Friday, May 30, 2008

Do you think we are Idiots???!! oooooh SNAP!

well. The 'Sydney Housing Crisis'.. hits home.

4 years ago, when the sydney rental market was shitty (as in shitty for owners and good for renters) Mark & I got a steal. It's no Taj Mahal, but it was a friggen steal. And it became more and more apparent to us how much of a steal it was as the years passed, and rents got higher and higher and less apartments were available in Sydney.

The day we went to look at the apartment, it was advertised at $315 per week. They say its a 2 bedroom, but really, its a one bedroom plus sunroom, let's not go deluding ourselves that its anymore than that.

The Real Estate Agent was really keen to rent it out, and for some bizarre reason, gave it to us for $299 per week? who knows why?? maybe he really liked us? maybe he liked the way I perched on the kitchen benches and stroked his tie when I asked to borrow his pen to fill the form out??

Either way.. the lease was signed at $299, and it stayed that way for about 18 months. Then they put it up to $310. Whatevs. We had a letter earlier this year saying that it was now going up again to $325 per week. I can deal with that. Afterall, in the scheme of things, it's still a steal.

Then last night I get an incredibly rude shock when I open my mail saying that my rent is going up again! to $380 per week. Wow. $70 rent increase in the space of 4 months!??!


Do they think we are idiots who will just pay anything?? its a one-bedroom people! and we are good tenants! Would you rather have some devil worshippers with shitzus who shit all over the carpet?

Well I refuse.

I'd rather move elsewhere on Principle.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

The Escapee

I have a truly disgusting story to share with you, and I don't think that it even needs to be shared, but i'm gonna share it anyway.

It's a little story I call: The Escapee... Tampon

Once upon a time, there was a girl. A girl on her rag. It had crept up on her the night before, so she was day 1 into her flow.. Any girl out there knows that the first day of Flo-Time is like Nigara falls, but rather than a waterfall. its a vagina. and rather than water. its a vagina. and rather than marilyn monroe shooting 'Niagra'... its a vagina.

So... day 1..... get up.. tampon goes in. Girl goes to work (a mainly sedentary position) and gets up to go for a walk around lunchtime.. She goes to the bank, to the post-office, past the biscuits in the bakery. She goes into the cafe to buy a coffee. When she feels it.

HELLO! I am your tampon! I have had enough!! I'm warm, slimy, and full, and I want out!! Out Out Out. I dont care that you're standing around ordering a drink. I'm leavin!

And you feel it sliiiiiiding out.. and touching your knickers. So its not really in. And its not really out. It's just there, and its wrong.

So you give the coffee maker a deathstare which he should really interpret as "hurry the fuck up, my tampon is doing Clint Eastwood on me. In that the Tampon is Clint Eastwood, and my vagina is Alcatraz"

And you walk back to the office. Weirdly. And horribly. And its like you're pooping out the front. And its not good. And it plops into the toilet, and you thank god you wore underpants today, as how are you gonna explain that to the kind people at the IGA?

Yeah......... G.I.R.L.T.A.L.K.. girltalk.....'you've been talkin trash again, oh no.. you're up and down the halls, writing on the walls, everybody knows its you. show me what you're made of.." - The Donnas.

I judge you... at the checkout counter

There are very few places where all your 'dirty secrets' are aired to the world in full view. The most suspect being at the check-out counter.

That's right. I'm looking at your stuff and judging you.

You. You with the 'McCains Healthy Choice Lasagne, the 99c Cheese Rings and the quick sale 6-pack donuts'.. you disgust me. Do you really think you should be packing that into your pie-hole when you get home tonight? you can barely fit through the checkout aisle, but no no.. you're getting a 'healthy choice lasagne..' that makes up for the 6 donuts that you will inhale quicker than air when you're flat on your back on the couch picking crumbs out of your neckrolls.

You're all a bunch of weirdos. I can tell a lot about you by what you put on the Conveyor Belt of Truth.

