is Ladbroke Grove after Carnival.

This year I wasn't going to be such a putz, and made sure we didn't have anything coming up that weekend because I was going to Carnival!!!! I had heard many mixed things about Carnival, some people love it, some people hate it. I can understand that if you had travelled across London to be there and were stuck in a crowd of half a million people and needed to pee. Luckily - our apartment we live in now is still only a 5 minute walk to Carnival.

What can I say about Notting Hill Carnival? other than it is the best thing I have ever been to. So many people having a great time together, dancing in the street together, and not letting any political bullshit, or racial tensions, or rioting madness ruin a truly fantastic vibe of a day.

This is a speaker system set up outside one of the apartments we looked into renting. It was £500 a week, about the size of a shoebox, and people could see in if you were in the bathroom, (bargain! nice on Foxtons!) and just imagine trying to sleep during Notting Hill Carnival with these speakers just outside your bedroom window? I danced in front of these for about 30 seconds and went deaf.

The Carnival is all about food, music, and community. The Parade is fantastic. It is like Halloween, Mardi Gras, and a protest movement combined. The Sunday is the 'Childrens Day'.. well even that was pretty crazy, Monday is when the Parade is cranked up a notch, and the barely dressed ladies get their turn to shine.

I had the best time. The food is great. You can walk into a street and see some guys mixing it up on some decks freestyle MC'ing. Soooo awesome.

Rhuane Laslett one of the founders of Notting Hill Carnival had a dream, and that dream was about people dancing in the street and music, so it's good to see that something based on the purity of having a good time still exists without a complete corporate take-over, and the police blending into the periphery.

Drug Addict Magnet

2011-08-29T20:57:00.006+10:00

Whenever I go to see a band they never play my favourite song. Yeah they play all their 'best' songs, but never my faaavourite song. What's the go with that?? Go see Lykke Li - she doesn't play 'Complaint Department' (which is the best song on the album in my opinion) I go and see Weezer and they don't play one song off Hurley?! Memories! Hello. And on Saturday I went to the South West Four Festival purely to see Underworld, and they don't play Bird 1. wtf world. wtf!!?!

Seeing Underworld in London was a definite must-see event since moving here. I can not describe my love for Underworld in mere words. I think they write the best music which can not be described by a mere genre heading. Karl Hyde is the most poetic song writer, his lyrics are amazing. His songs make me cry with happiness.. well Bird 1 does.

SW4 was sold out, and was henceforth known as Underworld Day.. it felt wrong to have to correct people who thought that Underworld Day meant seeing a gay vampire vs werewolves movie. If that's what Underworld means to you - I can't help you.

I love festivals. Seeing a band play outside to a crowd of 20,000 people and being a part of that is so amazing. And it was amazing. To be surrounded by 19,998 people who were completely fucked out of their brains on drugs.

When we arrived at SW4 the whole place was a mud-bath mess from the rain the previous day, having experience in this field, I tackled my way through the mud sticking to the edge, should some knob think it hilarious to tackle me into the mud and ruin the whole day (it's happened to me before) What I found amusing were the people who were wearing thongs.. ideally at a festival where the ground is all mud you would wear Wellies, or sneakers you can throw out, but not thongs. I saw many rookie mistakes.. those thongs got stuck in the mud, and those people had to go barefoot and I can't describe how disgusting that must have been. Just think of all the foot diseases you would have afterwards. Tinea. Toe Herpes. Standing on a badly cooked Burrito Foot Poisoning. Yuck. I scouted out the least muddy area next to a fence close to the stage and that is where we stood for 5 hours waiting for Underworld.

Many Many things happened during this 5 hour period.

First of all the main drug dealer of the festival was also standing in front of the fence in the dry part - so all day we saw people coming up and buying bags of crystal MDMA. For a festival that had a 'no drug policy' they sure didn't mind the blatant drug use happening at every square foot of the place. Everyone around us had their fingers dipping into their little plastic bags of MDMA...

It started to rain, and because I always come prepared I had an umbrella. Just like that Kelis song - my Umbrella brings all the druggies to the yard. I would put the umbrella up then suddenly about 5 guys off their faces would be squished up against me. I was like the Mother Hen in that field. If anything, the MDMA usage did make for a very friendly and talkative crowd.

Then Pete Tong was on, and it was about 45 minutes before underworld were about to start and something happened to the crowd. Old Mister Drug Dealer at the Fence had sold what I could only assume to be Very Very Bad Drugs. A group of people we saw buying drugs off this guy appeared, and they were a very different group from the one we had seen walking through the crowd earlier. This group of people couldn't even stand up. Their eyes were rolling into the backs of their heads, there was a guy who was about 30 and he was standing their shivering bathed in sweat, unable to move and clinging to the fence to keep from falling off the planet. Horrible. Then they all started partner sharing and having a giant love in?? I could think of nothing worse than pashing someone who had just pashed a guy who had just thrown up. Wrong!

I think Mark and I being the only two people in that festival who weren't on drugs gave us some sort of safety beacon. Because people who were about to die kept coming near us and sitting down, or laying against us, I was fully prepared to use my first aid training to stop a person from overdosing.

Yes I have taken drugs at festivals, so i'm not going to be a hypocrite who says "dont take drugs at festivals" but maybe don't take soooo many drugs?! When Underworld finally came on stage I don't think anyone even realised. When I love a band like I love Underworld, I don't need no stinkin drugs. They are my drug.

They were amazing. Flawless. King of Snake. Cock Thrusting Lasers. Karl Hyde is the coolest Motherf*cker in the World. And they played this song.. Favourite Number 2.

Better than Pete 'i mix it up on the iPad2" Tong.

The Great Tabbouleh Poisoning of 1994

2011-08-26T18:29:00.005+10:00

One thing you need to know about me - is that I don't do things by halves. No No I go all the way. They don't call me All the Way Ray for nothin! (no one calls me this)

When given a food substance that I find delectable, I will eat that food substance until nothing but the sweet memory remains. This week I overdosed on Pineapple. I love Pineapple (sometimes) When you find good pineapple that isn't too acidic it's game on. Game On Pineapple. After eating a Pineapple the size of my head I wasn't feeling so great though. I don't think I can look at another Pineapple for some time to come.. but I know I will always go back, because that's just the type of person I am... forgiving.

And that is why Parsley owes me a lot. Parsley, I might never have forgiven for what it did to me. What I had to endure from too much Parsley. Here is the story of what happens when you have too much Parsley.

Back in 1994 I was in High School. A High School with friends doing Home Economics. Personally I had no time for Home Economics, what I did enjoy was basking in the after-glow of the food that other people had cooked up. Normally it was a bit of a scramble to get anything because what idiot is going to give away a free lasagna they just spent two hours learning how to cook.

Luckily for me - when the whole class cooks Tabbouleh.. nobody wants that

Back then I fricken loved tabbouleh. It would be like today if someone I knew owned an olive grove and said I could go swimming in their olive pool and could eat as much olives as I wanted. I would sink to the bottom of that pool and die an oily olive death.

But this was 1994, and I liked 3 things: Warren G, East 17, and Tabbouleh.

And I had a class of 30 friends who didn't want their lunchboxes full of the Middle Eastern Tabbouleh goodness.. I know who did though........... me.

I was in the Mohammad Reigned Tabbouleh Heaven. I ate my way through all those lunchboxes like I was going for a world record. Nobody in my school had ever seen anyone eat so much Tabbouleh. I should have won a little prize and had a plaque on the school hall for future generations to walk past, so they could bask in my glory, and learn a very important lesson.

Later that night when I palmed dinner off, being unable able to move from all the Tabbouleh in my belly, I went to bed, rested in the fact that I still had about 6 more lunchboxes full of Tabbouleh to get through the next day.

However. The next morning I awoke in screaming agony. I have never been in so much pain in my life. I felt like a knife was being shoved up my no-no hole. This was a bad sign, and after vomiting and being married to the toilet all morning, I was quickly taken to the doctors.

The doctor saw I was in bad shape. She figured I must have an inflamed appendix on the cusp of bursting, and that she was going to have send her men in to check it out. And by men - I mean fingers.. and by check it out.. I mean stick her men in my bumhole to touch my appendix to suss out the damage.

24 hours before I was knee deep in Tabbouleh having the time of my life?! Now I'm in the doctors surgery being anally raped?!! how the f$!k does this happen to a person?

I'll tell you how it happens. Parsley has trace elements of arsenic in it, and when you eat 5kg of the stuff, you get arsenic poisoning, and end up shuddering in horror when someone waves a leaf of Parsley in front of you for years to come.

I have moved on. Time heals all wounds and I am happy to say that I am safe once again eating Tabbouleh when the situation arises.. although it'd be more like a handful, rather than 20 lunchboxes full.

and the award for best Shoe goes to....

2011-08-25T19:53:00.004+10:00

I had a party to go to last night. I like to party. Except I was still feeling internally rank from my Tuesday sickness. But I soldiered on.. I packed an outfit and made it through the day until it was finally Party-Time. And that is when I realised I had forgotten one very important aspect of the outfit. Shoes. And furthermore to that I also forgot to shave my legs. And the party was somewhere super fancy, and standing there with my rank shoes and leg hairs blowing in the wind was not going to cut it!

So I improvised. I disguised my Yeti-Legs with moisturiser... ahh moisturiser, it's like leggings in liquid form. Stick those hairs down. And then I went down to the magical end of the building - the fashion section.

I love the fashion section. Many a day at work is spent just trying on clothes and hanging out in the dumpster doing fashion shoots. So I knew exactly what shoes I wanted to borrow.
Unfortunately I didn't have my David Bowie from Outer Space outfit that day, but I did have the shoes. And my shoes were the best shoes at the party. Which was a great thing. There is something fab about having the best shoes at the party, even when they aren't even your shoes, and you could never in a million years own those shoes because they are designed for people like Madonna and Lady Gaga to wear whilst doing media interviews.

Now if only there was a way to have the Best Hair in the World....

My Book Cover

2011-08-25T01:03:00.003+10:00

I have been on a mission of late. A mission to find the picture of Myself and Herb Pubesman. I know this picture exists. I have emailed everyone vaguely connected to the party, I will probably never be invited to another party again.

"who invited the chick with the obsession for the old geezer??"

After crawling every nook of cyberspace - I have hit photographic bronze. It's a picture of Herb with me in the Background - proving that he does exist and we did meet.

Here I present to you - Herb Pubesman.

This is going to be the cover of my book one day. I feel inspired already.

Fully Sic Days

2011-08-24T20:31:00.002+10:00

Taking a sick day is lose-lose situation. For one - you are sick, and when you are back at work everyone wants to know exactly how sick you were - to gauge whether or not you qualify for a sick day..When you have a sick day it's all of a sudden everyone's business.

Yesterday I took a sick day, as I could feel the flu coming on, and rather than being a disgusting mucus mess at my desk all day and infecting everyone else (gallant!)- I figured I would take some Night Nurse and sleep the day away, moving from the bed to the couch and continuing my horizontal war against germs. My plan worked and I am considerably less phlegmy today - score.

Today I am at work and everyone is giving me the total side eye... "so what was wrong with you yesterday??" "you look...... well!".. you know why I look well! Cos I took a fucking sick day. No one says "hey thanks for not coming in and giving us your germs!" I can't stand it when someone comes in sick - namely because I know I'm bound to catch what they have, and have to walk around disinfecting everything I touch.

In terms of the sick day pay-off it's really not worth it. I have NEVER taken a sick day and then gone off and had a picnic in the park, rented a convertible sports car and gone on a roller-coaster. Why then do people immediately think you are skiving having the best time of your life on a sick day?

Yesterday I moved downstairs to the couch, Lenny got into my armpit nook whilst I watched a documentary on the worlds fattest lady who had to have a wall knocked down from her flat and craned into the ambulance. That lady's whole life is one never ending sick day. Then I napped intermittently all day before getting up and hunting for food in the empty cupboards - I found two plums and some milo. And people think I am skiving off work for this!!! Puh-lease, If I was skiving off work I would come up with something better than lounging in my own stench. That is what weekends are for.

Last year I had 2 sick days - one of those was when I had third degree sunburn all over my body from that time we went to a beach in Spain and I thought "they have an ozone layer! I don't need your stupid suncream!" When I got to work everyone wanted to see my sunburn, to prove that my sunburn was reason enough to take a sick day. My sunburn was luckily bad enough to impress everyone - and I peeled my skin off and left it on someones phone for questioning my sunburn pain.

One time I was working with this psychotic crazy lady - whom would tell everyone exactly what was wrong with me if I took a sick day. I had to take a sick day one time because my face had an allergic reaction to my face cream and swelled up like a melon. The next day when I got back to work everyone who I spoke to on the phone was like "how is your rash??" Um FINE! How is your rash!

So not worth it.

The Language of Love

2011-08-24T19:09:00.002+10:00

To some - listening to Mark & I have normal conversation may sound like we are constantly fighting/on the verge of divorce. I say to those naysayers that we are speaking the language of love. We have our own way of saying things - it's like a secret bitchy code that only the two of us understand. For Instance:

Mark is growing a beard, which I don't like, so I call him "Homeless Jesus" - which is a far nicer thing to say to someone than "I hate your fugly beard - please shave that shit off before you touch me"

It also took us about 45 minutes to get dressed this morning as we were trying to get dressed for the day, but also pack clothes for a party that night. Which is hindered when either of us gives feedback on the other person's outfit choices

"You look like you are selling stationary.. ooh shall I tell you all about our deals on pens and printers??"
"You look like you're wearing your dad's wedding jacket"
"You look like a hooker in those tights"
"If you wear that outfit I won't talk to you at the party. I will pretend my wife couldn't make it"

All of which to the untrained ear - is just the two of us saying "wear whatever you like - you look fabulous"

Gyroball strikes Again

2011-08-23T04:33:00.004+10:00

Lenny has been throwing up a lot. When I say a lot, I mean - he's been throwing up consistently about once a week for several months. Generally we just vacuum up the spew and tell Lenny to quit licking his sack all night then you won't throw up hairballs all morning.

Then one morning we thought we should maybe take him to the vet - after all, if there is something wrong with our fur-baby I want to know about it now. So I can start putting money aside into the Clone fund, and so we took Lenny to the vet and they diagnosed him simply as being bored.

Bored! Yeah I could think of a few things you could do to relieve the boredom that don't involve yacking it up all over the rug every morning. Like claw a couch to shreds or something?? Anyway - the vet said we needed to add more stimulation to Lenny's life and hence the Gyroball made it's way into our lives.

When we were high in Amsterdam - we got sucked into watching the home shopping network.. first we laughed at Chuck Norris' exercise equipment and then an ad for the Gyroball came on. Now the Gyroball is some magical ball built for messy little kids - you put whatever you want in the magic ball and no matter what happens - gravity will be defied and your milk and cereal will never end up on the floor. You can even put dog-poo in it and it will become edible!! (ok - maybe I just made that part up) the point is - we totally got suckered into wanting one of these Gyroballs. Imagine throwing a bowl of pasta across the room and none going on the floor!! amazing.

Apparently the masterminds who make Gyroball also make Gyroball for Cats - the aim being that the cats play with Gyroball and little crunchie treats will be released.

Yeah that's only going to work if your cat has trained with NASA astronauts.

Lenny is by no means a stupid cat - but he did fall off a ledge once, and he gets consistently stuck in the cupboard for hours at a time.. I mean - there is no way he is winning a cat show intelligence category anytime soon.

I don't think he even knows what the magical ball of food is - and he certainly isn't going to play with it anytime soon. He just walks around looking like he wants to kill us for inflicting such a stupid item in front of him deemed as 'play' when we all know Lenny's favourite thing to do as 'play' is sticking his butt in your face when you in the bed of a morning.

The vet also sold us a cat toothbrush that if possible has been embraced more than the Gyroball. That vet saw a couple of suckers a mile away.

WM3 are Free

2011-08-21T19:45:00.006+10:00

I first came across the West Memphis Three in 2003 after watching the documentary 'Paradise Lost'. It was such a shocking and glaringly obvious case of injustice that you can't just sit back and let three guys die a lonely death, one on death row.

So I became involved in the Free the WM3 movement. I organised a fundraiser at a Sydney venue where a bunch of bands played in support of raising money and awareness. This was not a case that I was going to let go of anytime soon.

I regularly check the updates on the WM3 website, every week for 8 years, reading news about new evidence, DNA testing, juror misconduct, false testimony - reading all this and thinking that this is not a matter of if they get out prison it's when.

So imagine my surprise when after a night out after work on a Friday I get home and Mark is reading the IMDB news on his phone and he tells me I should look at the WM3 website.

I look at the website and they are Free.

The West Memphis Three are Free! What?!

I had looked at the website earlier that week and there was nothing about any upcoming hearings or trials. One second they're sitting in prison, the next they are at a press conference talking about their plea agreement and being free men.

Crazy.

But not as Crazy as the terms of their Freedom. Perplexing is one way to describe it. In order to gain freedom they had to put in a plea known as the Alford Plea - where the defendant is able to maintain their innocence, whilst acknowledging that the state has enough evidence against against them for a guilty verdict. wtf kind of plea is that!???!!

