"the Queef"

I've been doing Pilates for awhile now. I find their names for certain moves quite amusing; the swan, the cat, the plank, the corkscrew, yet they have really misnamed one move that is a regular occurance in my weekly sessions.

This is one I call: The Queef


The queef does just that.. makes you queef.

The funny thing is, I've been doing this position for years. It's my only party trick, it's usually the first thing I show people when I become comfortable around them (read: drunk and upside down)

"you wanna see something amazing.. PRRRFFFFT.."

You really have to wonder if Pilates actually does anything, or if its just random waving your legs around in the air and queefing. I refuse to do this move when the class is quiet

"....and now we're going to lie down and pull our legs over our heads"
"aha! I knew you wanted me to queef!!! forget that lady"

Anyway, its still my party trick, until I can learn to play spoons or turn my eyelids inside out.

Just doin my part for the Recession

When in times of great financial hardship, the one thing you should do is keep the dollar going around, spend spend spend!!

Right?

I don't know??.. I was too busy thinking about how to beat this guy in Sonic the Hedgehog 2, rather than paying attention in my economics class.


So I guess the question is do I realllllllly need:

Sulphate free shampoo
A mini hair straightener
Pilate Pants
New Haviannas
Wrinkle decreasing nightcream
A new mobile phone

The answer is.. of course I do!

I can't be some dandruffy, frizzy haired, no pilate pants, scabby thong, wrinkly, old crappy phone using loser now can I ? That would be depressing, more depressing than a "recession depression"

And if anyone knows how to beat that mega boss let me know... 15 years on and he still taunts me.

Don't ask about Dave's Mo

I was out at a bar on tuesday night (so uncouth!) and I came across this excellent note:

for those of you who can't read the crappy pixelation on my outdated camera-phone, it says:

PLEASE NOTE: Daves moustache is NOT for 'Movember' so don't ask please.

Whoa. Dave.. getting a bit passive agressive about this are ya?

I gotta say when you have a moustache that looks like this questions are bound to arise:

I'd be less inclined to ask about Movember and more about whether or not he had a young virgin strapped to the train tracks.

Australia vs Hollywood

When I give up two and a half hours of my time, I expect to be entertained. When I pay $16 for a movie I expect to leave the cinema overjoyed at such a spellbinding experience. Often I find that australian films can be very hit and miss, I was very underwhelmed with 48 Shades, Clubland, yet nothing compares to the genius of The Castle, Razzle Dazzle, Muriels Wedding. Well that is until I watched West.

West is a great Australian film.

There was great character arcs, a compelling storyline, excellent writing and direction, and porno sex scenes. All in all, this film ticked all my boxes. Which is why I don't understand why it took me a year to even find this film. Did this film even get a proper cinema release? Or was it given the independent cinema run, and 6 days at a mainstream Hoyts? It's good to see that distributors really care about supporting the national product....not.

How can great movies like this pass by the movie spectrum of 95% of australian film-goers, yet we have movies like Burn after Reading rammed down our throats.

What a piece of crap. I don't understand how anyone can like this film. Not funny. Boring. I want my $16 back.

Is it just people jumping on the Coen bandwagon? what about the Daniel Krige bandwagon? I'd rather be on that.

Burn after Reading was smug filmmaking at its best, a dull script with 'star quality' actors. Had this film not had Brad Pitt being "zany" and George Clooney being George Clooney would half the people out there even seen this film??

Yawn.

I was more interested in watching Lenny try to figure out how to use the new kitty litter tray - (with cat-flap) and even though Lenny didn't really figure it out, and I ended up with shit on the carpet, I feel the exact same thing happened with Burn after Reading, I kept putting my head out there to try and figure out why people find this movie amusing, yet ended up in a shitty mood and wanting to punch the Coens.

West Forever
Burn after Reading Never

Art for the Blind #2

I know things... and I know that blind people need me, they need me to do more art for the blind exhibitions, to awaken their senses, to finally understand what its like to walk into a gallery and stare at a canvas for 5 mins, as opposed to walking into the cleaning supply cupboard and staring at a mop..

