Sunday, October 31, 2010


The concept of the "wall".

Not just an affectionate name for a place where young boys schlep their ass in Kings Cross.

But also a theory which is rampant amongst the bruised and broken of lovers.

Once another horrendous break up is established, there is this notion of a wall that is put up and around your heart like the colleseum in the vain hope of never being hurt again.

It is usually the wall that is built to protect and to act as a burly bouncer to all those who try to get in.
It can come in the form of being a bitch
or maybe acting all tough
or just completely ruling yourself out of any situation that could break down the wall.
Ignoring the fact that someone may be in to you, as things have turned out so shit before.

I completely believe in the wall.
It is a control and power thing.
No one likes the power flip, but I suppose I am a true romantic, as I believe that someday there wont be one who is in more control than the other in a relationship.

Is it the wall that causes people to cheat?
The fear, which can sometimes be so debilitating that it can break you down into someone you never knew you could be.

Is it the wall that allows people to be enjoying the misery they have created for themselves?

Or is it just a coping mechanism that is a basic human reaction to having your heart torn out of your chest and eaten with a knife and fork by the person you were once in love with.

Whatever this wall may be, I do know one thing about it:

It is assembled by you like a lego fortress, and only you can take it down.

So there is no point in waiting around for someone else to take it down for you with their wit and charm and good looks because I can assure you if you take this method, you will be standing in a pile of rubble wondering how the fuck that happened all over again.

Im a big fan of the wall.
I have one.

I put it up with a concrete mixed out of anger and torment, and there is stands surrounding me at all times.

And for the first time in a long long time, I think Im going to rent a bobcat and tear it down.

Stupid? you may say,

Oh well, Im sick of hiding behind an imaginary wall, only touching the beautiful things in life with my fingertips, and if that makes me naive and silly then I guess I am.

But I know that Im willing to finally be exposed.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010


This photo sparked the flame for this post of mine detailing delusions and how easy they are to catch.

I was stalking Leb's page to see him tagged as old mate in the background, looking on at the chicks as they posed their little tits out.

You can imagine the scene, and if you cant...then ill set it:

**** It is friday night at Woodport in Erina and you have had a few rum and cokes after you polished off your six pack of melon cruisers (i dont even know if they make them in melon flavour it has been THAT long.)

The steam is rising from the dancefloor.

You look around and see some ripped piece of ace in a tight off white t shirt with blue writing on it that isnt in times new roman font (HOT!!!)

He looks at you, you look at him...he winks and licks his lips (which thankfully also removes the dried piece of sausage sizzle that he had at the pub on his way to the wooooddddiiieeeessss courtesy bus)

You giggle and point him out to your friends, they are so jealous that they immediately head to the bathrooms to reapply blue eyeshadow and bitch about how you always get the hot guys.

You wait there, Usher's OMG is pumping above and you feel in your element.

You turn back around to see if muscley mchot is still looking at you, but no he is looking at himself in the one piece of reflective surface in the whole joint.....his homeboy's shades that he is night.....inside.....

'dayum!' you say and think at the same time.

Anyway your gurlz come back from the b-rooms and you decide to hit the D-floor.

You hit it, getting trolleyed and trashyyy under the multi coloured lights that surround you like you are dancing in some sort of dero- rainbow.

You retire to the bar to get a drink and simultaneously get covered in bourbon, cum, spit, vodka orange and hair extensions.

That dont matter to you because Riverside motherFUCKAZZZ just came on and you reeeeallllyyy want to dance!

But some dude who looks a mix between your dad and a serial killer comes up to you and your gurlz facez and asks for a photo.

Yeah sure! you all chime, and begin the formation that you see above.

Whilst in this formation you have never felt so good about yourself in your life. But a tiny bit vulnerable due to the dude in the white t shirt with blue non times new roman font and the sleeve which i think has flames up it who is staring at you and grabbing his nuts at the same time.


You lose concentration for a second but then regain it and SNAP! goes the flash, you think you blinked but you cant be sure because your back and nostrils were so strained tighter than what you were before the age of 13.

