MelbourneHumanFemale

For Now...

2011-12-06T12:33:00.002+11:00

Lovers.

This blog’s 7-year anniversary flew by without an acknowledgement – I was in New York, busy with cheese and adventures, but you guys know my heart’s not been here for awhile.

A few reasons. Mostly I just don’t have time. With full time work and about a billion projects on the side, weekdays I leave home at 7am and get back around 9, 10pm. Weekends are kind of blurry with obligations either fun or administrative.

Also, I have other creative endeavours now, that take up pretty much ALL my non-work time, and feel I can ‘use’ blog fodder more effectively there.

So this isn’t goodbye – call it an indefinite hiatus, because I’m nothing if not pretentious.

A check-in…

Boyfriend… AKA ‘Husband’
We’re married. We’re utterly happy. Still in the honeymoon phase we were in when we first got together. We can’t get enough of each other; want to be near each other all the time. If we’re not touching it feels like dying. It’s ridiculous – we feel like we’re genuinely the other half of each other. It’s been like this for 7 years and it's just getting more intense. I doubt that will ever change.

Home
Still live with my Yia Yia. She’s a bit evil, lots of mindgames, but mostly harmless. She keeps wrecking shit, trashing the house, etc. Never live with an old person. They’re filthy and don’t even know it. She stresses me out to the max and I’d dearly love to move out but I couldn’t handle the guilt: Someone needs to keep an eye on her, and if not us, who?

Work
For two years I adored my job. I went up 3 full paygrades in a year. I threw myself into it and was acknowledged for my excellent work. But quite a few things have changed: my position, who I report to, the work I do. It’s not ideal. There are some great benefits still, but I feel a bit like the greyhound killing themselves chasing the mechanical bunny, only to catch it and realise that it’s just a non-delicious machine. Will I stay in the same position? Move to another area of this institution? Go somewhere else entirely? Christ knows. The most important thing is to save as much as possible, very difficult considering how ridiculous Husband and I are with money and fun.

Writing
Things are happening. Exciting, heartbreaking, gratifying, frustrating, awful, wonderful things. Very slowly. I don’t know. I’m still not doing nearly as much as I should be. I haven’t written fiction in years and it kills me. Also, I wrote a book about 1900 Freakline. Need to re-draft that fucker.

Post-Accident Health
Collarbone is confirmed ‘most likely healed’. I have a huge scar from the operation. Will get another operation in 1-2 years to take the plate and pins out. Nerve damage in leg and arm is, again ‘most likely’ permanent. O well.

General Health
Been seeing a psychologist post-accident, that’s awesome. PCOS has kept on keeping on. Am losing weight, slowly but surely, as I keep improving lifestyle/fitness-type stuff. The Food Stuff needs to be worked on. Forever, perhaps. The main thing is I’m getting progressively hotter, as I discover better places to get clothes, more cunty ways of doing makeup, etc, etc…

Fun
Still going to many concerts, plays and other happenings. Still not doing as many drugs as I’d like to be. Still have a large network of fascinating people who’ve not bred and know where good times can be found. Spending way too much on pretentious food and fancy cocktails. There will be no growing up, or out of this.

Sex
Husband and I are relatively vanilla. But interesting things have been happening - there was an accidental mandatory sex party where I was able to faceplant a vadge (awesome) and other interesting possibilities are presenting themselves, largely to do with kink. I’ve been much, much more toppy lately, not wanting to sub for anyone except husband. And I can be quite vicious. Also, identifying more as a Femme Daddy-type, blurring many a gender/sexuality line. We’ll see how that unfolds.

The Future
We need to save. Ideally for a house/apartment, but that’s a pretty lofty fucking aim considering that every time we raise more than $5k we either get married or go overseas.

So save for a house, or save to go live in the US for a test year. We’re giving Melbourne 5-8 years, then it’s LA or San Francisco (most likely San Fran). Because why not.

No kids, not now, not ever. Only adventures and fun.

Tomorrow, I turn 30.

I have no idea what will happen next.

Desci
A human female in Melbourne (for now).

No June!

2011-06-30T11:15:00.000+10:00

Lovers, June Didn't Happen.

Well, it did, and it was amazing. But for the first time in almost 7 years, I missed a month!

Just so you know, I'm not going to let this blog teeter with a last, ambiguous post. I'm far too much of a drama queen for that. When it dies, it will DIE. And I'll either put all this sort of stuff elsewhere on my IRL stuff, or I'll make another anon blog, but really this time.

I miss being actually anonymous.

Anyway.

The anniversary of almost dying!
The wedding!
Life!

Christ, there's much to update you on.

Today is July 4. I'm totes backdating this one so at least I have something for poor June.

My Mother is a Bridezilla

2011-05-30T10:38:00.001+10:00

Seriously, she is out of control. I think it's because she only has this in her life at the moment, so like all bridezillas, she's throwing herself into it.

I, on the other hand, have about 11 million things on the go, so the wedding planning's been a big thing, but not all-consuming.

We had arguments about the following things yesterday afternoon:
• Buttons
• Belt buckles
• Stockings
• Buttons (again)
• Driving
o GPS
o Direction
o Me using her iPhone while she drives
o iPhone battery
• Buttons (reprise)
• Fabric lengths
o Ties and fabric lengths
o Interfacing
o Text messages
o Text messaging while discussing ties
• Drinking
• Veils
• Drinking too much
• Buttons.

At one point, she actually used the phrase ‘small, tasteful diamante belt buckle’. I politely informed her that I was getting married, not starring in a rap film clip.

Having said that, the entire wedding is being kept entirely retarded. More information when it comes to hand.

2011 Melbourne International Comedy Festival. PART ONE: THE GOOD

2011-04-29T07:46:00.002+10:00

33 shows seen this year. Not as good as last year's 37, but a fair effort. Many were free, a few were paid for. Theres at least another 33 I still cant believe I didnt have time for, bah!

What the fuck do I know? Nothing. This is utterly subjective. Plus I've ranked them, since, you know, art is competitive. Ahem.

Now, I've changed their names to prevent auto-googling. Since last time I had a comic whinge about her learning disabilities in the comments, and frankly, who needs that?

So, theyre all in order. Here we go:

5 out of 5 = Perfect
D4niel K1ts0n
He remains my favourite performer of anything ever. I saw the first and last Melbourne performance. I just cant even describe my creepy adoration for him. Have seen him at least twice per festival for over a decade, so yeah, scary obsessive fan alert. But he's so worth it, still.

X4v1er M1ch4ledes
I have a crazy short attention span. Even if I'm loving a show, I'm still kind of looking for the end so I can do other stuff. But I wanted this show to go for another three hours. He's an astounding performer.

4.5 out of 5 = Amazing
S4m S1mm0ns
He gets better every year. I know he's quite a polarising performer, but I just love watching him. He makes me laugh so much I have to actively stop my obnoxious guffaws. But there's also a darkness, a self-hatred, that I respond to. Also, I'm pretty sure hes the only comedian I'd bone.

B4rry M0rg4n's W0rld of 0rgans
This one was such a treat! Pitch-perfect characterisation, such a fun, silly, joyful, daggy show. A gifted performer both musically and comedically (is that a word?). I even bought a t-shirt afterwards. I dont even wear t-shirts!

Z0e C00mbs-M4rr
Fascinating performance. Fucking daring too, and god am I starved for that. I can't wait to see what she comes up with next.

4ndr3w 0'Neill - Out of Step
Love him, love him. But as a metalhead transvestite, he's kind of purpose built for my demographic. He did a bit about whether things were goth or metal. Ever since then, Ive been categorising everything in that way.

M1ch4el W0rkm4n
I saw him as part of the Comedy Zone last year, and couldn't wait to se what else he came up with. And my god, this story show was brilliant. He won best newcomer, beating Zoe (above).

4 out of 5 = Excellent
4ndr3w 0'Neill - Occult Comedian
A one-off repeat session of his show from last year. Loved it the second time round.

Ash3r Tr3lev4n
He tackles racism, but preaches to the converted. In this sense, his show from last year (exploring a straight man's campness) was better. Still absolutely fucking brilliant, though. And the end story was, as always, a fucking corker. One of Australia's best new performers.

M4ria B4mf0rd
Upon a recommendation from the same person who talked up X4vi3r, so how could I not? She was brilliant. My favourite bit was the broad comedy, where she effortlessly impersonated one of those horrid mainstream female comedians.

F3st1val Club
Not really appropriate to rank, but it's always good fun and I wish I'd been able to go more. Though I did beat my last year effort of once.

3.5 out of 5 = Good
Sm4rt C4su4l
First time I've seen them, but will definitely be checking them out in future. There are few things more lovely that seeing a duo (or group) of performers so in synch with each other.

L4wr3nce L3ung
Not his best show, but well worthwhile. He and Andy (below) are my go-to recommendations when people ask what to see. Since I know they're always going to be a joy.

4ndr3w McClell4nd
Exactly the same as above.

G3r4ldine H1ck3y
Last year, I went to the so-so D4ve Th0rnt0n thinking it was the brilliant D4v3 Bl0uste1n. This year, I dashed into a room thinking it was a Qu1nn, but getting a H1ck3y. And I'm so glad I did! I've always been annoyed by her since she's one of those butch straight girls who terrify and confuse me. And she's been doing the queer comedy circuit, which appeared to be a cynical attempt by a straight woman to cash in on the pink market. But no! She's come out! And she totally won me over during this very funny show. I'd love to see her again.

M4rc M4r0n
Have listened to his podcast a few times. An example of the fact - yes, fact - that Americans are the best stand up comedians from a technical standpoint. I can back this up for about an hour if you make the mistake of asking me about it IRL.

D3ad C4t B0unce
Funny, and good music. Just wish I could have seen their Bootlegs show, raved about by many good people.

Th3 Paj4ma M3n
First time seeing these guys. Enjoyable, fantastic, but I'd have to see them again. I'm not yet convinced that they deserve the rabid 5-star reviews they get. Still, very tight, and very accomplished.

The H3rm1tude of 4ngus, Ecst4t1c
I am so fucking starved for new things. In every aspect of life, there are so many jeans and tee combos and not enough cunty getups. So while this show was hit and miss, I loved that it's doing something completely different, and pushing boundaries of performance. For that alone it deserves its sold-out run. Also, the fact that clowning gets such a bad reputation, and there really aren't many accomplished clowns (as opposed to 'clowns') around anymore.

H3adl1ners: S3an P4tt0n, M4rina Fr4nkl1n, M4tt Br4ung3r
A good show to see if you're not a comedy guy. Broad, enjoyable, all professionals. I had many a conversation with both the guys throughout the fest, both were lovely and heaps of fun.

Just1n H4m1lt0n
While not my kind of guy, I really respect how good at the craft he is. A careful, well written and considered show, I enjoyed it even though its not my usual type of comedy.

St0ryt3ll3r's Club: Parents and Childhood
Always a mixed bag, but always a lovely night. Definitely go along to one if you ever can.

So they were the good ones. Stay tuned for Part 2, the not-so-good.

Lovers, your turn. What did you see? What did you think? Be prepared to be mocked mercilessly if all you saw was one or two big names. Seriously, I will destroy you.

BDSM Clubs!

2011-03-22T16:45:00.001+11:00

Oh Em Gee Why Gee. Oh my god, you guys.

Let’s just get right into it. I’m part of a working group to make porn awesome. We had our first meeting. There were a few people I’d met briefly before, but it turns out they were all unspeakably awesome (and perverted, yay!) and we were all on the same page.

The meeting finished around 8pm. I had so much to do. I was getting a lift home, to do said activities. There was much to do. Sensible things, things that couldn’t wait.

But lovers, I’m not made of stone. If you had an amazingly sexy leatherbear GET ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES IN THE MIDDLE OF A JOHNSTON STREET FOOTPATH, TAKE HIS HAT OFF AND GAZE INTO YOUR EYES WHILE HE BEGGED – BEGGED - YOU TO ACCOMPANY THE GROUP TO A FETISH NIGHT, WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

So I went to the fetish night with my new friends. Obviously after a quick stop at work to put on another 14 layers of eyeshadow, brush some dry shampoo on my fringe and inhale a can of hairspray.

And it was the happiest place on Earth! Everyone was friendly, polite and respectful. There were suspension bondage scenes! Flogging! Medical play with needles! All sorts of things that were just lovely to watch.

Lots of fun, lots of laughing. A guy tried to cruise me, but I was friendly-yet-offstandish. His vibe was underwhelming.

The awesome bit was scratching a lovely girl as hard as I could, and her loving it. My nails, they are filed to a point for a reason, mmhmm.

The same girl had a brilliant master, this terribly fun gay boy who loved how butch I was when I shared the Leatherbear’s cigar. He let me pull her pigtails as hard as I could. So I did, angling her so she leaned into me. The pleasured whimpers she gave off were intoxicating and, just, charming. ‘You’re such a good girl’, I told her while brushing her fringe out of her eyes, before giving her a reassuring pat.

I got home more energetic than when I’ve had speed. I told Boyfriend about all of it. He listened with polite tolerance, bless him. But I’m so dragging him there next time.

I have got to start being more vicious to people. It really does give me such lovely feelings of wonderfulness.

Things 2

2011-03-18T14:43:00.000+11:00

Some stuff I’ve done in the last three weeks…

Tim Minchin, Palais So you know how I’m utterly parochial, and won’t go to the south unless I categorically, absolutely have to? Well, Boyfriend and I had to brave it in late Feb and had a wonderful time. St Kilda is magical! I ducked in to Worksense on Ackland Street to see if they could cut my fringe. And I had literally the best fringe-related experience ever. The banter was top notch, the quality of the cut unsurpassed, AND he didn’t charge me. If I wasn’t wedded to my hairdresser (same since birth, my aunty) I’d be ALL OVER that place. Amazing.
THEN we went to a good dumpling place. Very ‘soft Asian’ (as opposed to authentic ‘hard Asian’ but yum. THEN we strolled the street up to Tim Minchin. And he was brilliant. Such a consummate, professional performer. As opposed to the experience the next night…

Amanda Palmer, Forum. I love her. I love her. But she has Done That Thing creative people constantly run the risk of doing. She has stopped questioning herself, and disappeared up her own arse.
The support acts were great. And then she came on, and did an amazing 20 minute set.
That took 2.5 hours to complete.
There was a lot of arsing around. To get into her costume, for example: 15 minutes at the start, just running around. It was all very fun and chaotic and drunken for her. Which, you know, is lovely, but we’re not there to see her live out some boho artist fantasy of flying by the seat of her pants. We’re here to see her art.

Millencolin and Pennywise, Palace OMGYG. So initially I was dreading it. I was so tired, work’s been exhausting, etc. so I had dinner and some wine with a friend. Friend poured me into a taxi and I got there 2 minutes before Millencolin went on stage. I was wearing a ridiculously impractical, highly tailored dress (think 50s housewife becomes a nazi goth). A very high-maintenance, delicate and structured look. Opposite of jeans and a band tee. A look that one sports to observe a band from the sidelines. Though the wine, she went straight to my head and I moshed like I was a fucking teenager again, along with about 100 sweaty boys.
I lost an earring. My boss had gifted me them the day before. Luckily some quick googling found me a replacement pair.
But lovers, they were amazing! So much so that I didn’t even stay for Pennywise! (I’ve seen them a bunch of times before). They literally just played hit after hit, every song was one I knew and loved. Perfect for a band that I stopped following circa 2001. God, they were amazing. They made me so happy to be alive.

Jared Leto, at a place of work I managed to do 3 hours of V/O with him when he was in town. And I eye-raped the bejesus out of him. God he’s pretty. Offstandish in real life, but that could be because he had a terrible cough. And because the fat goth was eye-raping him.

Tattoo I got a new one! In my lunch break at work. God, it felt good. And I love it. Moar soon.

Reinterpreting Dessert, Der Raum A. Maze. Ing. $150, 8 courses, 7 cocktails. Fucking spectacular. And I met Melbourne Gastronome! She’s lovely. I’m pretty sure she’s made from 50% Sunshine, 50% Awesome. Boyfriend was also quite taken with her, and I hope to see her again. Perhaps to try the Tour de Force (8 cocktail set menu) again at Der Raum. Mmm, decadent.