Salvador Dali for the Blind:

Smells like: rusty clocks, sand, bark, salt water
Sounds like: mellllting!!!! i'm melllttttting!!!!! i'm a clock and i'm melting!!!!!
Background Ambience: waves crashing, clocks ticking, butter frying in a frying pan.

Edvard Munch for the Blind:

Smells like: boardwalk, tomatos, ocean breezes, garlic breath.
Sounds like: "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH". People walking on planks, two people whispering "omg what is that baldy screaming about, he is like so bald, and screaming" "I know right! get a room screamy bald man"
Background Ambience: screaming

Andy Warhol for the Blind:

Smells like: soup.
Sounds like: "get ya soup here! who wants soup! get ya soup! different varieties of soup! we got beef soup, onion soup, hovering soup, neatly stacked soup!"
Background Ambience: tin cans clanging together

Michelangelo for the Blind:

Smells like: grapes, naked dirty man, babies, rocks
Sounds like: "ehhhhhn.... can't....reach... you" "ever heard of a robe?" "whatever, I might be naked and but at least i'm not on some floating cloud with some dudes and babies.."
Background Ambience: angels singing, the sydney philharmonic orchestra

Art for the Blind

Currently at the Gallery of NSW there is an exhibition of Monet and the Impressionists, entry is $18, and you know what.. I don't know if I want to be spending that much money to stare at a bunch of blurry paintings, what I want is FREE tickets to stare at blurry paintings.

So - I propose that I will go to the exhibition, then I will put together my first installation art project titled: Art for the Blind... cos let's face it, blind people really have no reason to go to art galleries, they could be walking around an empty room and they wouldn't be able to tell the difference - hence why we need to start implementing art that appeals to the other senses.

Mona Lisa for the Blind:

Smells like: a wooden chair, musty clothing, over powering perfume
Sounds like: "oh mona, now you sit very still, that's right, very still and stare straight ahead, what are you smiling about you naughty woman.."
Background Ambience: some classical baroque shit, however if we are aiming to bring art to the contemporary audience - I propose "mona" - by Craig McLachlan & Check 1-2

The Last Supper for the Blind:

Smells like: smelly cheese and spilled wine, jesus.
Sounds like: "hey jesus, what gives with this last meal? why did you invite that jerk Judas? how are we supposed to have a conversation if we're all sitting along one edge of this really long table? who invited the chick?"
Background Ambience: eating noises, chair noises, progressive rowdy apostle noises, calming jesus noises.

Monet for the Blind:

Smells like: a bunch of random smells; pineapple, glue, photocopies, freshly cut grass
Sounds like: Techno with interspersed snippets of poetry and violins
Background Ambience: a man humming, and people banging their heads against the wall

Oh Yeah! if only I had a time machine, I'd go back and do something like this for my year 12 art, and get into artexpress.

Dirty Divorce

There would be nothing worse than being reallllly famous, then getting a divorce and having all your dirty secrets aired to the world.. why do I need to know that Paul McCartney used to hide Heather Mills' prosthetic leg and make her crawl to the bathroom (bitch deserved it thou) and now all the crazy shit coming out between Guy and Madge, surely it's not just the massive alimony payouts that hurt in a very public divorce, its the release of personal private information about your personal life that is the scary thing.

That's why I'm really really glad that i'm a big fat nobody... and if the day comes that the Boy wants to divorce me, then noones gonna hear about the following:

That R would always make M cut the onions in every meal that required onions.
R would willingly and purposely show M her used pads to disgust him.
R would walk past M and hurl abuse at him such as "homo-burger" whilst he was on the Playstation.
R would dutch-oven M on numerous occasions, however had the act been reciprocated - M would be forced to leave the bedroom and sleep on the couch.
R would steal all of M's good undies and make them her sleep-undies, branding them hers by use of period stains.
R would play pychological mind games at bedtime by asking "are you gonna wear that to bed?" making M paranoid and ensuing a costume change for no good reason, other than her own amusement.
R would refuse to get the remote control citing the "you're closer" rule - when in fact on numerous occasions, she was closer.
R would take delight in hiding behind doors and jumping out to scare the shit out of M on a regular basis
R would scream "spider!!" at random places (the car, the kitchen, the bedroom) to make M jump up and scream

ahhhhh wedded bliss

Racist Joke

I'd just like to state for the record that I am not a racist, retarded yet... but racist no...

however - this gem came to me which I feel is very topical.. like it should be on the Racist version of David Letterman or something.