You rush over to the photographer who lets you look at the photo, and all agree that the fake laughter was a good idea.

Turns out it was a good idea, coz that hottie with da body comes over, whispers in your ear:

"hey, want to suck my dick behind red rooster?"

to which you reply,

"Only if you buy me a large chips after."

moral of this fairytale:

Even disgusting old mates with intentions to kill who hang out at woodies on friday nights stalking young nubiles think you look like a fucking idiot.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010


ahhh the essence of the power bitch.

I recently went to an 80s themed party dressed as a power bitch (see below.)
Isnt she wonderful? The head bitch of the power bitches is Kelly Cutrone if you ask me.
She produces such a strong and inspirational energy, even though she seems to talk to everyone around her like shit.
But that is what makes her so enticing or (n thai sing if you live in Terrigal).
She takes no nonsense, rips your head off but then puts it back on and hopes you have learnt your lesson so one day you may take over the power bitch kingdom.
American Psycho the movie, portrays the power bitch, even though they are slowly being killed off by one extremely ripped Pat Bateman.
Its all shoulders and swagger.
I love it!
Now let me assure you, I am not referring to the word "bitch" in a way that one may associate with "yo bitchez" or "fucking slut bitch whore."
The term "bitch" in this instance has a completely different meaning.
You see, there ARE bitches out there. The ones who use passive aggressive tactics to belittle and create an air of nastiness that surrounds them. This is usually out of insecurity.
Then there are the "yo bitchez" who are just your girl hanging out maybe shooting some hoops and may affectionately be called a bitch, but usually by other women, or their pimp.
Then there are the chicks who try and keep The Simple Life alive by dragging on the 23 year old persona of Paris Hilton and referring to them and their dopplegangers as "bitch" as in, "love you bitch." KILL ME NOW.
But then there is the rare and most amazing type of bitch, THE POWER BITCH.
The power bitch will not take your shit, she will tell you when you are wrong and will not apologise for being wrong. She does not tackle issues with a passive aggressive nature. It is more assertive aggressive, and wont let you leave her presence wondering.
She is walking along with her head held high, and a look on her face that says "dont fuck with me."
Sometimes I like to pretend I am a power bitch, when ive had a bad day or if someone has said something to tick me off, and I walk around with this type of swagger. It feels amazing.
Now I sad little bitch Jess, you act like you are something you are not in order to make yourself feel better.
But as if you bitches havent done it?
Its not all the time, and I guess it could come down to a control thing. Being a power bitch and a control freak go hand in hand. But id rather be a control freak than be somebody's bitch.
Especially when something pisses me off but I dont feel I have the right to say anything back. That is when I feel most shameful and pent up, and in need of channeling the power bitch.
Sometimes its good to make yourself feel strong when you are made to feel at your weakest by others.
Then again, it is not in the power bitch manual to act like a victim, which also takes away any self sympathy.
Because after all, all of us have the ability to be a bitch, you just have to choose which one.


These are things I have learnt (or noticed) recently, and things I have not learnt.


1. making out is the best exercise.

2. you can be whipped and not even know it, but may have to admit it much like an alcoholic has to admit they have a problem before they can even begin to recover.

3. drinking three nights over a weekend makes me feel like im not eighteen again.

4. a lot of people I know have BEAUTIFUL eyes.

5. Im still not sure if some people really mean what they say, but I have learned it is easier to agree to shut everyone up.

6. I can bake a mean cake.

7. psychics cant predict the future, they can only take a shot at your past...and not even YOU want to dredge up that!

8. regrets really are futile. fuck them.

9. finding a park in Terrigal this coming summer will be like trying to get Mary Mackillop to give you a gobbie. Stupid, pointless and yet angelic in some weird way.

10.The beery is no longer "the beery"...its merely somewhere to get a pineapple vodka in peace.

11. house parties are the new black.

12. 11:11 is a real thing.

13. everyone looks good in stripes.