In my opinion - they were allowed to enter this plea because there is no way the state of Arkansas is ever going to admit they imprisoned the wrong men. The prosecutor in this case has gone onto being a Supreme Court Judge. Another prosecutor has gone onto the Senate - maybe running for Governor one day. Do you think these are men who will admit any wrongdoing?? to admit that would mean they failed 6 families, 3 wrongfully convicted young men, and 3 victims who hadn't yet had a chance at life. They convicted the wrong men, and therefore let the guilty persons walk free. A murderer is still out there. And if you know anything about the Child Murders of Robin Hood Hills - you will know that this was a heinous and viscous crime, and whoever did it got away with it.

If the state had enough evidence against them for a guilty verdict they would have moved them into a lesser security prison but never allowed them to walk free! how ridiculous. So basically the state knew that given the amount of time that has gone since the original conviction, and all the reasons they put forward for their guilt would never hold up in a court today, so they had to release them as time served. It's a bittersweet victory, and at least they can try and find new evidence to get completely exonerated. I guess after 18 years you would agree to anything to get out of prison, especially after 10 years in solitary confinement on death row. Jason never wanted to enter this plea deal - because they are innocent! and why should they even mention that the state had enough evidence to convict so therefore plead guilty. He didn't want to do it, but he knew if he didn't they would give Damien the Lethal Injection. What an amazing friend.

Whilst their freedom is gained on grounds that aren't perfect, as least now they are free to be in the world. They entered the penal system as teenagers and leave as middle aged men. 18 years is a long time to wait for justice, even if it is the type of justice that leaves a bitter taste in one's mouth.

Holiday Sans Brain

2011-08-16T21:41:00.006+10:00

It's no secret, that in any and all relationships - women are right and men are wrong. This is the eternal argument between man and wife, bf and gf, dog and cat. These arguments are put in the spotlight especially when on Holidays.

ie: On the weekend in Amsterdam we were way too high to order anything at the bar we were at so we argued over who was more capable of ordering a red wine off the menu, and the music was really loud and making us anxious, so we left and wandered around 20 canals trying to find our way home again.

Problem could have been easily solved if Mark had ordered the wine. Therefore - the argument is all his fault.

This is why I am interested as to what will happen when I venture off on my own to New York next month to catch up with my Sister-from-another-Mister, and Big Daddy. I have already mentioned the anxiety I foresee of getting home from the airport, and that is because the airport is always where the first arguments of the holiday begins. Traveling is just a euphemism for "arguing around the world"

Who chose this stupid immigration line to stand in? the other one is going much faster.
Can't you tell what your bag looks like compared to all the other matching black bags. what are you blind?
Why is your bag so heavy? Did you purposely bring the bag with the broken wheels to annoy me?
Why do you have to pee so many times when we are in the airport?
Don't say anything stupid to the immigration detective, this is not the time for jokes. Mark.

Traveling withe me is awesome!!!!!

But they are only play arguments - nothing compared to what goes down when we get out of the airport and have to figure out how to get to our place of residence. I mean - that is a hard feat - specially when you are in a country where all the signs are in another language. There are no universal signs that say "if you would like to get to the city centre - please catch the only bus that goes from this specific bus stop and will cost €3 in local currency that can be purchased on board and comes every half an hour". No signs like that exist. Once we were stuck in Pisa airport for about 2 hours whilst we tried to figure out how the public transport situation worked. But in the end - Mark tried his Italian Charms on a garbage man and I looked defenseless guarding our bags and we group mimed our way through the exchange of important information.

But the point is that two idiot brains are better than one. When I'm alone in the world, I only have my brain - and my brain is equally as inferior as Mark's brain. What chance do I have getting anything accomplished?

I remember the first time we went to New York and we found the taxi stand that made no sense, and there were no buses that made sense, and then some jive talking gangstas tried to talk us into getting into their Humvee and drive us into Manhattan..... now this is the problem right here.. if on my own I just might get talked into getting into a Humvee with a bunch of trendy strangers playing excellent rap music "it's so authentic!".. and then I end up in a crack den trying to pay off my taxi debt dancing all over Big Al's downtown stripper pole.

Which is why I have decided to book a Limousine Service - hey with the economic crisis happening over there by the time the Limo Driver picks me up and drives me to the Upper East Side - they will end up owing ME money. suckers. Thank You Republicans!

Amsterdam. 2.0

2011-08-16T01:22:00.007+10:00

A wise friend once said to me `never travel to the same place twice'.. I think he meant 'amsterdam is the exception to the rule'.

Two years ago exactly we were in Amsterdam. Having the time of our lives. It was 30 degrees every day, we went to every museum Amsterdam had to offer, and we ticked every box that needs to be ticked in Amsterdam. (except seeing a live sex show - I will never need to tick that box)

So this year we thought we would go back and do it all the same. We booked the same loft. I was completely organised on where we had to go the second we stepped off the plane. And yes, I still love amsterdam.

Amsterdam has changed though, it sure were no 2009... in 2009 the sun set at midnight (so we thought) and this year 9.30pm.. in 2009 we sat outside on the canals getting a tan, this year we watched all the wet people wandering around in the rain from the safety of the loft.

We saw some amazing canal artistry:

I could write the next Banksy Movie. (if it were going to be 2 minutes long)

Then we walked down a street where the graf was totally killing the vibe

I mean - with all the riots happening around the place it was hard not to get a bad vibe from this sign. So we went upstairs and time stopped for 2 days.

I saw many many things... I saw a show about The Balloon Fuckers (I am disturbed for life) I saw an Opera that was being sung by a man who was a Thalidomide Baby (3 fingers. that man was just a head and 3 fingers!) Whoever programs the tv in that country definitely does it with people who are highhhhhhhhhhh in mind.

Then we looked all day for a movie and then Final Destination came on. And you know what we discovered from the subtext of the script... that your "departure time" is the same as your birthday.... so mark can never catch a plane at 8.15.. and I can never catch a plane at 7:09. Deep.

Then we realised that Ali Larter is amazing. And it's totally fine for J-Lo to make a come-back as long as she acknowledges the fact that she is J-Old. Older than the Egyptians. Older than the Stone-Age.. Older than Jesus. She is Old. Amsterdam. Don't be Old and on TV.

Other topics we delved into:

ANTS - who gives birth to the Queen Ant (A: the queen ants mother) and who is the slave really?? the worker ants or the queen who is trapped giving birth all the live long day.

HORSES - they don't want to chained up whilst stupid people on stupid buggies ride around on their backs!!!!!!!!!!!! FREE THE SLAVE HORSES!!!!!!!!!!!

TIBET - that is fucked up. Even Brad Pitt in that movie can't make the situation any better. Did you know they are sterilizing the Tibetan women and most of them are illiterate? genocide. buzz killer.

THE DALAI LAMA - pretty much just sounds like a bunch of old 60 year olds in yellow hats who find a bunch of babies and whichever baby picks up the old Dalai Lama's old spoon is the new Dalai Lama. sounds awesome.

CD'S - they had the laser disk cd, the compact cd, and i'm pretty sure they had a mini cd.. but I can't be sure.. also I think it was square.

WORK OUT EQUIPMENT - sure you can have Chuck Norris and Wesley Snipes and Oliver Newton John in your ad, but unless you have people using it in their pyjamas - then your ad isn't exactly appealing to my demographic.

I have magic fingers too. They are magical and can travel through space and time. weeooowoooo

i pee on floors

2011-08-11T02:48:00.004+10:00

I have a pretty weird toilet at my work. strange things appear in it. does anyone remember the story of the mystery poo? today we had a mystery puddle at work, and if you have learnt anything about my work, is that when something mysterious happens in our toilet everybody comes to look and put forth their ideas from whence the weirdness came from.

Today I was the pioneer who discovered the puddle of mystery. I was sitting there having a pee, congratulating myself on the all the sneaky farts I'd been doing at my desk all day, then when I stood up I noticed my feet were in a puddle of water.

Strange.

I don't remember coming in here and sitting down into a puddle of water.

So I did the first thing anyone else would do in my situation.. I told everyone there was a mystery puddle in the toilet. Everyone came to look.. where did it come from?? was someone having a water party in there? are there ghosts in the pipes??

Then they figured out that someone must have peed on the floor. But I was the last one in there.. sooooo by the theory of your hypothesis, it was me who peed on the floor.

To be honest, I would think I would remember peeing on the floor. I have been using a toilet for 30 years now, I should have the hang of it by now. I only have one recourse in my defense. The stupid wooden toilet seat. It's like its from the 1800's, no wonder my pee is ending up on the floor and not in the pipe. Either that or my urethra is broke and points out straight ahead like a fire hydrant hose pipe.

So glad I made everybody come and look.

I am not the type of person who needs a nemesis who goes around telling people embarrassing stories about myself. I am fairly capable of taking on the role of the inner villain as my stupidity has just now proved itself.

I truly believe these things..

2011-08-11T01:41:00.006+10:00

You know what is the most insulting thing you can say to a person... "you watch too many movies".. wellllll I have to disagree with you on that. I can't watch enough movies.. and furthermore how do you think I learnt half the things I know today. This is where my streetsmarts come from.

ie: only and IDIOT would stand around in a puddle in an abandoned carpark.. Don't you know what could happen to you?! well I know. Because I've seen Poltergeist 3 about 20 million times. Suffer to those who haven't seen it and end up floating heads lost in an alternate dimension. There is no coming back from that. Unless crawling out of an old lady's face appeals to you.
not so much?

I also believe that there is a place somewhere that lunchpails grow on trees.

Which is why I have a lot of reservations about getting a cab to my friends house in New York next month. I don't want to end up chained to a heating duct underneath the New York Sewer system. I've seen The Bone Collector. I know what happens. You get in the cab, then you try to open the door and the razor blade slices your finger off and then someone finds your bloody finger in a refuse dump under the Brooklyn Bridge. I don't want that. That would ruin the trip completely if that happened.

I suppose I could swim to the island - because that worked out well for Darryl Hannah in Splash. Show up naked then a nice non-murdering cop drives you home. Easy.

I just have to hope that the apartment I am staying at isn't the top floor of a Georgian Mansion Apartment Block. And that whilst I am sleeping in the kitchen/loungeroom with my feet in the cutlery drawer, that Gozer doesn't come out to get me. To be honest the best way to test if Gozer is going to come out and possess you Ghostbusters style is to bring a packet of eggs into your kitchen, and if they jump out of the packet and start frying themselves on the bench then you know you got problems. I'm not saying that I don't want to end up all tarted up possessed out of my head on the roof of a building.. but I have other things to do too you know.

Pictured: Me - just your typical thursday night.

I also plan on doing some erotic pottery, eating some magical flying candy canes, making friends with a homeless lady in central park - whilst foiling the plans of two bumbling thieves, and taking some mind altering drugs and doing ass to ass.

Good times to be had! If I can get myself out of the airport.

one spark

2011-08-09T19:26:00.009+10:00

last night I watched with unwavering concentration the London Riots unfold. Glued to the constant updates of the riots getting closer and closer to my house. My House. Why would they want to riot around my house?? I fell asleep listening to the BBC, with one ear on alert, so I could quickly pack my bag and strap Lenny to my chest if the Mob ended up outside my house.

It was a relentless news outpouring of mindless violence. And yet - there was no point to it. No point at all. People were wandering why? phone calls asking me why? everyone wanting to know why??

Is the Disaffected Youth a good enough answer?? I don't thinks so.

A young black guy is shot in police cross fire, a protest erupts in the neighborhood, which then spreads across London resulting in heritage buildings being burnt to the ground, apartment blocks on fire, and shopkeepers who will show up to their businesses this morning to a smoldering pile of ashes.

It's not Police Vs The Mob. It's Civilians vs Civilians.

It's disgusting. And yet what makes a 12 year old want to burn a building to the ground?? The police were appealing to the parents to keep an eye on their children. I don't think that is going to make any difference, if you have children willing to smash a building to steal everything from inside it - we failed that child a long time ago.

Kids in this country have it bad enough. You cross the street to avoid walking past them at night. They can't afford a good eduction. They can't get a job. Who is going to listen to their plight now? What did the little Turkish man who runs a newsagent ever do to you?? you destroyed his livelihood for no good reason.

It's hardly making a political statement to burn a Debenhams to the ground. What does a youth being killed in North London have to do with patrons at a restaurant in Notting Hill being mugged? Opportunistic Anarchy is what it is.

And you know who this is worst on? the people who had nothing to do with it. The young kids who didn't decide to lose their minds and start a riot. Honest hard working people who just want to go to work and have a home and go about life as normal. And yet when the retributions start it's the people who don't deserve it that will get the blame.

Already I have seen and heard a load of racist bigotry about who to blame - blacks. immigrants. australians. teenagers. anyone who is different. nice going rioters!! way to set everyone back 50 years. so much for living in the 21st century. The former Mayor of London said that this a mob of youths who is fearless. They have nothing to lose. How did this happen?

It's just senseless. Why burn down a carpet store, yet leave the KFC??

If it turns into another hellish night of fire I know where I am going. Chicken Cottage. no way will they burn that to the ground.

Jurassic Window Box

2011-08-01T04:02:00.004+10:00

A lot of things make me uncomfortable. People leaning in too close during a conversation. People with BO stenching it up during a conversation. Thinking people can hear me whilst on the toilet.

And now - Mysterious Plants from Nowhere.

When we moved into our apartment the kitchen had a herb kitchen box... which was essentially a dead and brown things kitchen box. (no love. the previous tenants gave it no love). I tried to salvage it.. The Thyme grew in, the Rosemary Twigs had about 3 green leaves come in... and then the mystery thriving plant from nowhere shows up.

This plant is the healthiest most thriving plant I have ever seen. It can survive anything. Neglect. Hatred. And curse words yelled at it intermittently in between cooking pasta dishes.

"What the F@* are you!!! Where the F*% did you come from?! you F*%ing creepy-ass plant!!"

Where did it come from!?!?! What is it!!! Why is it in my window box!! Is it dangerous? It reminds me of that scene in Jurassic Park where Dr Ellie Sattler finds the giant green leaf, then a Brachiosaurus appears from nowhere. This is why I can't look out my kitchen window anymore. Now I don't have a naked tree to hide me from the neighbours, I don't know whose watching me. You never know when a perverted Brontosaurus might be looking at you through the window. Especially when Plants from the Triassic Period appear from nowhere.

Champagne Charlie

2011-07-29T18:22:00.005+10:00

'Memba This!! Tony Soprano Robbed Me.

Well guess who was caught!!!!!!!!!!!!!

idiot.

To be honest I don't think this guy lives up to the name 'Champagne Charlie' - this sort of thug nickname is more fitting to a guy with an expensive suit, not a guy who looks like the guy from the Money Supermarket commercials.

The good thing to know is that we weren't the only retards sucked into his Champagne Scam. To this day, I still laugh whenever someone mentions Cristal.

Yeahhh you want some Cristal??? I got some leftover from a big party.. the Gallagher's were at it.

SIF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hope you enjoy jail Mr Clugston. You won't be getting showered in champagne in that place I can guarantee you.

the ugly piggy

2011-07-29T04:45:00.005+10:00

I know there are a lot of people out there with fetish with the feet... and I just have to wonder why?? even if I saw a really good looking person with a really good looking foot - at the end of the day, it's still a smelly foot.

the smells aside - and trust me I have cleared rooms with the smell of my feet - they are just ugly.

Especially Little Toe. There is something seriously wrong with Little Toe.

Look at it. What the heck is wrong with it!

I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It gets caught in the line of fire. The Little Toe is the front line in the foot's defence against all the things in the world that are trying to get at your feet.

Table Legs and the Corner of the Bed - little toe is there to protect the rest. Takes the pain, and doesn't complain.

Tight Fitting Shoes - little toe takes a beating inside tight fitting shoes alright. Little toe all crushed up against toe next to little toe - no wonder he looks the way he does.

My little toe is also the victim of Toenail Clipping OCD. I think the problem is that you really have so little of little toe, that you think you could just clip it all away.

But no matter how ugly that disgusting little toe is - I just couldn't live without it.

You would just look weird in open toed shoes.

Lemmy Longbottom

2011-07-25T19:11:00.007+10:00

I think I have magical casting powers.. I really should come back in a new life as a Casting Director because I have ideas!!!! Crazy Crazy Ideas!!!

This is my latest idea: to enhance the careers of the Harry Potter stars post H-P stardom.

First of all - no one wants to be pigeonholed into that one role the rest of their life - once you do that you never recover and no one knows what your real name is anymore, and you have to make restaurant reservations under your character name:

And this is the enormous hurdle facing all the Harry Potter kids from this day forward. When Emma Watson graduates Uni, they'll all be chanting 'Hermione! Hermione!'.. all the Ginger Fetish Girls will be calling out 'Ronnnnnn!!!!' into the cracked leather of the taxi cab (when he's doing them from behind) and good luck Harry.. Good Luck. Those three can't really be saved from a life of mediocre name-calling - however are a few who can... Luna, the Weasley Twins, and Neville Longbottom.

So here is what I propose for Neville..

No one wants to go through a life of being the Plant Loving Nerd.. And what is the polar opposite of a plant loving nerd?? the God and Master of Rock & Roll.

It is written that at the end of time, after all the dust of nuclear fallout has subsided, all that will have survived is cockroaches, and Lemmy.

So what better role for Neville Nerdo Longbottom! I mean - obviously the first hurdle in this casting decision of mine, is that the movie doesn't exist yet.. a minor hurdle... because I am sure that at this moment, some superfan is busy writing this screenplay.

Neville Longbottom for Lemmy!!! Join the petition now!