3 Pack Baked Beans: Smell ya later.
Rubber Gloves, No Frills Bleach, 20 cans of catfood: Your house smells like catpiss.

Oh yes, the conveyor belt of truth reveals all.

Wouldn't everyone down at the office like to know you spend your nights in fuzzy purple striped socks, eating anchovies from a can??

Hey, I don't save my judgement just for the supermarket, even though there is no better way to get a really good picture of the people around you by going through the items in their trolley. I also judge you at department stores. Yeah, you with the 800 pairs of socks. Whats up with that? Are you stockpiling them for nuclear fallout? What exactly are you up to..

In a perfect world we'd all shop in the dark, and they'd have razor wire dividers between customers. I don't want anyone knowing my weakness' for Anzac Biscuits and Trident Laksa Soup Packets.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Bad Luck Shirt

I don't like to think i'm a highly superstitious person (stupid-stitious), but I have what I have been in denial about for over a year, a highly unlucky shirt.

When I was in highschool I had lucky rocks. And whenever I felt their lucky energy had ebbed from it, I would take them to the ocean to recharge them. Me and My "lucky rocks" a topic of laughter and finger-pointing from the nay-sayers who didn't believe in the power of my lucky rocks.

I had massive faith in my lucky rocks, before my year 12 maths exam I didn't feel the need to study, I ate a banana (because I read that banana improves brain power) and I showed up to my exam with my rocks and a calculator. I think I pretty much failed every question, mostly because I doodled "who gives a shit?" on each page, hey, Maths isn't my thing. Why do you think I work in the entertainment industry??

Anyway, my lucky rocks don't play such a pivotal role in my decision making these days, which is not to say I have given up on them completely. I also have a 'lucky stick' that I found on a camping trip in year 10, that lives behind the couch and will live behind the couch for the rest of my life, until such times when I feel that I am passed the age of needing a lucky stick.

I don't really think much about my magic rocks, and magic twigs I have scattered around the house, but one thing that has really been on my mind lately, is my decidedly unlucky, bad-luck Shirt.

The problem with Bad-Luck Shirt, is that its a really cool shirt. Has a drawing by Jean-Michel Basquiat on it. It's awesome. It's also highly unlucky.

Total Number of Jobs that have been affected by Bad-Luck Shirt: 3

Not to mention that general shitty things happen when wearing Bad-Luck Shirt.. iPod batteries go dead on the bus, huge pimple erupts from nowhere, $20 goes missing, fall down the stairs.

I had an inkling that all my problems stem from Bad Luck Shirt, there are just too many coincidences to go past, but something happened on the weekend that cements firmly in my mind that Bad Luck Shirt is to blame for it all.

On Saturday, I had tickets to see The Donnas. I wanted to get there early(ish) so I could get good standing position. The line to get in was about 3 blocks long!!!! so we thoughts we'd wait it out by getting some food, so we went to the Thai restaurant across from the Theatre. I ordered a thai soup.... 45 mins later.. where the fuck is my soup? soup should generally take all of 5 mins. Needless to say an hour went by and I finally had my (disappointing) soup. Walked into the Theatre, and what had I missed!! oh just a Meet & Greet with my fave band of all time.

Gnnnnnnnyarrrrrr!!!!!! Are you kidding me!!! I missed meeting them!!!! I love The Donnas. Kind of bordering on Lesbo-Love, but also they are a sick band, and I just love their music. And I would have loved the opportunity to tell them that. But No. I missed them.

All. Because.Of.Bad.Luck.Shirt.

I need some sort of fashion exorcist. Maybe I should do my old lucky rock trick and wash my shirt in the ocean to get rid of the bad vibes. Either way, until I sort it out with a magic voodoo witchdoctor, I will leave Bad Luck Shirt where it belongs, at the bottom of the drawer, covered with a pillowcase, lest it infects my other shirts, and I have to walk around naked to avoid bad things happening to me for no good reason.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

I feel old

Last night I went to my last All-Ages gig. I have been to many an All-Ages gig in my life, specially when I was underage, but last night many things occured which makes me think I should change my radio to a 'kickin it to the Oldies' station, and start bringing my own ice-cubes to restaurants.