14. Radio tunes are an abomination, and the more i listen to the mass produced music on the airwaves today the more depressed, embarrassed and ashamed I become about the fact that this might be what I have to show my kids about what pop culture was like "back in my day".

15. The Doors are wide open.

16. You are never alone, you are with yourself.

17. North Shelley beach has an intimidating parking lot.

18. Goon will always have a soft spot in my heart. & it should have one in yours too unless you are allergic to fish or nuts, as all goon sacks have traces of these in them. delicious.

19. Quesadillas is not a dirty word. But you can make Fajitas sound like one.

20. I will never ask you to buy me a drink, but I will say yes if you offer.

21. Everyone is a genius in some way. EG: whoever can work out how twitter works and use it efficiently, or anyone who can remain sunbaking on the beach for hours on end, or guys that can take off a bra one handed. CLAP.

22. "Alf was eating pussy way before it was cool."

23. For such a fucking loud mouth (and im assuming short dicked man) John Mayer is, he really pens some pathetic lyrics nowadays. It only appealed to me when I was a pubescent teenager when my judgement could not be trusted. He is the peak on the mountain of douche lord that is running so rampant these days.

24. Paramore chicks voice was meant for around 2004 when we were all listening to Dashboard Confessional and Something Corporate and ignoring bands like Paramore but allowing them to exist peacefully along with the rest of the super tubed clad fringo gringos. Now paramore... you just sound like a wailing off cut from Erina Friday Nights back in 04, collaborating with some no name rapper to produce an award nominated "track" (that belongs on your myspace page) that is blasphemous to the history of ROCK AND ROLL that has passed us. FUCKING HELL. fuck you hey. and Usher, way to sell out man and chuck a techno warble behind your voice, you used to be cool man.

25. David Guetta is such a white boy.

26. Because of when, how and where I grew up, I will always have a distaste for Emo's. Dont blame me, blame my surroundings. Besides, have they all flown south for the summer?

27. If you recieve some mad attitude in the post once you move to Sydney from the Cennie, please return to sender before you begin your slow yet sure descent into wankerdom. I will not be there to pull the stick from your ass once you realise you are standing ankle deep in your own bullshit that has spouted from your own mouth.

26. Jared Leto- you are not a triple threat. you are a quadruple threat, because you sing, dance, act and have multiple personalities syndrome. You are the equivalent to a child being dragged about by her stage mum who claims that her daughter can do anything!!! P.s. you make me sick, forget you.

27. Doing mushrooms in Koh Phan Gang was one of the best experiences of my life, and to this day I still think the night sky looks like a suspicious black cat.


1. everything else.

Thursday, October 21, 2010


wearing nice undies is fun.
its like you have a secret that no one else knows, and if someone is lucky...they will know by the end of the night.
I think its like wearing heels, it makes you feel sexier without even realising it.
It is a secret weapon that girls possess and not many people know about.
Because by wearing pretty undies, you can dress up underneath it all.
I once got dared to put my undies up a flag pole. I did it, I got them off without removing my tights.
They were the nicest undies I ever met.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


Babes on wheels make me melt.

Not the kind of midnight blue subaru wheels, but the ones you find attached to a board.

This video inspired this post:

from the eyes (which are actually lenses) of Brendan Turner:

Its like when Lord of Dogtown came out and all the girls lost their undies!
There is something crazy hot about a dude on a skateboard, flying around the place but to ride that board they have to maintain an essence of 'cool' about them, and not flail about as to not lose their balance.

So all up, they end up looking like some long haired bad ass standing on their board like they couldnt give a fuck but still getting some mad speed and maybe doing an ollie.

Of course, when you have your morning coffee in your hand and all your books or paraphernalia in your arms and some lout comes flying into your path at the speed of light, it may not be as attractive and may make you call out:


But any other time, for instance, when you have a corona and a wedge of lime in one hand and a marlboro gold in the other and you are sitting at a party and some of the babe dudes who came to the party get on their skateboards.

It happened to me at a party recently in Bateau Bay, and all the girls I was with immediately paid attention to what was happening and let out some type of sigh.