Cupcake Face

2011-07-22T18:58:00.006+10:00

I have come to the conclusion that Thursday is the new Friday. I have been going out consistently on Thursdays, and wanting to die on Fridays.

Last night I went to the Rushes Soho Shorts Festival Opening Night on a whim. Crazy. There was free food (nice) free drinks (gypsy mule's - were they called this? I don't know - that's what I'm calling them) free food (that's pretty much the whole reason I come to these things - no cooking dinner required) and most importantly free cupcakes (which will come in handy later on).

I met a lot of random people - first of all being the director Andy Morahan - who directed the Guns n Roses 'November Rain' filmclip. The NOVEMBER RAIN filmclip. Plenty of other filmclips - but most importantly the November Rain filmclip. Need I say more about how much I effing love that filmclip!

It's got everything!!!!!! Helicopters, Slash playing a guitar solo in a field, and skanky wedding dresses. If I ever get married again, I am dead set doing a complete re-enactment of this clip for my wedding day. Epic.

But I didn't tell Andy this... to be honest I thought he was Peter Jackson when I first saw him. Lucky I didn't ask about shooting perspective shots of Hobbits and Wizards.

So whilst Andy is super cool and important, he was nothing compared to who else I met at this fateful party.

I.Met.Herb. Pubesman.

And who is Herb Pubesman I hear you ask? Well he is none other than my alter ego. Meeting a man who only exists in my brain is an event that only happens once in a lifetime, so I was almost dying on the floor when I met Herb.

Herb sidled up to me eating a huge piece of Black Forest Chocolate Cake, and when I say eating it was more like inhaling without breathing.. He looked at me and I looked at him and he goes "this cake is amazing" in between trying to breathe and trying to ingest cake. Then we bonded over our mutual love of buying chocolate bars and hiding them in our underwear drawer so you go to find a pair of socks and then SURPRISE! socks and mars bar!! So I introduce myself, and then he says.. "My name is Herb"

Are you kidding me!!!!!!!!! His name is Herb! Not only was his name Herb, but he completely embodied everything that I imagine Herb Pubesman to look like in real life. He wears a big black fedora hat, and an old 80's suit, with lots of purple bits and flair. So I obviously became Best Friends with Herb Pubesman, and we did a lot of drinking and then fell into the photoshoot studio and played 1920's dress ups and took a lot of weird photos. Which I am going to trawl the entire internet to find so I can prove that I met Herb Pubesman, not just to you, but to myself. I would really hate it if I hallucinated the whole thing because of the 1000 Gypsy Mules I drank.

Eventually I left the party. Only because Mark had texted me one word to bring me out of my Herb Pubesman Haze.

PHO.

Pho is my favourite Vietnamese restaurant in Soho. Someone mentions Pho to me and I drop everything and leave in a zombie-like stance walking in a trance to Wardour St where I wait patiently for 40 mins for my Phucking Amazing Pho.

I also stole some cupcakes on my way out for good measure, i'm sure they were free, but things taste better when stolen blatantly in front of someone who can say nothing to stop you. See Ya Suckers!!! I'll take my 10 cupcakes and see you in Hell!!!!!!!!!

So I get to Pho and Mark arrives and he is being a Brat. A huge Brat. He is such a brat that he has completely turned me off lining up for 40 mins for Pho. So I leave the restaurant, and Mark chases me and we have a tug of war altercation on the street, and I do the only thing I can think of to end the fight.

I pelt Mark in the head with a purple cupcake.

Purple icing flies everywhere and Mark stands there like a deer in headlights wondering what the purple sweet-smelling pain is?? Nothing ends a fight faster than a cupcake in the face. It's so stupid and funny and everyone in the pub is looking at us, so we giggle like school girls and go back to Pho and line up for another century.

What a great night. Icing in the face. November Rain Legendary Proximity. Herb Pubesman. Vietnamese Noodle Goodness.

Then I get home and realise my fly has been down the whole time. Goddammit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(what is funny, is that I woke up from a dream that night that Zahara Jolie-Pitt's name in all the celebrity magazines is AFRO JESUS.. and that is what I shall call her from now on.)

I salute you Afro Jesus!

Herb Pubesman Out.

Forgotten Tales

2011-07-20T19:57:00.003+10:00

Everyone knows the Tales of The Three Musketeers... Some middle aged guys dressed in Capes stealing Zorro's moves and being a bit gay for their King.. roaming the fields, riding horses with no pants on, shaving the faces of Royalty locked in cupboards for 25 years...you know - usual Musketeer Stuff.

What I want to talk about is the forgotten tales of the Musketeers.. specifically the story of D'Artagnon skanky sister... Fanion.

What do you say about Fanion.. the story goes that she looks like an Onion and smells like a Fanny.

Fanion.

Skankin up it Old Skool.

Nature's Curtains

2011-07-19T18:25:00.004+10:00

I'm generally not one to socialise with my neighbours. You do your thing, I'll do mine, and if the situation requires it we may speak awkwardly in the hallway. My neighbours in our last place in Ladbroke Grove were interesting to say the least - we had the upstairs neighbour with windchimes (you know how I feel about them!) who moved out and then the Stompy Stomperson's moved in, who I would quite certainly stab if I saw them in the street again. The downstairs musical neighbours who would sing and play Elton John covers well into the night. It certainly wasn't a place to live if you actually valued getting any sleep.

So when we had to move it was sad because Ladbroke Grove is my favourite place ever!!!!!!!!!! But it was also good because we could finally get some sleep at night because Maida Vale is quiet snobby central. Plus it has trees, lots and lots of trees.

I love trees. I could stare out a window at a tree all day, trees in winter covered in snow, and trees in summer covered in leaves. I watch the mid-season trees like a hawk too "Buds! we have leaf buds!!! Springtime is here!!" to "the leaves are brown! the leaves are brown and dropping! Autumn!" Honestly, I am kinda tree obsessed. So I was very pleased with our apartment when I noticed we had a giant tree in the backyard.

NAKED APARTMENT TIME!!!!!!!!

Our 'Hiding Behind the Naked Tree' was situated right outside our downstairs bedroom - which is the room we have all our clothes in - hence it's our getting naked and trying on outfits room! There is nothing better than being naked in your naked room, prancing around in front of the mirror trying on clothes whilst the Jesus Rays stream in. I haven't closed my curtains since we moved in.

So......... last night I get home, have a shower and start getting ready in the Naked Room, standing around moisturising myself, flossing my crack with the towel, doing naked lunges... when I realise that something is different, something is not quite right.... something is missing.

That's when I realised that my Naked Tree is missing!! Some Jerk has cut the tree down!! What a fucking Motherfucker! Look Nakedness aside - there is no good reason to cut a tree down!! Ever!! Unless it is actually wrecking your house - to which I would probably say - well the tree was here first, so tough shit broke house.

I hate when people cut down trees!!!!!!!!! I was once at a BBQ with a bunch of Campbelltown Hicks who were talking about how they were going to cut all the trees down in their backyard because the birds were too loud of a morning. Well that's just lovely - good to see Humans and Wildlife interacting with a mutual respect for lesser species. JERKS!! Cutting down a healthy tree that was here long before you is downright Trunkicide.

Anyways - suffice to say my neighbours are now on my 'list'. Don't expect any courtesy nods in the hallway from me anymore. MURDERER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I have to close my curtains. Do you know how much effort is involved in that!?

Search for an Ugly Person

2011-07-14T20:36:00.007+10:00

Whilst on my recent trip to Oslo, I made a startling discovery. Everyone in that country is Hot. Effing Hot.

I saw some guys handing out some free Haagen Dazs and was stopped in my tracks at the overwhelming hotness of them. Even Mark who is 110% hetro was poking me saying 'those haagen dazs guys are HOT!'

And seen as how we only have each other, whilst walking around we would only have the other person to poke and gawp at hot strangers as they walked past.

Yes we saw a lot of hot, sexy, tanned, leggy, big boobied, ken-dolls walking around that place. Which makes me think - they could never run the show 'Search for a Supermodel' in that country.. Everybody would win. You'd be better off doing a 'Search for an Ugly Person'

So all trip my usual inflated ego was diminished by all the uber-hotness at every turn.

Then came the reason we went to Oslo in the first place - The Wedding. We were lucky enough to be sat at the cool table - with lots of funky good looking strangers to talk to. (not the kids table at the back) and yet more things dawned on us to make us realise what a sub-species of human we really are.

First of all - the entire wedding and reception speeches (14 of them) were in Norwegian.. and I can only say two things in Norwegian, and they are both naughty.. so I had no chance of understanding anything. That is because unlike these Brainiac Norwegians, I only speak One Language. FAIL. If you're not bi-lingual you aren't anything in this world.

Secondly, everyone at the table was the smartest person i've ever met. We had: Astro-Physicists, Doctors, Brain Touchers, people who should be sitting at tables with Stephen Hawking, not us two nitwit Australians whose only contribution to the brain sphere would be "well I could totally put a budget together for you if you wanted to shoot a £60K commercial"

These people are saving lives!! I'm making Burger King commercials.

So we left Oslo feeling dumber and uglier than we had ever felt. So good to be back in Good Ol' Blighty. Where there are NEDS (non-educated-delinquent-somethings) and Chavs, and loads of ugly people everywhere. Riding the tube to work never felt so great!

I'm gonna be a supermodel.

they call me "the wrist"

2011-07-14T02:00:00.005+10:00

You know when you're reading your weekly 'Grazia' Magazine and you're reading a story about how all these models and actresses were discovered in really mundane ways - ie: Kate Moss is discovered in an Airport, Naomi Campbell was discovered in a shopping mall, Chloe Sevigny is discovered sitting on some stairs...

(btw - how hard is it to discover these people really?? OMG a really beautiful lady! Everyone can stop looking, because I found her!!)

Anyway - today I was discovered.. I was in the kitchen making watermelon triangles.

Sometimes I think what would I do if I wanted a career change? Astronaut? the person who stretches out the intestine to make the proper tennis racquet's strings?? so many options.

Luckily I don't have to think anymore, because I am going to be a Hand Model... specifically the Wrist.

No one tells you this but its really hard being a hand model! aside from the pressure of having perfect hands (no more shooting heroin in between your fingers, no track marks up the arms, basically any blemishes on the wrist and I'm out! having to live in the Park and sleep under the warmth of a fox who I find in the bushes)

You may never have thought about it - but you are most likely picking up your plate wrong. Says Who!! you say, well the people who want to film you picking up a plate. All these years you've been slopping the plate around, no wonder it took 31 years to be discovered.

First your self esteem will take a beating - because you can't do anything right, Hey I have a degree!! But I can't even pick up a plate.. wow.. No one told me I should be practicing my Bone China skills.

Anyway - I got the hang of it, and now I am famous.

See that wrist. that is my wrist. See me picking up that plate. Perfection. Don't call me I'll call you. I'm at the club. In the VIP wrist section.

safe.

Ladytron.

2011-07-10T20:41:00.003+10:00

my favourite band at the moment is Ladytron. I want to be in Ladytron. I am buying a keyboard and some laser beams so I can form a one person Ladytron Tribute Band.

Ladytron played at the Kentish Town Forum on a Tuesday Night, and of course I was there. Yes you heard that right.. on a Tuesday Night. What kind of idiot put that schedule together??!

Everyone who was there to see Ladytron were mega Ladytron fans. And given that Ladytron play sic electronic beats combined with a darkness and harmony that no other comes close to - we all wanted to go OFFF!!!!!!!!!

But it was a Tuesday Night.. at 9.30pm.

So we all just kinda stood around bobbing our heads and swaying our knees from side to side.

They were SO good. But the crowd wanted the concert to be at 2am at the end of a festival closing it in the rain to the throngs of 20,000 screaming fans.

Instead we were in Kentish Town. and the curfew was 11pm. I feel sorry for all the people who took their drugs at 8pm and then had no where to go because even the coke heads and pingers are at home doing the laundry on a Tuesday night to get prepared for the coming weekend.

I love after the concert is over and listening to the other people talk about what they thought, and one person said this "Ladytron is a band's band. An appreciation band" - which basically means - I love this band, but I am too busy 'appreciating' them standing and listening to go ape-shit for them.

I did though. Me and the 4 people who I corralled together in my 'goin off' corner.

Destroy Everything You Touch

31

2011-07-10T20:39:00.006+10:00

I turned 31 yesterday. And so far.. 31 is pretty dang good. We went for a drive to the Norfolk Coast - officially my Favourite Place in England now. The Cotswolds have been replaced!

My birthday began by getting up early, and trying to dress myself after having a giant hangover the day before and needing a good days sleep. suffice to say, I kinda stuffed that part up. (we'll get to that a bit later) Dressed up and ready, we walked to the car and some homeless derelict gave me a good eye-ball rape and said something like "you lookin fine!!" then how he wanted to be Edward Scissorhands because then he would be draped across my body.. Thanks Random Weirdo!! Even a compliment from a mentally ill stranger helps sometimes..

Yeahhhh 31 and stil got it!!! Who needs a gym membership?!

Our drive was to the Norfolk Coast - takes about 3 hours, and we were fully prepared with an itinerary of everything the coast has to offer, such as Norfolk Lavender. They seriously go batshit for Lavender up here. Fields and Fields of Lavender. very pretty. If you are anything like me - it's not good enough to be around the lavender, you have to be in the lavender.

what I felt sorry for were all the old people, who probably get dragged out of their nursing homes to go see the Lavender on a weekly basis. It's a known fact that old people love Lavender -what better place to leave them in their wheelchairs than in the gravel in the lavender??

"yeah see in ya in 3 hours grandpa! enjoy that lavender" fucking ingrate children!! I bet he just wanted to go to the RSL and drink some beers and play KENO.

Upon leaving the lavender fields, you feel compelled to buy lavender, so we brought a couple of plants to plant in our window pots.. but some people get a little bit too wound up in the lavender hype - a lady who was before us in the queue brought about 15 plants. wtf are you going to do with 15 plants?! I imagine those bus drivers that do the Lavender Tour want to neck themselves every afternoon when they have to drive back to London with the stench of lavender permeating every cell in their body.

I loved it though. I am really just an 86 year old trapped in a 31 year old's body.

The rest of Norfolk Coast was picturesque beyond compare. Rolling Hills, and vast fields, and most importantly the beach. The Norfolk Beaches were amazing, had I not been wearing high heels I may have even wandered down to the waters edge and stuck my toe in (but I couldn't because I am idiot who can't dress herself)

We drove through cute village after cute village - where home made signs saying "Crabs! and Strawberries!" jut out at the road willing you to pull over (which we didn't - ensue argument how Mark is always crushing my dreams of having Crabs & Strawberries - together at last)

My entire goal of the day was to get into one of those beautiful rolling fields of hay, because I would look HOT in a rolling field of Hay. Every one we drove past we would slow down and scope out the place for access points "maybe if I scale that windmill?? nope, too obvious" until finally we found one where I was free to stumble all through some farmers immaculate field of livelihood.

Pretty.

The plus side being that even if the landowner saw me traipsing about in his field of wheat we could have easily explained ourselves, because I am 31!! I'm clearly not some delinquent hooligan who is out to destroy your crops for the purposes of a good photo. That would just be immature, and being in the age bracket of 30+ makes that impossible. Especially when you pose like you are taking a dump in their field.

Weezer Woo Woo What??

2011-07-10T20:07:00.002+10:00

I saw Weezer!!!!

I fucking love Weezer!!

I crank up my spotify account everyday and listen to the entire catalogue of Weezer, then I listen to the radiohead catalogue, then if I have enough time I go back to Weezer again. I used to stalk their fan sites, and official websites, and their gay myspace site (who uses that? oh yeah noone. and I just heard that Justin Timblerlake brought it and is going to revamp it - clearly his role in The Social Network went to his head. dick.) ANYWAY! I used to trawl through all these sites on a weekly basis looking for touring dates. Week after Week, nothing. A big empty NO UPCOMING TOURS on every page. Like a knife to my heart those words were.

Then obviously - for this story to move forward, I found out they were touring. London! So I brought tickets. Sooo exciting. You see - I don't think Weezer have ever put out a bad album. Even their latest album Hurley is amaze-balls. So I was super psyched about it.

Finally the night of Weezer at the Brixton Academy (one of my favourite venues)

SIDETRACK: The Brixton Academy is an amazing venue, it has a beautiful art deco interior, which is reminscent of Shakesphere's Globe - with many a balcony that you can imagine there being an actor booming out to the audience below for a performance of Hamlet. I can also totally imagine Prince playing here - and doing a 2011 Batdance Tour. Where he plays all his songs from the 1989 Batman Soundtrack - whilst dressed as Batman/Bruce Wayne/the Joker/Vicky Vale, and Parkouring from one balcony to the next. That would be a fricken awesome show!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I would pay way more than £30 to see that shit.

BACK TO THE STORY: Brixton Academy. Rocking it. Weezer come out and I am impressed to see they have made the effort to at least put some props on the stage (unlike Cyndi "no show" Lauper) A giant golden backdrop covers the stage and the words WEEZER jump out at the crowd. Oh yeah we know who we're here to see. We're here to see Weezer! Now hurry up already.

Their first song is 'The Sweater Song' classic. I love when a band plays a favourite first up. It's so annoying when you have to wait for the encore to hear the song that you came here to go mental to. Everyone goes nuts. Then every song after that was from either the Blue Album, The Green Album, and Pinkerton. So basically it was a concert for the Austisic Superfans.