Paul Capsis, Spiegeltent Mum and I got stoned, went to sushi train, had a bottle of champagne (with an additional glass for her) and waddled over to see him. He slays me. I want him to play 11 million gigs all the time. The last two things I’ve seen him in (Threepenny Opera and All about My Mother) were pretty shit, and he was underused. So it was lovely to see him, just him. Only an hour, sadly.

Forgotten Fruits High Tea, Southpaw Another mama thing. It was really lovely, but I would have liked the obscure fruits to have been more highlighted. They were made into jams and things, so while it was interesting to taste a ‘familiar yet unfamiliar’ spread, I really didn’t come away with a strong feeling of what the heck shadberry tasted like. The sparkling wine with lavender, and the Pimms jugs, were mega-super-good. The menu: http://www.southpawbar.com.au/hightea.pdf

So yeah. Lots of things. This week, though, has been mercifully quiet. Except for the highlight of a manicure, pedicure and facial at Endota, my second ever and now it’s an addiction. Because I’m that fucking fancy, and clearly needed more overpriced things in which to indulge. But seriously, fuck school fees, fuck baby clothes, I’m spending my money on beautiful, calm ladies smothering my face in varying scented and textured goos.

Things

2011-03-15T08:35:00.001+11:00

SO MANY THINGS LATELY THERE IS NO TIME FOR ANYTHING BUT STUFF KEEPS HAPPENING.

Lovers, I am spiralling out of control. I am doing ridiculous crazy shit. Crazy shit that I would be judged harshly for. That would hurt people. That might hurt me. But I do them because the opportunity is there, and why not? I’m an experience junkie. I want all the things that make me happy all the time without pause. And also whatever else you’re offering.

It’s like I’m not even hungry, and someone says, ‘hey, want this flavourless rice cake?’ and I’m all, ‘yeah sure why not it’s there and therefore I must consume it’ I’m doing that in every aspect of my life.

Well, not with food so much, I’ve actually been a bit more healthy in that respect lately. Yay?

But everything else. Shit be wacky. I’ve sought guidance in a selection of friends. Three have been brilliant, one especially so (love you, Naridu. xo) one made everything entirely about her, since she’s basically a pile of raw nerves and everything has to affect her personally. Didn’t need that, but it’s the way it is.

A darling new friend and I have initiated a Secrets Club, since we’re having similar issues with The World being fucked and not appreciating that we want things a Very Specific Way. She’s exactly me if I was a 24-year-old-playwrite-slash-stripper. So, exactly me if I was younger and skinny. The World doesn’t understand us and it’s causing considerable pain and frustration. But we’re both such fucking firecrackers that we will make the important people see things our way, and the rest of The World can Get Fucked.

I hate that I have to talk in riddles, lovers. But clarification will come soon; things just need to be worked out. And that takes time, or so I’m reluctantly realising.

All will be well. Since it always is and always will be.

Wedding

2011-03-14T11:02:00.000+11:00

Not mine, Funzo’s. Remember Funzo? He was the ex before Boyfriend. My first blogging was pretty much entirely about the gradual deterioration of Funzo and I, and the gradual escalation of Boyfriend (then referred to as ‘The Boy’). But don’t read my early entries, they’re fucking terrible. You know, as opposed to the spun gold of now, ahem.

So anyway, Funzo and I were always wrong for each other. The sex was amazing, but we fought every day. We were opposites. We HATED each other. And I milked my snake on him.

You know when an animal handler makes a snake bite down on a jar, to milk it of its poison? And you know when you’re a crazy fucking girl, and you get into your first relationship, and you have to do all that crazy fucking shit to test the boundaries? That’s milking the snake. If Boyfriend and I had hooked up back in 2000, when I desperately wanted to, we would have lasted about 3 weeks. Because I was still so poisonous.

But this is about Funzo. So yes, we were opposites. We were melodramatic. We were drunk on the thrill of our first requited love.

I cheated on him with two different people. But in all fairness, I didn’t yet know I was built that way. One was in our first few months, with Ex 2, which kind of wasn’t my fault entirely since he had a way of completely and utterly manipulating me. We had sex twice. Only once was really with my consent, but yeah. And then, at the beginning of the end (it took Funzo and me about a year of deterioration to finally break up) I kissed Boyfriend. Only once, not that I didn’t want more. Boyfriend was all moral and shit.

So yesterday, Funzo got married. The ceremony was lovely, his bride is brilliant and utterly suited to him. It’s hilarious; she is the opposite of me as if she was created from scratch with the brief of NOT DESCI IN ANY WAY. She’s one of those pleasant glasses girls, you know that genre? They discuss The Big Issues together. I have no interest in The Big Issues. I want pleasure and sin and laughing and happiness.

Going to the wedding was also useful, since we could tick off some more ‘we are not doing THAT’ stuff at our wedding. Weddings are a bit fucked. I have to start organising mine. It’s in June. Urg.

Ramblings During Aversion to Sleep

2011-02-27T02:15:00.001+11:00

I’m a selfish, selfish person and I want The World to just indulge me. When does that whole ‘growing up’ thing happen – you know, when you start gracefully accepting responsibilities, and just grit your teeth and do the things you don’t want to do, but have to? (As opposed to just, you know, not doing them and alienating your loved ones, or those who may need to depend on you).

I hope it happens soon. I’m 30 this year. Maybe some switch will flick and I’ll start making sacrifices for those I love, instead of just doing what I’m not meant to do anyway, and then resenting the fact that The World has different ideas to me about what is acceptable Desci behaviour.

I truly am one of two extremes with everything ever. And I want all the things that make me happy all the time without pause.

You cunts are alright; can you let The World know that due to a quirk of my upbringing, I’m a unique little snowflake who needs special treatment by virtue of the fact that I fucking said so?

Dear god. Russell Brand made a fucking career out of his narcissistic personality disorder; why can’t I?

The Times

2011-02-24T14:22:00.001+11:00

Lovers. You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you.

Or maybe you would.

Stick around. Not this week or this month, but shit’s gonna get vintage some time in the future. Hopefully nearer rather than distant.

Love you all.

Valentine's Day, You Hysterical Bitches

2011-02-15T11:05:00.002+11:00

FB makes me hate people again.

You know what I was doing yesterday? I wanted to go to Pearl, since their day-specific special menu had me thinking improper thoughts (mmm, steak tartare) but had to cancel because on Friday I had three wisdom teeth yanked out.

I know, it never stops lately.

So I was at home. I felt like something pretty, so I jumped on Etsy and bought myself two bracelets and a necklace.

I looked at all the hysterical women on FB. Some favourite statuses:

'Loves it when clients give her valentines presents. Now I wonder what is in store when I get home........'
How foreboding!

is waiting for my lovely husband to come home, hope his arms aren't too sore carrying my flowers, balloons and chocolates ;)
Eyeroll.

You know what we did for Valentine's Day? We banged. And it was awesome. Boyfriend got home late, he had some dinner, shaved, and then we banged.

Which is a fuckload more use to me than chocolate in the shape of a Labrador. Or a tacky gold trinket from fucking Bevilles or one of those other low-rent jewellry stores you see in plazas. Or a balloon with 'I Wuv You' on it.

Surprise yourself with cool shit. You know what you like. Don't submit to the pressure of feeling miserable if you don't get allotted your share of tacky, hallmark-esque day-specific plastic.

And bang someone, FFS. Bang the ever-loving snot out of them.

...Ladies.

2, 4, 6, 8, Who Do You Appreciate? Me, Me, Me, Me, Me

2011-02-09T10:15:00.002+11:00

(Title taken from one of my favoutire Louis XIV songs)

Gay lovers, my narcissism reached a peak today: I walked to the further-away sushi place at lunch, because I felt more people needed to see me. Same thing happened last week, when I decided to take the tram rather than a taxi. Both times I looked phenomenal BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

It’s on The List for the psychologist, this cursed self-esteem overabundance. Right after ‘the accident’, ‘my parents’ and ‘OMG srsly, how good is FOOD?!’

2011-02-08T14:01:00.001+11:00

Urinary Tract Infection = Antibiotics = Thrush. Are you fucking kidding me? IS THIS SOME KIND OF COMSMIC VAGINAL JOKE?

Features

2011-02-07T10:12:00.001+11:00

Oh, lovers. I wish this was still an anonymous forum. And a sex blog. If only, if only.

In the fullness of time there may be some stories. Perhaps. Watch this space.

In the mean time, I was with my friend Biscuit, hanging out at a bus stop in the pouring rain at 4am on Friday night. Because I’m that fucking glamorous. A group of three came passed, and stopped by for awhile: a French guy with blue-black skin, an Englishman with a bike, his gnarled face betraying the fact he was a 90s-rave casualty, and a cute, twee Russian chick.

The Englishman had had a disturbing experience earlier in the night: while talking to the other two, he all of a sudden felt like he was not real. ‘Darling, you are both tangible and important’, I reassured him. It helped.

I spoke bad French to the other guy. His friend was having a party on Flinders Street (where? Oh, on Flinders Street…)

The Russian girl… o, how I captured her imagination. ‘Look at you!’ She squealed. ‘You are so pretty! Look!’ To Biscuit: ’Just look at her! Isn’t she so pretty?’ and then back to me: ‘You have so many features!’

Gay lovers, it even beat the time the taxi driver approvingly told me I had too many ornaments.

Bang bang bang

2011-01-31T14:42:00.001+11:00

My god, lovers, it’s like someone slipped me some slow-release Spanish Fly. I am thinking with my vagina all. The. Fucking. Time.

The last few weeks, all I can think about is boning. I want to bone 8 million people 9 million ways. It’s ridiculous.

And not just girls, because I’m starved for boob action. Dudes, also! Dudes!

And it’s not like I’m watching a lot of porn or JOing furiously to settle the savage vulva-beast (ladies). The weird thing is, I’ve been less-interested in pr0n over the last month or two. Which is weird, since for 15 years (!!) I’ve been very, very interested in it. I adore it.

But no. I don’t want to JO, I don’t want to watch pr0n, I just want to bang.

Having said that, Boyfriend has made me a very lazy, selfish lover (ladies). And my accident has restricted me to a bottom for now. As in position, not disposition (ladies).

So, what to do? Find some nice chew toy in the form of some lady or boy who I can bone part time, to take the pressure off Boyfriend? Because honestly, I could go about four times a day at the moment. Working 12-15 hour shifts has cut down on any free time I have, so let’s say a solid once a day. Of lazy, selfish boning. Ladies.

Suggestions for workable solutions welcome.

NYE

2011-01-01T21:14:00.002+11:00

'What is better than Jared Leto?' I ask you. 'Nothing,' you say, pouting prettily and tossing your golden curls. 'Actually good sir,' I counter, 'there is one thing better than Jared Leto...'

'TWO Jared Letos.'

Left: Streetwear Jared. Right: Formalwear Jared

New Years' Eve is Amateur Night. Everything is three times more expensive and five times more crowded, since people from the outer suburbs choose this as their one night to go out. And just try to get a taxi. For several years now, we've boycotted it and spent the night with my fave people.

This year it was at our house. First junk food, chips and chocolate of 2010… and last junk food, chips and chocolate of 2011 (yes, with the wedding and my 30th coming up, I'm continuing my hardcore bad food abstinence). Side note: How fucking delicious is pizza? I mean, really. It's very delicious. I'd forgotten that. Also, I literally got stoned off Koko Black chocolate. I had a whole bunch and thought everything was just lovely. It was awesome.

So a fun night with brilliant people. Only lowlight was talking to my boss at 11.30pm on New Years Fucking Eve about a Sunday 2 Jan meeting. Yes, there will be a boundaries talk at that meeting.

On the commute back to his brother's house, my friend… um, I forget what I call him on here. Comic Boy? Artist? We'll say Artist. Anyway, he and I were texting relaying. What started as Killers lyrics reworded to be about Brandon Flowers' mustache degenerated into what one calls a collective noun for Jared Letoes. He won, because he is much funnier than I am:

Mine
An eyeliner of Jareds
A pout of Jareds
An actor of Jareds
A Feeling of Jareds
A furtive, silent masturbating straight after school of Jareds

Artist's
A Haircut of Jareds
A 30 seconds of Jareds
A hated stepfather of Jareds

Oh, and the Lyrics for Brandon's 'Tache included:
Mine
I got mo, but I'm not a moa-ner
(to the tune of 'Mr Brightside'): 'Vanity is calling me, wax it upwards to, the, skyyyy/because I am Da-li'.

Artist's
Chocking on your handle-bar

Some Selected Chip Flavours in China

2010-12-20T17:23:00.001+11:00

I didn't have chocolate, but I did temporarily lift my chip ban. But now I'm extending it to TWO years without chocolate, chips and fast food. *cries*.

Blueberry: Not necessarily un-delicious. But… so odd!
Lemon Tea: Tasted exactly like Lemon Ice Tea. Strange.
Crab: GROSS. And I adore crab.
Numb and Spicy Hot Pot: Tasted just like hotpot! Delicious!
Cucumber: My most hated of food. They smelled like death. I didn't even try. No thank you.
Prawn: The nastiest of the lot. SO nasty. But you get that when one of the ingredients is cod liver oil.

The tastiest snack was the 3+2 biscuits. Think Saladas but thinner and about one square big. Get three of them, put nutella between one layer, vanilla cream between another. So good.

Giggasm

2010-12-18T09:28:00.001+11:00

I've been to _hundreds_ of concerts since seeing Culture Club in 1984. But last night, Fat Mike, Lindsay from Frenzal and the DESCENDENTS gave me the greatest gig moment ever.

Descendents finished, roadies were packing up to the crowd's rabid screams. Bill took the mic and apologised - they wanted to play more but there was a curfew and they weren't allowed. More packing. House lights and music are turned on. Fat Mike and Lindsay, who'd been watching the whole show from the side, said it was $20k fine for the band to play one more song.

So Mike and Lindsay did a whip around. $5000 each, $1000 from Erik Melvin, a few grand from the Dropkick Murphys, etc, and they were at twenty grand. Things were plugged back in. Descendents came back on and played BIKAGE, my favourite of theirs. I squealed and cried like a silly little boy. Haven't sobbed at a gig since BDO 1999. But oh my god, it was a sublime moment. The best in Desci Gig History.

I cannot wait to see them in Brissie tomorrow.

Drunken Times in Beijing Pt 2

2010-12-15T20:30:00.001+11:00

Fags and Punks
Tried to go to a lesbian bar, only to find that it had been closed a few months prior. A few days later we tried a new queer night, but we were early and only the organisers, all round-eyes, were in attendance. So we headed to D-22, a punk club.

Much fun was had. The only Chinese goth girl I ever saw pushed me into the mosh pit, and I made it to the front row. The Headliner band's singer was a fan of putting the mic out to the crowd, when it was my turn I did my best with 'Oi Oi Oi!'s, a punk staple, and 'SOMETHING SOMETHING!!'s.

Chinese moshpits are funny. American in style, that is, side-to-side slamdancing rather than Aussie/UK up-and-down pogoing. And perhaps due to a lack of amphetamines, the kids would go crazy for half a song, then just stand around. Then go sick for 20 seconds, then stand around for 30. Etc, etc.

Bellagio, Destination and George's
Bellagio: AMAZING Taiwanese food in opulent surroundings. And all the wait staff had matching dyke haircuts and uniforms.
Destination: The biggest gay man's club in Beijing. But sadly, on a Tuesday, there were about 5 people there. Still, it's good to know I translate: the gay boys love me in English AND Mandarin.
George's: Interesting cocktails, but no Longgrain.

I just what to spend 2 weeks every year in Beijing. I love it there so hard.

Previous Dream Jobs

2010-12-06T19:52:00.001+11:00

Party Planner: no. People don't share my tastes. So I love it in theory, but I can't deal with not having the last word if I KNOW I'm right.

Bikini Waxer: yes. To spread wax on vaginas all day. *Sigh*. I honestly think I'll do this on the side one day.

Pro Dom: yes. I have a Dominatrix friend who keeps telling me she can hook me up, and I'm keen to, but at the moment there is literally NO TIME in my life for extra things. With my full time work and many, many other outside activities, I'm living the life of about three full people. Which is a shame, since Doms in their 20s are the most popular, and it all goes south after 30, apparently. But I'll try my luck when I'm older, or have more time, perhaps.

Life Model: This I'm actively trying to pursue. The money's pretty good and it's all for art, dahling.

Russell Brand: Bitch has my life.

Happy Festival of Desci!