But the sigh was no ordinary sigh, it was more like the breath version of "ohhhh baaaabbeeesss."

I wonder if boys know they are looking so amazing while on skateboards.

But I must admit its even better when they stack it on an unsuspective bit of gravel in front of you, and the only thing you have left to do is laugh.


babes on wheels rule.


Ok ok...I know what you are thinking... here we go another man hating post about how men suck and treat girls like shit blah blah blah but NO this one is different, because it does not apply to every man I know...only a handful, and I have to get this off my chest.

Scholar James Kingi once said, "This is due to a hormone imbalance."

What is you might ask?

Talking down to girls.

I am so fucking sick and tired of being patronised by a set of testicles.
That is all you are to me, something to look at when I am bored.

This whole metro chauvinist bullshit grinds my gears and makes me wonder why it is so frequently used in todays society.

Why do SOME men feel the need to be condescending to girls?
They wouldnt talk that way to their mates or another guy.
It is a fucking disgusting habit.

And what really pisses me off is that they act as if they are so up with the times and equality and all that bullshit, but it is a false sense of their own security reaffirming what a fucking sick cunt they are.

well ya not.

Your just like the rest of the fucking greased up douche lords that skulk about yelling shit out to chicks and commenting on what they are wearing if its too short because they cant handle the fact that they dont know where to hide their boner.

Its not her fault if she is an independent woman wearing whatever the fuck she wants just because she can, and doing whatever the fuck she wants because she can. Just because you have an inordinate amount of pubic hair mixed with nuts that are bigger than your cock does not allow you to scream out insults hell bent on taking whatever confidence she can scrape together in this fucked up world we are living in where images are so airbrushed it could make Rosie O'Donnell put down her cheeseburger and make her start eating more pussy to lose weight.

You make me sick with your holier than thou attitude and words that fly out of your mouth with the pompus spit you use to project them like the fucking stupid winged monkeys from the wizard of oz.

All Im saying, is that its pretty clear no girl likes to be patronised, and if you find one who does then tell her to grow some balls.

Monday, October 18, 2010


I can not take credit for this post idea. It was from an anonymous source, who I seriously should collaborate with one day.

but "they" put this little idea in my head and ive been running with it since Saturday.

What is your guilty little pleasures?
We narrowed it down to three categories:

1. A band you love but will not admit in public.
2. Something sexual.
3. Something you do when no one is around.

Here are some answers I recieved (completely anonymously) in numbered order:


* Aqua
* Kisschasy
* Hanson
* Justin Bieber
* Lionel Ritchie
*Justin Timberlake
* Katy Perry.


* Doggy style.
* Getting felt up in public.
* Getting bitten on the lip when being kissed.
* making out in the ocean.
* Going down on a girl when she is freshly showered and landscaped.
*Biting, scratching, anything rough.
* A boy in a towel and still wet from the shower, then taking the towel off.


* Walk around naked.
* Walk around naked with heels on.
* Take photographs of ones self.
* Take photographs of ones self naked.
* Look at yourself in the mirror.
* Look at yourself in the mirror of your car while driving (dont tell the po po).

All in all some interesting, if not disturbing answers (referring to number 1 of course)
I sometimes like finding people in magazines who look like me, I dont know why, but I will admit that is a guilty pleasure of mine (as were some of the ones above, I wonder which ones?).

Surely that is completely and utterly narcassistic of me, but fuck it...we all love ourselves even if we constantly and adamantly say we dont.

Who else is gonna love us?

I love finding things out about people, Im so interested in your inner most thoughts and tiny little pleasantries that fill your day. The way you think about certain issues and the opposite sex.

I think that is well documented in the pages of this blog, I am genuinely trying to find out who you are, a bit like Serena Van Der Wootsen in Gossip Girl series two, final episode.

I like you. I like everything you are about, and especially the way you think, if you even think at all.

I have noticed that there is a time and a place to be "thinking". For instance, not when you are boning, you should not be wondering how many calories were in that elusive skim caramel latte you had at 10:30 that morning.