I felt sorry for the people who weren't mega Weezer fans - because if you only knew the "hits" and songs from Hurley - then good luck singing along with anything.

The best part no 1: was when they did a cover of Wheatus' "Teenage Dirtbag" which I don't think half the crowd realised wasn't a Weezer song "Omg man I love this song!! I didn't realise the did this song!!" umm they don't.. I like to think that Weezer did it as a nod to all the idiots who think that they did do it - hey Wheatus starts with W - same shit right!

the best part no 2: after listening to 2 hours of the B-Sides of the Pinkerton Album, they did one final song for the night - and it was Radiohead's 'Paranoid Android'. Soooo awesome, and kinda made me wish I was at a Radioehead concert instead.

Now off to do a weekly check of every Radiohead website looking for tour dates! Persistence Pays Off!

In my head - they were better

2011-07-10T19:55:00.004+10:00

Ever since moving to London I see a lot of concerts. Everything costs £30.. Everything. It's so weird. So if it's £30 then fuck it - I'm gonna go see it. A few years ago a friend of mine said "we should go see Cyndi Lauper" whilst she was touring Sydney - and me being the giant cynic that I am - said "she is wayyy past it - who wants to see a 90 year old Cyndi Lauper prancing around on stage??"

Cue to 3 years later: Me. I do.

I brought tickets to see Cyndi Lauper (£30) - she was playing at the Hammersmith Apollo, and half my reasons for booking to see these acts is because I want to be in these mammoth buildings where countless legends have performed, so see if I can suck up some of their enzymes of awesomeness that are still somehow stuck in the walls. The Hammersmith Apollo is where it all happens. Johnny Cash's sweat, David Bowies eyeshadow remnants- these could still be here if I suck it up hard enough.

Oh and Cyndi Lauper too.. but she was shit.

I have to admit - that I wouldn't see Cyndi Lauper in Sydney, because I thought it would be disappointing.. I feel that acts try harder in London in because it has such a rich musical history, and let's face it - the crowd is judging you on this. This is how amazing I thought Cyndi would be:

more wrinkly, but also some fireworks, and maybe some 3D fireworks considering she is performing in the future (we are living in it).

Let's recap shall we:

Stage - none

Fireworks - none

Wrinkles - none - it must be hard to sing when your face doesn't move.

She performed on the blank Hammersmith Apollo stage on nothing but Black Plinths. seriously - I would have expected you to be better than that. No Glitter. No Lights. No Colour.

How can you sing True Colours if you don't even have any on the stage??

Oh yeah. She didn't

Boo You Cyndi!!!! You are only good if we can all get into a time machine and go back to the 80's when you mine.

Cooperation Mode

2011-06-15T04:26:00.005+10:00

If there is anything that is going to start your morning off kilter it's waking up to cat spew on the carpet... Why is it there? Why are you spewing on the carpet? I hope there is nothing seriously wrong with you because you keep spewing on the carpet.

MAJOR SIDETRACK: (we need to take Lenny to the vet to see what's up - and to be honest, every time we take Lenny to the vet they always tell us something like "oh he's going to need Braces" you know, something expensive and seemingly pointless for a Feline. I bet when we go they'll tell us they're giving Lenny some dentures and we'll have to keep his old man teeth in a glass jar next to the bed and start chewing his food up for him of a morning... bah!! I would do all those things you know - that is how much I love that cat. I also have to somehow get Lenny to the vet for this to happen and since we moved it's no longer a 5 minute walk to the vet, its a slog and a half! So I think we need a pram to push him there in. I say this because my neighbours leave their pram outside my front door all the time.. They would never suspect a thing "why would we steal your pram?? to push a cat to the vet?! preposterous!!")

BACK TO THE STORY: yeah, so, Catspew on the carpet just starts the day weirdly. Suffice it to say my brain checked out somewhere between scrubbing the catspew out of the carpet and packing my bag of things I would need for the day.

IDIOT MOMENT 1: I run to work. (not really) I TELL people that I run to work, but I actually stroll to work. I still end up with some boob sweat though, so it's not a complete waste of time. And because I don't want to sit all day in a puddle of stinky cold bra stench, I bring clothes that I change into at work. This scenario usually plays out alright. Except today I forgot my skirt and my bra. I had a pair of tights and a teeny weeny singlet - which would be great if I was going to work as a Ballerina, but as we have already been through - that was not the career move for me. Dumb!!! So I had to walk down to M&S all loose boobed and buy a bra that I had to wear out of the shop (the shop keeper knows you're an idiot who can't dress herself by this point)

IDIOT MOMENT 2: The Park. The Park is my nemesis. Even when I am overseas and not cleaning up catspew on carpet and my brain is functioning normally I can't navigate my through a park. It's like it goes into Green Mode and breaks down "everything looks the same!! can't.compute" Basically I figured I would change my route home tonight and take a "shortcut" through the park. HA! For some reason my brain thinks it is "smarter than the path"...

Brain Sees Likely Path: "I don't like the look of that path... let's go through these trees instead. Better."

So I ventured "off the path" so to speak.. yeahhhh that was stupid.

Go through the bush, and up on some enormous playing field having to dodge everyone's after-work social sports practice!!!!!!! Those area markings are really hard to spot. One minute you're walking in Kanye West Earphones Land, the next you're in the middle of a rugby match. Needless to say - I was the most loathed person on the field today. (even the nerdo asian eight year old's playing cricket were giving me the side-eye.. or maybe that was just their faces??)

Everyone hates me!!!!!!!!!!! and I hate this stupid park.

The more I walk the more lost I get... about 40 minutes later I see an exit and run to the sound of cars driving along asphalt!! Civilisation!!!! In my head I'm still on course, my brain and legs are cooperating and I'm going to get home any minute now.... and then I walk onto the road I walk down every single afternoon. So basically my afternoon shortcut looked like this:

DAMN YOU BRAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's the last time I listen to you in the Park I swear to god.

Woop Woop

2011-06-13T21:50:00.007+10:00

I love how Australians have such deep set colloquialisms that when we say them in different countries we don't think for two seconds that the person on the receiving end will have no idea what we are talking about..

I'm not even talking about lame sayings that Alf on Home & Away has put through the ringer making us a bigger bogan laughing stock than they already perceived us to be.. no I'm talking about words that are so ingrained in our psyche that we wouldn't pause for two seconds when immersed in a conversation because it wouldn't even cross our minds for a second that the other person is only going to return to us a blank stare, and eventually a 'what the hell are you talking about'

I'm talking bout Woop Woop.

Now any Australian knows immediately what I'm talkin bout when I say i'm talkin bout Woop Woop.

Now if you've never heard the term 'Woop Woop' I'll let you in on what it means: Woop Woop is a mystical destination. A destination that far outreaches our actual willingness to go to said destination. Calling something 'Woop Woop' means.. "that is too goddam far to travel to. I aint travellin to Woop Woop"

Woop Woop can be based on one's particular spatial awareness and thus the variances of distances pertaining to Woop Woop can change many times.

Me + Go Far Away = Not enough time spent slothing on couch in underpants eating Watermelon all afternoon. Probable Outcome = Not going to Woop Woop today.

Scenario: It is a lovely sunny weekend and the parents who live an hour and a half drive away want you to come visit for the afternoon. Your brain works out the variables of this time consuming equation: (Drive Far = Parents live in Woop Woop. Not going)

Scenario: Need to go to the giant shopping centre to purchase something trivial and boring (like some sort of TV cable) and there will be no fun to be had (like frozen yogurt and buying new bra). Outcome = that mall is in Woop Woop

Scenario: I am on the couch in sideways tv watching nap mode and I need a glass of Apple Juice. However I will choose to thirst to death because the refrigerator is in Woop Woop.

Woop Woop pertains to pretty much any distance of travel that one would choose not to travel.

The Moon however is not in Woop Woop because the Moon is awesome and I would go there in a second.

Howeva Ya Mum Lives in Woop Woop

Whinge Power

2011-06-08T21:36:00.005+10:00

You know when you're a kid (read - up to about 16 years of age) and you reallllllllllllly want something badly, like you won't be complete without it. These are some pointless things I moaned about wanting - my life would be pointless without them..

I wanted Popples. Badly. I didn't just want one or two either - I wanted every kind of Popple. They were the best stuffed toy ever!!!!!!!!!!! I mean, a toy that can turn itself inside out! and you can store things in its pouch - talk about a marsupial wonderland of polyester. I was way drunk on popples till I was about 10.. then they went into the plastic bag of eternal sadness.

I know what you're thinking - why would a 14 year old girl from Australia covet a pair of stupid ice hockey skates???! ummmmmmmmmmm A BOY obviously!! I mean why else?? we don't even have any ice to skate on in our sunburnt country. Just try riding a pair of ice-skates down a gravel road, talk about an incessant spark fest and face planting. DUMB! Of course I knew I would never win the heart of the ice rink heart-throb if I didn't have ice-skates.. so I whinged and moaned and made it my birthday and Christmas present.. and then he started going out with a girl called Collette and I never wore those dumb ice skates again. In the Cupboard to Dusty Heaven you go!!!!

To be honest - having a drum kit is probably the best thing I ever nagged my way into getting. Drum Kits are AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!! so much noise! Banging and Crashing, and playing along to 'wipe out'......... but you kinda need a band to go with that drum kit. The last time I checked there is no one out there doing a solo drum kit act at music festivals. No Bandmates = Lame Ass Pointless Drum Kit. So I sold it..for a guitar. But then my friends got some instruments, and we didn't have a drum kit anymore- instead we had two guitarists, and what kind of stupid band has no percussion section??!

And that is why I am not in a famous band.

the Killer Cucumbers

2011-06-02T21:43:00.004+10:00

Do you like salad?
Are you eating a salad right now?
Well put that shit DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Don't you know we are involved in a war? It's Humans vs Cucumbers. And the Cucumbers are winning. Not since the great Potato Famine of Ireland has the war of Humans vs Vegetables waged in favour of the Veg.

The Spanish Cucumbers are out to get you.

The Revolution is at hand. They are sick and tired of the fame hungry Tomatoes stealing all the limelight and they're not taking any prisoners.

To be honest - this isn't going to be funny just yet - because the Spanish Killer Cucumbers are still on the loose "too soon, too soon"... but maybe in about 6 months time.

I can't remember the last time I saw a BREAKING NEWS story about Cucumbers, and on BBC today that is all there is.. Stinks that it takes a Cucumber Killing Spree to get them some screentime, it's Cucumberist is what it is. They only want to run the bad stories about Cucumbers.. what about all the good things that Cucumbers do for us?? making potato salads better, and little tiny cucumber afternoon tea triangle sandwhiches.. You never see that on the news do you??

I feel bad that most likely the Cucumber Community will never recover from this, all it takes is a few bad Cucumbers to ruin it for everyone. I'm not lying when I say there is a cucumber in my fridge right now, and I am almost 90% certain, that when I get home my jewellery will be missing and my cat is going to be lying in a beaten pile of fur.... What do you do though??

We put all the Cucumbers in Cucumber Jail is what we do!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You'll Never Beat Me EL CUCUMBEROOOOOOOOOOOOO

Blarney Blarney Blarney Blarney

2011-05-31T19:26:00.008+10:00

Welcome to Ireland.

DAY 1: Dublin.
Personally I have never been into Guinness - but it is the national drink here and it seems rude not to drink it, so I order a Guinness 'Shandy' which is a revelation and the first time in Irish History that someone has ever asked for it. I make them name the drink after me: The Stouty Barrett.

Then we search all day for the Leprechaun Museum.

HA! We realise that the sign is a trick because there is no Leprechaun Museum.

DAY 2: Day of Fighting.
Basically when traveling with your partner it's just "fighting around the world". We hired a car to start our roadtrip and the fecking sat nav doesn't have any Dublin maps in it. AWESOME!!!!!! The Irish are against the English and also Roadsigns apparently.... a sign would be nice so we could navigate out of this stupid city.. Instead we drive around the city for about 2 hours bickering the whole time.

And because the bickering has already started we bicker all the way to our first stop KILKENNY. I mean once you're on a bickering roll it's hard to stop. We don't take any photos because "I don't particularly want to remember this moment Mark"... and come up with all sorts of creative slurs for the other person "I don't need to take the pill because I use your face as contraceptive"

Luckily we find a paper map and go old school 80's on it and find our way around the Olden Days Way. Now we can bicker over the map and slowing the car down so we can read roadsigns. We bicker all the way to Birr.

Now - I have a bone to pick with Lonely Planet. LP called 'Birr' a "quaint little village which has escaped the deluge of Tourists and kept its traditional roots" apparently it was a little gem that should not be missed. HA! Birr was such a piece of crap. There was ONE PUB and it was full of toothless old men. Every second shop was closed or boarded up. And the "castle" was a pile of grey rocks and it was also Closed. So we had ourselves in a little conundrum - because due to the glowing review of Birr in the LP guide we booked a night at a B&B.

So we went back, and decided to make up an elaborate lie about leaving our passports in Dublin and getting the fuck out of Birr. The fight was officially over - collaborating on lies against nice old ladies running B&B's will put an end to that. TEAMWORK!!

So we drove pretty much all the way across Ireland to get the stink of Birr off us and ended up in Ennis (Ennis - I swear). We also discovered that every restaurant in Ireland runs an Early Bird Special till 10pm (what kind of Bird is up that late?) and would gorge ourselves on delicious 3 course meals every night. I think I put on about 5 kilo's. The Irish know how to cook!

DAY 3: Bippity Boppity Do It Again.

We drive to the Cliffs of Moher and along the Irish Coastline.

Why is everyone now a national geographic photographer??

We make the best purchase thus far of the trip and decide to buy two Irish Music CD's to listen to in the car - Irish Folk Songs and Irish Drinking Songs. Now after about 6 hours of listening to Irish Music you realise that the formula is pretty easy - you just need to repeat the same thing 20 times: "put it in the hole. put it in the hole. put it in the hole. put it in the hole. and put it in the hole again"

Killarney Killarney Killarney
Very picturesque. Mountains. Waterfalls. Abbeys. Castles. Green.
I figure out there are about 45 varying shades of Green in Ireland.

Day 4: Getting back to my Roots in Cork.
We drive to Blarney Castle - and Mark kisses the Blarney Stone. HA! Sif you would - not after what happened to Shaun (say goodbye to ice-cream mark!!) Shaun kissed the Blarney stone and became Lactose Intolerant. Then we go drive down to our final destination on the trip - Cork. Which we have discovered by much information on coasters and keyrings that my ancestry name comes from Cork. It's good to be home!

I hate all sport equally. That is until I discover the game Hurling. OMG. talk about combining every sport around: Soccer/Rugby/Tennis/Hockey/Egg and Spoon Race. Plus Hurling has been around for 3000 years so all other games are just crappy knock-0ffs. Cork plays a grudge match against Tipperary and they lose! I am gutted that my home team loses. We Was Robbed!!!!!! It's nothing some Guinness Shandies and Irish Music can't fix though.

Now let's talk about our Cork B&B.... we arrive and are ushered to a room where they put a tv on, close the door and leave us with a giant pile of Scones and Cake. Now I am all for Scones - in fact I effing love scones! BUT it was pretty weird... are we allowed out of the room?? do we have to finish all the scones before they will check us in?? Is anyone coming to get us?? How long do we have to sit in this room for?? We did a reconnaissance mission out of the room and made them check us in.. and they decided to check us into a random house about 5 mins away from the B&B... "just follow me this way"........ out the door... onto the street... across the highway.... down this road... and into this house where the sign looks like this:

Perhaps we failed the B&B scone room test???? It's weird, It's random, It's definitely haunted. What is more is that the next morning we have to drag our bags back to the actual B&B for breakfast and to get in our car, and the breakfast room is full, so rather than waiting for a table to become available they go "just follow me this way" and once again lead us out of the B&B and into another house - take us to the back room where we sit alone in a kitchen. What the feck is with this place??? BUT the breakfast is amazing, and even though its the weirdest place I have ever stayed I would definitely go back.

At the end of our fist night in Ireland we make the biggest contribution to the trip and make up the game called 'Blarney'

Rules of Blarney:

When you score a goal - it's called a Blarney
When the game is tied it's called 'Blarney - Blarney' (1-1) 'Blarney Blarney Blarney Blarney' (2-2) and so forth.
The first person to get to 5 Blarney's gets a Blarney Castle and wins.
If you fail to say the score correctly 'Blarney Blarney Blarney Blarney Blarney Blarney Blarney Blarney' (4-4) you lose one Blarney.
If you score a goal and your coin goes off the table you have to go down and get it whilst the other team mates kick you.

We also found out that the best way to look good in a photo is to 'Say Blarney! Blarrrrrrrrrrney'

Blarney Blarney Blarney

STROGGLES FILMCLIP

2011-05-10T00:51:00.000+10:00

GARBAGE... I LOVE IT

ROGAINE COMMERCIAL.

2011-04-27T20:59:00.007+10:00

Poultry Awareness

2011-04-20T20:01:00.004+10:00

You know when you're cooking chicken, and if you're like me, you have no patience for cooking chicken. Chicken just seems so fucking touchy. Raw Chicken will bite you in the ass if you're not careful. It's its only recourse I suppose - after all the murdering.

Ooh don't let me touch anything else whilst uncooked? I'll kill you. Did you wipe down the bench after I touched it with my bare naked skin?? You better cook me properly otherwise you'll be sorrrrrrry.