2010-12-05T08:43:00.002+11:00

It's that time again. From the 5th-9th of December every year is The Festival. Starting with my Name Day (it's a wog thing) and incorporating my birthday, it's a time for decadence, but also reflection and gratitude.

In honour of the latter, I was thinking abut blogs. I read quite a few of them my google reader is huge.

I've been blogging for 6 year now (which is 23 years in Internet time). So many blogs I've enjoyed have come and go in that time.

Vale Jellyfish, Ruth, Sam, Dawei, Ms Fits, Enny (though she came later than the others), and all the others I loved but they died.

And there are more that I enjoyed, but they changed, or didn't change, and I abandoned them. There aren't many, Teigan was one, just because the blog became a tribute to in-jokes with his friends, which is fine, but inaccessible to other readers.

There a writers who I've chased around the webs, because I've adored them but they've kept swapping places - thankfully notifying their adoring public every time they did. Momo, Ren and Prue.

But then there are the champions. The people I was reading before I even had a blog, and who continue posting to this day, be it daily, monthly or yearly.

Mistress Matisse and Twisted Monk, who indirectly encouraged my kinky side and have helped me find the big poly streak running through me.

Mel, who has continues to bust out thoughtful/funny/meaningful/quirky/enjoyable posts throughout a successful writing career. I honestly don't know how she does it. I'm barely a part time writer and I find it almost impossible, let alone making a living from writing at the same time as blogging.

Kranki, whose blog has evolved as many times as he has.

Adam 1.0, who I'll just love for evah.

And Dietgirl, the Grand Dame of Blogging.

You cunts are alright. Thank you, for years and years of free education, inspiration and entertainment.

Weird Food Stuff

2010-12-03T06:06:00.001+11:00

We all have weird food things. Here are two of mine:
Jam Milkshake
Take an almost-empty jar of jam (with about a teaspoon left in it). Fill it half way with milk, close and shake. Drink, top it up once. The milk goes lovely and foamy and the jam flavours it and breaks up. Yum.

Macaroni Cheese and S&V Crackers
My face share house meal when I lived in Kew was that low fat microwave mac and cheese, with Rix Rice Chips. Remember them? The Flavour Ombudsman took them away. But any reduced fat salt and vinegar flavoured things will do (potato chips are too oily). Dip them in the mac. So good, but something I could never eat now. (I don't do well with pasta anymore, and the carb-on-carb action is firmly in the domain of Old Desci).

Lovers, I'm dying to know what weird food things you have. Salted Caramel doesn't count, as it is the food of the gods. Let me know!

Drunken Times in Beijing Pt 1

2010-12-02T09:48:00.002+11:00

Boyfriend drank every day, as he lifted his 'year without beer' ban (but decided to extend it 'til the wedding in June). Not to get plastered, but because he loves Chinese beer: it's dirt cheap and it's pretty much the only drink you can get at every restaurant (beside my beloved Almond Juice).

But there were a few nights of cocktails and fun.

Hooters!
I begged Boyfriend to go. I thought it would be fun.

It was… grim.

So we had to drink until we didn't feel so awkward.

Picture the cheesiness of Hard Rock Cafe, but with the big American food gone cold and wrong. Curly fries? Yum! COLD curly fries? Vom.

And overpriced, even for Australian standards. It was about four times more expensive than any other restaurant, even the fancy ones.

Though you know I'm a total rice queen, so the waitresses with the singlets and the short shorts with their arses hanging out was nice. And they were all A or B cups, so no scary massive fake boobies.

After about 4 drinks and a carousel of shots it became better.

Lots of tourists, and a few straight-looking women, too.

The girls did line dances every hour. They were… unenthused.

We stumbled out of there, had a walk and allowed ourselves to be ushered into another bar, one with a fully clothed woman dancing to 'Womaniser' on the stage. The other two acts:

- A Chinese Michael Jackson Impersonator who danced along to 'Smooth Criminal'
- Chinese Santana (with drummer and hot female vocalist just… hanging out on stage).

This guy started talking to us. He was with two friends, a couple I think, and he showed me his Chinese Military ID. He asked to get a photo with me. Then he got all cuddly and kept saying 'You. Are Ve-ry Beautiful' and 'I LOVE you!' and wouldn't stop touching me.

Boyfriend was laughing and drinking their beer, while I batted away the fruit this guy tried to feed me.

We made a hasty exit, after arguing with the bar staff for trying to rip us off.

Karaoke
Boyfriend has two lovely Chinese friends, this gorgeous couple. They took us to Karaoke with their mates.

I always vowed if I ever did Karaoke, it'd be with strangers. In another country.
Done.

Themed rooms, all with 'menus' of how much everything cost if you trashed it.

The boys drank beer. I drank spirits. The girls drank fruit juice. They sang pretty songs, and they all had amazing voices.

I didn't and don't. I think they were a little terrified of me.

Verdict: I prefer Singstar. You can have the singer drown you out, and there's WINNING. Karaoke is terrifying. Still, it was good fun.

28.10.10

2010-11-28T19:41:00.001+11:00

'Every time I see you, you've lost more weight!' my new Big Boss (ie, the boss of my boss) says. 'I kind of hate you for that. Your boobs are smaller!'

'THANK you!' I say. I'm in no way close to my goal, but it's been nice to go back to south of triple digits, uh huh.
'Boyfriend has been adamant that they've not been getting smaller - but I know they have!'

(This is a stance Boyfriend has since withdrawn from - he just didn't want me getting upset that my boobs were getting smaller, along with the rest of me. It was inevitable, and it's totally unfair, but what can you do).

'No one's really been noticing' I continue to my Big Boss, 'I've never weighed myself regularly before the start of this year. I've lost 12 kegs so far - not nearly enough, but the accident, etc, have slowed me down'.

'People won't notice,' says my big boss, who, incidentally, is a proud member of the Fat Chick Brigade, 'To skinny people, there's fat and thin. Once you're at 80 kegs, you could be 80 or 150, no one would notice'.

So true! O well.

The wedding's coming up, so Boyfriend and I are on hardcore weightloss. Well, as hardcore as I can be without going to the gym. Stupid collarbone. FUCK I MISS THE GYM. Srsly. I need my daily spazz-out, and I've not had it for 6 months. Grr.

Anyway, I'm weighing myself every day in China, and also trying to have 1-2 Optifasts a day while we're here, to prevent buying food three times a day. Beijing food is SO effing good. More on that later.

23.10.10

2010-11-26T22:37:00.000+11:00

Style Icon: Motorhead
Pre-interview for a real life endeavour, the gorgeous interviewee complimented me on my look. 'I want to point out individual things, but it's all just so good' she said. 'That's my look', I said, 'like a Motorhead song: Everything Louder Than Everything Else

Fuck yes.

Lovers, it's an aesthetic that will happily carry me from 'unhinged arty-type' to 'batshit crazy old lady' quite comfortably.

22.10.10

2010-11-24T12:59:00.001+11:00

Fight fire with fire, then.

Lovers, I'm not the kind of guy to listen to music when I work. I like silence. I get distracted by wanting to listen, pausing to sing along. I'm not a good blocker-outer.

But this shitty Chinese pop is getting on my tits.

The modelling agency cranks it throughout the day. Boyfriend's working today, so I have a day writing in my pjs. There is so much to do.

Good bands for 'wall of sound' whitenoise include Animal Collective, Pavement and the Metallic Falcons. I'll get to that. But first I wanna do some revenge-tuning.

Crank up 'Who Killed Amanda Palmer', followed by some Kiki and Herb. And then - POW - some Judy Fucking Garland.

See, I could go the predictable route, angry loud punk, industrial and metal. But where's the fun in that? It jet looks like retaliation. Give them weirdy round-eye queer theatre geek with a burlesque bend. That's where the headfuck lives.

21.10.10

2010-11-23T09:20:00.001+11:00

The Beijing apartment in which we always stay is right next to a 'Modeling and Media Agency'. They always have bad Mandarin/Canto pop music blasting, people are always smoking in our shared landing and it's suspiciously hot. Gorgeous Chinese girls enter and exit, so skinny that it's not sexy, not gross, just fascinating. Also, they take the pictures there. From the doorway I see the cameraman and the flash, but not the posing hot things, worst luck.

Everybody smokes in Beijing. And the roads are terrifying. You know how I was hit by a car in June? And how I'm terrified of normal, safe Aussie roads, since it happened while I was crossing with the green man, doing everything right? Yeah, well. This has been a very unpleasant part of the trip so far, crossing the roads. The drivers are all fucking crazy here. Looking down at the 3rd Ring Road, there's a beep every… hang on… ok, three per ten seconds. Sometimes more. But I'm pretty high up so in the day, the traffic sound provides good white noise to combat the shitty pop music from the agency. And in the night the double-glazing on the closed windows muffles it enough to sleep.

Still. I love it here. Love!

Surgery DONE

2010-11-22T21:18:00.002+11:00

I hurled when I came to. Mum always vomits after being under. I've been under three (or is it four?) times now, this is the first time I've done that. But oy, it was a GOOD hurl. So much more cleansing than even purging the poison post-bender.

Five days on and it still HURTS. I'm always pretty high. Stay tuned for more China pre-records.

20.10.10

2010-11-16T22:04:00.001+11:00

Possible Collarbone Surgery Outcomes:

I wake up with both male and female parts. WIN.

I wake up halfway through, unable to tell anyone. And the surgeon is singing Danii Minogue songs through the whole procedure, flicking his hair with the beat. LOSE.

I wake up with a pain, and it turns out it's because the surgeon left a bag of diamonds in my shoulder. I sue him for malpractice AND ALSO get to keep the diamonds. WIN.

'Broken collarbone' is misread as 'breast reduction'. LOSE.

My fucking collarbone finally fucking heals. WIN.

Radioactive spider from the radioactive ward bites me, superpowers ensue. FOREVER WIN.

19.10.10

2010-11-15T19:13:00.000+11:00

Surgery

So yes, I'm having collarbone surgery to get this fucker to heal. It's been killing me lately, I keep waking up in pain, having to move it.

I'll have a plate and a few screws keeping it together, which I'll have to get removed in 2-3 years.

There's a chance I'll need a bone graft from my hip, but I'm using all my positive hippy-grade energy to hope that won't happen.

It'll take awhile to heal (about a month, they say, but that's what they originally said with the accident) and I'll be in a sling for the Descendants. It's all bad.

Could be worse; cancer, herpes, death, brain damage, paralysis. Two tears in a bucket, motherfuck it, eh?

18.10.10

2010-11-14T14:09:00.000+11:00

And just when I was posting regularly again!
I come to Beijing, and am confronted by the Great Firewall of China. And lovers, I'll be here for a whole month.

But something good comes out of it! Since, in my guilt about not being able to forewarn you or update you, I'm probably gonna be a wee little blogging machine, writing posts to chuck up at a later date.

So why did I not post for so long? A few reasons. Working full time has never been conducive to it, though with this new job I'm going to force myself to get back in the habit.

Yes! New job! I was headhunted (along with my kickers boss) to take part in a new development at The University. It's awesome. And I love, love, love our new boss. why, is for another post.

Office Space

2010-10-13T11:20:00.001+11:00

Yesterday an annoying woman from another department gave me a call. I told her I’d get some info to her, if she emailed me the specifics. She started her email thusly:

‘Hi Desci,
As per our telcon this morning,

‘Telcon’? Telcon??? Really? At first skim, I saw ‘Telecom’ and thought ‘bitch’s showing her age!’ but now I just figure she’s read 1984 as an informative guide to communicating effectively.

Telcon. I mean really, lovers.

Baby Name Shame: Geelong Advertiser Edition Three

2010-10-12T10:11:00.001+11:00

It’s not even funny anymore.

Charlie K Smith
‘What’s the “K” stand for?’
‘Nothing’
‘Bad ass!’

Milena Peg Smith
‘The Milena Peg: for when normal clothes pegs won’t go that extra mile’.

Tom Bruce Smith
Love it. Tom! Bruce! Tombruce! TOMBRUCE! Truly, it’s so cunty! Imagine a five year old, when asked their name, barking: ‘Tom! Bruce! Smith!’

Jenson Peter Smith
Surname as first name again. For the tip. Also, will he be ‘Jenny’ for short? Also, isn’t the word ‘Jenson’ inherently unattractive?

Lexia Grace Smith
Fruity!

McKenzie David Smith
No surnames as first names. No surnames as first names. It is neither waspy nor distinguished. No surnames as first names.

Archer Lee Smith
S/he should totes carry around a bow and arrow.

Samantha (Sammi) Cate Smith
I love that they already have her bimbo name sorted. Do you think they’ve also picked her out a little pink sequined pair of hotpants already?

The Plan

2010-10-11T11:58:00.000+11:00

Lovers, have I told you about The Plan?

The Plan was always to go live in San Francisco for a year. Boyfriend’s industry hub is there, I have unis I can work at, it’s all good. So that’s happening in 5-10 years.

Having said that, we’re keeping everything very flexible, though still acknowledging that:

1. We’ll never be having kids,
2. We need to save up AS MUCH money as possible, and
3. We WILL live overseas at some point, for an unspecified length of time. We both want to.

So post-wedding we’ll save up.

We also want to travel.

2011: honeymoon in New York
2012: Japan and outer China (so not just Beijing, like usual: Shanghai, Xian, Hong Kong, etc)
2013 and beyond : we’ll see. Europe, finally.

We’ve never really thought about buying a place here, but lately Boyfriend has seen it as attainable. And it’s rubbing off on me. This is hilarious, because we only have about 15k saved up, and it’s all going to the wedding.

So now we’re thinking post-wedding, we’ll just save our arses off* (* while still being as fancy as we can, bien sur) put our names down for the green card lottery, and see what happens. If we save up enough for an inner-city flat (which is what he’s into) or something further out (like a flat in Carlton/Fitzroy, or – impossible-dream-of-dreams – an actual house in Northcote/Westgarth/Clifton Hill/Carlton-area) before we make the move to the US, we’ll invest in that. I don’t know; it’s all abstract and up in the air. And I just assumed I’d never in my lifetime have the money to buy a house/flat. So we’re happy to just take it as it comes.

Thanks to not having kids and having a non-career-focussed degree, I never know where I’ll be in five years’ time. It’s exciting, but also terrifying. But mostly exciting. Let’s just see what happens.

Baby Name Shame: The Courier Edition

2010-10-06T08:38:00.002+11:00

But first a tip-off!
Rae Mari Smith
Boy or girl? Possibly girl (Mari = Marie or Mary??). I just think of hot food at a tuck shop. Oh, hang on, that's *Bain* marie. My bad.

Onward!

Aide Amelia Smith
Aide-moi! Quelle Horreur.

Riley Anne Smith
‘Riley’: a unisex name, meaning, ‘tacky, fashionable surname-as-first name for a boy OR a girl!’
Ok, it’s not *that* bad, but you know I have a thing about surname first names. And Riley from Buffy.

Cohan Brian Anthony Smith
Co-Han the Bar-Brianian? See, they have two perfectly normal names, tuck the bogan one at the end!
I also have a thing against people with more than two given names. Seriously, parents. One or two. That’s all you get. Having said that, if getting all their naming desires out early prevents them from having MORE kids, then maybe I should reconsider my opinion…

Alby John Smith
Named for the great Australian shorty-shorts-clad hero himself.

Jaxen William Finch
Whooooa. The bogan ‘x’: perhaps this decade’s bogan ‘y’ (90s) or ‘h’ (00s)? Only time, and poor judgement/people, will tell.

Summer Festivals

2010-10-05T08:27:00.002+11:00

The lovely NOI mentioned in the comments that Tool were gonna be at the Big Day Out.