Here we go:

"two racists are walking down the street - then one racist turns to the other racist and says something about the Election, and the other one says:

"yeah! it's the white house.. not the black house!"

And then they both get run over by a truck for being so racist.

and that was my saturday.

But seriously, I really hope Obama wins.

Ticketek5000

I'm kind of a big deal.

In the industry I work in, I get invited to a lot of theatre/showcases/premiers to look for talent and decide whether or not they are a person of interest for the company.

Some of these are good, some are mind numbingly bad, however - this is my job, and I take what I do seriously. I therefore get lots of tickets thrown at me, my name is 'on the list'.. which seems cooler than it actually is, because half the people running 'the list' are completely fucking retarded.

It is not fun when you trek out to some theatre on a thursday night, only to find that the moron running the ticket booth can't find your tickets. I booked the tickets, I confirmed the tickets, you sent an email to me this afternoon saying "dont forget your tickets" and now I have no tickets??

Are you kidding me!!!

Normally I can wrangle myself a ticket, after all - I am not some crazy pleb off the street trying to scam a free show, this is a professional obligation. But sometimes the idiot sitting behind the ticket counter defines new levels of stupidity that I sometimes just wish that we could replace humans with robots and be done with it.

You have to wonder what sort of training process ticketek puts their staff through, I can only assume so far its "take tickets out of pigeon-hole and hand over counter" training, as it doesn't seem like "problem solving" or "customer service" is up there in their list of priorities.

These are simple procedures you can program into a machine. A machine isn't likely to fuck around for 10 mins on a computer before turning to you and going "well they aren't here...... " and staring blankly at you for another 2 minutes... and??! do you think maybe you could sort the problem out? I don't want to be the person that waves their arms around saying "don't you know who I am??! you're making a big mistake mister!!!"


A lot of people hate "the machines".... assembly workers.... manufacturers.... sarah connor... But life would be so much easier if robots were running the show.. for one, its a lot harder to get angry at a ticketek5000 robot.. look how cute he is!!!!!

Down with Humans
Up with Robots

Seasonal Addictions

Every year around about this time, when the christmas decorations come out at the supermarket, another condiment is released, which starts me on a 3 month binge of epic proportions.

Chocolate Coated Peanuts

Do they exist at other times of the year?? beats me.... All's I know is as soon as the tinsel is in the aisles, they bring out the large jars of Cadburys Choc Coated Nuts (and sultanas - spew) and its on like Donkey Kong.

These jars of choc-nuts are about $9 a jar.. pretty exxy, but hey its christmas time, you're supposed to splash out right? What bothers me is that I am sooo addicted to these things that's its like I have to cram the other 9 months of the year when I don't eat any into one mass indulgence session.

Last night I spent $30 on choc-nuts.

In my area we have 3 supermarkets - which seems kinda excessive, but i'm not the mayor. Anywastage - I was walking around the aisles trying to sniff out the choc-nuts display.. because one crazy thing is that they are never in the chocolate aisle, as they are 'seasonal chocolates' they are usually stacked on an end display near the christmas decorations, so its always a hunt and discover mission when trying to get my fix.... but no matter that I looked at every aisle, I could find no nuts.... sadness.

I knew exactly where they were at the other two supermarkets, being a once a week jar buyer, but did I realllly want to go to a second supermarket? after walking around for 20 mins already? I decided I did not.. But then who am I kidding, everywhere I looked I was seeing choc-nut illusion stands, so I packed away that little voice saying "you have issues" and I walked to the next supermarket.

what a crackwhore.

I brought 3 jars "just in case" as that was a hairy situation not being able to find the jars at the last supermarket, I shudder to think what it will be like when they discontinue them for another season in January. That will be a sad day.

Till then though, I have about 4000 choc-nuts to keep me satisfied.. so I'll be fine till lunchtime.

