Wipe On Sex Appeal

So I was in the toilets of Shark Bar and I saw this...


If thats a bit blurry, it says "Wipe On Sex Appeal" Wipe On! Sex Appeal!

and it was only two dollars! who could possibly resist? Well not me thats for sure.

So I scrounged around for two dollars and to the bewilderment of my friends, out popped a little blue box.

We all peered at it.. "Why does it look like a Tiffany's tampon box?", it was oddly the same colour as a box from Tiffanys.

Colour is slightly off on my camera

"Open it! open it!"

When it was opened.. it looked like .. well it looked like a condom wrapper.

The back of the packet says: This product has not been tested on animals [ I hope not!]. For external use only.. which makes me wonder exactly where people think they should wipe this thing? Ingredients: Alcohol, pheremone, fragrance and water. Also it boasts an unfair social advantage over other people.. hmm..

"Are you sure that's not a condom?"

" A condom which I'm going to wipe on myself...?"

Coconat looked at me and screwed up her nose.. "What if it gives you a rash?"

"Well if it works properly, then I'll be getting a rash for sure! Hee... Ahem..."

I tucked it into my purse for research purposes. And also Mexicana was coming the next day so I was sure she'd appreciate the pure science of wiping [someone else's] pheromones on myself to attract the opposite sex.

...

Mexicana gives me the most exasperated look "you do realise that everyones pheromones are individual and you wasted two dollars! two dollars!"

"But I want everyone to make kissy faces at me! Like this! "


.."After we camwhore of course..."

So are we going to try this or not? .. Mexicana gives me a look which indicates I may be pushing the boundaries of our [beloved! beloved!] friendship by involving her in a crazy social science experiment.

"Fine"



Ippon looks at me and says "What exactly are you involving my girlfriend in??!"



Me: "I'm asking her to wipe this concoction on her neck so that we are more appealing to the opposite sex"

Ippon: "Huh."


So we [or rather I] opened up the packet and got a whiff of the wipe.



.. it smelt like lemony liquid soap but in a way that somebody had tried to remove the lemons and failed. It also made my nose tingle like a bastard.

I looked at Mexicana worriedly, is my nose supposed to tingle??? Is it going to work on me instead?? Will I go crazy and start humping everybodys leg?!

Mexicana: I don't think you know how pheromones work. No.





So despite my misgivings [and worries about an imminent rash] I start applying it liberally

x

It really was like a KFC wipe. Except drier. And greasier. When I reached up to touch my neck, it was like I had rubbed a kebab on myself. I was literally dripping oil.

Me: Um, chicks? Is this supposed to do this?

Mexicana: Yes, its alcohol.

Me: Not any alcohol I've ever drunk.

Mexicana: Sigh

Don't look so happy, you stupid fool. You smell like munted lemons

So hey pronto! we were greasy and lemon fresh and ready to go. Lets hit the town!

We barely stepped out the door when a forty year old man towing his two kids gave us a look. A deeply perverty look.

Me: He wasn't really close enough to smell anything. I think he might just be objecting to how short your shorts are

We walked up and down George Street looking for an open bar.

Equilibrium- closed [CLOSED?!]

V Bar- There was an empty function going on inside. The bouncer leered at us "you need to pay to get in. I'll give you a discount- make it ten dollars instead of twenty" I think if we had talked to him any longer he would've pulled down his pants and asked us to blow him for entry.

Me: Mexicana, I think your shorts are affecting this experiment.

We continued up and down until Mexi started pouting "I WANNA GET DRUNK. This is affecting BINGE TIME"

I was also starting to think that the smells of George Street [cigarettes, vomit, teenybopper sweat] were starting to co-mingle with my lemony scent.

Fine, fine so we headed to Star Bar [Mexicana officially desperate for a drink] where two [youngish] Indian bartenders served us.

I ordered her three chartreuses.

IB: So you're planning to get drunk tonight? IB starts eyeing up Mexicana appreciatively. Not that I want him or anything but I'm starting to wonder if I should wave my wrists in his face for the sake of experimentation.

Mexicana: Yeah, I am.... BLEAAAAAHHHH.. what is this stuff??

Me: Whoops, forgot you were a chartreuse virgin. Two to go!

The IB is impressed with her gusto, but she starts looking a little bit wobbly on her heels. Oh boy.

Moving onto Shark Bar before IB drags her out the back to hump her leg.