Here's the lineup thus far:
TOOL
RAMMSTEIN
IGGY AND THE STOOGES
M.I.A
JOHN BUTLER TRIO
GRINDERMAN
BLOODY BEETROOTS DEATH CREW 77
WOLFMOTHER
LUPE FIASCO
DEFTONES
THE BLACK KEYS
BIRDS OF TOKYO
PRIMAL SCREAM - SCREAMEDELICA LIVE
LCD SOUNDSYSTEM
EDWARD SHARPE AND THE MAGNETIC ZEROS
DIE ANTWOORD
ANGUS & JULIA STONE
PLAN B
BOOKA SHADE (DJ Set)
BLISS N ESO
THE NAKED & FAMOUS
THE JIM JONES REVUE
AIRBOURNE
ANDREW W.K.
LITTLE RED
CRYSTAL CASTLES (NZ + East Coast)
PNAU
GYROSCOPE
CSS
DEAD LETTER CIRCUS
KID KENOBI & MC SHURESHOCK
VITALIC
RATATAT
BLUE KING BROWN
KIDS OF 88
OPERATOR PLEASE
CHILDREN COLLIDE
WILL STYLES
GYPSY & THE CAT
LOWRIDER
SAMPOLOGY

Literally the only ones I'm excited about are Tool. The rest fit into four categories:
'Who?' (young people's music)
'HATE THEM' (Operator Please, among others)
'I'd check a bit of their set out if I was there, but meh' and
'Terminally ambivalent’.
It’s a shame, for over a decade BDO was my FAVOURITE time of year. Now it’s drunken, mainstream cunts listening to shit music. Oh well. I'll keep my fingers crossed for a Tool side show.

Then of course there's Soundwave:
Iron Maiden
Queens Of The Stone Age
One Day As A Lion
Slayer
Primus
Slash
30 Seconds To Mars
Stone Sour
Bullet For My Valentine
Avenged Sevenfold
Murderdolls
Rob Zombie
Social Distortion
Millencolin
Gang Of Four
New Found Glory
Pennywise
Bring Me The Horizon
Sum 41
Anberlin
Dimmu Borgir
The Gaslight Anthem
Coheed And Cambria
Third Eye Blind
Devildriver
Sevendust
Less Than Jake
The Bronx
The Amity Affliction
Monster Magnet
Silverstein
Terror
Mxpx
Protest The Hero
Melvins
36 Crazyfists
Ill Nino
The Ataris
Fucked Up
Bayside
Feeder
The Starting Line
H2O
Mad Caddies
The Maine
Saxon
Trash Talk
Mayday Parade
Foxy Shazam
The Rocket Summer
Never Shout Never
The Blackout
Alesana
Asking Alexandria
All That Remains
High On Fire
Dommin
The Sword
Kylesa
We The Kings
A Skylit Drive
Breathe Carolina
There For Tomorrow
Taking Dawn
I See Stars
Rise To Remain
Veara
Nonpoint
Every Avenue
A few bands I really adore live, so I’d love to go. But it’s a peak time at work (busiest week of the year) so I can’t really justify the day off. Plus, I've seen most of them at least three or four times.

Boyfriend really, REALLY wanted to go but missed the boat on tickets, as we’ve been a little frantic here. So that’s disappointing.

So BDO is a fucking sad bust, Soundwave is promising but not possible. It leaves one other option

The ‘NO SLEEP TIL' FESTIVAL!

Yes, yes, terrible name. But check out the lineup:
Megadeth
NOFX
Dropkick Murphys
Parkway Drive
Descendents
A Day To Remember
GWAR
Atreyu
Alkaline Trio
Frenzal Rhomb
Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
Suicide Silence
August Burns Red
Katatonia
3 Inches of Blood
We Came As Romans
House Vs Hurricane
Break Even
Heroes For Hire
Confession
Shitripper

THE MOTHER-EFFING DESCENDENTS, PEOPLE!
One of my top five favourite bands of all time. Of all time!
And a bunch of other fun shitty punk bands. God, it’s going to be good. We’ll be going to the Melbourne and Brisbane ones. No more, since I’ll be recovering from surgery.

So at least I’ll still get some fun in the summer festival season. Why break an annual habit 14 years in?

Training Session Awkwardness 2

2010-09-29T11:59:00.001+10:00

With so, so many apologies to Enny.

A team-building exercise on ‘Survival’. The story is we’re stranded in the bush. There’s a list of things, we have to determine which are the essentials. My team votes against the Salada biscuits and the shaving kit (which includes a straight razor, but we already have a pocket knife). ‘No!’ says I, ‘We need them! What if the knife goes blunt? We can sprinkle the Saladas on the ground for a kangaroo, and then slit its throat with the razor from the shaving kit!’

There was an awkward pause. Then the team added the Saladas and the shaving kit to our list.

Versatile Salada, indeed.

Making Porn*

2010-09-28T14:13:00.000+10:00

* But Not with Me in it

Sometimes, I want to open up a strip club so bad I could just die. Melbourne strip clubs give me much-needed boobs-and-vulva staring action, but the girls are all so vanilla and skinny. And the crowd is always made up of a combination of shit blokes and shitter blokes. And the drinks are overpriced, cheap shit. So the drinks would be delish cocktails, both fancy and middle-of-the-range. And lots of non-alcoholic options! Teas, mocktails, etc. But what of everything else? Well:

The Girls: Everything from Penthouse Pets to size-16 butch dykes with shaved heads. Trans people! Fat femmes! Skinny suicide girls! Diversity, diversity, diversity.

The Music: Whatever you hear at finishing school. Fun party music. Also, there’d be a dance floor for when you want to have a pause from the vulva and get a bit of a dance in. Also, and this is the most important thing: the girls would get to request a few songs, so they could choose what they dance to.

The Surrounds: Plush and gorgeous. This is one area that places like the Me’s Gallery do ok. But mine will have many wipe-clean surfaces! I had a stripper friend who got a bacterial infection in her vagina/on her vulva that lasted an age, because you can anti-bac the poles all you want, but there’s no sterilising suede chairs.

The Clientele: Goths, hipsters, queers, freaky deaks, anyone nerdy or alternative. Strong skew towards women. Polo shirts are banned.

O, if I were a millionaire…

And my god, I would make the best porn ever! Hot guys – as in, attractive, diverse (not to muscley) young men who don’t look like they’re been bussed in from the nearest fucking prison. Lame storylines, since that’s what I’m into. Hot sex spanning everything from vanilla to kinky, straight to gender fucking. O, if I were a millionaire.

Baby Name Shame: Geelong Advertiser Edition Two!

2010-09-27T08:41:00.001+10:00

O, Geelong Advertiser. So many bogans. So much breeding.

Jock Thomas Smith
Not quite ‘John Thomas’, but I love the idea of a toddler named Jock. It’s so… jaunty old man.

Marlhi Hunter Smith
Named after reggae singer Bhob, of course.

Griffyn Tyler Smith
The tell-tale superfluous bogan ‘y’ is so nineties. Now it’s all about the bhogan H!

Slater Nikola Smith
Slater is a beautiful girl’s name. Exhibit A. Exhibit B. (Both wiki articles, SFW)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slater
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woodlouse

Khobe Shane Smith
Ok, now people: the name ‘Kobe’ was dreamt up by two American bogans, who named their son after a steak dish in a Japanese restaurant. It’s already a bogan name, you don’t need to increase its potency by adding the superfluous ‘H’. We already know you’re trash, it’s cool, you’re covered!

Training Session Awkwardness 1

2010-09-24T10:04:00.001+10:00

Talking about vocalising our achievements and acknowledging what we do well. A straight-talking manager brings up how difficult it is. ‘It’s hard for Australians to talk themselves up. Americans are so, “Yeah, I’m great!” but we don’t want to look like wankers, so we downplay our strengths.’ Everyone nods in agreement. I stay very small in my chair.
Because, see, I don’t. If I’m great, I’ll fucking well say it. And so should you. So should anybody.
Just another reason why me and this country don’t get along.
I’m a tall poppy with a steel stem, motherfuckers.

Baby Name Shame: Border Mail Edition

2010-09-23T12:18:00.001+10:00

Anique Joy Smith
Is it Yooo-nik? Even better. It’s AN-ique!

Levi Siro Smith
So bibleful. If this dude can’t pull off a brown, flowing robe and long hair when he’s all growed up, no one can.

Inde-Ana May Smith
Whoa. Sisters Myont-Ana and Dah-Khota and brother Khen-Tuki are proud to have a little baby sister to carry on their bogan-arse traditions.

Logan Brett Tomo Smith
Ok, we get it, you want your son to be a jock. Fine.

Laytoya Lee Smith
Latoya Jackson’s name needed slutting up, clearly. So now there’s a ‘lay’ in there. Tasteful.

Iilysh Evelyn Maia Smith
The joke lies in the fact her family’s names are all so common: Ross, Melissa, Jack and Chas. She’s all alone in her name shame, poor thing.

Dempsie Lily Smith
Someone really digs Something for Kate.

Isabellah Kathlein Smith
‘i’ before ‘e’, except after drinking while pregnant.

Don’t You Know Who I Am??

2010-09-21T09:50:00.001+10:00

I always had this terribly submissive streak. I thought everyone was cooler than me, and that no one would remember me. I mean, it was fair: pre-goth-flavoured Desci, I was a frumpy dresser. I was funny and all, but I did tend to gravitate towards people more interesting than I. Picture it: first-year uni Desci, barely 18, fresh out of a girls’ school. With her jeans and sneakers and shapeless purpleish shirt. No makeup, or hardly any. Nursing the same cup of beer (yuck!) all throughout Bar Night at La Trobe, clinging to the cool older politics kids. Brr!

When I’d bump into people, I’d always be too shy to say hello, or I'd approach them and overcompensate: ‘Hi, um, it’s Desci? From uni/work/etc? I sat opposite you for a year? We used to have coffee together every day?’ People would often remember me, but sometimes not.

A couple of years ago, I realised I was pretty much the tits, and ever so memorable, so it just, stopped. That fat goth with the drag queen eyes who won’t shut up? Why yes, I remember Desci. It also helped that I’m shocking with names and faces so people often get me in a conversation and I either vaguely know them but have no idea where from, or think, ‘ok, for the life of me, I have no idea who this person is. But they just mentioned uni. Oh, and that tutor, ok, it’s someone I went to uni with’.

I didn’t realise this change had happened. From tubby mouse to puffy diva. Until the Yana Alana show.

I went with my mum, since Boyfriend had to work late. We were having a drink at our table when a woman I knew sat down next to us. She was someone I worked with extensively in my writing life. I said hi. And gay lovers, hand to God, she did that vague ‘I don’t know you… oh, wait, yes I do?’ thing. And she didn’t even remember my name. The nerve! How very dare she.

It was funny, because five years ago, I would have just assumed that was the reaction. But now, it shocks me. Does it show a welcome development in my personal growth and boost in self-confidence? Or does it just hint to my growing narcissism and baseless sense of superiority? My money’s on the latter. Which I should be concerned about, but, you know.

A Nice Big Slice of Awkward Cake

2010-09-17T08:39:00.001+10:00

Gay lovers, you know me. You know I Keep It Real(tm). Part of said Realness is being honest when I have a contrary opinion.

All the time.

Yes, it gets trying.

But by the vagina of She-Ra, I do it.

Except for this one time a few weeks ago.

A lovely acquaintance I met through work had an extra ticket to All About My Mother.
Minus: It was an MTC play. Brrr, MTC and their demographic Brrr.
Plus: It starred Paul Capsis. And I’d follow her to THE ENDS OF THE EARTH.
I love that he has regular work, but FFS is she testing my love. Threepenny Opera and now this. (Where, where did Threepenny Opera go wrong? I love Paul Capsis. I love Eddie Perfect. I love Casey Bennetto. And I love the Malthouse. But the whole thing was so… ordinary).

So All About My Mother.

After a lovely dinner at Script, and lovely conversation with my acquaintance (a very interesting bear-identifying fellow), our spirits were high and we were excited. And he loved it. LOVED it.
I…
Ok, well firstly, Paul Capsis pissed over the other actors, but she was still just playing Paul Capsis. He needed something to do, some direction.

A review in Beat Magazine said the original movie’s script was ‘consensually raped’ by the playwright. Having not seen the movie, I still agree.

The performances were hammy, melodramatic, ridiculous and laughable. An exception was the ageing starlet, and of course Ms Capsis.

The storyline was unengaging, predictable and bland.

And Alison fucking Whyte. God was she ACTING. ACT. ING.
She HAD THIS RHYTM,
To HER VOICE.
(So that she’d say her lines quietly),
BUT THEN STRESS THEM.
STRESS THEM SOME MORE
(And then go quiet).

It’s hard to portray in writing, as you can see. But fuck she’s annoying.

So it was an awful, awful play. I’ve seen worse professional productions, but not many.

Though I couldn’t tell my companion that. He loved it so much! And I wanted to impress him! So very uncharacteristically for me, I grit my teeth, bent over and told him I enjoyed it. Like the bitch I never am. Oh well. At least now we’ll have dinner together again.

Gay lovers, I’m not dead.

2010-09-16T13:11:00.001+10:00

When I’m not working, I’m at some manner of accident-related doctor.
When I’m not some manner of accident-related doctor, I’m doing the outside-of-work writing stuff.
And when I’m not doing that, I’m sleeping.
And all of these things are done with pain, constant pain. Bah!

So a quick update on life:
- The nerve damage in my leg is still making me its bitch. It’s surprising, how much pain it brings.
- And yes, the collarbone is still broken. I’m going to Beijing from 14 October - 12 November. I literally get off the plane and get an X-ray. Then a few days after that I see the surgeon, then the next day he operates on me
- But there is a SMALL chance the bone will knit before then, hence the Xray.
- Oh, also, I may have to get a bone graft from my hip. FFS!
- I’m seeing a brill psychologist about the accident. Since I was very consciously living a perfect life, and now it’s pretty fucking terrible, with the pain and the impact the injury has had. So I’m all, ‘wah wah, poor me’ BUT THEN IMMEDIATELY I start thinking about the ‘other people’, who have it a million, billion times worse than me, and The Guilt sets in. So our aim with the sessions is to get my brain to settle in the middle of those two extremes: to allow myself to be a bit self-pitying, but only in moderation, and without the guilt. It’s harder than it sounds.

Besides that, nothing to report. But for the fact that THE DESCENDANTS ARE TOURING! Boyfriend and I are going to the Melbourne and Brissie shows. They’re playing as part of the ha-mazing ‘No Sleep Til’ festival (shitty name, orgasmic line up).

So. I’ve been doing this long enough to realise that it needs to be a habit, an everyday thing, otherwise it slips away. So here’s to tryin’.

The Strokes, Festy Hall

2010-08-13T11:42:00.001+10:00

Dear god it was good. Hit after hit after hit. It was a ‘best of’ show. Not one bad song. I forgot how fucking brilliant they were.

I first saw them at the Palais several years ago. Kings of Leon supported. I was three rows from the front and think I was the only one into it. ‘Spiral Staircase’ is a better song than ‘Sex on Fire’ by about nine million. People are stupid.

Supper Club: Bunch of Cunts

2010-08-11T12:39:00.001+10:00

MIFF has happened.

Highlights:
Blame (it has its faults, but it’s a corker of a film)

Strange Powers (the doco about a favourite band of mine, The Magnetic Fields)

Various after parties with free alcohol, including the usual sub-standard house drops BUT ALSO the best mulled wine I’ve ever drank

Like a Dream, an overlong but engaging Mandarin-language film

Lowlights:
Not being able to see enough films! Hopefully many are marked for general release.

HAHAHA, a Korean pic that looked like an incompetent film student’s first feature. We walked out.

Lou Barlow: Goodnight Unknown. The worst documentary I’ve ever seen. Boring story, boring filmmaker. Lay off the pot and stop thinking you can do anything of worth - said to both the filmmaker and Lou Barlow, guy from Dinosaur Jr and others, seen just… fucking about for 30 minutes. Which might be interesting if he was, or if the film maker had a modicum of talent. To make matters worse, the film was put BEFORE the feature we’d paid to see, so we were basically held to ransom by this terrible, awful piece of shit film. I haven’t been bored since 2005. Damn you for breaking my streak. FUCK. Why not put it after, so those who had no fucking interest in it could just leave quietly? Fail, MIFF, fail.

The Supper Club! A film Boyfriend was loosely affiliated with screened. We went to the after party. The after-after party was at the Supper Club. I was excited, since I’d never been there before.

I was stone-cold sober, as is my frequent want in these broken collarbone times. Boyfriend and the rest of the group, around 12 people, were happily tipsy. Not drunk, not loud or obnoxious, just happy with life.

The two waitresses at The Supper Club were dressed nearly identically in black pillowcases and massive fucking frowns. Assumedly one of the kitchen staff had just wee’d in both of their cereals, and said cereal was the only thing they had to eat on that shift. Our party ordered beers and bottles of wine, and many ordered food. And you should have seen the fucking attitude. The party was too big for one space, so the waitress bullied some late arrivals – the director one of them - to another table. Which wouldn’t have been a problem (we can’t fit, no worries, we’ll split up) had it not been for the way in which it was done. The waitress practically yelled at the director. Remember, I was sober for this, so I’m not seeing it through exaggerated, drunken eyes.