Pole Dancing

This probably feels more painful than it looks. Also I am officially giving up eating, I never thought ribs could be sexy, but.... they are.


This is wrist strength at its best.


Inner Monologue: "Happy Place Happy Place.. thank god for the new Clarins Douche..."


NIDA on a pole

No Title Today

Generally, I detest tattoo's. I just can't see how you aren't waking up every morning going "jeez.. what a mistake..." However this is quite possibly the coolest tattoo I have ever seen.

Not that I would get it, but its something I can identify with. How awesome is connect the dots! I forgot the many hours of fun spent learning to count and connect. It's truly an achievement for abstract art and mathematics.

In other cool news, everyones lady humps are gonna be on display in a new type of airport scanner..awesome. That will if anything, finally give me a reason to shave my legs and wear nice underwear, because let's face it 'comfortable underwear' is hardly something i'd be doing an erotic pole dance in.

Burned Alive

I hate smoke alarms

The building we live in is very 'fire safety' conscious. We have about 5 fire inspections a year, whereby some random comes knocking on your door at 7am, and touches your smoke-alarm to see that its still there.

Yes it's still there.. however the fire-safety door latch is not there. They came around awhile ago and put this fire safety glass on our door, and some fire-safety latch that made the door close on its own accord.

It also made it impossible to open, which would have been fairly redundant if there was a fire in the apartment, because generally i'd like to be running out the door, not abseiling down the building from a makeshift ladder made from bra's and sheets.

Then one fate-filled night, whilst I was cooking dinner in my pyjamas, we took the garbage out and whilst we were standing in the doorway, Lenny made a mad dash for freedom, and whilst we ran down the hallway to capture him, the door slammed shut behind us.

That's just awesome, doesn't everyone want to be locked out with the stove on, in pyjamas, with a cat??! Yeah our neighbours have never quite looked at us the same.

Damn that fire-safety latch.

So as soon as I paid the locksmith the $200 to let me back in, I took a screwdriver to that piece of shit lock and unscrewed it, and hey presto! never been locked out since.

and yet, the annoyance of not being burned to a crisp continues.

The smoke alarms beep. allllll the time... sometimes its just one beep, sometimes they beep all night, sometimes its a quiet beep, sometimes its a loud beep. One time my mum stayed over and thought there was a whistling spider in the house, no.. just the moronic possessed smoke alarm that doesn't want us to get a full night's sleep...ever.

I'm really this close to taking a hammer to all the smoke alarms in the building, I can.not.handle.the.beeping. It's not even a well timed beeping you can get used to.

BEEEEEP..... Beep............................BEEP.......................Beep

I really don't see the point, it's not like i'm not going to smell a fire if I can't sleep 2 mins straight.

Apparently its illegal to go on a smoke alarm smashing rampage.. maybe i should burn the smoke alarm, like some kind of irony.. or something.. i dunno.. i'm tired.

Beep

BYO Yogi

I'm getting spiritual, I'm cursing a lot less, and haven't mutilated and dumped a homeless person's corpse in the harbour in like a week.. things are lookin up!

Seriously though, in these times of a great depression (financial) and anxiety (turning 30 crisis) where does one look for guidance. Sure the box of anti-depressants can come in handy as a band-aid solution, but thats not going to keep me from putting my head in the oven forever now is it?

What one needs is a Yogi.

A person of guidance who can tell you what you need to do to fix the broken things inside.

I have many Yogi's.. I don't think they know they're my Yogi's, but every good thing that has happened in my life can be contributed to a good Yogi's advice.

Of late my Yogi's have instructed me to get accupuncture to treat the harbouring sadness trapped inside my liver - who knew?? i'm very livery. Apparently all those bad things get stuck in there and sticking needles in my forehead will allieviate the cramps I get in my feet. It's all connected. Your body is one huge emotional roadmap of inter-connecting messages. You might think that the humilation you felt when you were 9 years old has nothing to do with having itchy eyelids, but you'd be wrong.

I'm going to Pilates, eating less red-meat (because yes I am a self indulgent scrubber who is incapable of kicking the habit all together) getting jabbed like a pin-cushion, and who knows maybe one day i'll sign up for therapy and beat the shit out of a bean-bag with a tennis racquet.