The gig I went to was starring my most favourite band evah.. The Donnas. I see them everytime they tour australia (which is hardly ever) they just released a sick new album, so I was pretty darn excited (see, I said Darn.. I am old)

I was however less excited when I saw that they were supporting. not headlining. to Kisschasy. Man I hate Kisschasy. I felt robbed. I felt insensed. I felt I needed to pick up the 12 year olds and scream "dont you know who The Donnas are!!!" They didnt know. Nobody did.

The first band that played (the support-support) went off. The crowd loved them. 17 year olds who we saw underage drinking in alleyways were throwing up, falling over, and catching young-people STD's from each other.

I turned to mark and said "pfft could the guitarist be wearing any tighter pants?" and then screamed "get a haircut!" (but in all seriousness. they all needed haircuts. pronto)

I stood at the back. In my cardigan. let me repeat: a cardigan, official clothing of Old Poeple. I didnt want any disgusting sweaty teenagers rubbing against me.

Finally The Donnas were on. And the place emtpied. They fucking rocked. However, being an underage gig, they have the crowd barrier in place which means that the 30 Donnas fans in the venue, were stuck at the back rocking out, and the Donnas didnt get to see that people actually came to only see them. I felt bad for them.

Brett, the lead singer, said they have been a band for the past 15 years and they felt really blessed to be travelling the world doing what they love, and with her best friends. Ahhhn warm fuzzy moment. Ruined by the smartass 14 year old who called out "oooh 42 year old lesbians"

They are my age. Does that make me a 42 year old lesbian?

I hate all-ages gigs. I hate that stupid crowd barrier.. back in my day, there was no barrier. you got your ankles twisted, stomped on, kicked in the face, lungs bursting. But that was part of the fun. All Ages gigs these days are so sanitised.

Ah well. The Donnas rocked, and I know that when I move overseas, and they play regularly, I will be at the front, centre, screaming, and they will be in their rightful place as the headlining act, and there will be no 14 year olds who snigger at my pink cardigan when the show is over.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

VIP Rooms...

VIP Rooms... for Very Important People?? or just Very Idiotic Poseurs.

There is a new(ish) club in Sydney, that gets more and more wank everytime I go. Let us bear in mind that this club isn't even finished yet. They only just got the water feature working, and there are still unfinished rooms towering over the centrepiece atrium, as well as exposed pipes, unfinished concrete walls and an entryway that looks like you'd get raped and left to rot in a dumpster if you wandered down there after the doorwhores had knocked off.

This club is just too popular for its own good, and for what reason?

Lines. Lines to get in the club. Lines to go up the stairs. Lines to go into the VIP room. Who has time for all these lines? and furthermore do we really want to live in world with such heirarchy in clubs that you spend half you night waiting in lines to get to the 'cooler' and 'trendier' part of the club that is pretty much exactly the same as the part you just left.

The VIP room is such a farce. The VIP room's power only exists to seduce and entice people, because you give into the dream that you are not good enough to be in there in the first place, thus it becomes an object of desire and your value of self worth balanced on weather or not the skanks with the clipboards will let you pass.

I hate VIP rooms. They are full of idiots who indulge in paying $170 for the 'cheapest bottle of champagne'.. are you kidding?? what would cost me $30 in the downstairs pleb bar costs 5 times up here because we have ceramic elephants and a grand piano?

The doorwhores and their clipboards. Give me strength. Listen up bitches you do realised that anyone with half an ounce of sneakiness just goes in the side entrance, and avoids your snide comments and raised eyebrows all-together. Not to mention that the VIP room, only becomes the VIP room after a particlar time of night, until then its open to all who would dare cross its sacred threshold. But who wants to get to the club at 2pm?? I don’t wanna be no maggotron ‘Weekend at Burnies’ comatose body by midnight.