Or when you are out and drunk, the last thing you should do is think about ANYTHING. Because it will either get you down, or cause you to spontaneously combust due to the brain cells that are forced to think but are trying to die peacefully at the same time.

DONT THINK...when you are talking to your friends about your problems or goss you have got, because you should always just say whatever the fuck you want and hope for the best (thats my way of doing things anyway.)

Dont think when talking to any teachers at university, just figure out what they like (individually) and adhere to that to the best of your ability. Because the fucking place is a corporate conglomerate designed to slowly and surely rip young people off whilst teaching them nothing, and eventually handing a piece of paper that will qualify them to work as the boom gate operator at the Easter Show. FUCK YOU UNIVERSITY, and if you are doing your HSC right now, fuck studying...

Go out and but yourself a leather jacket and a packet of safety pins and a bic lighter (preferably that brown colour).

Put on your leather jacket, stick a safety pin through your nose and go fucking torch every exam paper you are meant to do (on the respective days it is scheduled) and then do some drugs and become an artist and find a way to go to Paris and fuck heaps of chicks and dont give a shit until you are 40, then move to some suburban town and take up surfing and mushrooms and die a HAPPY FUCKING PERSON.

Instead of a fucking piece of cattle, that not even Huey from Hueys cooking classes or whatever that bullshit is on designed to numb us, would scarf down.

all Im saying is stop giving half assed gobbies to the man.

God I wish I could take my own advice.

Monday, October 11, 2010



Ever feel like you cant believe you just saw what you saw because of the time you did certain things?

Like if you didnt speed that little 2 kilometres, you wouldnt be a certain place at a certain time in order to see what you just saw?

Timing freaks me out.

And I do believe it is one of the unexplainable things that hold us back or set us free, depending on what we are feeling or doing at that time.

Do you ever wonder what could have been if the timing had been different?

Why things just never seemed to work, due to the timing?

I know I do. I wonder about it quite a bit, mainly because I am a runner and a thinker (and no I dont mean as in going for a morning jog and thinking about what Im going to eat for breakfast, more like running away to be alone and thinking.)

Like there is a TIME to grow up?

a TIME to think?

a TIME for play?

a TIME for work?

What if time is slipping away, and you arent realising it due to the time you believe you are experiencing.

Well it is right here and right now.

We rarely live in the present.

It is about the future or what we missed out on in the past.

But I am making a real decision right now to live in the time I am given.

I dont know if anyone else understands any of this, but it makes perfect sense in my mind.
Ive been WAY too reflective in the past three days. Not exactly reflecting on the past or anything, but just reflecting on the people I know and the things I do, and it pretty much is just an excuse to get in the car and drive around listening to Mumford and Sons, smoking a marlboro.
That is one thing I can rely on to jog (i know so many exercising metaphors) the bases of the brain that trigger memory and happiness.
For instance, I was just driving around and 'Swimming in the flood' by Passion Pit came on, which immediately took me back to a Balcony in QLD and 6am, and a complete rush of euphoria soared throughout my body.
Music is one of those things though.
A Cold Chisel song, especially 'Forever Now' takes me right back to my childhood and the bushfires in Penrith, the Red Rooster meals, the swing sets and the picnics, Dale and Kirsty.
Whereas grittier tunes can take me back to the years I spent on the floor of 77, contemplating absolutely nothing, and loving it.
'Friday Im in love' by The Cure takes me back to Swtizerland, driving around on the massive bus feeling completely miserable but strangely content at the same time.
'Doo Wop (that thing)' by Lauryn Hill takes me back to Bus 17 with Madeline harmonising out loud because even back when we were 16 we still didnt give a fuck what anyone thought.
'The Good Fight' by Dashboard Confessional reminds me of when Jess Moss got her P's and we drove around for the hell of it, as you do.
'High Flying Bird' by Elton John reminds me of Thailand and fills me with regret that I didnt take life and the present by the balls, but instead became so consumed with the fucking ridiculous past that I had left at home.
That is why I am so aware of timing.
But I believe that you can make your own time, change what you think is the right time, and embrace what is happening to you right now, even if it is shitty, because before you know it, that time will be over and you might find yourself driving around reflecting on why you miss it.