I mean?? no other meat gives you quite as much shit as an uncooked chicken. I'm not stressing out when I'm cooking a slab of ribs on the BBQ, and hey the more blood on the steak the better in my opinion. But have just a slightly undercooked chicken for dinner and your whole meal is ruined!

My cooking style is "cookin on the fly" so I've got my potato salad happening on one end, and I'm making my cocktails on the other end, and the chicken is doing it's thing on the stove. But chickens need constant supervision, they are like needy 5 year olds. Much like the ocean, don't turn you back on raw chicken. I'm not really keeping a clock in my kitchen, so after everything else is done - I go back to the chicken and if it just feels right - it feels right you know??

Serve it all up, sit down for a nice meal, slice into that chicken bone, and fucking hell. Pink Meat.
Nothing ruins a good meal like staring into the abyss of hunger when you come across Pink Meat. What to do?? We can't just have potato salad and rum for dinner!! We aren't Pirates!! So we do the only thing we can do in this situation.

Live in Denial.

When you at first eat the pink meat you know what's in store for you. But it's a gamble everyone takes. And whilst you're eating it you're thinking one thing. Brain Parasites.

So I would like to bring you this song to teach people about what happens when you decide to eat raw chicken out of protest of being too lazy to go back and cook it properly..

Chicken Diarrhea and Parasites!
The Chicken Diarrhea and Parasites!
If you eat the raw chicken, your bowels will quicken.
With the Chicken Diarrhea and Parasites.

I also think it punitive to teach people the next lesson, is that if you eat raw chicken that has been marinating in Indian Spices this guy will come out..

HELLO I'M JOHNNY CASH.. CHICKEN

"And it Burns, Burns, Burns.. The Ring of Fire.. The Ring of Fire"

Educational Awareness.

Testical Face

2011-04-09T00:24:00.001+10:00

Art of Sandwich

2011-04-02T00:42:00.007+11:00

There are many times in life where skill is required... changing a car tyre, painting one's house, and making a sandwich. I suck at making sandwiches - which is unfortunate because lunchtime is traditionally a period of eating that is dominated by bread, and I don't know what I am doing when it comes to sandwich making.

I just have no creativity. This is why lunchtime is my least favourite of eating times. Breakfast is fine because bread can't be intimidating when it's morning time - the least amount of things you have on there is the goal. Bread + Vegemite = taste sensation.

But then stupid lunchtime rolls around and I am faced with doing something with the endless expanse of defeat on the bread highway.

I really think they should have a school where you learn important life skills like installing kitchen cabinets, changing tap washers, and making fucking amazing sandwiches.

Near my work there is a small Portuguese shop that sells all kinds of weird things, cans of drinks you've never seen before, chips with different languages on the packaging, it's fun being in there, I feel like I'm on holidays... they also happen to make the best sandwiches in the world.

However the one downside to this, is that they keep their magical bread skills locked up tight. No great sandwich is ever repeated. One day you trot down there and pick up your Tuesday Special sandwich and all of a sudden there is a medley of flavours exploding out of your mouth like a salami firework. You're standing there in the street in a windtunnel - stuffing the bread down your throat not stopping to drink or breathe and the only way to get the not chewed properly part of the sandwich out of your windpipe is with more sandwich. So Awesome.

You tell everyone "Hey Mum, I know this is long distance, it's 4 o'clock in the morning over there and this is costing me £20.. but!!!!!!!!!! I just had the most amazing sandwich! Ever!". The sad thing is that you'll never see that sandwich again. You go back the next day rubbernecking over everyone's shoulder to see if Magical Tuesday sandwich is making a Wednesday Encore.. only to be met with the endless metal tubs of ingredients. Sucks.

I don't know what I'm doing when I have to decide what to put on my own Sandwich, I can't even begin to describe the Tuesday sandwich - for one the guy who makes them must have some sort of genius sandwich autism - and he doesn't speak much English, and I don't speak Sandwich... so instead I just ask for Ham and Cheese Toasted. BORING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate not having sandwich skills. My only option would be to order TWO of the magical Tuesday sandwich, and inhale one, and whilst my eyes are watering from the porkestra happening in my mouth, I dissect sandwich number two and meticulously write down the ingredients and try to do it myself.

Doesn't seem right though - these are unearned skills. Trying to replicate the sandwich by force would be cheating, it's un-natural. Like trying to put in your own fillings with a chopstick and some blu-tac. Just because I have the tools don't mean I have the talent.

SANDWICH!

new material

2011-03-30T22:07:00.003+11:00

I have more stand up gigs booked - and whilst the routine I have tattooed onto my brain is good, I also think that I need more - so I am considering just doing a set called;

"Everything my husband does makes me want to punch him in the face. Including Breathing"

examples:

Using my towel and then lying about it. Umm it's wet and there is no one else around?? who else would it be??... we don't have a poltergeist who takes showers - even then the poltergeist would know about my strict MY TOWEL/YOUR TOWEL rule. Don't make me break out the skanky hard cardboard scratchy 'training towel' again just stick to your own towel!

Blaming me for hiding his clothes when he doesn't put his own clothes away. hey here's a novel idea! when the laundry is done - maybe put your own clothes away - otherwise I will put them away - and by away I mean stuffing them into the first available drawer I find - if this isn't good enough for you why don't you move into Buckingham Palace where you would have a real slave who will put your clothes away to your standards.

Being unable to sleep an entire night in a bed like a normal person. What's the point in having a bedroom with our bed if you are going to get out every morning and sleep in the spare bed?? or huddled up on the crampy couch?? Did the bed do something to offend you? This behaviour makes everyone feel bad - just stick to your side and lay still until the alarm says you can get up.

Knowingly walking past a stinky poo in the litter box... "oh Lenny must have just done that" ha! the old "Lenny just did that" excuse. Don't try to invoke the "I didn't see it" rule. I invented that rule.

Telling me every two seconds when we are lounging around eating our body weight in expensive imported Pizza Shapes and Burger Rings that you're "going to go the gym tomorrow" good for you! I'm not. Just let me eat 4 bowls of this stuff and shut up about the stupid gym.

Being a knobhead specifically when someone else is in earshot: ie - I tell you to turn the computer off when no one else is around and you turn the computer off - I tell you to turn the computer off when someone else is around and you go "don't tell me to turn the computer off!" who are you big-ing it up for?? just turn the computer off or I will turn it off.

Leaving the disgusting ring of saliva and toothpaste scum on the electric toothbrush holder.. why do I have to clean up all the disgusting things in the house??

Being a Hero when we go food shopping "I'll carry all the bags". seriously. do you think you are The Hulk or something?? Then getting one block down and asking me to carry the bags. We should just split the bags at the checkout.

Being obsessed with buying juice.. "just gonna go buy some juice" where does all the juice go?? Are you off selling juice at a self made juice stand or something?? and even when we just brought about 5 cartons of juice - we will go to the shop and you will be like "hmm do we have any juice at home?" ahh ya - about 500 litres of the shit. plus you buy rubbish flavours - you think you are the Juice King, but insist on buying things like 'tropical burst' flavour - that's not even a flavour. if you can't pick it from a tree it ain't a flavour. just sayin.

Emailing our landlord about everything "should I email Nigel about the vacuum??" I don't know? should you?? we have our own vacuum... then making me sit in the bedroom wrestling Lenny for 3 hours to keep him quiet, whilst you talk Nigel's ear off about vacuums, then we just stick it in the attic anyway because our vacuum is superior.

Having more than two coffee's and not shutting the hell up. If you are the type of fidgety person who can't sit still for two seconds nor stand a moment of comfortable silence, then maybe coffee shouldn't be the drink of choice for you?? maybe you should start chugging down all the juice you make us buy.

Purposely skidding up the bowl when I just cleaned it - and when I ask you not to skid up the bowl you get annoyed, like it's your right to skid up the bowl just because you have to go. Uncool.

Making me go clothes shopping with you even though I HATE going clothes shopping with you, and then asking me my opinion on 15 identical sweaters/jeans/shirts, buying it, then putting it in the cupboard and never wearing it because you "don't like it" and "I made you buy it"

You also do the washing up badly.

But don't die, because I would be sad. And only I am allowed to punch you in the face. If anyone else did it, I would punch them in their face - that is MY face. Only I can punch it. Get your own annoying face to punch.

PhD in Comedy

2011-03-22T20:48:00.003+11:00

Well - I am officially a Comedian. I have a certificate n all....Which means now when I'm having a conversation with someone and they start telling me "omg the funniest thing happened the other day" I can be the judge of that.. "actually it wasn't that funny. I know funny. I did a course in funny."

Over the past seven weeks I honed my Comedy Skills - trying out bits to my coven of classmate Comedians to test if it was funny or not...

Losing all bladder control.

Pretending to be robbed at the gym.

Any disgusting thing I could think of.

Then last Friday we had our showcase, it came around really quickly!! One minute I'm writing comedy routines in my comedy journal, then all of a sudden I'm gluing my fake eyelashes into my eyebrows trying to get ready for my debut performance.

The venue incidentally was sold out - to over a hundred people. I wasn't at all nervous until 30 seconds before I went on stage - maybe because my brain was like "this isn't really happening" but it was - and my teacher held onto my shoulders and whispered into my ear "allow them to laugh" and then I was shoved onto the stage blinded by the lights and under the gaze of hundreds of judgemental eyes.

Luckily - I nailed it. Every other time I had performed my routine to the group I would have mental blanks, or just not be funny and think to myself "why am I even here unfunny lady??" everyone else is so much funnier than me. Yet the crowd responded well - laughing in my carefully planned punchlines breaks, and giving me the slow clap for a well thought out simile.

I was so proud of everyone in my class - I think we all did amazingly. It was almost as though the show was just for us - because we had been through them 500 times with each other and could have recited verbatim each others routines. We had lots of in-jokes and I think our show was more professional with quality material than some of the rubbish I've seen in real comedy venues.

Of the 16 of us I know this is how I will remember them all and their comedy gems:

Richard - did a poo like the severed arm of a bear.

Ariel - we just fucked and now you owe me £600

Amy D - LUPUS!!! not in the showcase routine, but at least I got to hear it.

Amy C - raised by mice.

Paul H - I knew a black guy once.

James - Greater London is.... better.

Charles - One day you'll want to tile your bathroom.. No I won't (yellow pages gag)

George - YOU FUCKING MAN UNITED!!

Carly - it's a shed.

Leanne - moisturising her pubes for half an hour. HA!

Caroline - hates lifts.

Paul H2 - door handles. not that hard to work out.

Andy - dad ran off with a lady with multiple sclerosis.

Matt - You can take the boy out of Essex, but you can't... Essex. You can take the Essex.... Essex.

Ramsey - Fake Vaginas.

And this was me:

Didn't even need to look at it. Totes Professionalism.

Get out the Good Cheds

2011-03-11T09:35:00.004+11:00

Since moving to London I have gone without a lot of things. Sunshine, Nasal Twangs, and Cheds!

Seriously is anything better than Cheds??

(its hard to picture the awesome-ness oozing off the box)

It's been 15 months and I cracked and went to the Saddest Place on Earth - aka: The Australia Shop.

The Australia Shop is this sad place in Covent Garden that caters for Australians living overseas who get a hankerin for some homestyle preservatives. And it's sad because when you decide you have to go to the Australia shop to get your fix, you have desperation coming out of every orifice. They know this and they are going to take you for every pretty penny.

The Australia Shop is dimly lit, exorbitant prices, everything going out of date within the month, and loads of random Canadian and NZ things that have somehow snuck in (can't the stockist read the sign?? its the Straya Shop!!!) The aisles are brimming with all sorts of awesome shit you've forgotten about: ie - Summer Rolls, Pizza Shapes and Cheds. How the fuck could I have forgotten about Cheds??

Needless to say we dropped an offensive amount of money, and walked out of there with a bag full to brim with Australian-ness cupboard snacks.

Which now poses the question - what sort of occasion is good enough to get the Cheds out?? I think the only acceptable occasion is Kate Middleton's hens night, I'll be invited of course, because I am exotic and I bring the Cheds.

I need some Cristal to wash down this cheesey greatness.

Steggles!

2011-03-02T06:24:00.009+11:00

One great thing about being an Australian in London is keeping all kinds of crazy myths alive about life back home, ie - spiders, riding kangaroos to school, living in mudhuts, basically perpetuating the myth that we are an under evolved species who are one generation away from cave-folk... "yehah! we don't have innernetwatsits.. we just chuck that dang boomerang and sees what the reply is when it comes back, hyuck!"

Basically lying about everything back home is my favourite past time. Down there we have two moons! And in the winter all the sheep lie down on their backs and all their wools falls off and that's how we make the warm socks!

So anyway, I was at this party with some typical Londoners enthralling them with stories of home. This is where I made up the Steggles Story.

Did you know...

Back in the 80's there was this huge scandal in Australia relating to Steggles Chickens, they were putting way too many hormones in them, so that a whole generation of working class families were raising children who were eating too much Steggles chicken and growing huge breasts - and specifically Man Boobs on boys.

The result being that the slur "Steggles!!!!!!!" could be heard ringing through the playground whenever a child would run past with a bounce in their front section.

There was no greater insult than to call someone Steggles back then, because it implied your family couldn't afford genetically non-modified chicken, and that you had Moobs and that's just weird. No one wants to be friends with the 10 year old with Moobs. Plus no girl wants to be known as being overly sexually developed at a young age due to Chicken Steroids, so the slur worked for both sexes.

This story had everything - facts of Australian life, chicken hormones, and a new racial slur to the ever open ears of the British youth.

I thought it was funny anyway.

Then today the guy I told the story to tells me how his friend from Australia visited him recently and when they met up he shouted across the street "Steggles!!!!!!!!" and his friend was clearly confused "why are you calling me Steggles??" "you know! the chicken hormones! the playground. man boobs! Steggles!!!"

Whilst he had clearly heard of Steggles the new terminology and imagery it invoked was something new all together.

I think I just created an Australian based urban legend.

Jennifer Aniston's Anthem

2011-02-14T19:53:00.004+11:00

Please first refer to this Dolly Parton song and picture Jennifer Aniston singing it with these lyrics:

Angelina Jolie, Jolie, Jolie, Jolie
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Angelina Jolie, Jolie, Jolie, Jolie
Please don't take Brad Pitt just because you can
Your beauty is beyond compare
With vials of blood and jet black hair
With ivory skin and an adopted Chinese.
You make men go weak at the knees

I’ll always be seen as Rachel Green,

And I cannot compete with you, Angelina Jolie

In Friends I play the girl next door,

You solved crimes in The Bone Collector,

You were smoking hot in Alexsander, Angelina Jolie.

You’ve already won an Academy Award

Your sexual preferences have been explored,

But Brad Pitt likes getting stoned with me, Angelina Jolie

Angelina Jolie, Jolie, Jolie, Jolie

I’m begging of you please don't take Brad Pitt from me
Angelina Jolie. Jolie, Jolie, Jolie

Please don’t take him just because you can

In Gia you got your tits out,

And I just want to scream and shout

I could have 50 adopted kids if I wanted to, Angelina Jolie

In Tomb Raider your tits were huge,

Why don’t you move to Cameroon?

Mr & Mrs Smith was shit. Angelina Jolie

Angelina Jolie. Jolie, Jolie, Jolie

I’m begging of you please don't take Brad Pitt from me
Angelina Jolie. Jolie, Jolie, Jolie

Please don’t take him just because you can

Poo in the Hallway

2011-02-10T20:41:00.004+11:00

Last night I'm out at after work drinks and I get this text from Mark:

"Lenny pooed on the floor"

Normally this wouldn't be a problem, you get home, there's a poo on the floor, you pick it up, sniff it, lick it, take a bite out of it and ask "hey mark, is this poo??"

But this was no ordinary night, they were doing a house inspection for prospective buyers of the flat, and there in the hallway would have been the unspoken nugget.

I quickly texted Mark back:

"I hope they don't think it was us"

I don't know what is worse, them thinking we shit in the hallway - or that we are happy to live with shit in the hallway. Plus it was right in the doorway when you walk in, so the real estate guy and the buyer would have opened the door to a nugget and them presumably stepped over it and pretended it didn't exist. But how can you pretend a poo doesn't exist. It's right there and everyone knows its poop.

I think Mark and I should embrace the Nugget and start calling ourselves Cletis and Jolene.

Start hanging out tampons on the curtain railing: "Them's for recycling"

Irrational Hatefest

2011-02-09T01:57:00.006+11:00

Hey who wants to talk about Periods?!?!

I don't know about you but my periods literally sneak up on me during the night. And if you have a ballsack right now can you please go and mash it in between two boulders - that would be awesome. thanks.

Anyway - back to me and my bleeding uterus... like I said my periods sneak up on me in the night, I'll wake up giving birth to a blood baby and then it all falls into place...

I wanted to scratch Mark's face off earlier - now I know why.
I called my boss a cunt and slammed the phone down on him - that makes sense now.

But right now I'm all covered in blood and I have to sort that out and it's at 3am that my week long hate fest against everything that breathes begins. Actually it's already begun, I'm just too wrapped up in my anger to realise.

I'm walking to work and these are the people I want to kill and it's not even 9am:

The group of knobs who spread out across the whole footpath - hey I get that there are four of you in your stupid little group, but is it necessary to walk in a straight line across the entire footpath!!!!!!!!!!!!! Don't make me walk in the gutter assholes!