In Shark Bar, to my disappointment the only bartenders there are women and one strangely effeminate blonde guy. I look around and realise that even if this stuff worked [and I don't think it did] these are all eighteen year old high school students! I don't want to go to jail!

I gave up and played pool clumsily instead. Which is I think more fun than unobtrusively waving my wrists in peoples faces.

Results of the experiment: One extremely greasy lemony girl and her trashed best friend had no takers: an interested bartender, a pervy old man, an even more skeevy bouncer and many high school children which we didn't even bother to look at. Now that you put it that way.. is there a man drought in Sydney that I'm not aware of??

Two bimbos and a taxi

So me and Coconat had just finished having dinner and we were heading back to my car to go home. As we were walking up the street we spied a taxi trying to fit into a teeny weeny space in front of my car. Coconat and I looked at each other and I went ohGodohGod, there's no way he's going to fit...

CRUNCH.. [melding of bumpers noise]

Oh shit.

The taxi started to accelerate and move off. The bastard was going to hit and run!

So Coconat and I flew down the street and started hollering "OI! OI! You!! Stop now!"

The taxi driver hesitated for a second and and when he saw two angry girls bearing down on him, he stepped on the gas double time and zoomed off.

"Wait! You.. you... you.. fuckstick!!"

So we're standing there panting .. hurrrr.. hurrrr.. hurrrr [the two of us need cardio apparently] and I turn around to inspect the damage.

"Um...Coconat? That's not my car"

"Holy crap. It isn't your car!"

"Where is the car?" The car was safe and sound on a parallel street, undamaged by any taxis. We headed home, feeling extremely sheepish and just a little bit stupid. We certainly scared the nuts off that taxi driver.

I hate Unwired

I use Unwired because I'm renting. There are very little possibilites for internet for people who are renting and don't want to use a phone line. And so I use unwired.

I opened my computer up at 10:00pm, I have been disconnected from the internet once every three minutes for the last hour and twenty minutes. It is now 11:22pm. Which means I have been logged off the internet about twenty six times. I am starting to think I have the patience of a saint. I should be canonised. Saint Mush of Sydney, for not hurling the modem out the window at my neighbours cat. For sitting through twenty six disconnections and constant IP drop outs without kicking the wall in.



While I've been waiting for my internet to stabilise itself [at eleven at night] I've become very good at passing time on things that don't involve internet.

They involve:

Playing endless games of mindsweeper and or spider

Recreating starry starry night on paint program

Cleaning the keys on my keyboard

Imagining syphillis on the CEO of Unwired. Long and painful syphillis which involves his penis exploding with pus at the same rate of my disconnection.



I'm just waiting for my landlady to extend my lease and when she does, I'm going to switch to naked DSL. I am going to pee on the modem and send it back to Unwired in 500 pieces, in fact, I'm going to have a *peeing party for all my friends who've struggled to talk to me on msn for the last year because of constant cut outs. There's going to be so many people who are going to want to take it out on modem that there's not going to be enough modem to go around.

[If you're wondering, yes I did take it to customer service and their advice? Sell the modem to my friends if it's not working for me (really, I don't hate my friends that much). That advice cost me 45 minutes waiting time and a sixty dollar bill. Please canonise me. Vote now]

Push ups

I haven't been very healthy lately, I've still been taking all my vitamins and everything but my two minute noodle intake has risen by about 500%.

So I thought I would do some exercise but unfortunately it was raining outside, so why not improvise?

I started off by doing a twenty minute run up and down the stairs.. which was kinda fun in an incredibly dorky way. Up.. down.. up.. down.. by the end I was fatigued and I tripped up the stairs and tumbled onto the landing. This was not just any tumble. It was a somersault and a half. I lay on the floor stunned and then I just laughed at myself for five minutes. Good thing I'm living by myself and no-one could see me sprawled in hysterics on the floor.

next! sit ups! the muffin top is still there.. I guess that can't be helped. By twenty sit ups. I might be expecting too much [You know.. the Hello Kitty tattoo is only a year old and it seems to be faded already, should I be going in for a touch up or something?]

And then push ups. It's been a long time between push ups [actual push ups and not sexual push ups, you sick puppies] and I found that I couldn't do any "men's" push ups anymore and I could only do those "girly" ones.