Sunday, October 10, 2010


Just been driving around town listening to Pearl Jam's black, and realised I am in come down city if there ever was one. I would be the fucking mayor.

I wanted to make a list of things I do not like, because tonight I feel like a wilting tree:

1. Being disappointed, by anyone. Fuck you, dont say you are going to do something and then not do it, it is damaging and stupid and makes you look like an idiot. And me.

2. When its too cold to eat an ice cream.

3. Police cars.

4. People who get into physical fights with others. You look like you are compensating for things you are lacking.

5. People who rip you off and dont even take a second thought.

6. People who you thought were your friend, but then go completely off the radar without a goodbye.

7. People who have fucking disgraceful mood swings (hypocrite? yes i know).

8. When nail polish chips.

9. Lazy people. Especially when it comes to the crunch, and they cant see it and just decide to do nothing, usually because they cant really be fucked and dont really care about the consequences.

10. Shit excuses. At least make up something interesting.

11. People who are so high on their own pedestal, it has actually lodged in their ass.

12. One word answers.

13. Being ignored.

14. Passive- aggression.

15. University.

16. fucking dirty liars.

17. People who go to festivals purely for the day out, instead of the music.

18. When the serotonin in your brain dips.

19. Having to see people you would prefer never to see again.

20. When the take away you just got goes cold in the car on the way home because you had to drive around to Pearl Jam and have that one last cigarette.

But hey, I love you, so who gives a fuck?

Saturday, October 9, 2010


This is exactly how I felt today:


It is actually fucking amazing how a perspective can change when competition becomes involved.

is that called JEALOUSY?

or just healthy competition?


So you think you are kind of interested in a boy, but then you arent sure, then you see them talking/dancing/making out with a total babe....and suddenly he seems more attractive? less attainable perhaps?

What is it about the ungettable that makes it so worth getting?

I believe that jealousy and competition sometimes go hand in hand. You have to get that little green pang before you pull your frilly socks up and go for what you realised you want.

It is another fucked up dimension to girls. And maybe boys, I dont know. Something or someone that is wanted by others seems intimidating but in a completely satisfying way.

Maybe Ive just been reading too much of the book, Rules of Attraction by Bret Easton Ellis, psycho-analysing relationships and the misinterpreted feelings, actions and meanings that come with getting to know someone in an intimate way.

I know that once a third party is involved with what you think is temporarily/could be something you may feel free to indulge in or with, the threat is like the lion to the gazelle. It creates a sense of seductive urgency to claim what may be taken from you.

Not implying that anyone is EVER anyone's property. But I think you might know what I mean, that being the fact that you may assume that you have the attention of the object of your desire, but as it is with people and life, you will never really know.

I love that phrase, "Object of desire."

It is so romantic.

Something not many people say nowadays as well, much like the word "handsome" or "rufus".

I dont know what it is about the words we dont use anymore, and the letters we never write (because we have Facebook chat), and the romantic ideals that are rarely fulfilled.

I dont know what it is about the people who ignite the bases of jealousy, tingling our senses and lighting a tiny fire inside our chest that spurs us to do stupid or perhaps brave things.

To sum up, I might quote a character who dulls the senses,

"Truth and time, tells all."- Justin Bobby.

How cut would we be if he was some government operation designed to desensitize us even more?

Such a babe, but.