The guy who just had to run onto the tube and steal the seat I was heading towards, that was my seat! If eyeballs could burn a hole in someones head your brain would be on public display right now.

and as the day progresses my kill list grows ever longer:

Pretty much everyone I work with. Your music sucks. Your food stinks. Stop going on about things that happened on Friday. Stop watching sport next to me. Stop breathing so loud.

Mark. Erghh. Everything you are doing right now is annoying. knowing you exist is annoying me. I am thinking up annoying things you did weeks ago and getting re-annoyed at you. Expect lots of nonsensical arguments about things I have been stewing over for months. Do you remember that time you asked me one too many times if I wanted to see that movie 'Rabbit Hole' with Nicole Kidman? Well I don't!!!!!! I don't want the movie 'Rabbit Hole' mentioned to me ever again! What is your stupid fascination with that movie, it's like every time we go past a poster in the tube you go "hey do you want to see that movie Rabbit Hole? it's supposed to be awesome" It won't be awesome. It will be awful. Don't speak to me about 'Rabbit Hole'

Wow.

Even inanimate objects are annoying: Oyster Card, do not tell me to seek assistance. YOU seek assistance you blue piece of crap.

Walking up Ladbroke Grove I give the drug dealers and gangbangers dagger eyes so even they would be too scared to mug me.

Before I go to bed my quilt annoys me for being too big, smelling funny and being itchy. Lenny annoys me because he must love the smell of period and won't leave me alone. And once again Mark is annoying me through his sheer existence.

I'm surprised more women don't end up in Prison. Unless "my period made me do it" is an understood excuse for getting out of stabbing people in the head.

Free = Diseased

2011-02-07T22:42:00.004+11:00

I live in Ladbroke Grove and about 90% of my weekends are spent trawling around the markets on Portobello Road. I try to escape it, but when its all outside my door I find it hard to get any further than Notting Hill Gate, by that time I have accumulated some hairy jumpers, a teapot, some baklava, and a painting of cats, so then I have to turn around and go home to recuperate.

I love 2nd hand junk. I just go mental for it. Which brings me to the point of this story: if people love 2nd hand junk - why don't they love free junk??

I have mentioned before my love of The Inn on the Green - the meeting place of Method Steve, and various other shenanigans. The Inn on the Green is like no other place in London that I have been before, and when you bring new people into its crazy realm, you can be sure to have some explaining to do.

Saturday night I took some newbs in for the experience, and I'm sure that deep down. deep deep down - they loved it.

First of all there was a musical memorial wake in memory of a dead guy who may or may not have been in a band - but luckily his brother who was clearly in the midst of a mental breakdown - was. Let me just paint the scene - the guitarist who was the main performer in the wake was wearing; fluffy white slipper boots, hair scrunchies on his arms, christmas decoration bracelets and a cat toy on his head like a hat.

so pretty much channelling Dr Seuss, if Dr Seuss was in the midst of a personal breakdown and been smoking Meth for 2 straight weeks.

Then came the singing: "merrrhhhhnnerrrr brother.. and herrrrrrurgggg sleeping in his cot mummbrleeeeeeeee SHHHHHHHHHHH SHHHHHHHH, ok i'm try that again in D"

Brillant. Best Funeral I've ever been to, and the night kept getting better.

One thing that is at the heart of the Inn on the Green, is that it's a community place, everyone from every walk of life goes there and is welcomed and doesn't stir shit with anyone. It's a place where you can safely walk around with a cat toy on your head without anyone giving you a side-eye.

So it really didn't surprise me when I saw a rack of clothes with a sign saying "LOST AND FOUND CLEARANCE - TAKE WHAT YOU WANT". Friggen Awesome.

I have this recurring dream where I am in a shopping centre and I've been told I can take anything I want and I go into a meltdown because I have too much to choose from and I wake up diving into a pool of clothes and accessories.

This was exactly like that. My dream had finally come to fruition!!!!!!!!!! except instead of really nice clothes from a designer emporium, it was old smelly clothes left behind by drug addicts. Wooooo Hooooooooo! Score.

I found a pair of glittery underpants (mark wouldn't let me take them, even though I did a thorough check for discharge) and this really cool Fred Flinstone vest, which I had to take off when I realised that the vest stunk of nuclear BO and I continued to stink the rest of the night as though he BO molecules had transferred themselves in solid form to my body. But aside from the free undies and BO vest there were some really good finds on that rack.

In the end I decided to go for a scarf, and two cardigans.. My friend also picked up a cardigan and sat in it for about an hour before she started feeling "feverish".. she blamed it on the cardigan and threw it to the ground. I have never heard of a cardigan giving you AIDS before but there was a tense few minutes when both of us thought we may have been infected for life from the free knitted goods we had claimed for our own.

I persisted however and ran home with my free junk to put into the washing machine - knowing that if I at least washed the clothes they would be less likely to kill me with their germs the next day.

And here I come to my point: why - just because something is free, do we think it's going to kill us?? The Inn on the Green also give away free nuts, crisps, chicken wings and samosas... yet no one wanted to go anywhere near them?? why?? I ate about 2 plates of nuts and lived to tell the tale, I wasn't allowed to eat the chicken wings. I don't understand?? what could the Inn on the Green ever get out of serving up poison nuts and chicken wings and giving out free Aids Jumpers?? You're not gonna get repeat service pulling pranks like that. Pretty much all the clothes I buy at Portobello Markets are comparable to the free junk I took home that night - and I don't worry about any of them giving me sleeve herpes. transference of money for clothes = no diseases, apparently.

I have since washed my free cardigans and scarf and am yet to wear them, that is if they are still at home and haven't robbed me - forming a rope out of each other and stealing my laptop and stereo and slithering slowly down the street.

WOO HOO FREE SHIT!!

School of Ha

2011-02-04T22:55:00.004+11:00

Over the years of writing this blog people have written to me or commented saying I should take this blog on the road and become a stand up comedienne. For most of those years I thought "ha! no way, are you kidding? I'd rather stick 15 suppositories up my bum"

Except now I'm actually doing it, and the suppositories might come in handy. I had my first class last night in learning the art of doing stand up comedy, and it's a very serious business, very very serious. I don't think I have ever freaked out so much in my life. I was so scared a little wee came out.

The whole time I was there my brain was empty. I had to introduce myself and say why I was there? I had no idea what I was going on about, and neither apparently did my teacher. Awkward. Off to a great start.

Why was I there?? to turn my blog into a real life train wreck for people to walk away from shaking their heads going "wtf was that all about??"

My teacher said we'd be stripping ourselves down to the core, that we'd be confronted with a reflection of ourselves and we might not like what we find out. Great. I've always wanted to plunder the depths of my own self loathing to put on display for the world to poke a stick at.

When the time came to actually stand in front of my equally scared shitless posse, my legs felt like they were going to give out under me and it would be like that scene in the Black Swan where my knees are pointing out the back of my legs. I truly thanked god for remembering to do my kegel muscle exercises which gave me the strength to keep my bladder from emptying itself out of sheer fright and peeing myself in front of everybody. At least that would have been a good opener.

I'm sure next week it will be easier - I won't have to worry about censoring my inner retard who says the dumbest things at inopportune moments - that part of myself that is in its own way slowly sabotaging my life so that at the end of the day being a stand up comedienne and being a spaz is the only thing left that I can do with all my heart.

Next week I'll bring out the real me. The real me who is standing around picking out my in-grown pubes and squeezing my fanny scabs... ooh yeah I'm standing around picking out my in-grown pubes and squeezing my fanny scabs. Standing around and picking out my in-grown pubes and squeezing my fanny scabs. alll day looong.

The Cat is out of the Bag

2011-01-26T23:53:00.006+11:00

Only this could happen to us..

So, they are selling our apartment, and we have to move. In order to sell the apartment they needed to send over a professional photographer to take some pics for the real estate website.

They did a good job.

This is where the magic happens:

this is where I make pasta and dance:

and this is our loungeroom:

pretty nice huh! do we know how to decorate an apartment or what? what a minute... slow up a second - what is that??? is that a cat??????????

(cat-hance)

oooooooooh hey Lenman!! What are you doing there?? Aren't you supposed to be in Sydney?? ie: not in London?? because we aren't supposed to have a cat in London.

Hilarious. Lenny is global world wide famous now. And NO he doesn't come with the apartment.

He's a "ghost cat" if anyone asks. You pay extra for Ghost Cats in London.

OCD Jobs.

2011-01-25T22:42:00.004+11:00

I wish I was in a position to visit a school and give one of those "this is what you can be when you grow up talks" on Career Day. I don't remember ever having one of those talks when I was at school - maybe if I did I might have learned to hone my niche market skills, because that is what no one tells you about: Niche Markets.

Things you could be if you were kinda autistic in an OCD way:

STRETCHY CHEESE GUY:

You know those Pizza Commercials - when they pull out to the hero shot of a slice of pizza being pulled apart from the rest - that shot of the stretchy cheese is some guy's job. That guy gets paid a lot of money to make cheese look good. It's probably not even cheese - but some magic compound that he's come up with in his cheese laboratory to make cheese look all the more tantalising and cheesey. Works every time. Just looking at that stretchy cheese makes me want to order a pizza.

HAIR SWISH MAN:

You know those Shampoo ads - where some model with amazing hair swishes it about and you think to yourself "I should buy that shampoo - her hair looks amazing"... There is a guy who "invented" the hair swish technique - He gets flown around the world with his green stick that he sticks into the hair and then pulls it out to make the hair look good. He gets paid a lot.

Other weird things that I have come across are people whose job it is to go through a cat food packet and pick out the best bits. Disgusting. I wonder at what stage in these people's lives do they realise that they are really really good at making random things look good. Have you been sitting around with 500 pizzas pulling pizza slices and a friend leans over and says "you do that soooo well - you could seriously get a job being a professional pizza slice puller"

There are niche markets out there for everybody - I could be the person whose job it is to make the rug look nice - crawling around on my hands and knees pulling stray fibres and obsessively rubbing out any stains.

Parlez-Vous Français? non!

2011-01-24T21:40:00.003+11:00

One of the best things about living in London is being able to escape to another country for a quick weekend getaway. This weekend we went to Paris to see the Jean-Michel Basquiat Retrospective (so awesome). Everything else after that was a mere bonus.

Unfortunately we don't speak French, not like the infantile way we can speak Italian. Sure we can say the basic things like "hello/goodbye/please/thank you" (and someone taught me how to say "blowjob" the night before) but everything after that is just gibberish to me.

They don't like it.

In Italy you can get away with speaking pathetic Italian and eventually through a mime dance of sign language and arm waving you can come to the same conclusion. In Paris however they just roll their eyes at you. We walked into a bar and asked in our infantile french for a table for 2 (success) then the waiter started talking to us asking if we wanted a table near the window/a drinks menu (this is my guess) and all we can do is stand there with our mouths open catching flies going "duuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" no wonder they hate us.

Note to self: Learn French!!

They also either hated the way I was dressed/or they really loved it. To be honest - it wasn't anything outrageous. It was just a fluffy skirt under a jacket:

Now I don't take any notice of people taking notice of me - I just walk around and do my thing - but Mark however was like "everyone is staring at you" apparently they would walk past and then turn around and do a double take.

Haven't you ever seen a fluffy skirt before?? I thought this was Paris!!!!!!!! Not Bowral.

They must have thought I was some sort of Moulin Rouge Escapee - who bears a striking resemblance to a prostitute who was arrested in an assassination attempt on the French President. Good.. Exactly the look I was going for.

prostituée??? Oui.

The rest of the time was spent eating raw steak/drinking crazy cocktails and looking for garbage bins to dance in for the upcoming Stroggles new release track. Unfortunately Paris is a very clean city so finding a pile of garbage was difficult. Not like Ladbroke Grove!! It was good to get home and wander down our street marvelling at all the piles of garbage we could have jumped in.

j'aime des ordures

I don't wanna be a Ballerina

2011-01-21T23:07:00.004+11:00

I never had a hobby growing up. Which probably explains the extreme lack of direction in my life at all times. Without a hobby, you have no purpose in life, and without a purpose in life you're just a loser in a fake moustache:

That's not to say I didn't have hobbies thrust upon me. So I guess you could say my Hobbies are getting out of having a Hobby.

Girl Guides: When I was about 11 my mum tried to make me join Girl Guides.. they were going to come to my house to give me a little speech about how great the Girl Guides would be. I anxiously awaited their arrival. In my head joining Girl Guides would be the equivalent of being in a Mission Impossible movie - jumping out of planes, solving international crimes, abseiling down sky scrapers.. so it was to my great dismay when two fat chicks dressed in beige and green showed up at my door. Pffffft. I have no interest in your arts and crafts patches. If I wanted to go out and identify sticks I'd be a stick insect. LAME. Suffice to say I never went to one Girl Guide meeting... who knows the type of person I'd be today if I had gone??? For one I'd probably be able to navigate my way through a Park and not come out in the middle of the Ghetto every time we visit a new city.

Another misguided attempt at thrusting a hobby upon me was the hugely unsuccessful Ballerina period... with all the hype surrounding the Black Swan I've been having major flashbacks to my career stint as a Ballerina.... aka: my 2 day stint as a Ballerina. First of all, I would have never been able to carve myself a proper career as a Ballerina - I was probably too tall for that in the fifth grade. Luckily I wasn't introduced to it till the fourth.

Out of Nowhere: "hey you're going to Ballet classes tomorrow.." .. "I'm going where in the what now??"

The problem being that when these hobbies were put upon me they were put upon me in a half arsed way.. and the main hurdle is that Ballet is not a half arsed hobby - there are things you need. You need ballerina clothes, you need ballerina shoes, and mostly you need a vested interest in being a ballerina. I had none of these things.

When I started my Ballet course I started mid way through... I had to do it in a tracksuit whilst all the other girls did it in pretty tutu's and tights, and I had to participate in their stupid ballet routine that they had all been practicing for months. Knowing not one of the steps was an obvious obstacle. That was my first day.

On the second day I went there was an exam. That's right a fucking Ballet exam. Up to this point my knowledge of Ballet was the 45 mins I spent grimacing through the day before, how the heck am I supposed to write down what a Pliè is?? I don't even know how to pronounce Pliè. Fuck you and your Pliè.

After the traumatising mess that was my pathetic 100% wrong Ballet exam, I went outside to think over my options... I could either continue the humiliation of dancing through ballet in tracksuit pants being the retard of the group who can't do anything.. or I could put an end to it all.

So I did just that... and scaled a wall and jumped off into a pile of gravel.

I landed on my leg, cut myself up good and had a huge gash on my knee that bled profusely until someone came to pick me up. No one ever asked me why I scaled a wall to jump into a pile of gravel, I guess people don't want to delve into those sorts of childhood disturbances.

Suffice to say - I never went to another Ballet class, nor was anything else ever offered to me as a way to occupy my mind. Everything after that revolved around me sitting in my room reading Babysitters Club and wishing I had five friends to make a club with.. or a friend... But hey! who needs friends when you've got the internet??? wooo grown ups!!!

I Hate Snails

2011-01-19T21:21:00.005+11:00

This could quite possibly be my earliest childhood memory, or just my first memory of my hatred of snails. I know it must have been early in my life because there were mustard and brown striped curtains hanging in the lounge room, and if that doesn't scream 80's lounge room decoration I don't know what does.

Anyway - so I'm in this person's house with the bad tonal 80's curtains and probably matching brown carpet and matching brown couch (who was it that decided that the hue of the 80's would be poo brown???) and because I am a kid and kids are annoying they sent me outside to play with the Hills Hoist.

(hours of fun)

To be honest, a Hills Hoist can be fun - when you're swinging around on it and trying to fly.. for 15 minutes, then you get massive blisters on your hands and it ceases to be fun. This is when I noticed the army of encroaching snails that had completely cornered me and in my child's mind - were going to be the death of me.

Let me just make it clear. It wasn't just one or two snails surrounding me, it was about 200 snails. Snails might move slowly, but I looking back I think that is part of their game plan - they move so slowly that you don't notice them until you are up to your eyeballs in snails and are like "wtf did all these snails come from??"

I was too petrified to move. The snails had me cornered and they knew it. I just stood under the Hills Hoist screaming for someone to come and rescue me, but because I'm a kid and no one listens to kids so they just let me scream my petrified screams without taking any notice of me. I think eventually someone did stick their head out into the yard and saw me standing in a petrified motionless screaming state and told me to shut up and deal with the damn snails, because no one was going to come and rescue me and I would have to get out of the garden by myself.

Cunts.

How hard would it have been to walk over and rescue me? 10 seconds and you would have saved me a lifetime of emotional trauma related to snail phobia.

I eventually did get up the courage to escape from the labyrinth of snails, taking tiny steps and trying to desperately avoid stepping on one, because I was shoe-less and there is nothing worse than standing on a snail with bare feet.

I long for a world where all the grounds are salted and the invading snail army dies a tragic death and little girls are free to play in gardens under the stinkin Hills Hoist without the repercussions of tiny slimy alien grossness.

I hate snails.

Eviction Den

2011-01-15T09:08:00.002+11:00

I have always had some form of furniture re-arranging OCD. My surroundings have to be perfect, otherwise I just don't feel comfortable. I could sit and re-organise m DVD collection, and alphabetise my books, and move couches around all day long. Then you have to consider the artwork on the walls and the rugs on the floors and the lighting scheme - dimmer switches, lamps with low wattage bulbs. It usually takes me about a year to get an apartment looking perfect - because every space is different and you need to work the room for all its advantages.