Basically i'm turning into Madonna.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Go and get a Yogi, and keep away from my pic-a-nic basket.

Meatosaurus 4 Life

I have a little secret to divulge, this past week I was a vegetarian.... for 6 days. I know! What gives? well i'll tell you.. recently I have been watching a lot of documentaries about animal cruelty, and abboitoirs, and feeling sick from it all. I love animals, and I just couldnt handle another piece of meat passing though my lips without feeling nausea.

I started this newfound vegetarianism at a friends wedding, lucky for me there was the option of fish to resort to. I liked it, "sorry can I swap with you? i'm a vegetarian.." Yeah, I felt high n mighty, save the planet, no more slaughter, i'm better than you.

Wow, noone told me how haaaaaaaaaaard it is to find interesting vegetarian meals to cook, I was going to be a no red-meat and poultry vego, so fish was on the menu still. Salmon x 2 nights... then a tuna bake... then what?? a fucking lettuce?? goddam, vegetarianism requires too much thinking and foresight at the supermarket.

Going out to restaurants was the worst, the world wants you to eat meat, the vegetarian menu was so bland and univiting, wow a plate of brown poo chickpeas, really doesnt compare to the juicy steak and chips and salad at my counterparts side of the table.

Meat is the methodone of the food chain. You just can't kick it, we are all meat junkies programmed to search and destroy life for our own selfish consumption, vegetarianism certainly requires a mental willpower that I unfortunately do not possess.

I would like to see in the future some Meat-Hab centres set up for people who like me, want to kick their meat habit, but find the lure of blood and gravy too strong to resist, a place where when it gets to dinner time and you're drooling with visuals of juicy lamb racks and bbq ribs a zapper machine gives you a zap and you happily eat the salad sitting in front of you instead.

It's just too hard, especially at lunchtime.. what on earth do you put on a sandwich other than ham and stuff? an avocado and tomato sandwich is just not right.

So i'm back on the red stuff. I tried, and i know if given the option i'll choose the most cruelty free meal, but its just a drug I can't kick.

Meat 4 Life

Until they can invent some kind of pill that gives you all you the dietry requirements needed for survival, i'm on the meat wagon.... but i'm not happy about it.

The Pole Dancing Champion

This year for my husbands birthday, I brought us tickets to Miss Pole Dance Australia. Reactions vary when you tell people this, as most people view pole dancing as a sleazy, pornographic, degradation to women.

I can safely tell you people that Pole Dancing is none of these things.

The Pole Dancing Championships were held this year at the Enmore Theatre, for its third year running, the venue was sold out and there were a total of 15 competitors from around the country vying for the prestigous title of Miss Pole Dance Australia. The winner goes to Jamaica for the Pole Dancing World Championships in March, to date, Australia has never won this title.

To quash the notion that the event would be a seedy booze hound male filled cesspool of sweat and semen couldnt be further from truth, the place was packed to the rafters with women, many of them students of pole dancing classes around Sydney, but also family & friends supporting their daughters, and lets just face it - women can appreciate really sexy women without being a lesbian. I saw only 5 guys in the place who fit the sleazy stereotype, however if they thought they were in for an eyefull of flaps, they were wrong.

Pole Dancing is a competitive sport, it combines agility, flexibility, upper-body strength, many of them lithe dancers who have been classically trained in ballet and gymnastics. No fake blonde hair or implants in this group.

Each competitor is judged on their pole skills, manouvres, and style. It boggles the mind how one person can suspend themselves sideways from a pole using just their armpit. There were some performers who varied from doing the 'kate moss' (just standing around the pole), to women who could hang upside down using just a toenail.

However, nothing prepared us for when this years winner (and winner in 2006) Felix Cane took the stage. If God came down from heaven and started to Pole Dance, this is what Felix was like, she was uber-sexy, graceful, and looked like she was born to be on a pole. Upside down, sideways, lengthways, upways, Felix defies gravity.

You really had to feel sorry for the girls that followed her.

This year they introduced doubles-pole which is two women doing synchonised pole dancing, or combining moves on the same pole. How they don't end up with a heel in the eye i'll never know?