Horrible, awful waitresses being snooty to perfectly polite, well-dressed and cashed-up 20/30-somethings. Mark under ‘never, ever going there again’. There are enough over-priced-and-fabulous places just like it to keep me happy.

In Praise of Melbourne Gastronome

2010-08-02T11:34:00.000+10:00

Where would I be without Claire? I always fall into the habit of going to the same tried-and-true places*. But lately I’ve been bored, poor little DINK I am. So whenever I want to expand my horizons (slash waistline) I just hit up the MG website on Boyfriend’s iPhone, go to her ‘Search by Suburb’ section and go to town. It’s where I discovered APTE, an amazing place for all my brunch needs now both Pippa May Cook and Devour have both closed.

I have about 30 places book marked from her site that I want to try. Her tastes run more Italian to my Asian, but the scope of the places she covers is so diverse that it keeps me happy. I urge other Fancymen to check her out!

* Here’s a list of those places:
CBD
Nudel Bar
North East China Family Restaurant
Sakura Kaiten
Tomodatchi (if I must. Service is fucking terrible)
Longrain

‘Burbs
Noodle Kingdom (Preston)
Silk Thai (Fairfield)
Ora Thai (Preston)
APTE! (Alphington)
Pearl (Richmond)
Malaysia House (Kew. I used to live across the road, and every so often I’ll go and feel nostalgic)

Holy Fuck, How is it AUGUST?!

2010-08-01T13:43:00.000+10:00

I have some posts ready to go soon. But for now, a status update from a pregnant friend for whom English is a second language:

‘The greatest love is inside of me’

Hurhurhurhurhurhurhur.

Death of Shesus?

2010-07-20T13:33:00.001+10:00

Collarbone still broken. Nerve damage still ouchy. But I went to Regurgitator regardless, because they were my boys. From 1995-2005ish they were my favourite band, and I’ve seen them live every year since 1996. (Quan’s solo show last year totally counts). I also went because I’m rock hard. Going to concerts with broken bones, fuck yeah. That I turned up just as they were starting and cowered behind Boyfriend at the very back the whole time is a bagatelle. They were fantastic. I miss them. Though I keep loving Quan more and Ben less and less.

So, yes, the bones, the pain. I’ve literally been in constant pain every single second of the last 6 weeks. Neuralgia’s a little bitch, and broken bones that can’t be casted are bastards. So I’ve been feeling a lot less forgiving of the dude who ran me down.

At first, I was happy to forgive. Yeah, sure, he ran a red light (not amber….red, actually ‘red… still red… still red… *drives off*… still red… still red’) but I didn’t know the circumstances. I mean, he might have had a mother in hospital, have been late for a flight to a funeral in England, whatever. Or he might have just been distracted. ‘There but for the grace of god’, etc. I’m sure in my lifetime I might run a red light (well, maybe not. I’m not a great driver, but by mighty Thor himself, I’m a careful one). So I didn’t want to project negativity, an accident’s an accident, etc.

But fuck, man. If I did do this to someone, I would take my fucking medicine. I have all this pain, a massive change to my lifestyle and a massive dependency on Boyfriend and my parents. He got 3 demerit points and a fine. I messaged him with my condition a day after the accident, he offered in return nothing but a wishy-washy response. No contact in the coming weeks. It’s a bit of a cunt act. The facts are these: He ran me down at a pedestrian intersection while I was walking with the green man. Six weeks and counting of pain, suffering and drastic life workarounds changes. Shouldn’t there be a degree of accountability?

On Cunty

2010-06-15T19:28:00.002+10:00

Gay lovers, I've been receiving feedback both here and IRL (where I recently had a soiree, the dress code for which was 'cunty and fierce') about the meaning of cunty.

From the Urban Dictionary:

2. Cunty

A word generally associated and used in gay society. It means an overwhelming feeling of self-conceit or cockiness.
Associated with many feelings, usually of being a bitch, cocky, conceited, arrogant, obnoxious and the list goes on.
I'm feeling cunty!
Ohh she is FIERCE!, cunty!
That bitch is being really cunty today...

That doesn't encompass all that cunty is, though.

See Kevin Aviance's song of the same name (NSFW), and the 1990 documentary Paris is Burning (about NY ballroom culture and vogueing - two of my favourite things).

Cunty - a good thing. Fierce, fabulous, hot.

Or: Creativity, Uniqueness, Nerve and Talent. (Which is what you should recite when getting ready in the morning).

NOTE!!
'Cunty' is not to confused with being a stupid cunt, like everyone involved here, or being a creepy cunt, like this guy (both links SFW, thank you to RG and Flashy respectively!).

Accident Update

2010-06-15T18:36:00.002+10:00

- Have some nerve damage in my upper arm and more significantly in my upper leg. Causes me much pain when I lay down. Think hot knitting needles piercing bruised skin.

- Shoulder is still very, very painful.

- Been chomping pain killers. Brufen and old mate Panadeine Forte. Had some Endone, but it's like Ken Done: everyone says how good it is, but I find it annoyingly ineffective.

- Typing one-handed now. Though if I was gonna learn how to type one-handed, did it have to be the hand I also masturbate with?!

- The driver: Like a modern Shesus (she-Jesus) I have forgiven him via text message, and just asked that he be more careful in future.

- Since we only have witness accounts that he ran the red light (it wasn't turning red, it was just RED) he got a fine and three demerit points. Reason: Failing to give way to a pedestrian.

- Also, the driver was a hipster. Hipsters and goths. Like werewolves and vampires, it's a feud as old as time.

- Still maintain I am very. Fucking. Lucky.

- Had to miss Russell Brand on Wednesday. Boo!

- I had my first social interaction on the weekend: a Longrain banquet. Verdict: skip the banquet and cherry-pick from the menu instead. Betel leaves and caramelised pork hock are mandatory ordering, both AMAZING. And the best cocktails in Australia!

- Missing two weeks of work. Boo! Would rather work than pain.

Desci is Unbreakable*

2010-06-09T22:35:00.000+10:00

In which Desci deals with cars hitting her, and inappropriate masturbation.

Tuesdays are fucked, aren't they? Mondays waddle in, shoulders bowed, knowing everyone hates them. Tuesdays periodically sneak up behind you, jabbing you in the kidneys and reminding you the week still has SO MANY DAYS LEFT.

This Tuesday I was happy. Work's good and I had Russell Brand Wednesday night to look forward to. Boyfriend dropped me off at the corner with our usual clichéd lovey-dovey goodbye and I walked to the crossing, seeing the car in front of Boyfriend also dropping off his partner.

I crossed with the green man, and saw the car coming to the red light. 'Surely he'll stop at the line' I thought. I realised he wasn't, but there also wasn't time to get out of the way. He slammed into me, I tumbled, my hoodie and backpack obscuring my vision. After some screaming (me) and apologising (the driver) a helpful cyclist, kindly old ladies and a shaking Boyfriend, the cops and ambos came. The driver had ran the red light.

PRO TIP: If you ever have access to an ambulance, GET THE GREEN STICK. They’re like bulbs, but better.

After becoming better acquainted with my friend Monsieur Stique Vert, I was rushed (siren and all!) to the hospital.

Let’s break down my 27-hour hospital adventure:

- Nurses are awesome. They are the best people in the world.

- My blue hair and rainbow eye shadow was commented on at an average of twice per nurse/orderly.

- My socks got lost! My brill American black ones. Truly the tragedy of the day.

- I had to wear one of those fucking massive neck braces, and stay flat on my back for 15 hours. This made me some kind of ward celebrity. My back fucking killed. Mum took a picture of me looking like Evil Kineval with a double thumbs-up.

- No, you can’t ever see the picture.

- Boyfriend and mum stayed with me all day, little champions.

- When I was trying to get to sleep, the swarthy accented gentleman in the bed next to me felt that the thin curtain separating our ‘rooms’ was enough to mask THE SOUND OF HIS PORN. He even had his TV on, to mask the iPhone’s clips.

- A few loud ‘Really? *Really*, buddy?’s, and one ‘JESUS CHRIST YOU’RE IN HOSPITAL GIVE IT A REST FOR ONE DAY’ from me didn’t stop the faint but undeniable sound of porn. It would pause when footsteps came nearer, then start up again.

- Then the sound of porn stopping, and him getting out about 20 tissues, was somehow even worse.

- My sleep was hassled, to say the least.

- Then he played flamenco music from 3am til about 5. At four, a nurse came in and he complained about not being able to sleep. ‘It’s lucky I have this iPhone to keep me company,’ he told her.

- I got to go to the taxi rank in a wheelchair. I suppose they’re like TENS units: fun if you don’t need it.

- My collarbone is snapped in two, but besides that and some other little aches and pains, I have no visible bruises and two teeny scratches. I call it a small win in the car’s favour, but still. Despite also picking up a mild case of gastro from the hospital, I am very effing lucky.

Ridiculous Feet

2010-06-02T12:11:00.000+10:00

Last night I saw 3 Penny Opera @ the Malthouse. While it was a treat to see the fantastic Eddie Perfect and Casey Benetto, and the transcendent Paul Capsis all on stage together, I must admit I was a little disappointed. It's a Brecht play, and it was interesting to see the conventions so strictly adhered to (in many cases). But there was a little bit of scenery chewing because of it. Nonetheless, it was good. I was expecting a 10 and got a 7, still well above average but a disappointment.

Paul Capsis as Hedwig would be a dream. He'd make it darker, more scattered, a more intense, crazed Hedwig. She's not an unbothered character. She'd lived. She's haggard. She's ravaged and beaten but resilient.

Fuck it, Paul Capsis as the lead in ANYTHING would be a dream. When will he do a solo show again?

Anyway! Eddie Perfect did a bit of tap dancing at one point. I've never really seen live tap dancing, it was cool. Here was my train of thought:

'I wish I could do that. Hey! I should learn! It's cunty! Oh, hang on.
The shoes. The feet.
*sigh* I'll never be a tap dancer.'

See, I'm a size 5D. With a high instep. My feet are fucking ridiculous. Ever so graceful-looking because of it, but 'graceful' doesn't fit fucking shoes on your ridiculous fucking feet.

No shoes fit me. FFS, Birkenstocks don't fit me. I'm doomed to spend all eternity in black runners.

I'd totally pay a premium to get some comfortable, cunty boots and shoes. Anyone know a cunty cobbler?

Baby Name Shame: Geelong Advertiser Edition

2010-05-27T11:52:00.001+10:00

Jahli Jade Smith
Ah, the telltale bogan ‘h’. Interesting fact: in the 90s, it was a ‘y’. (Payge and Jayde were two girls I knew, from the same bogan family. Now they’d be Pahge and and Jhade).

Kyra Maj Smith
Hold the phones! Turns out the ‘Y’ is still making names nyce, dyfferent and unyusual. And Maj? Really? Like her Maj’ the Queen?

Indiana Poppy Smith
‘Indiana Poppy’ sounds like the title of a John Cougar Melloncamp song about heroin.

Aston Dean Smith
Middle name’s not Martin, at least. But still, Ass-ton?!

Summer Leyoan Maree Smith
Summer is hot and sweaty. Leyoan is… well, not a thing. Let’s end on that, then.

Cunty Jumpers

2010-05-26T15:52:00.000+10:00

Gay lovers, what do you think of men in jumpers?

I prefer a behoodied man. Not the bogan hipster patterned hoodies, just a simple plain coloured band or generic one.

Men in jumpers I’ve seen have all looked… henpecked. Too cuddly. Like the fuzzy number they’re currently donning was part of some sort of ‘Testicles for Woollens’ scheme.

Initiated by SCUM or similar, I’m forced to assume.

It’s too sensible, too boring looking. Some can get away with being hipster twee, but still not quite C.U.N.T.

So yes. Is there such a thing as a cunty jumper for men? Something that looks flattering, cool and fierce?

Oops...

2010-05-24T17:56:00.001+10:00

Wait, WHAT day is it? Erg. So sorry, gay lovers.

What have I been up to? Cocktails at Longrain confirmed that they are, in fact, the best drinks in Victoria. SO EFFING GOOD. That was followed by a messy World Goth Day at DV8, which has not changed in 10 years, back when it was Subculture. Sure, the punk room isn’t their anymore, but it’s still old faithful. I’ve been going to indie clubs so long, I forgot how much of an effort the Goths make. Twas a treat.

Plus, goth dancing is a better workout than the indiekid shuffle.

Though I don’t know much of their stuff, the Tegan & Sarah and Regina Spektor concerts were both brill, the latter being really, truly amazing.

Boyfriend turned 30 and had to go overseas for work the next day. (Vegas, he was sick most of the time so hated it).

Life stuff! Erm, wedding plans will commence in June. Bridal party and all that still to be finalised.

Doing lots of writing, but I wonder how productive much of it is. Pushing certain things uphill, while others are speeding along. Some special projects in the making, as per usual.

Work is going well, I’m bossman to six people. Well, supervisor man. They’re all fairly awesome in their own way, so that’s lucky.

I still can’t do combat because my knees are completely fucked. It’s been a year since I’ve really been able to, I’m missing it like a puppy with cancer misses… not having cancer. If I had to rape a swan to go back to doing combat 4-5 times a week, then by god, I would rape that swan. Right in its feathery swan genitalia.

Also, my tooth hurts and I need an operation to remove it.

Stupid tooth. Loitering right at the back there. Like it’s the fucking Fonz. WE’LL SEE HOW FUCKING COOL YOU ARE WHEN YOU’RE UNDER MY PILLOW, YOU CUNT.

Besides that, I’m stuck for things to write. I have some Baby Name Shames in the can, but besides that, what would you like to hear?

Embracing the Black with Limecrime

2010-04-20T11:03:00.006+10:00

Limecrime's newish lipstick range is divinely cunty. Have a look!

I'm dying to try the orange one. And the red!

A few months ago I bought their black, Styletto.

A quick manifesto on black lipstick: It's time for it to come back. Wretch it out of the hands of babybats at Flinders Street station. It can be used as a high fashion colour if that's your thing, or as gothy/punk wonderfulness as long as you do it right. Keep your other makeup either muted or bright and colourful. No matching it with heavily-blackened eyelids. No drawing spiderwebs on your face.

Black is dramatic. Use it wisely. Wear it confidently. Think 1920s and Haute Macabre couture, don't think 14-year-old using her $2 eyeliner.

At 28-years-old I've finally discovered the magnificence of a back lipstick used well and it's all thanks to the lovely Doe Deere and her innovative, trailblazing ways. Love her.

Important notes about rocking the black:
1. Use a good liner! I've been experimenting with Poppy King's invisible liner, sold through Kit Cosmetics.
2. If you're about to eat something messy, remove and then reapply after the meal. Lest you start sporting a black goatee.

Now for the product!

Pros:
1. Colour payoff. After ONE COAT, it is very, very black (excuse crappy shots, remember, I'm the world's worst photographer):

Two coats:

During the day I also like to wear it blotted with some gloss, for an almost gunmetal grey colour:

Other pros:
2. The scent! It smells like a vanilla milkshake. Beyond cool.
3. Stains and wears well, minimal feathering/bleeding.
4. Feels nice on. Soft, not crayon-y.

Cons:
1. Cute packaging, but the lid keeps falling off. I can't take it anywhere without an elastic band joining the lid with the base.
2. It's also very soft. I can no longer apply it like a regular tube lipstick - I have to use a brush.

The cons are little gripes (and I'd rather a soft lipstick that moisturises over one that retains its shape in the tube but dries out lips!) The three pros are huge. I would absolutely recommend this product and will definitely be buying it again.

Go check out Limecrime now: I'm also obsessed with their Snow Queen eyeshadow, a loose powder white with blue glitter throughout, perfect as a top shade to brighten eyes.

Coming up: reviews of the OCC Lip tars in black, deep burgundy, white, blue and green.

Clowngina

2010-04-20T10:38:00.003+10:00

One of my favourite people sent me this song.