This is why it was hard to leave Sydney to move to London, Our apartment was perfect. The couch, the art, the bookshelf, the rug, the shoe rack, the wardrobe, the quilt cover. 5 years of perfection..... then we moved. The prospect of having to start from scratch was one of the main things that was freaking me out about moving... "but I just got it all exactly the way I want it!!!! I can't move now!"

But we did.. and the most stressful part of the move was finding our apartment. Which when we did was an excellent choice.... but yes, we did have to start from scratch making it nice again and 13 months later I was finally able to settle down my my chair and look around the place and think "yessssss. its perfect. let's never move"

Which is really fucking annoying because 1 week after this moment, the landlord evicted us.

You don't even understand my rage. But I have come up with a new plan to lesson the pain of looking for a new place.

Which essentially means turning my current apartment into a cracken, and you know what - it's fucking liberating!!!

first step is to put away all the nice knick knacks/photo's/books/meaningful possessions - put them in box and hide them away.. once you can disassociate from your possessions you can deal with anything in your personal space.

I think over the coming weeks we'll crank it up a notch - move the mattress into the lounge room. letting Lenny shit on the floor...eating pasta from plastic plates on the ground and leaving them there to rot.

The funniest part of this segue into madness, is that we are having real estate agents come over and show prospective buyers the place, so it will be funny to move our bookcase into the shower and start sleeping in the kitchen with a bike on our mattress.

"what?? don't judge me for using my couch as a bbq to cook lamb chops.. racist"

SALT the Sequel

2011-01-11T19:57:00.003+11:00

Watched 'SALT' last night, well that is to say I sat and ignored it, because it's a pile of shit, but Mark wanted to watch it - it is your typical Angelina Jolie flick;

Angelina wears a blonde wig
Angelina wears a black wig
Angelina gets wet
Angelina lands on a train

I would like to pitch these sequels:

CHICKEN SALT: Angelina goes undercover in China to discover spies.
SEA SALT: Angelina goes underwater to discover spies and swim with fish.
CELERY SALT: Angelina appears in an art nouveau film that is shot and black and white and there are no spies, but she meets a magician who has a hot air balloon that won't fly.
SALT & PEPPER: Angelina gets a sidekick - they solve crimes and crack wise ass jokes. Then they have sex.
SALT & VINEGAR: Angelina's sidekick betrays her and she has to kill him.
SALT & PEPPER SQUID: Angelina goes undercover in the Caribbean and tries to join Capt Jack Sparrow on his Pirate ship.
TABLE SALT: Angelina has to give up the spy game to be a stay at home mum and look after her niece whilst her sister in is rehab.
ROCK SALT: Angelina joins an all girl band to travel the world finding spies and playing mind control music to kill the president.
SALTY NUTS: Angelina goes undercover in an Italian Mental Institution to find Russian spies.

Typical. Magical Brain Powers.

2011-01-11T07:30:00.002+11:00

There is something weird going on... It's like my thoughts and words have the powers to invoke actual real life revelations of opposite world.

CASE POINT 1: Mark and I are cooking in the kitchen and smugly congratulating ourselves on the fact that we have never had a bug or rodent in our house ever. Cue: The Next Night.... 2am stepping on mouse guts in the hallway.. now i'm giving every nook the side eye and cleaning crumbs up like a robot hoover with hands.

CASE POINT 2: It's Sunday, we're wandering around Notting Hill/Ladbroke Grove contemplating moving apartments and we're like "Fuck that! Hell No! I love this area! We would be crazy to move!!"...... 3 hours later - we're sitting on the couch and our landlord emails us to say we have to move within 2 months.

What the whaaaaaaaaaat?

I have magical powers to harness the things I say I don't want. Perhaps one can weild this power for gain??

I reallly realllly hope that noone reads this blog and my blog doesn't become famous and I end up with a book deal and someone makes a movie of my life and Anna Faris stars as me and we hang out on set together whilst James Franco plays the role of Mark. I really hope that never happens, that would be the worst.

I wish I could get really fat. I'm talking really really fat, like needing an army helicopter to rescue you from your house and a tank to deliver you to do the morgue fat. I would hate to be skinny with big boobs and perfect skin, I think that would be awful. Who wants that?? not me.

I really hope its hard to find an apartment. I mean takes forever... and that Foxtons are just more retarded than usual. Foxtons are without a doubt the dumbest real estate agents I have ever dealt with - they try and hide their stupid knobness by driving Mini Cooper's and handing out the free cokes, but seriously they are dumb. Example:

Me: "I don't want to look at any places on the ground floor"
Foxtons Idiot then proceeds to show me 3 ground floor places.
Me: "I won't pay more than 400 for a place"
Foxtons Idiot shows me places around the 600 mark.

ummmmm yeah, where do you guys get your real estate trading license from?? jpegs off the internet? right click. save. now I am a real estate agent. wtf!!

The guy today was so stupid he took me an apartment block (I specified no apartment blocks) which had about 500 apartments in it, and it was such a maze that he couldn't even find the apartment. I spent half an hour wandering around some crackden Aids block resembling the Overlook Hotel from the Shining and he couldn't even find the place!!!!!!!!! 'Ken Tard.

Really really not looking forward to moving. Moving to me is the equivalent of being pregnant for 9 months and then finding out you actually have to give birth to a big ugly suede chair that you have no use for and never wanted, and it's coming out sideways and you have to do it in the gutter because no hospital wants you and your stupid chairbaby.

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Big in Sweden

2011-01-11T00:46:00.001+11:00

Yeah i'm writing for a Swedish Magazine..
I am channelling my inner swede by wearing chef hats and making pasta.

Babymouse Killer....

2011-01-06T20:10:00.003+11:00

(to the tune of Paperback Writer)
I've been in the hammock for about a week,
and I've seen a mouse where you take a leak.
I'll catch it for you if you really like,
I'll bash it brains in for you overnight.
Cos i'm a Babymouse Killer........ (Babymouse Killer!!!!!)

Picture this: it's 2am, and you're stumbling down the hallway to take a pee in the darkness, then all of a sudden KRICCHHH.. you stand on something... It feels crunchy and weird. You turn on the bathroom light and see that you've stood on the rigor mortis carcass of a dead mouse with it's brains ripped out.

Nice one Lenman!

I guess the important thing is that Lenny caught the mouse at all. Who would have thought he had it in him to be a babymouse killer?? Who'd have thought he would get out of the cat hammock for two seconds and become the Babymouse Killer?

My dilemma though was weather or not to tell Mark, because let's face it - he deals badly with most things..

The upstairs neighbours are laughing too loudly in bed.
There is too much mail in the downstairs hallway.
Someone dumped a dying christmas tree on the garbage pole.

I didn't think he would deal with a 2am mouse homicide, he probably would have called our landlord to report a mouse infestation. So I decide to conceal the evidence... there is something not right about finding a place to hide a mouse carcass. I didn't want to just flush it away because I wanted Mark to see it at a time when he would behave more rationally. So I wrapped it up in a napkin and put it in the fruitbowl till morning.

Then I had to deal with the problem of mousebrains in between my toes. I figured bathing it would cause too much commotion... too many questions, so I just went to bed with it, and could feel the hard little indents of its stiff legs imprinted forever in the skin of my sole. I don't think my foot will ever recover.

(to the tune of Straight Lines)
Waking up at 2am in the morning... stepping on a mousebrain.
I'm too asleep to deal with this right now.. stepping on mouse braaaain.

Rachel's Bafta Reviews

2010-12-28T06:02:00.009+11:00

I have access to the films that are up for BAFTA nominations "for your consideration" - and the person who these DVD's are supposed to go to, probably won't watch them so it is up to me to make choices for the BAFTA Awards Ceremony in 2011.

I've seen a few movies - here is my review:

(First up though - the most entertaining part of these movies is the screen that comes on saying 'after watching this can you please snap in half/self destruct'.. I mean, It's not like Dr Claw is going to get a hold of them and rig the BAFTA's, and I am not Inspector Gadget, so let's not continue with this charade)

127 Hours. Danny Boyle directs James Franco in the story of Aron 'got no hand' and his being trapped by a rock for 127 hours.

James Franco is on my 'I would leave my husband for this man' list - so he gets my Best Actor Vote regardless. However Danny Boyle's shitty direction makes this barely watchable, you would think he would have enough faith in the audience to find the story of a guy cutting his own arm off with blunt pliers would be sufficient, but noooooooo he has to do all tricky camera angles and split screen effects. Maybe that shit works with povo Indian kids living a fast paced lifestyle on a flea dump in Mumbai, but James Franco coming to terms with drinking his own pee and cutting his arm tendons is riveting enough for me.

MY PREDICTION: the rock that traps his hand gets Best Supporting Actor

True Grit. The Coen Brothers and Jeff Bridges, and Matt "trying to be Heath Ledger" Damon.

In a nutshell: Blah Blah Blah. Ponies. Blah Blah Blah Eyepatch.

Josh Brolin is the best thing in this because he is what?? 50 years old and still shaggable. Unfortunately he only has about 20 mins of screen time.

This movie is however a remake of a John Wayne of the same plot in 1969. Same eyepatch, Same Western Dust in everyone's eyes. Not Impressed Coens.

MY PREDICTION: The Eyepatch gets the Best Costume Award.

Hereafter: AKA: Clint Eastwood is losing his mind.

Imagine 'The Sixth Sense 2" and there are no ghosts, no scares, and rather than Bruce Willis solving crimes and helping disturbed children, it's Matt Damon going to Cooking Lessons.

MY PREDICTION: Matt Damon never works again in this town.

I was robbed!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh wait...

2010-12-25T00:05:00.002+11:00

I was robbed, and it's all Starbucks' fault. Let me state first up that I fully intend to stop going on about Starbucks Eggnog, but it has been an entity that has taken up my life these past two months. The nightmare currently being that there is no Eggnogg mix anywhere at any of the starbucks' in London. They have run out. What a bunch of freakin monkeys - you only have eggnog once a year, is it too much to ask that you supply enough for the people who only drink at Starbucks 2 months a year to get their eggnog fix?? They have no eggnog in North London, East London, and now West London. I went to my trusty 'always has eggnog' starbucks this morning only to be told that they had literally just ran out... fuckers. Now what am I supposed to do?? I had to settle for a stupid festive Toffee Nut Latte, and let me tell you it was a festival let-down.

Nothing beats Nogg!!!!!!! Nothing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then I went to the gym on my unwanted stupid Toffee Nut Caffeine High. Caffeine is probably the only drug in the world that I have an averse reaction to. I could be shooting up heroin right now and I would feel great - Caffeine however makes me feel sick, paranoid and clearly hallucinogenic. Which is why Eggnog is the only drink with coffee in it that I can drink, because I think the Eggnogg disguises the caffeine and makes it ok for me to drink... stupid No Nogg!

anyway - back to the story (screw you starbucks!! one last time)

So I'm at the gym, working out, sweating it up, listening to M.I.A pretending that I am a rap star and that I would give all my money to cure African Aids Babies if I ever made it..

"no no, I don't need the money - just save those AIDS babies.." and eventually I would be Rolling Stone Magazine 'Woman of the Year' for making fully sic music, but also curing Aids Babies.

I live this daydream in my head for my entire workout because if I'm not daydreaming something fantastical I can't stand a second on those stupid cross training machines. I secretly hate the gym.. but don't tell the gym that.

I finish my work out and go to get my stuff out of my locker, when I walk up to it, and I think "SHIT!! my padlock is missing!" I freak out and look around all the lockers around me, hoping that my stuff will miraculously appear if I open the same door 15 times.

Fuck. So I walk to reception and tell them that my locker was broken into and my stuff was stolen and that I've been robbed!!! On Christmas Eve!!! Robbed!!! Call Yo Police!!

After I am done having my robbery meltdown, a tiny voice in my head, the voice that has been in a caffeine headlock, the voice of reason quietly pipes up...

"perhaps you put your stuff in a different locker..... idiot"

Hmm perhaps indeed, so I go back to the scene of the crime, and cross over to the other side of the locker room where two naked ladies are shooting the shit with their junk all over the place. And I see my other regular locker.. with my padlock on it.

Fuckity Fuck Fuck.

I open it and yep, all my stuff is in there.. not stolen. There is only one thing to do - go back to reception and admit that I am a fucktard who has caffeine paranoia and caused a robbery scene for nothing...

Except that would be way too embarrassing so I just pretend that my stuff was taken out and rummaged through and dumped on the ground, and continue the charade of the robbery, which I have downgraded to a "Christmas prank"

"ha ha, those Christmas pranksters and their moving my jumper and ugg boots around!!"

I had to fill in a report and everything, making a big fuss over my stupid padlock that must have a skeleton key out there. No cops came luckily because I think I would have crumbled under the pressure and ended up admitting to being the Christmas Boob.

I blame starbucks for all this. No Nogg. Stupid Caffeine Drugging Toffee Nut, and Pretend Robbery.

At least I won't be able to show my face at the gym for another week.

Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tony Soprano Robbed Me

2010-12-22T01:19:00.005+11:00

That's Right. Tony Soprano Robbed Me. When I say Me, however I mean my boss.

So, its a Tuesday afternoon, I'm chillin at work - watching the afternoon movie, eating a big bowl of popcorn, (busy) when a man who looks exactly like Tony Soprano breezes in the door and demands to speak to my boss, he asks for him by name and says its a personal matter.

Apparently he was in the area selling Cristal, (Cristal that's fallen off the back of a truck, if you know what I mean..) and would we like to buy 5 cases?? Well Yes, my boss would like to buy 5 cases, and throw in another 7 cases whilst you're at it. So off he goes with the envelope of £1200 of my bosses cash and walks around the corner and is never seen again.

seriously!!!!!!!!!!!! What kind of man robs people whilst they are at work in the middle of the day!!?!

This is the truly hilarious part though - the part that made it clearly obvious that this guy was an up to no good criminal: his professional criminal routine involves name dropping Liam and Noel Gallagher..

MASTER CRIMINAL: "so I'm just doing some catering for a party at a studio with Liam and Noel...."

ME: "Liam and Noel?? Gallagher??"

MASTER CRIMINAL: "yes, yes, how about I drop some invites off for you for a party they are going to be at tomorrow night"

HA! Everyone with half a brain knows that Liam and Noel Gallagher wouldn't be seen dead together at a Christmas Party considering how much they hate each other. That was my first clue.

There are police coming to take a police report. Hope they wear those funny hats.

Suspect: 50 year old man with olive skin, a rough look in his eye, in an expensive grey suit, about 5"8, portly body, selling pretend Cristal and inviting people to parties with Liam and Noel Gallagher.

Christmas Reality

2010-12-21T09:09:00.005+11:00

My Problems:

There is no eggnog anywhere in London!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have been traipsing across the land to every starbucks I can find only to pathetically whimper to the harassed cashier "do you have nogg??" to which they reply "of course I do you idiot! it's Christmas time!!!!" or "no way, you fat fucks drank it all". Tomorrow I am getting up extra early to go to a shop that is in no way near my tube because I know they have eggnog. Why must I suffer so much this time of year in my search for nogg?? don't the nogg suppliers know its snowing out there!!!

Real Problems:

I haven't eaten in 2 years. Everyone I'm related to died of AIDS, I'm HIV positive and I have to walk 5 hours a day to get the ARV's that are the only thing barely keeping me alive. I don't even know wtf Christmas is.

Edward Syringehands

2010-12-14T20:25:00.004+11:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!

HEROIN MILK JUNKY SCUM.

what else can I do with them???

The Mystery of the Milk Syringes

2010-12-09T01:25:00.006+11:00

I have a lot of weird things delivered to me at work - part of this is because when you shoot tv commercials a lot of random stuff gets delivered as products and props, and you find yourself with three cats on your desk and 22 bottles of orange cordial wondering where everything went wrong after graduating from College...

Today's delivery is the most mystifying thus far:

Yep. That's an unmarked box. Full of Syringes. Filled with Milk.

"Are you sure these are for me??" I asked the courier who dropped them off, but seen as how all he had to go on was a postcode he was adamant that these were in fact - mine. "Yes. Maam. You need the milk??" (sorry not being racist, but he didn't speak excellent English. Like me.) I tried to convince him that I was in no way in need of a weird unmarked box full of milk syringes. God knows who would want them?? I sure didn't. But in the end I signed for them.. (peer pressure)

Then I sat and stared at them for a good hour or so.

Who were they meant for?
Why did they come to me?
Does someone think I need to be injecting myself with milk?
What kind of sick freak injects themselves with milk?
Are they milk syringes for someone with baby gorillas or something??
Who nearby has a pet gorilla and is hiding it in their bedroom. I want to feed this gorilla.

So if you happen to live in the Central London area, and are missing a weird box of milk syringes then by all means get in touch! They will be left in the snow because what better place than to leave a random delivery of milk needles than in the front yard??

At any rate I know what my secret santa is getting this year in the stocking!!!

Stroggles Debut Film Clip

2010-12-06T05:37:00.002+11:00

We're breaking into the London Grime scene.

Method Steve

2010-12-05T07:04:00.004+11:00

It's interesting going to ones Gym Christmas Party, for one - its impossible to recognise anybody with their clothes on.