Let me explain the difference, "mens" push ups are the ones where you lift up your entire body weight by arm strength. "Girly" push ups are the ones on your knees where you push forward [even in exercise the girls are on their knees...]

I can't put my finger on really why this irritated me, other than the fact that I'm unable to lift my own body weight.

I was bemoaning this to Mexicana who just said in her sensible way.. "you're a girl, it's a girl push up. " .. "But.. but I used to be able to do a men's push up!"

None of this, of course, was helped by the fact that Minnie kept attacking my face thinking I was trying to play with her. "Leave me alone! I am trying to exercise! GHDFHGDFHD"

Clearly the elements are working against me and don't want me to exercise.

[oh Sex on fire by Kings of Leon is an excellent song to workout to.. "whoaaaaaa! your sex is on fiiire!"]

D is for Desmond

When we were seventeen, Alphabeta and I had a friend called Des. We had seen him briefly in person but we talked to him mostly over the internet. This was put down to what we assumed was extreme shyness.

One day Alphabeta sat me down and said that he wasn’t shy but he was traumatized. Des was in the city one night with a friend when they encountered some youths who demanded his wallet. His friend handed over his straight away. But Des refused and was put into hospital as a result.

He never talked to his friend again, he regarded it as a betrayal. And from that he slowly slipped inwards, he never really left the house unless he had to.

From my seventeen year old mind, I didn’t really understand [well of course I’d also never been beaten to a pulp] and I was frustrated with what I perceived to be his stubbornness in getting back out and living his life. Rainbows, butterflies and trips to the beach. How could he be so blind and not see these things??

So I thought I would take the hard tack and I told him that what he was doing was an utter waste of life. That he was a coward for hiding out and living his life from his bedroom.

Des never talked to me again after that

http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/balcony-fall-teens-parents-travelling-to-sydney/2008/10/28/1224956014962.html

I read this in the papers today. It broke my heart. I think of her just trying to get through the experience. I think of him who has to live with so many scars physically and emotionally, and I wonder if he will become like Des. I wonder what Des is doing now.

One for the road

Q. Why did the woman cross the road?

A. Who cares why?! She shouldn't have been let out of the kitchen! Chain her back to the sink!



[This is only funny when I tell it. Nobody with half a penis should ever attempt to tell this joke]

Feeling wistful lately

Toast

So today is a new day and despite everything I have to get up and live life as per normal.

I have to eat. And I haven't eaten properly for two [two!] weeks now so I decided to hack into some toast.

Halfway as I was eating, it occurred to me that if there were any miracle Jesus faces on my toast, it would be all gone now and it would be a downright waste of miracle [that is if God was sending me any to cheer me up]

But then I thought about it, and I felt sorry for those people who spend all their time studying their breakfast as opposed to eating it.

Wouldn't it just ruin your breakfast if you received Jesus toast and then every morning after you popped more bread in the toaster.. nothing? It wouldn't be such a great start to the day.
Breakfast of course being the most important part of the day [says the food industry].

You and me are floating on a tidal wave

I don't know how to condense eleven years of memories into an appropriate essay. My skills as a writer are failing me.

I mean this to be a goodbye to my best friend. Who listened to me patiently everyday for the last eight years. Who saw my physical flaws and didn't flinch. Who steadfastly put up with every family dinner, every crazy fight and every unreliable friend.

For sharing my tears
For being my backbone when I had none

My words fail me because I cannot aptly put into words how much these eight years have meant to me, for you to have been with me every step of the way. I can't adequately express it.

It's time for me to go it alone.

I love you.
Please take care of yourself.

Old ladies, hills, directions.

I was walking back to work chewing my roast beef sandwich when a little old lady in a clown dress and a hat stopped me to ask for directions. She was holding a map and muttering. And I asked her what was wrong.

"The taxi dropped me off and I can't find twenty one. Twenty one. twenty one" [Oh, that Sam Sparro song is in my head now. Damn]

I gave her a look and said there is no twenty one on Nichols Street. She brushed me off angrily and kept walking.

I stood at the entrance for a bit deciding whether I should help her out. And against my better judgement [five years of catholic school- unwasted], I dumped my sandwich on the desk and headed back onto the street.

She was still walking up and down the street talking to herself "no-one can help me" and getting angrier and more frustrated as she paced.

"Look, lady. I don't know what you're looking for.. but that building over there? is 13-29. There's no twenty one on Nichols"

And she gets even more pissed off [adding to my multitude of sins, I'm pissing off old ladies] "Yes there is!"