Please watch it (vision SFW, audio has some swearies), then scroll down to the break down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The top 10:

10. The revelation that you can't even *hold* music. It's true, you know. Ergo, magic.
9. Fat guys literally wearing clown makeup the whole time.
8. 'There's magic everywhere in this bitch'.
7. Pelican shennanigans.
6. Fucken' rainbows.
5. Earnest rapping/clown makeup matchup.
4. Shaggy's little boys look just like Shaggy.
3. Mistrust of scientists, thereby rendering the mystery of fucken' magnets forever unsolved.
2. No, really, the clown makeup.
1. This:

37 MICF Shows!

2010-04-18T22:55:00.003+10:00

And here they are, all ranked. Love that nearly all of them were free. Mmm, specialness.

***Update:***
I also saw The Comedy Zone. The brilliant Dave Callan MCed (I wonder why he didn't do a show? Apparently he did one at Adelaide. Hopefully next year). Standout was Michael Workman, Warren Milera also had tremendous energy. Charles Barrington (Andy Rodger) is one to look out for, Emma Zammit and Shayne Hunter are still quite green. Tricky to slot the show anywhere, as the comedians should be rated separately.

Now, onward.

-------------------Amazing, Wonderful Shows---------------

5 Stars
1. ASHER TRELEAVEN - SECRET DOOR I must admit, his poster for last year’s show annoyed me to such an extent that I didn’t see him (like Melinda Buttle this year, with her ironic gang signs). I gave him a chance after a few glowing reviews and was so, so glad. Weird, impeccably dressed and directed, the man is a master of movement. And campness.
2. THE AXIS OF AWESOME - INFINITY ROCK EXPLOSION! Love them. What’s more, Ben, the keyboardist, is one of the loveliest guys I’ve met. The other two, a little standoffish. Anyway, their show. I think I reviewed them before. They’re brill, and tight as fuck.
3. ANDREW O'NEILL - OCCULT COMEDIAN A metalhead, hetero trannie? It could have gone very badly. But he’s a pro, utterly skilled, immensely likable and a joy to watch. I'd love to have a (platonic) drink with him.

4 Stars
4. SAM SIMMONS - FAIL One of the best working comedians in Australia. Not random, just bizarre.
5. CARDINAL BURNS Very English, sketch goodness.
6. SAM SIMMONS & DAVID QUIRK - THE INCIDENT Have you ever been touched inappropriately in a shop?
7. ANDREW MCCLELLAND'S SOMEWHAT ACCURATE HISTORY OF THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE More classic stuff from someone who should have much more work/fame than he does. It’s odd that he doesn’t and Peter Helliar does.
8. TOM GREEN - WORLD STANDUP COMEDY TOUR Could have gone either way. He paced like a tiger in a tiny cage. Very candid. Worth a whole extra star just because it was such a kick seeing someone I was so obsessed with when I was 18, 19.
9. HENRY ROLLINS - FREQUENT FLYER TOUR 2.5 hours without taking a drink or changing position. How dies his mic arm not get tired?!
10. F+CK, A LOVE STORY: OR WHY EMMA WILL NEVER GET LAID IN THIS TOWN AGAIN! Emma Sachsse is beautiful. And she has a lovely speaking voice. It was difficult to focus on her material, as I kept getting sucked into her gorgeousness. Which was annoying, since her stuff was funny, well written and honest. She talks about sex in parameters she’s comfortable with, and as such wisely only touches briefly on kink and not at all on queerness. Though I agreed with the majority of what she said, in a perfect world there wouldn’t be a need for her show (and I’m sure she agrees!)
11. TALKING POOFY SCOTT BRENNAN, ADAM RICHARD & TOBY SULLIVAN What you’d expect. Three fags talkin’ poofy. I’ve never seen Scott Brennan before, in future I’ll watch out for him. Adam was, as always, Adam. Love him.
12. CLAUDIA O'DOHERTY - MONSTER OF THE DEEP 3D As reviewed below, when I thought I’d have time to review the shows I saw. Oops.
13. TIM KEY - THE SLUTCRACKER As above.

-------------------Still Recommended Shows---------------

3.5 Stars
14. JOSH EARL VS. THE AUSTRALIAN WOMEN'S WEEKLY CHILDREN'S BIRTHDAY CAKE BOOK I’d never seen anything of his. He had songs! A little twee (though, come on Desci, it was a show about birthday cakes), and I could do without the hiphop (an overused convention in comedy, I think). But still very funny.
15. NICK SUN - JOYMEAT Initially I thought, ‘fuck, this man is a genius’. He tended to lose me throughout, but I still love him, Frangipani.
16. FELICITY WARD READS FROM THE BOOK OF MORON Funny, loved the addition of her ‘dog’.
17. CELIA PACQUOLA IN FLYING SOLOS Her star shines brightly. Well-written second show. She will be dominating the world in five years.
18. GOOD EVENING: THE SKETCHES OF PETER COOK & DUDLEY MOORE STARRING SHAUN MICALLEF & STEPHEN CURRY The set. My god, the set. So classy and lovely. Comforting comedy, nostalgic but not stale.
19. KALE BOGDANOVS - SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL Serendipitous find. Though he needs a hairband and a shave. Tiny audience but consistent laughs and an absolute corker of an ending.

3 Stars
20. LIN DONG FU MADE IN CHINA (OR, HOW SHANGHAI SLIM FOUND JAZZ) Broad, but he was utterly charming and immensely likeable. And his white linen pinstripe suit was just cunty fierce. Best dressed person of the festival (second was Emma, third was Asher. Fourth, Kelly Fastuca)
21. MATT ELSBURY - ADVICE YOU SHOULDN'T NEED A little ‘samey’ from his last year show, but still super solid and recommended.
22. ROBOT VS. WORLD Costumes/puppetry that was both slick and charmingly homemade-looking. Worth it for the foul-mouthed Dalek.
23. RICH FULCHER - AN EVENING WITH ELEANOR: THE TOUR WHORE Disappointing. Could have been amazing, but I wanted more. Boyfriend and I saw her for SHEaster (when one sees a drag queen on Easter Sunday). He hated it, I thought it was mostly bland punctuated with shards of genius. Having said that, the audience laughed uproariously throughout.
24. LOU SANZ - PLEASE DON'T USE MY FLANNEL FOR THAT: A MEMOIR A hugely engaging stage presence. Nearly unnerving. In that way, she’s one of the best at the festival. The show was tightly written and intriguing. The only setback was that throughout her story, parts felt obviously made up or exaggerated. All I needed was a ‘this entire story is true’ or similar at the start, and I wouldn’t have been distracted the whole time thinking about what was true and what wasn’t. (Just never read her blog. The typos, misspellings and gross crimes against grammar and punctuation make this one look utterly faultless!)
25. PIP COMIC ILLUSIONIST - THE FUNNY SIDE OF PRESTIDIGITATION One to watch as he gets older and even more polished. Can’t wait to see his next show.
26. THE BIRDMANN - BIRDMANNIA I had an overwhelming feeling that he should have been in one of those channel 2 fringe variety shows in the 90s (The Big Gig, Glynn Nichols, etc). This is not to say his material was dated or stale. It just had that very specific ‘feeling’, a la Flacco. I’m doing a bad job of articulating it. A surprisingly sexy ending (I’m saying that knowing I’m a freak).
27. KELLY FASTUCA - TAKE ME OUT TO THE LOGIES She has the most beautiful singing voice. Professional and tight as all get out.
28. POET LAUREATE TELIA NEVILE - WHILE I'M AWAY Something different. The highlight was the poem about skiing. Highly watchable.
29. DAVE THORNTON - A DIFFERENT TYPE OF NORMAL Desci FAIL! I went to this thinking he was Dave Bloustien (who it appears didn’t do a show this year – wah!) It was no Bloustien, but entertaining enough. Broad-based appeal, I’d never heard of him but apparently he’s on Nova. Teary ending.
30. FESTIVAL CLUB First time, can you believe it? I’ve always wanted to, and only went once despite wanting to many other times.
31. SILENT DISCO It would have been brill if the music wasn’t so woeful.

-------------------The Line of No Longer Recommended Shows---------------

2 Stars
32. ROD QUANTOCK - THE PEOPLE WE SHOULD EAT FIRST (AND HOW TO COOK THEM) I love him, but I just didn’t feel it this year. I know that’s a bit of a sin. (He’s so accomplished, talking about such important stuff…)
33. COLOUR IN STEREO Will be brilliant in two years or so.
34. MIKEY MILEOS - THESE ARE MY JOKES Predictable jokes, but he’s still green. Just not my type of humour really: more suited to regular Aussie blokes who think they’re alternative (not that he himself fits that stereotype, I don’t think. That’s just who would like him. Much like how, for example, the members of DAAS aren’t fat chicks).
35. ALL IN THE SAME BOAT: A SHIP LOAD OF LAUGHS My first foray into a full show of impro. Maybe it’s just not my bag. Frenetic pace and the team looked like pros. Rest of the audience liked it. If you like impro I’d recommend it, just watch out for one cast member who slips into an uneven American ‘acting’ accent now and again.

1 Stars
36. CHIP & MOO IN MR NATURAL: A BODYBUILDING ODYSSEY likable guys, but I didn’t laugh once. It was a shame. Again, though, to be fair, I was hungover. I went with two others, who were similarly unimpressed.

Zero Fucking Stars
37. TALKING DIRTY IN THE DARK I’ve already wasted enough time on them, below.

That's it. There were several dozen other shows I was dying to see, but didn't have the time.

Now you. What'd you see? Thoughts, comments?

MICF!

2010-04-03T10:51:00.002+11:00

Gay lovers, I’m sorry for the extended break. Things are ridiculous. Onward!

I get to see an obscene amount of free comedy. Below are my usual incredibly lazy 1-line reviews.

Tim Key: The Slutcracker
Silly, charming, engaging. Genius poetry. If you liked him in Charlie Brooker’s Newswipe, you’ll love this. Very British. Highly recommended.
8.5/10

Axis of Awesome: Infinity Rock Explosion
I just love these guys. This show features quite a bit from their last show, Axis of Awesome Versus Bee. After an initial flicker of disappointment I didn’t care. Is it wrong that I want to see them again?
9.5/10

Claudia O’Doherty: Monster of the Deep 3D
I was sitting with a comedian who, at one point, leaned over and whispered to me, ‘She’s absolutely mental, and a genius!’ That about sums it up. It took me a while to get into the rhythm of her character, but once I did I just loved it. Go if you like stories, a little bit of the absurd, and a big helping of alienation wrapped in childlike wonder.
8/10

Andrew McClelland’s Somewhat Accurate History of the Fall of the Roman Empire
If you’ve seen Andy’s shows before, this is more of the same. And I couldn’t be more thrilled about it. Likable and engaging, see it if you want to know more about the Roman Empire, or if you’re taking a mixed group to a show. His broad-based appeal and affable delivery make for a brilliant show.
8.5/10

Talking Dirty in the Dark
Four comedians on stage. It’s dark, they all have balaclavas on. The mics have voice distortion. With total anonymity, what will they say?
It turns out all four of them just long to be Rodney Rude, but their TV/Radio careers forbid it.
My guesses were Peter Helliar or Tom Gleeson, Dave Hughes, Wil Anderson and… some Irish guy. Whoever they were, they were of the very mainstream, Triple M school of comedy. ‘Oh, I hate my wife and kids, fnar fanr fnar’ stuff. But jokes about going down on elderly women aren’t edgy or funny. And there's nothing sadder than someone who thinks they're being edgy or daring, when you're thinking that you and your fucking coworkers are cruder.
It could have been a hilarious night, they could have used the opportunity to test out their more daring or alienating stuff. Instead they just made dumb jokes trying to offend in the blandest possibly way. Adam Richard says more risqué and bitchy stuff in his scripted shows, FFS.
Yawn.
1/10

Amanda Palmer, Chunky Move

2010-03-10T14:10:00.003+11:00

Go and see Chunky Move's Mortal Engine It's only on until Saturday. I went with a friend last night, and I'm going again and taking Boyfriend. It is so perfect. It reminded me of how fucking IMPORTANT art is. Go, go, go, go go.

Amanda Palmer: Better in Melbourne than in Sydney
Out of the hundreds (thousands?) of concerts I've attended, her Melbourne show was one of the best I've ever been to. She brought Paul Kelly on (she LOVES him, which is weird: to me, he's just a part of the furniture of the Aus music scene. Like an ugly coffee table you don't really like, but it serves a purpose and all your stuff's on top of it so you can't see it anyway). But I've briefly talked about that below, I see now (gay lovers, I am so tired and busy I don't know what's what).
The Sydney show was still ok. The merch was not as varied as they had for sale in Melbourne, and she seemed humngover. BUT, it was still a wonderful show.

Wait what was I talking about? I also had a point about blonde guys. I forget where I was going with it, and where it started. I remember where it ended, though. Um, I don't know. I'll tell you later.

In work and in my extra-curriculars, I'm so effing busy right now. But all is well.

Update

2010-03-02T13:55:00.002+11:00

Gay lovers, I sincerely apologise for the absence. Work has been crazy-crazy-silly-crazy, since, you know, it's a uni and the start of semester.

* I got a massive promotion. I've gone up three pay grades (not increments, mind, but whole fucking grades) in 13 months. I'm pretty sure that's never happened in the history of my department. THIS IS HOW FUCKING BRILLIANT I AM.

* Amanda Palmer at the Forum was one of the best concerts I've ever been to. Me, Boyfriend and Junior sang at the tops of our voices. I was in prime viewing position, close enough to see her expression. She brought on Paul Kelly and then Mick Harvey. She sang Nick Cave, and later Creep from the top of a balcony. Afterwards she signed my CD and when her tour manager asked if she was ok, she responded, utterly exhausted, 'they're eating me' and shrugged, which I wish I'd not heard since she'd already given us so much of herself. But yes. Awesome fucking concert. I can't get the time off to go to the Adelaide and Brisbane shows, but I'll be in Sydney, peering down at Random Git's front row seat from my dress circle one.

* Me and Boyfriend did the whole 'families meeting each other' thing on the weekend. I dared his non-identical twin to come out (he's waiting for the opportunity) but he said it wasn't appropriate. Boo! He'll do it soon. The event was as non-eventful as we would have hoped. Mum got too drunk, Dad got antsy towards the end, after Boyfriend's parents had left, because he wanted to get home and have a hash cookie. Good man only drank in their presence.

Other than that, work and extra curriculars have been roughly bending me over lately. Busy but happy. Will respond to comments, and post more regularly, as soon as I am able.

Monogamy Hysteria

2010-02-12T08:37:00.001+11:00

Condoms. They’re just awful. I’d almost rather no sex than condom sex. Though I do like the ‘no mess, no fuss’ trash-disposal they bring.

A close friend has health problems that mean she can’t take contraceptives, in any form. So she and her husband have to use condoms every single time they have sex.

I realised the other day that while I identify with being someone who was single for a long, long time, I’ve spent my entire 20s in relationships, discounting a fortnight-ish between Boyfriend and Funzo. A month or so after I turned 20 I lost my virginity to Ex 2, and Ex 2 and Funzo overlapped.

Perhaps I look at it that way because before that, I’d only had a ‘boyfriend’ once. In year 12, for one month (to the day). The rest of my life from pre-pubescence to 20 was sprinkled with very sporadic one-night fiddlings. Or perhaps it was because at the (relatively young, in hindsight) age of 20, I thought I was the world’s oldest virgin.

Anyway. I quite like the movie Forgetting Sarah Marshall. There’s a particularly funny scene towards the start (not really a spoiler) where the protagonist has a one night stand after breaking up with his long term girlfriend. He goes to the doctor because, even though he used a condom, he was ‘pretty sure [he] got AIDS’. I love this, because it’s so true.

Once you’ve been in long term relationships forever, it’s hard to think a one night stand won’t give you herpes of the syphilis. Even if you use protection. I can’t articulate why, but after not slutting around for years and years, blowing a stranger seems at best filthy, and at worse dangerous.

This will have to be rectified if I ever want to have the extra-curricular fun Boyfriend and I have planned (well, discussed) for the future. Toughen up, Desci cupcake.

Side note: seriously, how many STDs d’you think Russell Brand has? He lost his virginity by having an unprotected sexual spree all over Southeast Asia, and he fucks a few dozen women a night. Tell me he’s not a biohazard (also, bitch has my career).

Conspiracy theories

2010-02-08T08:33:00.000+11:00

Man, I love a good conspiracy theory. My two favourites come from my dad, and are told in a a ‘no, this is NOT a conspiracy theory, this is common sense!’ way:

1. Jimi Hendrix: Lethal Lothario
‘The CIA killed Jimi. They didn’t like him sleeping with all the white women. You’ve gotta remembr that this is the sixties. And mate, Jimi was smart. He knew his limits. There’s no way – no way – he would have ODed. He was Jimi Hendrix, mate. He would’ve always had the grouse, pure stuff, and he’d know how much to have. It was the CIA’.