The girls all varied with their looks and routines ranging from; Bjork on a pole, rockstar on a pole, ballerina on a pole, egyptian on a pole, geisha on a pole, during the tandem pole -NIDA on a pole (read: bad, really bad) noone wants to see you act and sing, just get on the freaking pole! Some girls didnt even have high heels on which i found offensive, sure you can do all those moves but its not sexy if you're doing it in sneakers now is it??

However I can not forgive the organisers for what they did to the crowd after seeing all these amazing sexy performers, by putting on the last contestant, which can only be described as a Man on a Pole. Noone wants to see that, clearly she was a prostitute, this is competitve sport she-male, noone wants to see you rubbing your gonads when you're lying on the ground. FAIL.

I feel I am now completely knowledgeable on what makes a good pole dancer, so unfortuately on my next outting to a strip club, i'll be the one with a notepad judging on the strippers ability to pull themselves upside down, to suspend themselves using just a knee. I am totally awe inspired by all the competitors though (even the prozzie) as if I tried my hardest to spin myself upside around a pole I would end up in hospital.

Alls I know is, I have to get some money together to afford the trip to Jamaica next year, can you imagine the crazy shit that would be going down on those poles, I bet they are so good they dont even need a pole and they can just hang upside down in midair defying gravity all on thier own.

Pfft gravity, a pole dancers kryptonite.

Possum Magic

I live in a unit that is 3 stories high, quite often we have invaders from nature enter into the realm and distrupt the tranquility.. huntsman spiders, huge killer moths, generally something that can be irradicated with a quick chase around the apartment with a broom.

Saturday night, i'm lazing it up on the couch when I hear these weird noises coming from the kitchen, I let it go because our cat is quite fond of climbing the kitchen cupboards, but then I hear this weird smash, and I go into the kitchen to see what all the fuss is.

I see a possum sitting in my saucepan.

A possum.

wtf?!!!!!!!! how the fuck did you get into my kitchen!! maybe it has the super gliding powers, but still.. he has wrangled his way through the blinds and into the sink and theoretically here to wreck havoc.

However, I was brought up on childhood fantasy books like Possum Magic


My first instint is to a) take a photo, and b) make friends and snuggle with the furry little marsupial.

However, The Boy's first instint is to freak the fuck out, barricade all the doors up and get a lifetime supply of towels to do battle with.

Did we see the same creature in the kitchen??.. I really don't think the possum came here to scratch our eyes out, and in the commotion of it all (ie: arguing about possible savagery of said killer possum in the saucepan) the possum disappears.

Where did it go? Nobody knows. General consensus is that it went back out the blinds when we were busy fighting over weather to take some photos or to bury it in a pile of towels.

Then on Sunday I woke up with a huuuuuuuuuuge itchy rash all over my face. Coincidence?? I think not.

Let's be rational here, is it totally beyond the realms of possibility that this possum has been climbing into bed with us of a night and getting its possum funk all over us?? hey in the dark a grey cat and a possum can feel the same can't they?!

Or if we're going to go down this road..... Is it really that incomprehensible that this possum was quite possibly a meth-head possum who in the commotion of all the fighting blew an ice-cloud into my face and I have had the ice-itch for two days???

I think either or both these scenarios seem highly likely.

In the meantime, my face is a plethora of rash and itchiness. The windows are all locked up tight so that we aren't ransacked by any further furry beings in the night, and Lenny.. well Lenny didn't seem to notice that anything was different.

Not an Impulse Buy

Sometimes you buy things, things that serve absolutely no purpose whatsoever. sometimes its a jacket that will languish in the wardrobe for eternity, sometimes its the worlds most expensive yet foot cripplingly uncomfortable shoes, sometimes it's a lipstick that translates to 'hooker face' when you get it home under the normal lighting..

................And sometimes its an antique ornamental brass-silver plated cat



What can I say??

It got into my brain.

I saw it in the shop window and I thought to myself.. "thats a nice silver cat"

then for the weeks that ensued everytime I went past the cat I would go "I should get that cat" "thats one damn nice cat statue"

however, it costs $250

$250 for a fake cat!