Me: There is not. Thats 13-29. Unless your twenty one is inside.

Her: Twenty one is a house!

Me: That's clearly not a house

Her: No-one can help me! I'm walking up and down and no-one can help me!

Me: I'm providing you with all the help I can possibly provide! [Starts thinking of my sandwich. My poor sweet sandwich]

Her: no-one can help me!

She walks past and continues her fruitless search for twenty one on Nichols St.

I go back in and chew my lunch. That's something I also learned in catholic school, sometimes you have to stop and listen to people otherwise you'll be ninety five and walking up and down hills trying to find a house that doesn't exist. Also at ninety-five if you're still feeling sorry for yourself. She's right, no-one can help you

Rubiks cubes are hot!

So anyway I was talking to Mexicana about what I really like in a guy and one of my prerequisites is fluidity in movement. Not fluidity as in terms of dance but being able to take off a shirt in one go, opening a bottle with one hand that kind of thing. That kind of thing really makes me die a little inside. I think it's because I myself have no grace to speak of. And also I think there's a projection of confidence that comes with it. .. [Is it hot in here? I think so]

So she was telling me about her boy Ippon

Mexicana: oh u know what I find really hot? watching Ippon solve a rubix cube.

It's fluid and intelligence in one!

Mush: WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.. [at this point I rolled off my chair and hurt something]

Ok we'll go to the Rubiks cube convention when it comes around

Mexicana: theres one? omg. I will prolly have to bring my vibrator with me.

The first time I snowboarded

[Look how happy I am. I'm obviously the idiot who never went boarding before]

Those of you who have actually seen me walk will know that I am the most ungraceful creature this side of the southern hemisphere. I don't know if I'm just careless but I have a habit of bumping/spilling/fallingover and just generally causing mayhem wherever I go. I knelt over on the street to do my shoelace once and someone tripped over me, like tumbled straight over in some fantastic aerial trick.

So try putting me on a snowboard and watch the apocalypse begin.

Well ok.. that was a bit dire. But it wasn't pretty for anyone involved.

So we were standing around having lessons in a line. And we had to slide down the [mini] hill one at a time. Everyone else was sliding down just fine and I was just constantly on my hands and knees [I don't need this degradation! I can provide my own degradation!] or I would slide and slide straight past the instructor. Whoops. I should've stopped seven metres back?

And then I would have to drag my butt back up the hill. Have you tried walking with a snowboard attached to your foot? Its heavy and I'm not particularly athletic so it took me about six minutes to get back up the hill and I kept getting in the way of the people in line! I was starting to feel sorry for myself but mostly I was starting to feel for the people [also beginners] who were trying to avoid me! Foot go this way, no? ok.

So after this rather embarrassing interlude, the instructor said "Everyone to the ski-lifts!" and everybody just boarded their way there while I slipped and slid and just generally went the wrong way. When I got there, everyone was waiting patiently [and nicely] for me. That made me miserable.

We get to the ski-lifts and I cannot board it. I'm holding onto the side and I'm trying to get on and I cannot. And the guy is like "let go! let go!" I'm about to pull a Stallone cliffhanger with the ski-chair. He pulls me off and we both heave big sighs of relief, him because he doesn't have to watch me hang on for dear life, and me, because I don't have to hang on for dear life. For the next forty metres.

You can see how enamoured I am with the boarding. I took my board off [sweet ankle freedom!] and stomped over to the cafe and vowed never to try anything that would likely kill me ever again.

Of course I tried again in the afternoon [I'm no quitter!] and well .. knees? meet ice. Sigh, I gave up and made snowmen instead. The moral of the story is? Don't invite me anywhere that involves balance, co-ordination or heights. Invite me somewhere that involves eating and sitting down. [If you choose to invite me somewhere to eat, please don't point and laugh at my jiggly thighs from lack of exercise. Thanks]



There are no photos still. Blame Dylmah for breaking my camera.

American Apparel [I go on a rant. Another one]

Some images are not safe for work ok? ok.