2. Bob Marley: Killed by Nazis
‘So he gets a brain tumour, and the “world’s best doctors” just happen to be in Germany? Germany? Come on, please man.’

A Not Exhaustive List of the Bloodhound Gang's Soundwave 2009 Shenanigans (Sydney, Adelaide and Melbourne Shows)

2010-02-03T08:15:00.002+11:00

I should have done this sooner. I should have done this sooner. There were dozens, and now I only remember a fraction of them. Damn me.
- Evil Jarrod downing a jug of beer, throwing it up into the same jug… and drinking it again. EVERY SHOW.
- Jimmy Pop brining his parents out on stage in Sydney, for us to sing the ‘ps, Mom and Dad this is Chasey’ part of The Ballard of Chasey Lain
- There was a guy who’s one job was to sporadically hold a full-length mirror in front of Jimmy Pop, in which to preen. Especially during The Bad Touch
- Local gear! In Three Point One Four, a song that goes, ‘I need to find a/new vagina’, they’d do a couplet at the end. For Melbourne it was along the lines of: ‘I need to find some/filthy skanks, and/that’s why I’m hauling/my ass to franks-TAN!’ Adelaide had a version for Elizabeth, in Sydney it was Blacktown (which from memory rhymed with ‘a ho to go down’)
- Molestation! Jimmy Pop signed my boob. I’d never had someone sign there, but I figured it was appropriate that he be my first (and only, I thought at the time). ‘To… Desci. With… lots of love… Jimmy Pop…’ he read as he signed. I showed Boyfriend, and it said, ‘Jimmy Pop Was Here’. The cad.
- Work ethic! I asked him why they hadn’t played Mope at any of their shows. (If you haven’t heard it, do so now. It’s a fucking masterpiece). ‘We didn’t bring our pacman costume!’ he told me, dead serious. Do something properly or not at all, I’ve always said.

But yes. I’m annoyed that I didn’t write this post when it was all fresh in my mind, because truly, there was so much gear they are so entertaining and wonderful. O how I love them.

Conversations with My Mother

2010-01-31T18:59:00.002+11:00

'Douches are actually quite lovely'.
'Mum, no; they are SO bad for you'.
'I know they're MEANT to be bad... but back in the seventies I had one every day.'
'WHAT?!'
'Yes, and you just felt so FRESH and CLEAN afterwards. There was a little squishy ball, and a tube about that thick, and it went out like a nice big fountain. so you'd get some warm water, about half a cup-'
'ok...'
'-about half a cup of dettol-'
'!!!!!!!!!'
'...what? Dettol's nice and clean'
'It's... antisceptic!'
'It has a lovely smell'
'BUT NOT FOR YOUR VAGINA!'
'Anyway, so it was nice. Nice warm water running between your legs, you just felt SO clean. Especially after sex, or after your period'.
'No, it's just weird.'
'No, it wasn't! Especially after sex with a stranger. "I'm gonna wash that man, right outta my hair"!'
'Please don't sing.'
'No, really, it was really lovely.'
'Mum, that's like... medieval shit. If someone told me, "Desci, you have an infection. You can either have a douche, WITH Dettol, or have a leech bleed out your face", I'd say... Give me a look at the leech.'
'Tch. No, they're really quite nice'.
*Brrrrr*

Festivals

2010-01-28T08:26:00.001+11:00

Anyone going to Soundwave? I’d like to, but there aren’t any bands I’m truly giddy about... as opposed to the brill lineup last year (so brill Boyfriend and I went to the Melbounre, Sydney and Adelaide ones!) We were going to see Jane’s Addiction at their solo show but decided against it. Everyone else I’ve either seen before or don’t know, because they’re young person music.

I’d still go to just check it out, but it’s on a fucking Friday, during a peak time at work, so I absolutely can’t get the time off (again, like I did last year, oops) I also felt guilty because a darling coworker really, really wanted to go and she’s never been to a festival. So we’ll already be one down.

Big Day Out’s lineup did not grab me at all. I can’t not go to a music festival in early 2010! It will be a) the first year since 1996 I’ve not been to one, and b) just weird. But it looks like that’s how it’s gonna be.

Wheel-a-thon

2010-01-27T08:16:00.000+11:00

Gay lovers, did anyone else’s school have a Wheel-a-thon?

I’m assuming probably not. My primary school was tiny and got Jeffed the year I graduated. We didn’t even have music and art towards the end.

So anyway. The annual wheel-a-thon was an event… with some charity connotations. Um… oh yeah! You had your wheeled thing, and for every lap you did, your sponsors gave you, say, 10 cents.

Most kids had bikes. The cooler kids had roller skates or blades. The poor kids had a wheel ruler they borrowed from the school (you know, those things that you rolled along the ground, almost like a metal detector, and they clicked at every metre?) To add insult, or perhaps to break up the tedium, the kids with the wheel rulers were also asked to count the clicks, to see how many metres they went.

One year, I didn’t have a bike. Actually, I think maybe two years, because I have a hazy memory of suffering the indignity of being a wheel ruler kid. But another year with no bike my mum presented me with an idea.

My brother and I went to Virgin music store and got a poster each. His was Vanilla Ice (the shot from the cover of his album, ‘To the Extreme’) and I chose Vogue-era Madonna. Mum got my brother’s little red wagon, mounted the posters to cardboard and arranged them back-to-back. A radio was hidden between them, playing Madonna, Vanilla Ice and perhaps other miscellaneous god awful 90s pop. An attached sign declared this ‘Desci’s Mobile Disco’ and as I dragged this along lap after lap, for one of the very few times in my primary school life, I was cool for a day.

Crushes!

2010-01-25T08:20:00.002+11:00

I get crushes on people quite easily. It usually starts with a sex dream or two, and plods along as a low-level infatuation for a while, then peters out. Like a big bag of twisties when you're sober and not hungry: you could go out to Coles and get one, but why? It's too much hassle and there's no point. Though if someone force-fed them to you, you wouldn't cry about it. Hang on, by that metaphor, did I just imply that if the crush raped me, that'd be ok? Hm. Ok, well, not like that. But they're just harmless crushes, everybody gets them.

Also, no one rape me, ok?

Boyfriend is literally the perfect person for me, I want to spend the rest of my life with him and he feels the same way. We're soul mates. And the only thing the crushes have that he doesn't? I haven't seen them naked. So it's not like I'm eating a Freddo Frog, wishing I had Koko Black. Bizarrely, it's the opposite. Why would you get crushes when you have perfection at home? And often, they're on boys, so it's not like I'm just craving the vagina. I think it's just my poly side, dying to get out.

Anyway, so it's only happened a few times. I get these little crushes, I obsess for a bit, then they end up kind of annoying me and I lose it.

One was a guy at my work. Twenty-two, for fuck's sake! A techie, of course. Nerdy, of course. Told me I looked like the goth character from one of those rapey crime shows, I forget which one. But he seems to be intrigued by me, which narcissistic little bunny I am, totally slays me. I just wanted to corrupt him. Preferably with a lot of pain involved (often, it’s like this. I want to top guys, be gleefully vicious to them, but Boyfriend isn’t into pain and I don’t know if I could wail on him properly, anyway). He wasn’t as smart, or as cool, or as funny, or as attractive, or as anything as Boyfriend. But I hadn’t seen him naked.

Boyfriend and I will be together forever, we know this. It'll be so lovely. But if we were to be monogamous forever, we'd miss out on so much. The kind of things that were happening with this guy: the flirting, the chase, the pushing it and seeing what will happen. And what does happen, inevitably, is that I get bored, the person starts to irritate me, and the crush is shed.

Neither Boyfriend nor I have much experience with relationships, nor many 'dates'. I kind of had a slutty phase, but it was pretty tame... and bleak (brrr, my late teens. Shudder). We never had people falling over us to ask us out. I know this, and I'm completely ok with him wanting to explore that. His happiness means the world to me, and I never, ever want to deny him anything. All I ask is that I'm the most important person in his world, like he always will be to me.

Like I said, I really wanna whale on some dude. And I don't think I could do it to him. Rough play doesn't really do it for him, anyway. Plus, I love that he doesn't want to hurt me, either, because I think for him, it would be hard to hurt someone he loves, even if they asked. He doesn’t have that switch he can flick, so light flogging and heavy spanking are ok, but bloodsports wouldn’t be. But yes, I don't know if my kink could stay in the bedroom, which is why it'd be impractical for me to be really cruel to him.

I don't get jealous. I've often joked about it: It's my one cool thing in a Database of Fucking Crazy. Anyway, I'm not like other people. We're not like other people. Our relationship isn't the normal kind. Why impose the normal rules?

I tell him about my crushes, of course. It's the things your partner doesn't tell you that you have to worry about. Like when Funzo was working with this girl: she was stunning. And smart, and fashionable, and nice. Just lovely. And when I asked, he insisted that he didn't have a crush on her. Hell, *I* had a crush on her, she was spectacular! He was lying. Much later he admitted it, like pulling teeth. But why lie in the first place? Obviously because it was more than a simple crush. And given how wrong we were for each other, it was obvious that he would have rather been with her than me.

So am I being naïve, thinking that one day we’ll be able to go on ‘dates’ with people? Should we just stick to the agreed-upon physical sessions with another girl that we’re both involved in? his only concern is that by changing our dynamic, things will change with us.

I suppose we have decades and decades to discuss it, so I’m in not hurry. God, he’s cool. After five years, I’m still so fucking into him and just cannot get enough of his fine self. If we're not touching, at least one of us feels like they're dying. So ghey.

The Definitive Version of Shotgun: Gentleman’s Rules

2010-01-20T08:35:00.001+11:00

The front passenger seat is the prime real estate in a car. Especially when there are only three travellers: the driver and front seat passenger are able to conduct a normal conversation, while the backseat passenger is constantly asking ‘WHAT? WHO WENT WHERE?? EH?’

Calling ‘Shotgun’ in sight of a car legally binds other passengers to forfeit the front seat. But this is both unseemly and, oftentimes, impractical.

These are the gentleman’s rules for Shotgun. They are practical and useful in determining just who deserves the front seat.

There is a series of ten variables, and the passenger with the most in their favour gets to ride Shotgun. It’s called ‘Gentleman’s Rules’ because every point is created equal, no point is more ‘important’ than another. And the person with the most is legally entitled to the front seat. Check wikipedia.

Here they are:

1. The Rule of Navigation
She who knows the way to the destination.

2. The Rule of Ownership
She who owns the car but can’t drive it at present.

3. The Rule of Relationship
She with a current intimate relationship with the driver.

4. The Rule of Wide
She who is the fattest (and therefore uncomfortable squished in the back with others).

5. The Rule of Height
She who is the tallest (and therefore uncomfortable with no leg room).

6. The Rule of Sobriety
He who is the most sober (apart from the driver), thereby giving the driver a conversation partner equal to their current state.

7. The Rule of Drunkenness
He who is so drunk they need to be in the front in case of quick pull overs for hurling, so the driver can monitor the status of Vomit Likelihood.

8. The Rule of Nausea
He who gets carsick.

9. The Rule of Occasion
He who has a birthday or celebration in their honour today.

10. The Rule of the Wild Card
An ad-hoc rule in case a variable isn’t covered by the nine above. Fellow passengers may dispute the variable but ultimately the driver decides whether it is valid. An example: no one likes sitting in the back of a two-door car, but if a passenger’s brother died because they were trapped in the back of one after an accident, the driver may see this as a valid aversion, and therefore a point in their favour.

So goes the rules of Shotgun: Gentleman’s Rules. I invite you all to call upon them next time you’re under threat of being banished to the back seat.

Buying pot

2010-01-18T13:46:00.001+11:00

I’ve never had to do so. Thanks to my dad being an old hippy, it was always there to steal (when I was younger), or ask for (nowadays).

I always have a supply of hash cakes I can get, but to be honest, sometimes I just want a smoke. They’re two different highs: cakes is slow release but much more potent, with unstoppable munchies. Smoking is like wine: a pleasant little immediate buzz you can top up throughout the night.

Pot has just always been there. In year 8, my friends started smoking. And how fucking cool did they thing they were, oy. I hadn’t told them that my dad dosed himself with a stately 5-paper joint every two hours, so when I saw their measly one-Tally-Ho effort they didn’t know why I burst out laughing.

But anyway. Pot can really fuck with you if you start too early, so I waited until Year 12. And I’ve always done it quite sporadically, never more than once a month, really. I saw what it had done to some of my family. It’s like alcohol. Moderation, bitches.

I still have a little stash of smoke, but it’s dwindling. Gone are the days of selling it off when I had too much and needed a quick $20 or $50. Ah well. I figure with my family it’ll always be there if I need it.

From the Vault 1:

2010-01-13T13:42:00.001+11:00

Desci, I was just over-thinking blogging a little bit, and this goes for everybody, but doesn't it ever weird you out that a load of strangers know so much about you? I know it probably doesn't most of the time but do you ever have moments of 'Holy shit, what am I doing?' I love reading them because they're fun to read but it's also because I'm super nosey.

I currently don't have a blog because I've graduated into a credit crunch and I'm either unemployed, temping in awful jobs, or attending interviews I eventually don't get because the 30 year-old applicants who have been made redundant have way more experience than me. I don't think anybody would enjoy reading about that and frankly it's depressed me even writing it there.

So what are your thoughts? (regarding blogging I mean).
Man, I've got way too much time on my hands.

Hm. Well, the one thing that creeps me out is when I have friends read and not tell me. But I’ve discussed that at length, so I won’t go over old ground.

I’ve met some lovely people (and only a few real dicks) through blogging. I suppose some people might think it’s weird to then have these ‘real life’ friends read you, but I figure they knew me when I was just words, and now we’re able to have these fun, very frank discussions in real life, too.

The stranger thing doesn’t worry me, because I’m such an extrovert: I’m used to people knowing my name and me not knowing them. I’m bad with names and faces, and at uni I was one of those annoying cunts who never shut up in tutes, so often people would strike up a friendship with me and know more about me than I did about them.

I know where you’re coming from, though. Often I worry about Amanda Palmer, how much of herself she gives over to her fans, these masses of thousands of faceless people (Random Git, is that your impression of AP, too?)

So. I wouldn’t even care if blog readers knew who I was, really. It’s just the other way: I like having a place my IRL friends, family and colleagues don’t know about… mostly, I hope.

It’s a weird brand of micro-celebrity, blogging. But I’m utterly intoxicated by it, which is perhaps why I’ve been doing it for… holy shit, for five years last October!

Quickies

2010-01-11T18:34:00.004+11:00

- Editors @ the Palace last week: God, we were tired. Sick and busted. But hearing 'Smokers Outside the Hospital Doors' live was fucking transcendent.

- I had some friends over last night. A couple, both Asian, both girls. I specify because of the following conversation with my grandmother, while they were with Boyfriend and I were preparing dinner in the kitchen:

Yaya: Where you know these people from? Work? School?
Me: I know one from school, yes.
Yaya: They been boyfriend and girlfriend?
Me: ...yes.

One's kind of butch, but in no way trans or mistakable for a dude. So I thought. I pissbolted into our movie room to tell them and O, how we all laughed. At least now they can make out in front of my grandmother.

- Boyfriend's working late. Oh, why hell-oo, Mister Murray River Pink Salt. Yes, I would like you to have a starring role in my salad today. What's that, you like to be all over it? Well, go on, then. O, Mister Salt, you're so naughty.

I blog about this, and not JOing to the wii ride on Spankwire, because it's less assumed, obvs.

Christmas

2010-01-06T13:03:00.002+11:00

Another record for my future reference. The only thing you need to be aware of is that most of Christmas Eve was spent with my parents trying to get us, and later just Boyfriend, to watch a video on their mobile phones of a lady fucking a tiger. We refused. They wouldn’t let up. But dad was stoned and mum, while unusually sober, was busy. So it was, fortunately, forgotten.

My parents aren’t normal. I know everyone says that, but… You guys, tiger fucking.

We’ve developed a Christmas Eve tradition: Boyfriend and I go to my parents’ house to sleep. Last year was fun, all Singstar, alcohol, prawns and getting stoned. This year I was sick and we had to prepare to host lunch at our place the next day, so it wasn’t great.