I could buy one really good pure breed burmese cat for that, or at least 250 crappy flea infested cats from some hobo.

So the argument of need vs want raged inside me for a week or so when I thought "fuck it! I can not live without that cat!"

so now I have it.

Dont really know what to do with it.

Lenny doesn't seem to know what to think.

At least I know I'll get some good use out of my Mr Sheen bottle.

"i'm going to stay home and polish my cat" just took on a whole new meaning.

Express Bus Rage

I catch PT. It's pretty dull. But then I sit my warm sense of smugness that my carbon footprint is likely to be half the size of all the jerks who drive past me and arrive at their destination half-an-hour before I do. Damn Bus.

However, the one saving grace that the Express Bus provides is when it whizzes past people at busstops that the express bus doesn't stop at, and I get to watch the rage form in the faces of these people who have most likely been waiting over an hour for something to pick them up.

HA HA!

You wave the bus down then it zooms past you, and you are not happy about that are you?! you scream and curse and wave your arms in the air. You are bewildered and angry and homicidal all at the same time. It's great.

There's nothing like watching someone completely lose their nut when you're going home from work, its therapeutic in a way.

You can beg and plead and bash on the door and call the driver a cunt all you want, but this bus aint letting you on! Sufffffferrrrrr

I'd like to be a busdriver who would drive around in the bus that never lets anyone on. You would sidle up to the passengers, make them think you're stopping then put your foot on the gas.

See ya later suckers!!!!

Feline Thursday... a poem

My cat has diarrhea
My cat has diarrhea
My cat has diarrhea
Woo! diarrhea today!

He poops
I'm in the shower
He poops
I'm in the shower
Woo! diarrhea today!

Summer.

Summer. Stinks.

You know what really gets on my goat? How everyone harps on about summer. “Oh I cant wait till summer” “only one month till summer”… whatever. Summer is Lame. Lets take a good look at all the great things that summer supposedly thrusts upon us for those 3 months a year.

Sweat: yeah those soaring high 30’s temperatures are a dream! If you relate dreaming to having a nightmare. I don’t know about you, but I break out into a sweat by answering my phone, let alone in summer when the mere act of blinking induces a waterfall of sweat to pour down my face.

Tanning: when will people get it into their heads that tans are bad for you? It’s called Cancer, and furthermore when I’m 55 I don’t want to look like a wrinkly old handbag left out in the rain. Summer just amplifies the fact that I have glow in the dark white skin, they can seriously see my white skin from space. I don’t need 3 months of people running away from me blocking their eyes from the rays bouncing off my porcelain limbs.

Sleeping: forget it. There is no such thing as sleeping in summer. Especially if you share your bed with another human and cat. It’s like an inferno in there! I keep having recurring dreams for 16 weeks straight that I’m stuck on the surface of the sun and wake up in a pool of sweat with my blanket stuck to me like superglue. Oh yeah. Summer is rad.

Clothing: or lack of. Hey maybe for the pervs and the ho’s summer is a great time to freely ogle the boobs on constant display, and it’s a good a time as any to get your vadge out in a non-existent skirt. I remember last summer there was a craze of shirts and no pants. None. Uh last time I checked pants were kinda pivotal to putting an outfit together. I bet the Norwegians never have this problem. No pants is an eyesore, specially when half the naked chicks out there look the exact opposite of Kate Moss.

Social Life: I’m lazy. I admit it, I would rather spend 18 hours on my couch inside watching a Heroes marathon than outside talking shit to strangers at the pub. But in summer spending time indoors is the biggest sin you can commit (next to being white) I hate feeling guilty about not doing anything, I hate feeling obliged to go out and have “fun” when I could be sprawled out in the nude spraying myself with a bottle and using a bag of frozen peas to cool down my nether regions.

And finally, the worst thing about summer is having had that mundane conversation everyday “isn’t it hot!” yes. Yes it’s hot. It was hot yesterday and it’s going to be hot tomorrow. Its called summer. Did the heat shrink your brain or something? cos I recall us having this conversation every single day for the past 8 weeks.

Bragh. Summer. Next year, I’m moving to the North Pole.