Sometimes you just have to find the truth in your world

I guess it's hard to choose stupidity. It really is. But how can this be wrong?



And also, much to the delight of some, he shot a set for me. It's strange because it's all real photos. Photos of me waking up and grinning at him. There's no theme, no irony, no polish and I'm not taking the piss. I'm almost too scared to share them.

Here's another random pic he tool at a hotel though. I don't mind sharing this - at least not this year.

On the great southern land: now with added pride!


Tomorrow is our national day. A day we're all meant to remember 'exactly' what being Australian is, and celebrate. The only thing is though, I still can't work out what exactly being Australian means, nor how to distill any sense of national pride from this tainted paranoid nationalism we specialise in. The bottle of gin hasn't helped much either. Meanwhile I did have a very Australian moment on my way home from the bar, I tripped over a possum. Ok, I really tried to kick the thing when it attempted to steal my wine, but I still fell over and there was a possum involved. Oh gum nuts....

So. Instead of this, I thought really hard, and came up with a list of things that made me proud to be Australian.

- AIMING FOR THE EYE A 'GOOD' THING DOWN SOUTH! (Medical experts still reluctant to recommend in the bedroom)

- AUSTRALIA SAYS KIDDY PORN IS BAD!

- NATION DECIDES PASSPORT IS REALLY JUST A CHEESY HALLMARK GREETING CARD, AND ATTEMPTS TO USE ITS 'GET OUT OF RELATIONSHIP FREE' TOKEN TO COUNTER

- COUNTRY DECIDES EVERY OTHER NATION GOT IT WRONG, FOUND SITTING IN THE CORNER AT PLAYTIME EATING FRUIT ROLL UPS ALONE

So, to you my bastard homeland, I drink. Chin chin. What's your top 3 national qualities?

On the great southern land


Tomorrow is our national day. A day we're all meant to remember 'exactly' what being Australian is, and celebrate. The only thing is though, I still can't work out what it exactly means to be Australian, nor how to distill any sense of national pride from this tainted paranoid nationalism we specialise in. The bottle of gin hasn't helped much either. Meanwhile I did have a very Australian moment on my way home from the bar, I tripped over a possum. Ok, I really tried to kick the thing when it attempted to steal my wine, but I still fell over and there was a possum involved. Oh gum nuts....

So. Instead of this, I thought really hard, and came up with a list of things that made me proud to be Australian.

- AUSTRALIA SAYS KIDDY PORN IS BAD!

- NATION DECIDES PASSPORT IS REALLY JUST A CHEESY HALLMARK GREETING CARD, AND ATTEMPTS TO USE ITS 'GET OUT OF RELATIONSHIP FREE' TOKEN TO COUNTER

- COUNTRY DECIDES EVERY OTHER NATION GOT IT WRONG, FOUND SITTING IN THE CORNER AT PLAYTIME EATING FRUIT ROLL UPS ALONE

So, to you my bastard homeland, I drink. Chin chin. What's your top 3 national qualities?

My dog's shame means I can never blog again

Someone told me this was bitter. Is rewriting your ex's bitter? I say deliciously zen. Dave, mark 1.

When I came home from a brief holiday in London I found Dave dating someone else. She was relatively plain and bland, but he seemed entirely smitten so I guess I was happy for them. As time passed though, I became more convinced he was unhappy and desperately wanted me back. 'How couldn't he', I would ask myself, 'after all, I am not so bland, and our love for one another is immeasurable'. Sometimes he would indicate as much with a twitching eye, or make an elaborate hand gesture to confirm our silent understanding. Sometimes when our desires for one another became just too much to bear, I would go to bed with him and we would imagine we were together still. He wanted me back so badly that it was all he could do to ignore me for the most part, and only show any interest when we were alone in his flat. He worked so hard at trying to not love me back, he even stayed with his benign girlfriend for a whole year just to reduce our dangerous temptation. And when I asked him if he loved me via sms, twenty minutes later he replied "yes. you and bacon". No capitalisation even- he loved me so so much that it was all he could do to reply as quickly as his Nokia would let him, grammatical errors and all. When I finally confessed that I really wanted to be his girlfriend again, like those fantastic 3 weeks before I had fled for the rainy city, the tabula rasa of our hearts exploded and dissolved into a nirvana of atmospheric adoration. So much so that he never could bring himself to speak to me again. His love was so strong and intense, and although he is still pretending that he doesn't care by, like, not talking to me for 3 years, I know through his subtle silence and interpretive dance movements that he will always still dream of marrying me. And me, him. Forever.

Stolen from my other blog, to avoid an anti Candy-ian diatribe that really missed the point. JESUS kiddos!



Dear Devo,
You rock. You're more tits than anyone I've ever met. Also, you've been the longest standing male influence in my entire life. Don't go cheatin' on me, eh? I don't care that you broke the tumbler. The pantene conditioner made you more slippery than you anticipated. It was not your fault. Now go eat some chicken wings.
Hearts
Me xxx

Rys' mixed bag...

en- Such is the ineptitude of our public service. Well, I shouldn't really say public service, we're such a backwater that we don't actually have a paid fire force. It's hick volunteers all the way baby. Might explain why two weeks later the fire is still burning, and my eyes are stinging from the smoke. Where are those magic public private partnerships when you need them, where oh where? I could see McDonalds running a friendly fire service, to say the least. With their little maroon uniforms, inflammable visors and heat resistant bow ties, how could we resist their crispy fried charms?

to- I weaseled my way into a lecturing job at Australia's 10th worst uni. It's not enough that I whiled my years away languishing in libraries and common rooms already, I decided to work there. Hottt.

tre- Someone accused me of faking my penchant for Bananrama, of falsifying my borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered 80s. Ho hum. If they could only see the stack of CDs that are sitting a top my CDJ from regular rotation this week. For the complete list...

We had a misspent youth at record stores. Only losers do this. Our current issue is storage. We bought shelves, but the carpenter who was going to put them up told us that the weight of that many CDs would rip the studs and plaster off the wall. Next week, we're having it reinforced with MDF board instead

fire- yeah, whatever