Do people need to feed some sadistic need to be told that they are scumsucking plebs who deserve to be lined up like sheep, judged and most likely denied. What is wrong with you people?

'Oooh look at me i'm in the VIP room! I feel so much better about myself. I am far superior to the people who are standing 2 meters away from me on the non VIP carpet'

You’re not important. You’re an idiot. You buy into the hype that you need to be someone of importance to get into the VIP room. You spend all your money on edamame beans and generic chandon. To rub shoulders with 80 year old tanned aquatics with prostitutes ‘livin the high life’.. sorry but I’d rather be on the downstairs level with the loser-nobodies. In fact I don’t want to be in your exclusive club at all.

Friday, May 16, 2008

I Heart Gordon Ramsey

Yeah i realise i'm a little slow on the uptake, but I 'heart' Gordon Ramsey. He is so super hot, and dirty, and loud and rude. What I wouldn't give to be in his kitchen making a really terrible souffle, and have him tell me i'm a fucking piece of shit, terrible fucking cook, should have my fucking brains scooped out and souffle'd.. Yeah.. then he could stab me with his knives.

Anyway, before I disgust you with my Gordon Ramsey stabbing fantasy, I wanted to share why it is that I heart Gordon so much.

I never order the 'Specials' when I go to a restaurant, never. I think its just there for hiding scuff marks on the wall, or give down and out artists something to do in their spare time when they graffiti up their weekly specials board.

Then I watched Gordon and learnt that the best and freshest dish at any restaurant is always the Special. So last week I threw caution to the wind and ordered the Heavenly Beef from my local thai restaurant, and my god! I have never had a tongue-orgasm before, but he was right.

Ever since then, I have been fantasising about this chilli beef dish. I have to make myself stop salivating on the bus every night. It's not normal to feel this way about chilli beef. They must be putting heroin or something in it. Also the fact that there was this weird grass-herb in it that was kinda choking me at the time. It's a true testament to the dish, that I will go back and risk choking to death on their shitty grass-herbs for their truly heavenly beef.

So tonight, Is Chilli Beef night, hopefully I make it to the restaurant and don't pass out from the hole in my stomach from all the churning stomach acid thinking about sweet sweet heavenly beef.

And Gordon Ramsey covered in Heavenly Beef.


Monday, May 12, 2008

The Mount Annan Times

Hard Candy = Crap Candy

Lets get one thing straight first up. I love Madonna. Love. I would fly to the other side of the globe to see Madonna tour. To which I entered a competition to do just that. Didn't win. The booby prize was the Hard Candy CD.

Can someone just shoot Timbaland and Timberlake please??!! They have NO PLACE producing and being part of a Madonna album.
"4 Minutes to Save the World" is probably the most annoying song on the radio right now, I have actually injured my hand punching the speakers in the car to get them to just shut the fuck up. It is a sad testament to the album then that this is probably the best song on it.

To me it just seemed like every song was a reject from the Futuresex/Lovesounds album, and Madonna didn't even read, let alone listen to half the shit that came out of the recording studio. Pharrell, The Timb's, they only care about one thing. The Beat. And sure there are some good beats, and they might even sound good with some Snoop, or Juzzo over them. But they don't do Madonna any justice.

Very Very Sad. This is a far cry from the Confessions album. I dont think I can even give it a rating. But I did however bruise about 4 bones punching my speakers so i'll give it that.

Broken Bones: 4 Bones.

Shitty Wok

This shouldn't be too much of a newsflash to people, but people shouldn't eat out of thai restaurants that set up shop in carparks.

The inaugural Mothers Day feast this year was hosted in Mount Annan's Shitty Wok (well it was actually Shitty Thai, but lets not split hairs) Yowsa. I am pretty open minded when it comes to food. Rarely is anything that bad that I won't eat it. (Hey I have on occasion eaten pizza out of the garbage) but I couldn't bring myself to eat one bite.