So here I am on a Wednesday afternoon surfing through the internet when I stumbled across this ad [I'm not American, so I'm late to the party]



Can I just say? wow. That does not make me want to buy socks! And I cannot believe those advertisers think the consumer is so stupid that we'd buy those socks. Orgasm socks. Hold on let me try and put my finger on what else is bothering me so much about this ad [other than the orgasm socks thing] This is a girl, her name is Lauren Phoenix- she's pretty in a wholesome looking way, she's accomplished [as far as I can tell some sort of actor and director. Hopefully not in porn.] and they've stripped her naked to try and sell socks! IHFHVJKDHVSHVNKJSV

That was the sound of my head exploding. Onto the keyboard.

Right, let's simplify what the marketers were thinking [Occams razor a go]

a) we need to sell socks.

b) people don't want models! they want real people!

c) get me a real person!

d) what else sells? sex sells!

e) so get me a real person and we'll pile on the sex! Those socks will go flying out the window! We'll have to triple order on the socks!

GDFGDHBFDBJBNG. My head is not doing very well in this equation.

I don't know which is worse that advertisers think we'll somehow identify with the 'real' girl who is orgasming in socks. Or that in this modernfandangled world, even a tube sock can be sexualised. Look out soon for that erect penis to advertise a jar of peanut butter.

Oh, she is a pornstar. What.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lauren_Phoenix

Moving on, shall we? [That wiki photo needs a bra. Sigh. I guess American Apparel didn't give her one]

So I thought I would google some images, you know maybe I'm too harsh on old AA? Maybe I'm getting old and turning into a prude. I mean the human body is a beautiful thing, why shouldn't it be used in sexually explicit ways to sell us clothes? or batteries? or jam jelly donuts?? Won't somebody think of the children?!

And...... good thing I don't have children, because they would be wearing blindfolds. In a room with blank walls with only E.B. White stories on cassette.
But seriously, she's mooning the reader. How adorable. I would probably like those pants if they were on her and I could see them.

Lastly but not leastly, my favourite topic ever! The fetishisation of young Asian girls to sell bathing suits which don't fit properly! I don't know this girl and I can tell you that there's one thing that we have in common at this very moment in time, we're both carrying identical expressions of boredom and disdain.

So what is she thinking? It's rather cramped inside her head, it's filled with dimsims, men and diet coke bottles. It runs a little across the lines of... "Look photographer boy, this is really cold and uncomfortable and its sitting on my nipple rather awkwardly, can you start clicking already? Oh shit, I think my period just started. In a silver leotard. I hate my life. How come seventeen is not considered underage anymore?"

And here is what I would say to her if she was standing in front of me. "What the hell are you doing? Are you aware that only one of your nipples is for show on a national campaign. You look bored and cold. If you're going to render all of your fellow yellow sisters fifty five thousand steps backwards with that submissive crap, do you think you could do it with some enthusiasm?"

See identical expressions of disdain and boredom. Thanks American Apparel! I do have something in common with one of your models! I might go off and buy one of your tube socks online!

Reading on the bus

I am so much less emo in the morning. Thats the last time I post at three in the morning. How embarrassing. My eighty four year old neighbour can probably by now sing all the lyrics to Death Cab for Cutie, it probably permeates her dreams and she wakes up singing 'Translanticism' or something. Also something to stop doing at three in the morning.

This morning on the crowded bus [did I mention I miss my civic? Did I?!] there was a guy standing next to me reading a paperback novel. And for some reason the novel was wrapped in white paper. What the heck right? So I figured it was American Psycho or some other novel which you don't want people to know you're reading at eight in the morning.

[There actually would be something wrong with you if you decided it would be fun to read American Psycho in the morning on a bus full of people. I bought my copy at seventeen and its never ever occurred to me to go back and re-read it. It looks good on my shelf though. However the number of people who have flipped through it? Zero point zero. So who cares right? it's a good-looking dust collector. Ok I just wanted everybody to know I have a copy and I'm still normal. I did skip the killing sections though, that might've helped. Anyway. Long tangent. Sorry]

So I'm trying to read over his elbow and everytime I peer at it, he moves the book! This happens enough times that I suspect that he's intentionally trying to hide what he's reading. [I'm rubbernecking on a bus. Look at what my life has been reduced to]

And so now I'm curious. What the heck is it? Is it porn? The anarchists cookbook? what? I spy a subheading 'The Great Time Machine Hoax'

I come back to work and google it. Hoping it'll be something cool like Chariots of the Gods or something.

Here is what wiki came back with: The Great Time Machine Hoax is a science fiction novel by Keith Laumer, in expansion of his novelette serialized in Fantastic magazine under the title of "A Hoax in Time" from June-August, 1963.

