Monthly Archives: April 2010

It is a worryingly bad idea to walk up and down cobblestone paths, alcoholic drink in hand. It is even more worrying when you do it after putting flammable objects in the drink.

Then again, it isn’t everyday one of your best friends turns 21. So, Joshua. HAPPY 21st BIRTHDAY.


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Moscow Mules are the afternoon drink of Gods (and drunkies).

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I seem to collect Mums in much the same way I collect shoes (plentifully, if you’re wondering). It isn’t intentional (once again, just like new shoes) but it happens and I am grateful. They serve special and unique purposes. Making up in areas another one may be falling short in, not that I am pointing fingers…

This on the right is my real, blood Mum. Her name is Kim and there are lots of exciting things about her, these include the fact she taught deaf and blind children, she was given an near impossible chance of beating breast cancer and she has celebrated something like 11 years in remission and the fact she dated Mel Gibson at what she calls his “physical peak, before he became a twat”. She also used to live in Hong Kong and drive a Ferrari but doesn’t understand why I whinge about living hours and hours outside of Sydney. She doesn’t do very well with boy problems, but is good at buying them gifts when needed. Like the time she bought one boyfriend his very own bed and gave him his own room. That went down a treat.

She is perhaps the best Mum I could have ever been gifted too. Honest like it is no ones business, generous beyond measure. And I think funnier than she could ever think she is.

I then have a nice, rounded selection of other Mothers. These include:

Brothers from another Mothers, Mothers: Like V’s Mum who introduces me to dinner parties as the “girl with the clamshells” and whom has provided me with countless alcoholic beverages during my underage years. Then there is S’s Mum who was my yoga buddy and has now morphed into the Mum you go to when you need reassurance (she is a kindy teacher and has never, ever been angry in her life). She is also the Mum we practiced sounding not drunk too when we were wee high school students. D’s Mum is my kick arse Mum. I like her because we are able to share dirt on her son. D, I love you. But I love your Mum heaps! I shouldn’t forget K’s Mum who is that happy balance between supportive of my stupid endeavors and skeptical I can pull it off with as much gusto as I say. Also lets you talk sex at the lunch table.

Mum who technically pays me to work, not cry out the back over coffee: My boss is actually my second Mum. She cooks me lunch three times a week, provides me with snacks for uni and makes sure I am getting all my nutritional needs met. She also provides a safe, happy (relatively) workplace where the sisterhood is encouraged to grow and where other Mum-type figures have developed. Like J, who has two sons of her own but being overtly girly just loves to get involved in girl time. She likes it when I tell her about the latest boy but has a bad habit of getting a little too involved. I just recieved a text to say she had been up to her old tricks, and that I should consider wearing a bag over my head to avoid a certain customer now knowing I think they have a cute butt. I do love her. Like I love B, another with children who comes out with motherly statements such as “Date him or I’ll hit you” and “I’m gonna give you vodka jelly shots then make you ride the mechanical bull”.

Teen Mums: also go by the name of my Best Friends. They prevent me burning myself on hot objects, tripping over cracks in the pavement, they have kind of helped me avoid ordering meals containing food stuffs I am allergic too and are always willing to dish out advice. This last point is important, Mums are walking/talking opinion polls that will share their opinion without feeling any need to censor what they are saying. Ever. This is a cross-category trait of all my ‘Mums’. My teen mums are also big advocates of physical threats as a means of getting the point across, “If you get back with him I will actually harm your person. I will hit you, repeatedly. Are we aware of what I am saying?”.

So, my one real Mum has multiplied into a handful. Strange, beautiful women who have all dished out, cleaned up and taken care of me so that I may be as lucky as I now am. Even if it means shooting all my ideas down…

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Music To Dance With Yo Pants Off Too.

This post will include three of my very favourite things, these are tooonz (also know as music), not wearing pants and wearing sparkle (this is only alluded to, but trust me if I am not wearing pants I’m highly embellished).

I have a No Pants Dance playlist (or four). For your perusal, this is #1.

1. Gold Canary by Cloud Control.

2. Darlin’, I Need Ya by Kid Confucius

3. Sexy Results (MSTRKRFT remix) by Death From Above 1979

4. Gay Bar by Electric Six

5. Something Is Not Right With Me by Cold War Kids

6. Baby by Devendra Banhart

7. Laura by The Scissor Sisters

8. Learnalilgivinanlovin by Gotye

9. Bohemian Like You by The Dandy Warhols

10. In The Summertime by Mungo Jerry

11. Jump The Gun by Midnight Juggernaughts

12. Gin & Juice by Snoop Dogg(yyy Dooooo-o-o-o-og)

13. Chunky by Ghostface Killah

14. James Bonde by Bonde De Role

15. Rio by The Bumblebeez

16. Girls & Boys by Blur

17. Ceremony by New Order

18. Original Sin by INXS

19. Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival

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21st Birthdayz are Dangerous!

For reasons as such:

– the trip to said Birthday always takes longer, for example close to double normal time. Fuck you Cityrail and Sydney Bus company.

– three of your five best friends (the other two absent) LOCK YOU OUT OF THE DAMN APARTMENT. And think it is funny when you are in dire need of a pee. They take their phones off viabrate and sit crying with laughter whilst you shake the door handle for ten minutes.

– you abuse everyone in close proximity and realise at the end of said rant you have completely forgotten its your BFFs 21st that day. And he is standing in front of you in purple nail polish, half-laughing half-crying (probably with laughter).

– you spend so much time mucking around, complaining about peoples weight loss, drinking absynthe, trying on leather etc. that you realise you can’t get to North Sydney until after 9.30pm and have essentially stood up a TV star. Ahhhwhooops. Sorry George.

