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The Worst is Never Coming.

I’ve spent some time realising that new relationships are the best kind of awkward satisfaction: you spend your first weeks sexing, telling them how much you love their third nipple because it’s so unique and not at all weird, over-thinking whether to fake an orgasm or telling them you like scat porn and really not saying anything at all but riding the sexual endorphin high. Based on these principles, you could pretty much have a functional relationship with anyone you meet in a bar; it’s when you meet their friends and drop some god-awful politically incorrect bombshell of hilarity and hang your head in shame hoping that they’re giggling out of mutual amusement, and not giggling because they’re about to pull out their handy pocket sized bible and condemn you to some fictional hell. Continue Reading »

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A Lover of Antiquity.

A half-blind monkey on LSD could identify George Clooney as a genetically attractive human being, but it takes a certain calibre of person to look at the likes of Nick Cave or Steve Buscemi and want to get down and dirty (and possibly, creepy) with them. Luckily, a person of such calibre happens to be writing this blog and, after the jump, has cobbled together a motley list of her top picks of drinking, smoking and kinking partners.

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Periodic Madness.

There are two new commercials out in Australia for feminine hygiene products (stupid term, total unnecessary downer on vaginas). While one company has taken tampon manufacturing to new heights, the other seems at a loss as to where to go next with pad technology. Let’s examine:
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Whither All the Children?

I was on the couch eating a bowl of cabbage and marvelling at the deliciousness of this rather innocuous vegetable when I wondered why it is that adults in developed nations are trying to dupe their children into eating vegetables by hiding them in brownies? It seems like a daft idea, but Jerry Seinfeld’s wife actually wrote a cook book about it, and then was subsequently sued by someone else who claimed to have the idea first. Hey ladies, I’ve got an idea for you, what about just feeding your kids the damn vegetables rather than being all underhand about it? Surely all this conspiracy vegetable feeding is just adding fuel to the fire of the anti-veg crusade lead by these little brats. If they’re so awful they need to be hidden, well duh, who wants to eat them in all their original glory?

All the vegetable musing led to the general contemplation of the state of childhood today. When did we all start becoming so terrified that the darlings endure the usual childhood rites of passage? My roommate has friends who are primary school teachers who fully support the daft notion of not marking their pupils work in red, lest their precious self esteem is offended by all those red crosses (apparently the positive notion of red ticks isn’t considered). I wonder what colour they use instead, and what the possible damaging connotations of purple or green could have on their delicate psyches. Perhaps they’ll have an aversion to royalty, or grow up to be extremely jealous and totally environmentally apathetic. Continue Reading »

Things I Love Edition

I’m in a particularly happy, sweet, sharing mood today, and before I inevitably get around to ruining this marshmallow cloud, here’s some happy stuff I love and rarely talk about because I fear it humanises me:

photo credit: Rupert Singleton

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My brain is an ass-et.

My head has special needs. I have seen more specialists about my head than all my other body parts combined – and I am fairly average where body parts are concerned. Not satisfied with the all the psychiatric attention it receives, (oh, like you couldn’t figure out I was slightly unstable by yourselves?) it has discovered a new way to garner attention: it aches. So simple. It aches from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. It aches through a haze of weed, it aches through the fog of whiskey. It aches through prescription pain killers, and through the over-the-counter ones as well. And it aches through all of these aides combined, although it was a little more fun. (The image makes sense after the jump, I swear.) Continue Reading »

Like Mother, Like Daughter.

I’ve never been one to fuss much about mess and general disorder, as long as I knew that what was underneath was reasonably clean. Granted, I’ve been living alone for the last few years and, like a pig, became comfortable in my own filth. I could tell you how long ago the deserted tea cup by the couch actually contained tea, the number of hours the dress draped artfully over the kitchen chair has left before it’s necessary to wash it, even where the very important piece of paper resides amongst the disorder. Despite all this slovenly behaviour, it was my mess, and my mess and I coexisted quite happily together; most importantly my toilet was always clean. Alas, that was then, and this is now.

Of late, I find myself in the somewhat awkward situation of co-habitation. Apart from the obvious readjustments one must undertake so as to make living with others bearable, I’ve found that I have started to slowly morph into my mother. Perhaps being alone meant that I was able to quash any domestic abilities that threatened to come to fore as there was no need to please or appease anyone but myself. It could be location, it could be situation, it could be some warped version of maturity. None of which, however, comes close to explaining why I’ve started turning into my mother. Continue Reading »