Chester W. Chester IV inherits a run-down mansion and millions in back taxes. In order to pay the taxes, he initially decides to auction off the mansion and its contents, including a massive computer (the Generalized Nonlinear Extrapolator, or "Genie").

To sum up, he invents a fake time machine which becomes a real time machine and gets stuck in the past.

Um, wow. That was disappointing. That was disappointingly geeky. No wonder he had to cover it was white paper. Its for people to think the book is much more exciting than it is. That'll teach me not to read over people's elbows.

The metaphorical heart

I keep parts of my soul in storage. Like an old coat, I will take it out periodically and dust it off. After a while, you can't remember why that old favourite was hidden and you carefully place it in your pocket.

On Friday night, I took a piece of it to Coffeeboy and he used it to wipe his feet. It can't be helped he didn't know what it was for.
On Saturday morning, Sb took that same piece and he used all of his hurt and frustration to hurl it across the room.

I picked it up and looked at it

I cried because it was now torn and tattered. I couldn't recognise it. I sat on the floor putting it back together.

Mexicana saw she had a piece in Canberra, kissed it and handed it back to me.

I went to work

Blondie said to me "I know you're doing it rough", she then put a chocolate in a spot where there was a hole.

Teddy looked at it, saw that it was flat and propped it up with his hand and a coffee cup.

I went home

By the end of the weekend, it was clearly damaged and no kisses or chocolate could repair it fully. Devastated, I returned it to its box. When the tears finally dry, I will take it out and inspect it, I will promise myself to be more careful with it, I will forget why I hid it in the first place, I will put it back in my pocket and keep walking.

Funny funny

This actually made me snort coke up my nose and I got the giggles. The manic faces. The stunned expression on the postman's face. I think that transmitter is going to go where no dog has been before. So much to love in a single panel

Midori Illusions are not interfering with my ability to detox

So anyway I was talking to Md on the phone and I mentioned my intention to detox. [Because really I am looking fifteen types of haggard lately- if I don't it's because I'm using about twenty different types of foundation, a diffuser and wearing a hat. Why would I be exaggerating? I don't exaggerate. I digress] and she was all interested and said

"well how long have you been detoxing for?"[ie. how long have you been off the drink for? phew. Mush is not actually turning into Amy Winehouse]

"Uh.. since Friday?" [Crap, why didn't I say for two years? it sounds longer]

Md bursts into laughter "Three days is a long time!"

Nuts.

Anyway to get to my point over a long digressive introduction. I was having dinner with Betty last night and I was poring through the menu when Betty says "Ooh! Midori Illusions!"

and I'm Midori Illusions? Didn't they go out with the [old] Spice Girls and troll dolls??



I seriously haven't had one in about eight years. I remember the days of sitting with Tatergirl and a group of friends in front of Oneworld Sport and ordering them in the big jugs for sixteen dollars. We really thought we were so cool and of course, I've moved onto other drinks, Tatergirl is MIA and Oneworld Sport turned into a restaurant/bowling alley/night club before shutting down completely and nobody even thinks to serve alcohol in jugs anymore. Damn. Except maybe in Thailand.

I haven't seen them in eight years, so I'd presumed that they'd been pushed out of the market by infinitely more yummy drinks such as Smirnoff blacks.

So when I ordered one [most hesitantly] I was thinking there was a good chance that they're going to pull it out of the cellar where it rolled under the fridge and they're going to have to wipe the dust off it.

When it approached, I was thinking that bright lime-y green colour is also indicative of its radioactivity.

But surprise! It tasted exactly the same! and it had a valid use by date [ not one added by the waiter in texta marker]. How odd. And the taste memories which apparently never really die came flooding back and all of a sudden I was eighteen again and in the sunshine drinking Illusions because I thought they were cool.

Of course when I came out from my reverie I was across from Betty in the cafe at night time who is probably by now used to my descents into la-la land. Whoops, I was supposed to be detoxing. So duly I checked the label to see how much alcohol it had in it and whether I should start eating lemons by the box.

4.8%!

4.8%!!

There's more alcohol in a tiramisu! Or a baby wipe!

a Jim beam black holds 9% and a smirnoff black holds 7. The difference is simply gobsmacking. Betty saw me looking at the label and pronounced it lollywater. Thats right, you keep right on drinking that because in fifteen minutes it will be like it never existed. No wonder I spent so many of my younger years being good and sober, it's because I was drinking the alcoholic equivalent of a kfc cleansing tissue.