Friday, October 8, 2010


This is a post inspired by the blonde haired barista I like to fondly call Mitch Faulkner.
He is down in Bathurst RIGHT NOW making cappucinos for old bastards and sluts alike.
He told me about the promo girls that flock to that car race they hold every year.
Now I have no judgement toward promo girls. I used to be one for one shift at Terrigal pub back in 2008, before I threw in the towel.
Why you ask?
Because the shift I did get I had to dress in a Midori dress with matching headband and go around asking provocatively if anyone wanted a shot.
I did it with two other girls one redhead and the other blonde, and i wish i had recieved a dollar for everytime some old half shaved bastard slurred "OHHHH LOOK AT THIS, A TRIFECTA, WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS WAYNEO (OR MACCA)? A NE-O-PO-LEETANA ICE CREAM THATS WHAT SWEETHEART."
I left the premises swiftly and went home for a four hour shower with Simply Red blasting trying to get the past 3 hours out of my head and off my body.
I dont know why I did it. Money i guess, and maybe the fact that it seemed so appealing, the fact that I could shove my tits in some loser's face for a while and then stupidly walk home thinking I would be safe.
I was, but still.
Some may associate promo girls as sluts, but I do not.
Where would the world be without sluts with daddy issues?
There would be alot of tattooed, muscled up greasebags with blue balls thats for sure.
Who would populate Coaster or Bounce?
Who would drink fourteen cruisers before going out and whip off her undies in a frenzy because some lad just dared her to?
Who would create the wind tunnels that weirdly crop up on a sunny day?
Who would know just about every move in the karma sutra, but not have the dexterity to pull it off due to the bong she just pulled (and not through her mouth)?
I am such a bigger fan of the sluts rather than the prudes.
Talk to a slut,
see what you can find out about the more macho sex, and what they like in the sack.
Because god knows, I dont want to be the one who got called a taxi at 3am.
Or better yet, the one who didnt even get to the apartment/ mums house, but got wheeled out from behind Cold Rock in a trolley by one of her fellow slut counterparts, putting new meaning to the word "TROLLEYED".
The world would be such a dull place if there werent any sluts with the shrill voices and eyes that only seem to look up at you, as if she has your cock in her mouth before you have even unzipped.
Everyone deserves a slut.
You know how people have their word of the day, and they have to use it in conversation.
Well I endeavour to call a boy a slut, but seriously and see the reaction.
I bet he will be chuffed as.

Thursday, October 7, 2010


BLONDES. maintenance.Marilyn.

There were some words I know I associate, or have heard others associate, with the hair colour that is blonde.
dark.independent.exotic.Jackie Onassis.
I know I doubled up on some words there, I did that on purpose because I felt that some adjectives do apply to both pigments.
It is such an odd concept, hair colour, and the connotations that come with it.
I know that I could never go blonde.
Not because I have anything against blonde haired people (except for the blonde haired men, that is just creepy or surfy depending on where you are at in your life), majority of my good friends are blonde chicks.
I dont get the appeal of being blonde, maybe because I have never dipped a toe into the golden pool, but I know they have smeared their tresses with dark dye and it has never stuck for very long.
It interests me though, there must be something about being blonde. A certain attention, perhaps, that us raven haired lasses dont recieve?
Depending on where you are from, either hair colour could be a rarity.
For instance, in Italy I noticed the fake blonde was EVERYWHERE due to the rampant genetic pool over there producing brunettes.
Whereas, catching a dark haired girl on the Cennie might be a bit rarer.
I dont know, im just throwing it out there.
All i know is when I moved here from Parramatta in 1999 I had never seen so much sun dyed locks in all of my life.
You all looked like beautiful versions of Big Bird, flitting your yellow feathers, to my 11 year old amazement.
That was honestly the first thing I noticed about the Central Coast upon moving here.
And no im not saying its a bad thing, its just an observation.
I think as a child, you had your Cinderellas and your Barbie who were blonde role models, flying the banana head flag for the blondies out there, so upon viewing all these surf and sun kissed kids I was overwhelmed, having just come out of the most diverse cultural melting pot also known as Wentworthville.
Blondes ARE beautiful and smart and funny and the like. The ones I know, yeah.
But some are fucking idiots who play up to the aforementioned cliches. It is then when a hair colour becomes more than something that sits on your head, but then it penetrates your brain, eating away at it like a stringy zombieeeee!
Thats about all I know about being blonde. so, SHIT ALL.
This is what I know about being brunette:
1. It is rarely commented on.
2. Everyone is brunette underneath the blonde, so blondes often look at you like you are that retarded penguin from Happy Feet who didnt become a fully fledged penguin, but stayed with the fluff from when he was a baby penguin.
3. It is easier to be taken seriously as a brunette.
4. People dont usually laugh AT you.
5. It is a benefit being regarded as mysterious, rather than just OUT THERE.
6. Brunettes pull off eye make up better.
I dont want to sound biased. Im trying to tip toe around this topic because I think I might get beaten up by brunettes and blondes alike. And probably redheads most of all, because they arent getting a big enough mention. Literally that was it. Id just like to note two redheads: Marie Nunan (I think she is still red at the moment) and Amy Smith, because they rule.
Anyway, Boys probably wont understand this shit im talking about, and something funny I notice about dudes is that they refuse to admit to liking one hair colour over another (which is kind of sweet, showing that they do not purposely discriminate), but they blatantly go for the same shade every single time.
Nothing wrong with that you see, I cant talk.
Although an inordinate amount go for blondes.
I notice these things. I am weird like that.
Whether or not you are blonde or brunette or redhead (second mention!), at least you are not one of those fucking weird chicks who are stuck in 1994 with the green hair walking about Gosford train station at 10 in the morning with HUGE boots on and a belt chain.
Just thank fuck for that.