I go to Thai at least once a week. Bad Thai is a hatecrime. I know my Pad-Khee-Mao lady, so don't try to tell me that what you placed in front of me was Pad-Khee-Mao. "umm what is this?" i asked putting my fork through the sea of spaghetti noodles and carrot sticks, she tried to persuade me that it was edible. I didn't want to die of Shitty Wok poisoning so I had water, sweet nutritious water.

Things that should never be in hate-crime-pad-khee-mao: celery, carrot sticks, limp capsicum, 2 tonnes of spaghetti noodles. However not to be rude, we feigned a massive hang-over and put it in takeaway containers so we could dispose of our Shitty Wok in more private circumstances. Like whupping it at the 'You are now leaving Mount Annan, a Christian Community' sign.

Broken Signs: 1 Sign

Poignant Tinned Can Vagina Art

Art is a personal thing. Sometimes you get it. Sometimes you just want your 30 mins of life back. If you want to think about art I suggest seeing the Fiona Hall exhibition at the MCA. Highlights include: The tinned can vaginas. Poignant. Is my vagina in a tin can of society? these are the thoughts that evoked through the cool steel pieces that run around the exhibition walls. Birdhouses made from money. A giant hammer made from hundreds of puppet insurgent warriors. However, there were no suitable mothers day gifts in the giftshop. (my mum would have appreciated a tin-canned vagina, but marks mum eats at Shitty Wok. Case Point)

The World Press Photo exhibition was great. So many potential album covers. However if one was to get the rights to 'black crows in flight over mass bombing in an Afghanistan market village' you would have to have an album, with music to do this photo justice. Delta Goodrem, you cannot use this as your next album cover.

And finally, the Sex Twins and the Charles Billich Gallery in the Rocks. The art was nice, lots of naked blondes with their asses in the air, with chihuahuas. $35,000 for a painting is a little out of my price range. Disturbing. ( However, not as disturbing as the blonde-twins and their chihuahua's who ran the gallery.... incest anyone?? no?? is that just me then??)

Artistic Vaginas: at least 80.

And that's how you do weekends, Rachel Style.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

There is no bigger idiot than me.. Bavarian Style

I woke up on saturday with the urge to get some sauerkraut into me. So I went to the Lowenbrau at the Rocks and this is how it panned out:

Mark ordered the giant 'pork knuckle' I had no ideas pigs had knuckles, let alone giant tasty knuckles.

I just wanted the lowenbrau hot dog with extra sauerkraut.. I asked the waitress who didn't seem like she liked us very much what the difference between the main size and entree size was, and she told me (in an non-specific foreign accent) that the mains are bigger, and the entrees are smaller.. Thank You Einstein... (fucken idiot)

But who is the Bigger Idiot?

I pointed to what I assumed was the lowenbrau hotdog on the menu, all was well until she brought out my plate of lettuce and ham.

"umm excuse me, but what the fuck is this?? I did not order a plate of lettuce and ham"

she walked back to the kitchen and came back with a menu and still, had the offensive plate of lettuce and ham with her.. she pointed out to me on the menu

"this you ordered this"

it is true. that is what I pointed at... hey in print it kinda sounds like a hotdog..... at any rate I wasn't having it..

"listen... I know thats what I ordered.. but I don't want that, I want a hotdog.. I may have told you disgusting plate of lettuce and ham, but I was clearly thinking Hot Dog"

Sheesh. Can't you read minds?? what kind of crappy bavarian waitress are you?

Anyway, she took it away, and upped the hating of us up a notch. I got my hotdog, and I resolved to never work in the food service industry, lest I have to serve an idiot bigger than myself, cos trust me I would have gone home wearing that plate of lettuce and ham if it was me serving me.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Dream Cheat

Reason #1863 to eat a slab of cheese before going to bed:

Hot Celebrity Dream Sex

These are the celebs who I know 'intimately' in totally unrealistic situations, and half the time its not even me in the fantasy.

Fantasy 1: Boring Sex

Jack Burger from 'Sex and the City'..... I think I dreamt we had dinner then did it in the cab... either way, just like his character in SATC, he was kind of annoying and disappointing.