Anyway, I am not counting that Illusion as a dent in my detox [that was a dent? that was like a soft brushing. Of a cat] and my detox continues unabated. Well until I try smirnoff Ice Wild grape? What the heck is that? and where can I get me some?*

[*I'm kidding. Although oohhhh. Grape. Yeesh, don't bombard me with emails on how I'm turning to Amy Winehouse or I'll pour passionpop onto your shirt and elbow you in the ribs]

Its a quarter life crisis on a Wednesday afternoon

What I am doing on a Wednesday afternoon:

• Blatantly ignoring the truckload of work in front of me [Yoo hoo! Says the Indesign layout with my name on it]

• Sharing a packet of potato chips with Minnie- I wish I still had a camera so I could capture her chewing. Its fricking cute.

• Youtubing Jason Mraz. Please give him some love. The boy is a genius.

You and I both- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTUfx2p69zY

• Trying not to disappear back into my bed and sleep.

I wonder if I thought that my twenty five year old life would be more exciting than this. I thought it would involve me sipping maitais around a pool in a pair of high heels while a bevy of tanned waiters fed me grapes as I ordered people around on my mobile. [Apparently I'm a twenty five year old Naomi Campbell]

I did not believe it involved living in the most suburban of suburban suburbs without a car. Not even a snippet of hunky half naked waiter to polish my toenails or even feed me a grape. My dog has eaten my mobile so that it can neither be considered stylish nor sexy. It is also too cold for any sort of pool weather. Its yeti in a sweater weather.

What happened to my dreams and ambitions? I need to really sit down and re-evaluate what I want from life, of course this can only happen when I finish doing layouts. Sigh

Why I miss my car and why I hate bus guards

I miss my civic. I seriously just want it back so I can pat it lovingly on the bonnet never to part again.

So I was waiting for the bus this morning and my bus didn't show [as it does] so I got on the next bus which read CITY. It was not my normally numbered bus and I was a bit worried that it was going to do a gigantic detour through north Queensland before heading into the city. So when we got to Macquarie Centre, I decided to do the sensible thing and stick my head out the back door and see where the bus was heading.

As I moved my head and half a foot back in, the bus driver started shrieking like a banshee.

"BACKDOOR! SHE'S COMING THROUGH THE BACKDOOR!" [of course not many banshees drive buses but I digress]

and then a whole bunch [maul] of guards came and were like "Get off the bus!" and I'm "I have a ticket!"

So I got off the bus and dickhead guard 1# says "Give me your ID, you're copping a hundred dollar fine for coming through the back door"

".. But I have a ticket!"

"It doesn't matter."

Seriously getting huffy at this point, I dump my bag on the bench and pulled out my ticket.

The guards pass it around each other incredulously [like it's a hallelujah Jesus miracle] and say awedly "She's telling the truth"

By this time, I'm in borderline hysterics I am about to kick them all in the nuts with a swift roundhouse kick.

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD I LIE TO YOU?!!!!"

And then they all awkwardly shuffle around and look at their feet.

Dickhead guard 2#: Look, people lie to us all the time. Out of a hundred people a day, only one will tell the truth.

Dickhead guard 1#: Its a sad inditement of society.

[I put my head in my hands, I'm getting a headache]

Dickhead guard 2#: Don't get upset.

Me: [In my best refrigerator voice] why would I be upset?

Dickhead guard 1#: I've crossed your name off in my book! No fine!

Me: Thanks [fuck you, buddy]

Dickhead guard 2# Are you late for work?

Me: Yes [no thanks to you, your cronies and the shrieky bus driver]

Dickhead guard 2#: well, look you didn't have the ticket in your hand

Me: [death stare]

Dickhead guard 2#: Errr.. we'll put you on the next bus. No charge.

And that is why I miss my car and I hate bus guards. So bus guards are maligned and everyone lies to them. So they act cynical and condescending in return. They deserve a good swift kick to the nuts.

Take the world upon your shoulders

I do love that song.

I think because it's so gothic and melodramatic.

"All the bridges in the world won't save you
if there is no other side to cross to"

It helps when you are staring blankly at the screen trying to write a press release.

[Sorry for the lack of updates. I still love you all. Sort of. Some of you. Not you.]