Monday, October 4, 2010


I thought I would write this post whilst under the influence of some strong cold and flu tablets.
I took them at 8pm, and right now my head feels like a basketball that has been felt up too many times by Kobe Bryant, but my leg is twitching.

Its so weird. Im listening to Grum and feeling slightly high.

But I was ranting earlier to my dad about how that whole Australia's next top model fiasco was just another fucking desensitizing scam to manipulate the minds of the masses in order to distract them from something bigger happening in the world.

I mean, in his day, he would not have thought twice about whether or not it could have been a publicity stunt. Is it the matter of they got away with alot more shady shit back then, or have we become a giant race of jokesters who like to disillusion and trick each other into submission?

Its all such a fucking crock of shit.
Im sick of it, second guessing everything...
We are all so fucked up by our surroundings no wonder it is so hard to differentiate what is real or not?

Am I in love?
Who am I?
Can I trust this person?
Do they really consider me a friend?
What DO I want for lunch?

Has the world we have grown up in made us constant questioners, on a voyage of discovery, or turned us into condensed versions of Woody Allen filled with neurotic air pulsating from our nostrils with every breath we exhale?

Im even asking about questions with a question.

It should not be that hard to trust and see the real from the fake, but I guess it fucking is, isnt it?

The hidden agenda (as Craig David so eloquently puts it) is rife and rampaging the streets like a Godzilla in a V neck. Fuck your agenda, the sad fact is, is that I probably dont really care that much about you anyway.

I say that while wearing a nightie with a kitten on it and the words "SUPER CUTE!" emblazoned on it.

I guess I can put it down to yesterday/last night where I KNEW I was in the company of people who I could trust to be genuine. They really didnt have a choice, because once the lights and the music began, shit just turned primal, especially in Missy Elliott and Groove Armada.

I guess I can rest assured in the moments I had yesterday, that sometimes (even if not all the time) people can have moments in which they are genuine and endeavour to express who they really are without some sort of barrier making them spit out false words and act in a way so pretentious that it actually makes the door bitch at Piano Room take a second look at the way they are acting.

I know this is the second post that I have addressed the term FAKE even though I tried not to use it and TRICK you bastards into believing that I havent already touched on this, but I have. Sorry.


Sunday, October 3, 2010


What I learnt from attending Parklife yesterday:


And its not because it looks like two boys making out.
But because for some reason, when Groove Armada came on I began looking about the crowd and noticing HEAPS of people macking.

Including a babe dude kissing a pixie cropped lass, and for some reason my heart melted a bit.
Maybe it was the you know whats, but for some reason it made me feel better about myself.

Something else I learnt from Parklife....Mitch Faulkner has impeccable taste in island apparel.