– settle on wearing a pair of shorts that do not allow you to bend, stride or prance. You are left to shuffle out of fear of up crotch shots.

– you get the best cab driver ever! Who charges you a flat $6 rate to Norton St. but also recommends the worst damn Italian place ever. And you fight your way through Gnocchi Three Cheese and petrol house vodka.

– You go and sit in the Italian forum with gelato, find a couple on a balcony, commence a running commentary of their conversation and when they start hooking up (next to a group of people mind you) you all get tetchy with the need to yell out obsenities such as ‘Get a roooooooooooooooom!’ ‘BANG HERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!’ Also try and convince friend to throw full cup of gelato at couple.

– buy Birthday Boy an overpriced rose from a creepy as rose seller you had to physically chase.

– see a bunch of police cars next to a bus and make jokes that someone got stabbed, only to find further evidence that points to exactly that.

– go back to the apartment, climb into bed with your girlfriend and proceed to play Marco Polo, you show her how to throw her voice. Get caught by Birthday Boy who then witnesses you go from laughter to full on tears in a two second time frame. They proceed to pat you.

– the next morning you discover Birthday Boy vomited which reinforces inside you the fact you were right when you had said, “It’s not your party unless you vom”. Sense of achievement.

– go to breakfast in a gallery. One waiter is on uppers, the other looks like the lead male from West Side Story and you ask specifically for cows milk. This is funny, supposedly.

– take Birthday Boy shopping in General Pants, he only likes the things the pretty staff give him. The pretty staff only help him because they are in love with his friends who point out his purple nails to everyone and threaten to “climb under that changeroom door if you don’t show us the fucking jeans”.

– get caught staring at the Worlds Cutest Baby, not realising the baby is on the shoulders of Merrick from Nova who has decided you and your friend are inappropriate for cooing to his face. You feign ignorance when you make eye contact. Merricks wife however is slyly checking out Birthday Boys nails.

– you finally begin to make your way home and are patiently waiting for your train to leave Blacktown Station when you look outside and see a man relieving himself in full view outside your window. He winks, you look disgusted. One day, someone will tell him it isn’t worth winking about.


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Early Saturday morning, around 1am.

Walking along paths made of pebbles, crawling through itchy scrub bushes and looking up to see the clearest of nights skies.

Walking along in one of your favourite frocks and someone elses slightly dirty hoodie.

Walking along holding someone’s hand, that is swinging your palm up and up and up until it reaches the tops of the trees. And then piggy backing you home because your legs are about to fall off.

Ah, yes. The perfect ending to the perfect capsule love affair.

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It had become known as the world’s longest running ‘nearly’ relationship. They have been passing each other by for years, going to make the jump and then finding ourselves settled in the arms of another. Their simple friendship has maintained itself, irregular coffee dates and the occasional late night phone talks about life, love and lingering memories. Once, he even drove the hour to her house with a handmade birthday card, on the day of her birthday. It was pink (Derwent Rose Pink to be exact) because that was her favourite colour.

After a strained distance, imposed by an overly jealous girlfriend, they found themselves back at the start. Single, and what seemed to be, searching. Not that they were searching for anyone, subconsciously she was searching just for him and he just for her. And, like it had always been, they fell together in a blissful state of not-so together. Trust is a big issue when finding someone to call your own, the need for trust is perhaps the most important need anyone can ever have. It is one of the most defining keys to a healthy relationship.

He called her over, to spend some time and to while away a lonely Tuesday night, but they both sensed it in their tone that this was a moment. Never one to leave her home for a guy (or be generally spontaneous), she packed a bag and left. He knew everything about her, the events of the past year scarred her physically and mentally and he never had pushed her towards anything, she trusted him explicitly. But he knew tonight was a night where working through the invisible barriers was possible.

They settled themselves on a giant, cushion laden couch. They looked like a pair of hippy wanders, all braids, rasta beanies and a kind of beaded simplicity. No longer were they ‘just friends’ as he picked up his guitar and sang to her, about streetlights and remembering past woes. He interrupted himself, kissed her quickly and somewhat violently, and went back to singing. A seamless transaction that marked the start of something new. It did truly, change everything.  They had never touched like that before. Awkward hugs filled with sexual tension was their forte.

She stayed the night, they fell asleep wrapped around each other, starring up at a roof full of tribal artworks scattered with lights reflecting the moonlight off glass. It was one of those beautifully, serene moments where they could feel beating of each others hearts. Faster, faster as they silently took in the moment. Faster, faster as they processed thoughts, feelings. Faster, faster as he kissed her head and told her she was the girl he thought she was.

Morning brought the challenge, in the light of day they were both dishevelled messes of loose clothing and they had fallen asleep surrounded by sheets of music and half empty glasses. The realisation they had broken the barriers that had held their friendship together for so long dawned on them as he drove her to work. Not a single word was spoken.

It was days later that he rang her. She burst out before he had a chance and within no time their words just layered over each other. Everything was said, but nothing was listened too.

“I like you, but I can’t be your rebound”. “I can’t be in a relationship”. “I won’t sleep with you, it’s not fair”. “You want this too”. “No I don’t, I just want you. Not some lacklustre form of you”.

They now spend their days attacking their silent war from different fronts, the one who wants it all, and the one who wants the most undignified form of relationship imaginable. They call each other in the hope of convincing the other that what they want is the right thing for both of them. It fails every time. And now there is a hole, marking their mutual mistake in believing friendships can survive the next step.

Yes, it is true. Trust of others and in your own beliefs is indeed the most defining marker.

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