Fantasy 2: Flying Sex

Ahh Superman. Hot Hot Hot. What is hotter than flying around and having sex? I speak from personal experience here. NOTHING is hotter. And its nice that he comes with a blanket (cape) for snuggling in afterwards. Superman is so thoughtful.

Fantasy 3. Goonies Sex

Ooh i'm gonna to go to jail for this one. I would also need a time machine. Luckily I was imaging I was Martha Plimptons character at the time. I always dug the sexual tension between Mouth n Stef, now I know exactly how that pre-teen shagathon would have panned out. Also shagging amongst a backdrop of Pirate Ships and Treasure is hot. Although I could have lived without the pointy rocks sticking in my (martha plimpton's) back.

Fantasy 4: Big Brother Sex

Where have all the hot twins gone?? I never even realised I liked Logan Greg until now. Steamy!!!! ( I would so punch Gianna if she tried to horn in on my twin action)

Fantasy 5: Fat Sex

Ever wanted to know what the sex would be like between Katie Holmes and Philip Seymour Hoffman, look no further! I can tell you right now that it was.... awkward. He was just too keen, however I was Katie Holmes in my dream and she is way out of his league, so that is understandable.

Fantasy 6: Lesbo Sex

I never knew I had secret sex fantasies about taking a lesbian bubble bath with Britney Spears.. I just wish I had shaved my legs first.

I am just crossing my fingers to have that Brokeback Mountain Threesome Dream. I might eat a wheel of camembert before bed tonight.

Friday, May 02, 2008

monobrow!!.. monobrow!!... monobrow!!... mono.. doh!

I usually reserve my teasing of pre-teens to things like schoolyards and birthday parties. "nice shirt! who brought that for ya?? ya mum!!!!!!" hahahaha.

But what really worries me is this:

Nice monobrow Lourdes.

This is Madonna's child. Madonna the Idol. Madonna the trendsetter. The woman who sees fit to do away with her surname.

Is this the new trend? out of control brows? cos to be honest I would welcome the change. I for one do not like standing in front of the mirror tweezing out stray hairs. It would be much nicer to just blow-dry your eyebrows then be out the door.

Is anyone else doing sporting this look? Is Suri Cruise too young to have a mono? Do they sell mono-mirkins for the eyebrow baldy's??

Thursday, May 01, 2008

how to ruin a good thing

Last night, I was going through the the cupboard sorting out the garbage from the crap i'll continue to hold onto for another 5 years. I have a lot of crap. But some of it is enforced crap, destined to live in it's box at the back of the cupboard for the rest of its life.

Some of this crap, well it's really not its own fault that its crap. I have a set of gorgeous Royal Doulton glasses that were a gift many years ago from the engagement party.

mmm Royal Doulton. Fancy. Quality. Sturdy. It's art in glass-form. Too bad they will never see the light of day...... And why is this? because the douche (kind hearted generous douche, who is a douche none the less) who gave them to us got them friggen engraved with our engagement party date on them.

Ewwwwww. Dis.Gust.Ing.

Nothing ruins a piece of quality glassware/crystal/(pretty much anything with a smooth surface) quicker than engraving.

Do they think i've got that short-term memory loss disease from 50 First Dates or something?? Like i'm going to wake up, use my pretty Royal Doultons and be like "why do I have these glasses? and more importantly, on what particular day of the year did I recieve them!!" I can't tell you how annoying it is when you can't remember the exact occasion you recieved gorgeous stemware.

fucken idiots.

So yeah, these lovely glasses will collect dust and eventually be thrown out, as they have been so hideously maimed by some moron with their engraver, which is pretty much the glassware equivalent of getting a really bad tattoo and then regretting it for the rest of your life.

Gross. I bet that guy from Bumfights totally feels my pain. Even though he lives in a dumpster and eats garbage. I bet he would still balk at the suggestion of drinking out of engraved wine glasses cos it would remind him of the abhorrent tattoo on his forehead the whole time.