Elect me! Cause I will do nothing at all!

Overinflated self absorbed hyperboles could not properly explain how disinterested I am in this current election. Bar Julia Gillard whipping out the girls at a press conference and screaming “Wayyyyheyyy get a load of these coconuts!” or Tony Abbott admitting to liking a good spanking with a ladle and/or microwave door, I could not give a flaming possum trap.

That being said I will still def vote for the redhead tit flasher, I’d rather shag a car bomb than vote for that bigot Ab-dawg. But how booooooooooring is the campaign, I am astounded how stupid these campaigners think people are, that or we are tree swinging rednecks with empty muffin trays for brains who can’t remember 5 secs ago let alone 3 years. They keep saying the same old shit ‘blah blah Aussie battlers money something something , Climate change direction (LIE), humanitarian treatment of asylum seekers (DING DONG FAT BUGGERY LIE)’. They are swinging from whatever trapeze happens to be waved at them. Yes I am Bitter - party of one, ole K-RUDD's political impotence was rather disconcerting but the fact is after all this time, two regimes and soup spilling mouth farting - nothing has been done on anything. Abbott is just interested in keeping the rich rich and the poor and minorities marginlised, Gillard just wants power and a naughty weekend escape to the lodge with her man lover.

I am reminded of the fantastic scene in the movie Election were Tammy Metzler runs for Student body president and makes this speech. If anyone said that in a campaign I'd vote for them until i die from a drug fueled glam choking with a bedazzled belt. But instead I tune out the blah blah blah blah by dreaming of making a house out of toothpaste, dancing on stage with Bruce Springsteen and colour coding the granny smith apples at the supermarket. I will manage to drag my fancy ass out and vote, I will have to visit the embassy as I will be New York City……breath it in bitches….yes NEW YORK CITY. AS I am of the ilk that if you don’t vote, you can’t complain about the government cause you (NEW YORK CITY whhhheeeeeeeeeee!!!!!) did bugger all helping.

Admittedly voters want their leaders to be friggin superman, they have to get it all right and if they by some act of god they do, some old biddy in the sticks has the grumps cause her cat was awoken by the loud hedge next door. Look at Obama, what the hell do Americans want. He has done a lot in his term : economic disaster and massive global depression averted (we were THIIIS close people!), START Treaty resurrected, Health Reform, sensible war policy and a major reduction in out breaks of americaassholeitis! But people got their knickers in a twist that Obama didn’t rip off his suit, clench a knife in his teeth and swim to the bottom of the Gulf and plug that darn leak himself. God just tie him up and burn him, what a jerk.

Naked and wet Obama aside, If I could get Gillard to come here and have a cuddle and a chat. I would say “LADY! I will vote for you but please can this time something end up happening!, instead of this vaudevillian side show we call policy. It’s pretty easy… people are simple, they want low taxes, not to be old and lonely, pretty nature stuff, no apocalypse and an occasional fart on a playground swing in summer.

Done. Do it fanta pants. Now shut up.”

Now.....all change!

Sydney Mardi Gras post recession

What’s that mister time? …oh it’s time to shake it all up again like a large snow globe. Right I better hold the shower rod perchance I slide out the window with all this reshuffling. This Wednesday night my friend Ad and I were in search for non fattening yumbo pizza, and being not one who reflects on life, Ad (he is more of the ‘shut up and deal with it’ type) sighed ‘It seems everything is up in the air at the moment’. Funny cause I thought I was the only one who thought life was seeming like one giant scene change.

My friend Curtis is returning home to tropical Cleveland Ohio, Matt is off on a 11 week trip around Europe, Ad’s current paramour was no more and my friend Oli is about it have her first baby in 5 weeks. Not to mention other friends job changes, relationship strains and general unrest. I have though remained pretty much the same, apart from my upcoming NYC trip the status is resoundingly quo.

I am still warring with the pigeons on my balcony, having found they are not afraid of wooden snakes I have taken to waving my dirty gym sock at them to scare them off. I do feel a bit bad, as pigeons mate for life I find myself jealous of their cuddling on my balcony, if it weren’t for them covering my furniture in bird yogurt it would be fine. So I storm out like a madman screaming, “Don’t rub your long term commitment in my face, pigeons!”. Yesterday I did it in a towel and almost fell off the chair. I then imagined people finding my naked dead body clutching a stinky gym sock in one hand and a wooden snake in the other, two stories down in the alley and trying to figure out what happened. That would have been a bit sad.

Back on message. So it seems my wee group is undergoing a bit of a rejig in the style of preschool musical chairs. It’s hard not to be nervous or sad as it’s so hard to find a group of friends you can connect with all at the same time, and this is what we have. We are one pulsating brain and in recent times I have really come to realise that it is the relationships you have with your friends and family that really count and define you, not dudes who breeze in and out of your life. But I begrudgingly agree change is good, we need a chance to see things in a different light. Life is like that, people come into your life for one reason or another and the way they affect or change you is only apparent after they are gone. My mum told me that after a certain Irish disaster.

Anyhoo, I am sure this will work out just fine. Can’t help but wonder what’s coming up for me, if it will be nice or not so fun. Either way, with good friends (no matter where they are or what they are doing) I am sure I can handle it.

The Bride and The Crisco

..No we bloody well can't!

So I heard this funny story from my boss of all people last week and had to share.

His sister in law to be, at the time, was preparing for her wedding to my bosses brother. One of the prep items was to bake the Wedding Cake and one ingredient the cake called for was Crisco Shortening. If you don’t know what shortening is, it is essentially rendered vegetable fat in its purest state. You use it for such gastronomic treats like coco-pop crispies and other gastric horrors. It fell out of favour in cooking for some time when people wished not to have heart attacks at the age of 8. All those dead children were just a hassle and blocked up the garden sprinklers. Anyhoo our bride skipped off to David Jones, providers of all type of poshy noshy to buy 20 packets of Crisco.