My gym party was held at the best and weirdest place in Ladbroke Grove. The Inn on the Green. I love the Inn on the Green. The Inn on the Green is a welcome to all venue. During the summer months you can drink a cheap pint over looking Portobello Green on the balcony, and in winter you can stand over the radiator whilst viewing the snow from the warmth inside. They have live music and bands every week and sic dj's who play great rap music. It's also a place you can hang out and smoke dope and have a bbq cook-off. You smell the place before you see it. That smell of a joint lingers in the air on the walk through the Green to get there.

It is also a place where you can meet the real life 'Begbie'.

We arrived for the Christmas Party early. And sat back to watch people to arrive looking for the semblance of someone I might recognise. I didn't think anyone would recognise me being that I brushed my hair for the occasion and had an outfit on that hadn't been found at the bottom of a dumpster.

A few trainers arrived as did some old ladies who I thought were gym members but like I said it was hard to tell without them being encompassed by the steam of a shower and their baggy skin hanging around their ankles. Clothing is not conductive to parties born of the fitness industry.

I didn't know what to expect from a gym Christmas party? I mean, do you go up to someone and go "hey! how long can you run on the treadmill before throwing up??" If anyone had asked me why I was going to the gym my answer would be "to run better for the trains so I don't pass out and die". Luckily I didn't need to think up any awkward conversation openers because this is when Begbie showed up.

Begbie placed his drink on my table then quickly ran off to the bathroom to take a line. His friend who was three sheets to the wind stood slowly swaying to the gentle tunes of Xzibit. Upon Begbie's return we learnt many things.

Begbie hates Thailand. Begbie said he went to a party and someone asked him how many dudes he had slept with on his trip? "not one dude! I always check the adams apple!" apparently this check of the neck isn't sufficient these days to tell the dudes from the ladies, and you have to do the more stringent "rib check" if you're pounding a chick and she has a scar on her ribs, chances are you are pounding a dude. "there are lots I didn't check though, so how many dudes I accidentally slept with is a mystery".

Begbie really liked Australia. Sydney has the best Meth in the world. Begbie was a reformed drug addict, who went to Sydney for his honeymoon and stayed for years (minus the wife). And this was just our introduction to Meth-Head Steve (aka: Method Steve)

Method Steve was the most interesting person I have met since moving to London. Method Steve is a roadie, and travels around Europe working on every major band over the past 20 years. Method Steve got into a fight with Liam Gallagher whilst working on an Oasis tour, and Liam took a disliking to Steve's shirt. Well Steve isn't someone who will just stand around and cop abuse if you are going to slag his clothing off so he pulled Liam in close, told him "I'm not wearing this shirt for YOU!" and headbutted him in the face. Noel had to break the fight up and Steve was consequently kicked off the tour. Headbutting the driving force of one of the biggest bands of recent times didn't hinder Steve's career in anyway and he has been touring the world with bands ever since. He happened to be working on the Leftfield Tour, he said he would get us tickets for the show the next night. Method Steve was truly one of the most genuine people I have come across in recent times. He said he might not remember the conversation because of obvious cocaine reasons, but he took our numbers and promised to text us the next day.

We stood around talking to Method Steve for a good 3 hours and by the end of the night we were all good friends. I was highly surprised to find a text from Method Steve the next morning saying that he wasn't able to secure the tickets because of all the damn VIP's. Method Steve if anything is a man of his word. Just don't give him a side eye because he will glass you in the face so quickly you'll think you walked out of the house covered in glass shards.

The Inn on the Green never disappoints.

Naked Vagine Party

2010-12-04T02:28:00.004+11:00

People just don't care about anything at the gym. The gym is a world unto its own.. It's the one place where I am pretty much aiming to wear the worst outfit I can find. All of my gym clothes are one step away from being thrown in the bin. Some have even been put in the bin, and then rescued because "that garbage top would make a good gym top!"... When I go to the gym on weekends I don't even brush my teeth, brush my hair or wash my face, I roll out of bed into the worst clothes I own, and run on the treadmill looking like I slept in a ditch all night.

But seriously who cares?? No one cares at the gym. It's the one place on earth you can look absolutely disgusting and no one gives a second thought to it.

Not only that but peoples behaviour at the gym is specific only to the confines of the gym. Want to walk around naked whilst blow drying your hair in a room of strangers?? the gym. Want to stand in front of someone staring awkwardly into their eyes whilst squat thrusting in their direction? the gym.

And I don't know if it's just my gym where all the freaks go to, but there is something not quite right about the clientele.

EXAMPLE: the other night I was on the cross trainer and there is an area right in front of me where trainers do routines with people. I am always watching someone do a bunch of random moves but generally it is no more bothersome than having someone ride and pant and sweat next to you for 30 straight minutes. So this trainer and this woman start going through a stretchy yoga routine - to which I might add - yoga pants are an integral part of any stretching regime... as are underpants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So this woman is stretching and putting her legs over her head and generally doing as many 'queef' poses as she can about a meter from my face and all I can see are two flaps - hedged in and camel-toed into her yoga pants. Seriously lady, underpants are a big part of life, and maybe when you're pointing your vagina at the ceiling is one of those times.

I couldn't look away. There is something about spotting wild vagina that makes it impossible to look at anything else. Try as I might to distract myself in a good song, or god forbid, even watch the news, nothing could distract me from that strangers hump, twisting and writhing an arms length away.

She totally ruined my work out for me.

Then when you leave the floor of the gym, slipping over everyone's sweat puddles, and make it into the safety of locker room, it is seriously like a nature program of 'Naked Londoners Gone Wild'

If yoga pant vagine was too much for me, then the usual display of nakedness and tits being thrown around almost missing your face, and naked sweaty ladies sitting in front of your locker with no towel! (hygiene!) that was surely enough to almost turn me off Humans for life. It's just a flap fest like no other.

That is why I think it will be really interesting tonight at the Gym Christmas Party!!!

For serious, I could not think of a more awkward gathering of people, than the usual naked sweaty slobs I see every day and pretending they don't exist.

"Merry Christmas!! Sweaty Guy who runs in baggy orange pants in boxer shorts! Hope your ball sack recovers one day!"

"Happy New Year Moisturiser Lady, I hope you get a giant tub of that lotion you like to so slowly apply to every inch of your skin whilst stretching your limbs every which way in the change room"

All I can hope for is that my eyes don't accidentally meet the eyes of vagina yoga pants lady because that would truly be a dying inside moment. AH who am I kidding, I've never even seen her face.. but if she lays down and starts thrusting towards the ceiling in no undies.. I will be able to spot her in a crowded room a mile away.

We'll Laugh About This... One Day

2010-11-28T04:48:00.004+11:00

You know when people say "ooh we'll laugh about this one day". It's true.

For Instance: the Wallet in the Washing Machine Incident.

THE SCENE:

It's the afternoon, I've been at home all day slothing around, Mark comes home in a fluster - he has a party to go to (always with the parties) and gets ready in a rush, and is generally being highly strung.

So he's got ready in about 10 minutes, then he says to me "so where is my wallet"
"wallet? what wallet? I haven't seen your wallet."
"well it was just here!"
"well are you looking for it???" (as you would know - men don't look with their eyes, in that if something isn't right in front of them - they can't see it.)

So we all look around, up and down, low and high, high and low, in front and behind.
No Wallet.

At this point mark is so stressed his eyebrows have literally leaped off his face in anger. He needs his wallet because his ticket to the party is in the wallet, and being an obsessive compulsive he needs to do his wallet ritual before he can leave the house. It is very unfortunate that we don't know where the wallet is.

"Let's backtrack to where the wallet was last.."
"It was right here" - Points to spot on the bench where the dirty pile of laundry was about 20 minutes ago.

Hmmm, the wallet was where the laundry was. The laundry is in the washing machine. Hence: the wallet is in the washing machine.

It takes my brain about 2 minutes to put this algorithm together and ever so slowly do my eyes swivel towards the front loading washing machine to see the wallet floating in a mass of suds and dirty clothes.

"Uh, I think I found the wallet"
"Well where is it then?!?!??!!"

I just look at the wallet going for a swim with our undies and in a mili second Mark understands. His rage is only second to his stress - and he completely loses it

"My wallet is in the washing machine!!! You put my wallet in the washing machine!! Get it out of the fucking washing machine!!"

Unfortunately I know that we can't get the wallet out of the washing machine until the machine has done its full cycle of spinning/rinsing and more spinning. And thus I fall into an uncontrollable fit of hysterics.

The more I laugh, the angrier mark gets, the more angry mark gets, the more tears of laughter stream down my face.

So we stand in the kitchen, watching the washing machine, me in tears, mark with steam coming out of his ears.

Eventually the spin cycle ends (a tense few moments one might say), we get the wallet out and I'm trying my hardest to diffuse the situation.

"Well the wallet's pretty clean now eh!"
"Good thing we have plastic money eh!"
"hmm all your cards survived, washed all the drug residue away eh! Won't get arrested in the airport now eh!"

Mark just shoots daggers at me whilst I blow dry his sopping wet wallet. All I can say to stop him from strangling me is go "we'll laugh about this one day!!" which probably doesn't hold much sway considering I can't even string a sentence together because I am laughing so hard.

TWO YEARS LATER...........

We are lying in bed, about to enter the land of Noddy, and I hear this snickering coming from Marks side of the bed..

"what are you laughing about?"
"remember that time you put my wallet in the washing machine"

I TOLD YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wallets in Washing Machines.. Always Funny

Cat?? What Cat??

2010-11-23T07:59:00.004+11:00

Renting. My whole life I have rented. Except in the womb, that wasn't rented. But every apartment I lived in after that was rented. I rent now. One thing that is good about renting is that when things break - you don't have to foot the bill - not that I go around breaking stuff - except that on my first night in our London apartment I did break all the shelves in our wardrobe with an exceptionally heavy suitcase. But so what? I'm sure other people have made irreparable damage to a rented apartment mere hours after crossing the threshold.

Having stuff fixed is the good part. Hiding the Cat is the bad part.

Cats are never allowed. Its so racist. What damage is my cat likely to do that I wouldn't do myself?? So when it is "apartment inspection time" ...hence - the 'hiding of the cat' routine.

In my old apartment we used to take Lenny to the park and he could discover the wonders of grass for an hour, but now we don't have a park nearby, we don't have a car and its about 2 degrees outside.

The problem arises - where to store the child??

Tonight we had such an inspection... And it never really sinks in that I will have to form a game plan until about 20 mins before the Inspector is due to arrive.

Suffice to say.. we panicked.

Ideas that were thrown around.

* How about if we just put him in the wardrobe and cover him with jumpers??
* What if we put him in a box and hide it on the stairs?? no one will know its our cat and we can blame our upstairs neighbours for having a cat delivered to the wrong door.
*What about if we take all the light bulbs out of the light fixtures, if he can't see the cat he can't be sure that the cat exists.

From this point onwards our ideas became abstract to say the least..

* What if we pour all our ice cubes on the ground then we complain that the freezer door is broken, that way he is too busy being harassed about the fridge to worry about looking for cats
*What if we set fire to something small then he will be too distracted with the fire to worry about looking for cats??

In the end though, we went for something equally stupid and ridiculous.

Hide the Cat Plan #3975773

First - put cat in a box then put the box in the spare room, lock the spare room and pretend we don't have any keys to the room if he asks to go in there
Second - turn 'Friends' up really loud
Third - talk loudly especially when he walks past the spare room door
Fourth and the most cunning part of the plan - confuse the hell out of the Inspector by dressing up like we are about to go out and don't have enough time to do this 'nuisance' inspection in the first place.. unfortunately this genius part of the plan didn't come into effect until about 40 seconds before the Inspector rang the doorbell, so I had to do with my 'furcoat over pyjamas' look.

He was in the apartment for about 35 seconds before he left unawares of any feline entities inhabiting the place... sucker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To be honest though he probably left because we were totally weirding him out. I mean, I don't think our outfits were fooling anyone - he clearly thought we were deranged mental patients.

Might I just add though that the Inspectors name was: Mr M Biggerdik.. so yeah, I might come across as a 'Grey Gardens' mental lady, but at least my name isn't Rachel Biggerdik.

Meet my Fermy

2010-11-18T21:51:00.003+11:00

Everyone is having babies right now. Having Babies. Making Babies. Planning Babies.

Someone I know had a baby yesterday whom she named "starr".. good work! Should I donate some money now for her breast surgery and plane ticket to the trailer park to be a Born-Again Christian, stripper pornstar. Seriously, what kind of name is that.

I have a baby too.
I birthed him into my apple juice this morning.

Look how cute he is!! With his no legs floating around two bubbles for eyeballs cuteness!

I think he could have a career as a ghoul if they were ever to do another Ghostbusters movie.

Oh god I'm a stage mother!!!!!!!

Things you may not know about Famous Cats

2010-11-11T23:55:00.003+11:00

I've never met anyone really famous or really cool in my life. So I was obviously super stoked when it was confirmed that we would be shooting a Whiskers commercial in the studio.

I love cats, I love commercials with cats, I couldn't wait to meet the most famous cat of all - The Whiskers Cat

(obviously the most famous cat is the Cheshire cat, but unless I take 50 tabs of acid I am unlikely to meet him - so for now the Whiskers cat will have to do)

What would the cat be like? Does he have an array of cat assistants? Does he have his own trailer? Will he only eat a freshly caught Norwegian Salmon??

FAMOUS CAT FACTS:
The Whiskers Cat is actually a girl.
A kitten girl.
They use 3 identical kittens for the role.
They use kittens because it makes the product look bigger.

I figured that this famous trio would be well versed in the acting that would be required of them on the day (look cute/jump around in christmas tree/play with christmas balls/eat food out of hand) I assumed they had been up all night reading through the script and practising their christmas repertoire.

Apparently not.

They aren't even actor cats! They are just cats!
And to make them do actions you just throw things in the air and make noises.

Pffffffffft. I could do that.

At least they have being cute on their side.

Invasion of Privacy 1287561

2010-11-09T20:16:00.003+11:00

I think when you add the word "revolution" to something it makes it sound a lot more interesting.

The sandwhich revolution!
The mattress revolution!
The nap revolution!

I present to you The Tube Revolution:

I call this one: 1980's Newsreader and Nazi Fingersniffer

Gingerbread 365 Days please.

2010-11-09T02:13:00.003+11:00

I just want to state upfront. I am not one of those types of Starbucks People. At least I didn't think I was until I moved to London. Generally, I don't even drink coffee, coffee makes me into a mentally depressed paranoid schizophrenic.

"everybody hates me. everybody hates me. just gonna sit in this corner and rock back and forth till I feel normal again"

That was the old days though. The days before moving to the 'Land of Hot Drinks'. I have seriously never been so inundated with hot drinks in my life, every two seconds there is a tea thrust in my face. But then I learnt there is a reason for the abnormal amount of hot drink obsessing... it is fucking cold, and a warm drink does fulfil its purpose in life: to warm you.

So then I became one of those people. Specifically: a Seasonal Starbucks Person. Last year I discovered their range of Hot Seasonal Christmas Drinks and my life has never been the same since. I pretty much count down the year till Seasonal Christmas Drink Time. I walked past the Starbucks on my way to work all through October rubbernecking through the door waiting for fake snow to be plastered on the windows because fake snow can only mean one thing.

Gingerbread and Eggnog flavored Lattes. Even though I will be up all night with my heart palpitations with my chest bursting through my pyjamas unable to sleep for 2 days, and feeling slightly more paranoid about rapists on the way home, I can't stop wanting them all the time and drinking them everyday.

God I love them. But I am mad. Really Mad.
Why must I be tortured with access to these awesome flavoured drinks once a year!!!!!!! They came out this weekend and I already have end of seasonal drinks sadness.

The problem is that I only have about 8 weeks of Gingerbread and Eggnog left to drink in!! And from someone who has grown up their whole life without eggnog when it's here I just want to bathe in it. Which in turn makes me into a Starbucks Junkie. And I never wanted to be one of those people.

Damn you to Hell Starbucks!! Delicious two months of the year jerkburgers.

Jesus Routine

2010-11-08T23:21:00.003+11:00

I have decided that it's time to learn. Time to learn how to be funny. For Reals. So my Christmas present to myself this year is doing a Stand Up Comedy course where I will learn the art of being funny, and writing funny, and probably looking funny. I already have my outfit planned - nothing is funnier than tight jeans/sneakers and zany socks!!.. maybe?? I do need to learn the art of being professionally funny.

So I have been slowly putting together a routine, that will mostly fall around the subjects of:

My husband is retarded
My husband did the stupidest thing yesterday
My husbands penis is weird
My husband looks funny - just look at him (spotlight shines on him in audience)

Sucks to be My Husband.

But then I thought I should probably put some other jokes in there, and then this came to me:

"people always give me shit about being an only child, like it's a bad thing, when his happens I just remind myself that Jesus was an only child and nothing bad ever happened to him...."

then someone told me that apparently he did have brothers and sisters. pfffffft. no one teaches you that in school. I guess it's hard to top the story of Jesus the "spotlight hog", being Jesus's brother is probably way worse than being a Baldwin.

At any rate I think my joke was funny. Being factually correct isn't a huge factor in my routine, and if it falls flat due to lack of research.... have you met my husband?? man is he retarded. He has like 5 outfits he puts on before we can go to bed.

Marriage. the number one reason for Comedy Routines.

NOVEMBER DIET

2010-11-06T04:43:00.004+11:00

3rd November.. Day 3 of the "November diet"

and

But don't worry because then I did a little jig around the house whilst watching the opener of The Hills (exercise)

yeah this November diet is working out soooooooo well!