Unfortunately David Jones was bare of fat slabs, but before the bride reached for the Sara Lee mix a rather helpful clerk whispered to her she could purchase Crisco at an alternate location, a rather comely place in the gay ghetto…called Toolshed. It was demonstrated through whiteboards and a laser pointer to the Bride that some men of the man loving type, rather enjoyed nothing other than inviting a chum over for peach schnapps, Golden Girls reruns and shoving their hands up each other bottoms. This past time, known as ‘fisting’ required a lot of slippery assistance to get a big ole man hand up ya backtrack. Obviously a bottle of whiskey and a mallet to the head won’t suffice and the most popular access ‘assistant’ was our humble Crisco Shortening.

So with some glee the bride ran off to Toolshed, where you can buy all kinds of delights like hardcore Belgian cat porn and dildos of all shapes and sizes it would would not be out of place in some Mardi Gras version of “It’s a small world after all”, but judging by the sizes you can buy it would be more of “It’s a sore world after all”. The wise Bride called ahead to make sure they had spare Crisco, it was a Saturday anyway. So bounding up the stairs she found 20 blocks of Crisco were awaiting her next to what she called ‘A very well stock S&M section”. All was sorted, the bride was able to make her cake for the wedding and all was good, the cake was delicious and no one’s bowels were relocated to their brain.

But I can’t help but think of people eating the cake when all of a sudden they are finding they have swallowed their entire hand to the elbow and did not know it. ‘How did that get in there’, let alone if you dropped a piece and slid on it. You could slip all the way to New Zealand.

Wellington and Marlborough Jaunt - July 2010

The 'Hive

Well, I am damn tired after a busy sojourn to Wellington for work. I have no funny in me today as my fatigue level is at Max on the dial-o-blah. It was wonderful if not a bit madcap and rushed. but New Zealand was beautiful as always. A colleague and I kicked off with a night in Wellington, then a day in Marlborough, night spent at a lodge in Marlborough Sounds then a morning Sea Plane tour (fab!), then Vineyards, then back to Wellington for two days. Followed by a 4.30am (2.30am Aust time) wake up call and flight back to Sydney where I arrived at the office and started drooling on my keyboard within 40 mins. Anyhoo here are some pics as my words have left me for the current space of time and place...(Uh, what does that mean!?) and yes I took these pics no google image stealing for me...this time. ahem.

Wellington Cable Car - It's red!

Seresin Vineyard Marlborough

View from my room at Portage Lodge in Marlborough Sounds

Marlborough Sounds by Portage Lodge

Wellington Sunday Morning

*Witty apartment related title*

'Bert saved a fortune on his rent by holding up his own walls'

Unfamiliar as I am with the long winded nonsense orientated cyber warble, something really got my teapot in a tumble when viewing an apartment on Saturday morning. Fed up with playing camp mum in my current living arrangements, I have decided after five years in my much loved apartment I will start to look for my own space early next year. Now before you send me emails asking for $10,000 to be wired to a Nigerian bank account because you think I am rich, I have two things to say, the money has been transferred and I am renting not buying. Like a fart in a hurricane my dreams of owning have been gobbled up by over inflated house prices, so I think if I wait to be able to afford my own home I will one day go on a stabbing rampage with a Bic Pen because someone did not do the dishes on the right side of the spring equinox. Co habituating is done for me.

Also I think I want to savour the hunt for my first home. Not like I am anywhere near a functional relationship at this point so I think that this is something I can do well, career has been firmly ticked…now for the home. Anyway I prefer perfect real estate, than the perfect boyfriend. At least a house won’t be looking over your shoulder at another tenant.

So on Saturday I decided with a spring in my step to investigate what is available now, so I have a better idea of what to expect at the year’s end. After seeing pages of online ads of available houses my buzz was noticeably limpid. Who in their right mind would live in a sub basement apartment with teal green walls, bare concrete floor, bars on the windows and friendly neighborhood rapist living in the small storage cupboard for $450 p/w. So after two days I found the ONE apartment that looked interesting and shuffled off to Surry Hills to view.

I was interested in this property cause it sounded delightful, open plan, one bedroom, views and over the road from one of my best friends. When I got there I first had to battle around 60 people to get into the ‘apartment', (Note I put commas around ‘apartment’ (there I did it again, whhheeeee this is fun)) think dorm room for a gymnast. The bathroom was bigger than the lounge, the balcony was gargantuan but considering I would be living inside I did not see this as a plus and the nail in the coffin, apart from the apartment was the size of the aforementioned coffin, was their was ladder to the bedroom. A shaky tin ladder, that reminded me of my youth balancing on the top trying to sick a knitting needle in the electricity substation.

The idea of my cambering up and down this like a monkey was not attractive, visitor seductions and late night toilet trips would just not work. How can you sexily climb a ladder to a loft bed, you can’t. I am sure there where rubber burns on the floor from where I stopped and did a 180 to get the hell out of there. I had to go steady my nerves with a brain cell kicking extra shot latte after that.

How did this happen? When did an upwardly mobile, successful, humble and predatory singleton find it hard to get a good apartment? OK I may be throwing the baby out with the bath water, I have only seen one apartment…but come on! Will I need to hook up with some piece to be able to afford an apartment which does not look like a property owned by that jolly obese man in Seven.

So I went all Dusty Springfield and asked the tranny hooker/spiritual guru by my current home to ‘Say a little prayer’ that when summer comes so will the perfect apartment for me. She spat in my face…which means wait and see.