The best part of Christmas is always the morning, when the family hang out, everyone leisurely unwraps presents one by one, and thanks the giver, etc. We didn’t get it this year, because my brother’s girlfriend had a family breakfast, and then the two of them rocked up about an hour late. So instead we had to do presents super quickly, before everyone got there. It was annoying. I’m getting unreasonably angry just thinking about it. It was a god thing taken away in an already stressful day. Also, we received word that Boyfriend’s grandmother died that morning.

We alternate lunch with my dad’s brother’s family, none of whom we gel with. They're jocks. One of the sons gives out a very rapey vibe. So we did lunch, (anyone want an FCUK perfume set?) then Boyfriend, his brother and I went to his family’s place in Hurstbridge. We hung out there, went to his dad’s work for a bit to keep him company, and then went to Diamond Creek to see his awesome cousin and wife. They’re close friends of ours, and I love that we get to see them on Christmas day; it’s always 30 minutes/an hour of sanity in a fam-heavy day.

Back to Hurstbridge, then to Whittlesea to my mother’s side’s party. We got there too late, most people had gone.

Boxing Day his dad’s side have their do, (god, I resent having my boxing day taken up by family stuff! pre-Boyfriend I always spent the day hanging out, playing with my new toys).

On the 27th we went to Apollo Bay for the first all-family holiday in 12 years, and first one with both kids having partners ever. My brother is such an angry person; he brings the worst fucking energy with his moods. He caged it somewhat but he was still a cunt most of the time.

My brother’s girlfriend came with us. She’s lovely, but she bought her mum and dad to stay overnight on the 27th. ????? They were really nice, fantastic people, but it was just weird having extra people there.

28th we had lunch at Chris’ (fancy restaurant with amazing views) and found out that Boyfriend’s grandmother’s funeral was to be on the 30th. Which meant we had to leave Apollo Bay a day and a half early.

29th we just hung around Apollo Bay, 30th we drove home early morning so he could attend the funeral. I didn’t go, I’d never met her. The funeral was a source of conflict because I didn’t think he needed to go: it cut into our holiday and he hadn’t seen her for years and years. He was adamant, we worked through it and all is well, as per usual.

The 30th was also our five year anniversary, but instead of going to a fancy-fancy restaurant (we usually go away, but we *were* gonna be at Apollo Bay) we got Mexican takeaway (first time this year, and last time for another year. It’s the corn chips).

New Year's Eve. It's amateur night. Too many fuckwits going out who never drink during the year. The city’s filled with cunts, everything’s three times more expensive, and you can’t get a cab. Fuck that noise.

The last few years or so we’ve been spending it with my favourite friendship group, a small do with just us drinking and being fuckwits. This year we had a grand total of six. We drank (some of us busted out the Turkish Martinis. Ye gods, so good). We laughed, we Singstarred. We had a view of five separate fireworks displays from the CBD, and along with the lightning it was spectacular.

But not as spectacular as the next night, when Boyfriend and I spent an hour and a half hanging out on the verandah like a pair of old wogs, watching as not two seconds went by without lightening filling the sky.

Now I’m back at work. Barely feel like I had a break, but I’ll harden the fuck up.

New Years Bidness

2010-01-05T13:43:00.001+11:00

Happy New Year, gay lovers. I hope it was sufficiently decadent.

My Christmas break wasn’t as relaxing as I’d hoped. Work is crazy busy and I’ve developed another cold (?!!! I never got over the last one!) so I finished yesterday thinking ‘ye Gods, I need a holiday’. Dinner at Seamstress and then a very exhausted stint at the Editors concert perked me up a little.

Anyway. You know how every year, I give something up? In previous years it’s been:

2006: Smoking (and haven’t taken ONE DRAG of a tobacco cigarette since. Not that I don’t want one every day).

2007: Chocolate (and when I got back onto it in ’07, I found that I couldn’t eat white chocolate anymore: too sickly. I used to love it. Weird).

2008: Chips (not fries, potato chips) highlights included not going near a large selection of them, spread out like the little whores they are, when I was stoned out of my gourd and IN THE SAME ROOM, ALONE with them. Rock.

2009: My grandmother’s food. Things like eggs and milk don’t count; I’m talking about the vast supply of chips, chocolate, Tim Tams and other junk that she constantly stocks. None of it’s amazing, and the possibilities for bad, mindless snacking mean this is one I’ll keep after year’s end.

I do this to learn about myself, and because I’m an abstainer, not a moderator. I’ve never cheated on any of these, once. It’s easier for me to say to myself, ‘ok, no chocolate for one year. At all’ than to say, ‘ok, just little bits… once a week’ or similar. I don’t moderate well. Which I need to work on, but for now, in the fifth year of giving up, I’m going for broke:

2010: No anything I’ve done before. So no chips or chocolate, and no fast food.

Also, no ice cream until after the wedding (I made this one in early November, and it comes with the caveat of ‘unless it’s extremely fancy in an expensive restaurant I wouldn’t normally visit’. Which is fair, since it probably only works out to 8 restaurant-small serves of ice cream in 20 months).

Hopefully this’ll reboot me into mindful eating, and to lose the sackload of weight I need to for the wedding. Go team Desci.

Desmas

2009-12-24T09:13:00.001+11:00

Merry Christmas, my darlings. I hope it’s Plastic Santastic.

I’m fascinated by what people get their loved ones for Christmas. Here’s my list:

Boyfriend: We’re keeping with tradition and getting each other Rock Band. And $200 worth of Singstar songs.

Mum and Dad: Revitanail gift bag for mum, hemp and oat cookies for dad (hehe), home made World’s Healthiest Foods Cookbook for both of them, a box of Pollywaffles for both of them (because apparently they don’t make them anymore?!) and as a joint present with my little bother, some money to go on a trip to Tassie.

Brother: Money for a trailer, in a home made paper trailer.

Brother’s Ridiculously Hot and Lovely Girlfriend: Chocolates and champagne. I went with Max Brennar this year, as Koko Black’s Christmas options weren’t as flexible.

Boyfriend’s Twin: a Belkin hands free car kit for his iPhone

Boyfriend’s Parents: Wii Fit apparatus

Boyfriend’s Older Brother: A Boba Fett plush toy!

Boyfriend’s Sister-in-Law: Chocolates

Boyfriend’s Niece: Supercool misc. crafting kit.

Boyfriend’s Nephew: Re-gifting the excellent plush Rottweiler that Funzo’s parents got me the last Christmas we were together. The tag read, ‘Merry Christmas Desci. Something to hug on those cold nights alone’ or somesuch. I didn’t know what they meant. This was after they knew Funzo was moving out of our Kew home, but before I did.

Boyfriend’s Nan: Tin of chocs. Nan-like.

Yaya: Voucher to go clothes shopping.

Boyfriend’s Cousin/his family: (with whom we’re good friends) Max Brennar ‘The Brown Cross’ Gift Tin (picked because ‘the Brown Cross’ sounds vaguely dirty) and some Dench mince pies

Coworkers: Either chocolates, wine, MOR soap or lip balm.

Et toi, gay lovers?

Teenager

2009-12-22T08:31:00.000+11:00

Sometimes I think I miss being a teenager, but it’s truly only in the most wistful, arbitrary sense.

I’m a sentimental guy; I can’t help it. I remember how everything was so new and exciting, everything was a first. I’d get high off nicotine and the presence of my friends.

But then I remember how shit it was. How everything mattered so much. I was lonely and raw and trapped. I had to depend on my parents for everything. I couldn’t do anything because it required money, permission, or both.

And just fuck that, seriously. My dad used to drum it into me: these are the best years of your life. And from 13 onwards, I believed him: these truly were the best years of my life. Sometimes it felt like they were, and sometimes I genuinely wanted to die because if this was as good as it got, I didn’t want to see the rest.

Then at around 21, 22, I realised that it was bullshit. Throughout my 20s my life just gets better and better: first came freedom, then independence, and now, slowly, a little bit of money (to fund the crazy adventures I always wanted to have as a teenager).

I’ve always said that if your teens were the best years of your life, you’ve done life wrong. And occasionally I see dour Facebook acquaintances talk about how they’re having their ‘5th 21st’. I even had a cousin with an event for his 19th birthday subtitled ‘because it’s all down hill from now’. But he’s a jock so perhaps that is indeed the case.

I’ll be 28 in December. I can’t fucking wait. My 20s have been amazing but bring on my 30s. With a boy who loves me and a full time wage, our lives stretching ahead of us to spend in the same crazy, ridiculous fashion we’ve set for our late 20s. Sure, I’ll get wrinkles, but fuck it, so does everyone. And I will rock the Haggard Old Goth look.

Friday Night Drinks: a Timeline

2009-12-21T08:53:00.001+11:00

Yes, I know yours goes beer, beer, beer, beer, and I think you’re ever so clever because of it. Beer is disgusting.

6pm: Vodka and soda with workmates. Some are drinking wine, but I don’t want to get sleepy.

7pm: Amaretto on ice, just because a workmate has been drinking Amaretto and orange juice (or amaretto and apple juice) all night and it’s very tasty. Plus the sugar will perk me up.

8pm: more vodka and soda, perhaps with some sort of dinner.

9pm: vodka and diet coke: bad quality Chinese restaurant vodka is covered up by the diet coke. I’m not a soft drink drinker, but the caffeine will perk me up.

10pm: water, followed by a vodka and soda.

11pm: at the Dancing Establishment. A tequila shot with lemon and salt.

12 midnight: Another shot of tequila. It’s an upper.

1am: a little nauseas, perhaps from too much dancing. Vodka and soda to make me feel better.

2am: water

3am: Maccas’ diet coke. Mmm, watery and flat: just how I like it. (Soft drink is too sweet and bubbly).

10am: Berocca with Panadol

11am: Left over watery, flat diet coke as I contemplate a merciful death.

Desci's Home Alone!

2009-12-18T08:43:00.000+11:00

Here's something I wrote months and months ago. It fell through the cracks:

Saturday, 14.54

Boyfriend's in China working on some big woo-woo film. It's a public holiday, which means I have to look after my parents' dog.

I haven't been home alone in Bundoora for ages. Let's see what I've done so far:

- Slept for 10 blissful hours (I haven't had more than around 7 hours this whole month, which may be why I'm a little sick at the moment)
- Got up earlyish to buy veggies and fruit (and, um, some home made cake and organic chocolate... but no dairy, because I'm phlegmy) from the Farmer's Market
- Went to the physio

So that's all the serious stuff I have to do out of the way. I got home at around 12.30, and here's what I've been doing: laundry, eating leftover Chinese food, cake and chocolate, watching downloaded TV and having a JO (since my copy of Tristian Taormino's 'Chemistry Vol 1' was FINALLY delivered on Friday! 52 minutes in and it's fucking awesome).

Dryer's done. Time to do another load.

***

16.38

Talked to Boyfriend on Skype, doing laundry and blogging up a storm.

***

17.02

Ah, the pleasure of one's company. It's when you get to act like the weirdo you truly are. And wee with the door open.

***

18.59

More writing, more laundry, more skyping with Boyfriend and more left over Chinese. Watching Edward Scissorhands for the first time since I was little. It's better than I remember. Would like some wine, but not drinking in deference to the possibility of have a sleeping pill later. Mmm.

***

19.56

Decide to have sleeping pills on Sunday. Wine time.

***

19.58

Mmm, merlot. Mmm, organic chocolate.

***

20.11

Cultivating a pleasant buzz and trying to googlestalk someone with only their (common) first name and job.

***

20.13

Give up the googlestalk. They can find me.

***

20.56

Confronting childhood fear, BRB.

***

***

Sunday 14.02

Chemistry Volume one is AWESOME. So many lady JOs in the past two days. I couldn't walk properly for a bit. Also leftover Chinese food, organic chocolate, TV and misc. tasks.

***

15.12

I'm definitely not an arse man. I'm a boob man. Bums are just... bums.

***

[transmission ends]

Mirena: One Year On

2009-12-17T09:28:00.001+11:00

Well, about 15 months on, since I had it installed in early September 2008.

I don’t know how much I went into it at the time, but basically I decided not to take the pill anymore. It had been about 6 years, I remembered it every day, but it was just the hormone thing that got to me. So I looked at all the options and decided on Mirena.

It’s an IUD that’s meant to work for five years, that releases localised hormones to the uterus only.

The gyno said that because I’d not had children, my cervix hadn’t been UNLOCKED yet (!) so they had to put me to sleep to put it in.

After some initial cramp-like pain, it was fine. I had a long, very light bleed for about a month in around January, I think, but since then I haven’t had a period. This is one of the selling points: most women either have much lighter periods, or like me, they stop altogether.

At first I was paranoid about it falling out. You have to check for the small nylon string every so often, just to make sure it’s still there (having said that, after the first month it is unlikely to come out). The one bad thing is that sometimes Boyfriend can feel it while we have sex, as a painful nylon thread stabbing the head of his cock. But it’s only happened a few times, and we’ve found if we change positions and ‘reset’ then it goes away.

Since it works for five years, traditionally this is for women who don’t want children, or have ‘finished’ with their breeding. However you can get it taken out if you do decide you want them.

The Verdict: I love it. Mirena totally and utterly works for me. I encourage you to do your own research, since we’re all built differently and there are dozens of contraceptive options out there.

The Nerd's Guide to Drug Experimentation.

2009-12-15T08:22:00.002+11:00

I was meant to do this several YEARS ago. Enjoy. It won’t be worth the wait, sorry.

Drugs are cool because they are fun. Not because you look cool doing them - you look ike a cunt doing them. But they're fun. And they make your brain see things in different ways, forever. But they only keep being fun if you don't do too much of them.

I've blogged about how I've never done the amount that I'd like. Well, not counting pot, since I have a hot and cold running supply of that and still only do it about five times a year.

So, here's an exhaustive guide for people like me: conservative partying nerds. The coolest effing people on the planet.

I'm assuming you're no stranger to alcohol. Have you had it to excess, to throw up point? I suggest you do, in 'ideal circumstances', or IC. Why not, test your limits. Just make sure you never fall asleep on your back when you’ve been drinking. I almost died doing this when I was 15. Embarrassingly, the same day Michael Hutchence died.

Here and throughout, I'll refer to IC. it means: in a safe place, with responsible people who care for you. I've never had a bad trip because I've always been in IC. Which leads me to my first point:

There will always be more drugs.

Even though acid is rare as hen's teeth now, you WILL be able to get more. Even if it's in five years. So, if someone offers it to you, and you really want to try it, but you're not in IC, just say no. I've refused pills many a time because I've been around people I barely know, who I wanna impress and look good around. Had I taken them, I might have been paranoid about looking like a dick in front of my new friends, which would have ruined the experience. Boyfriend once had acid when he was anxious beforehand, and had a bad trip. It just magnifies your current feelings. Bad feelings often equal a bad trip.

Now, if you're completely new to drugs, take a panadine forte as a starter. They're easy to get from the doctor; they're just a mild painkiller, stronger than panadol but way weaker than morphine.

Have it about two hours before you go to bed. After about an hour, you'll feel a lovely, giggly, misc. 'druggy' feeling. Like it? Then you're ready to move on. Hate the feeling? The lack of control over feeling odd? That means, at this point in time, you may not be ready to try anything stronger. THIS IS COMPLETELY OK. Even if you’re in your fifties, there is still time later to reassess your readiness to go on to harder things.

Like the giggly, sleepy, stoopid feeling the painkiller gave you as you drifted off to sleep? Then how about some pot?

Pot affects me thusly: Giggly, hungry, sleepy, bed time. Some people say sex while stoned is great. I just wanna watch some cartoons, then eat, then sleep. Each to their own.

A word of warning: You know how with alcohol, when you vomit after too much, you feel a million times better? It's not like that with pot. I've never had enough to vomit (though I've had enough to spin out) but when you chuck after getting too stoned, you just keep feeling worse. So err on the side of caution. There will always be more drugs. If it hardly affects you, just have more after an hour and fifteen minutes.

First: Grass and beer, you're in the clear. Beer and grass, you're on your arse. Don't drink before having it.

The last thing you should know about marijuana, is that smoking it gets you stoned pretty much straight away. You know how you get a lovely buzz straight after a glass of wine? It's the same thing with smoking pot. BUT, if you're having hash cakes, you have to wait an hour for it to take effect. Seriously. I've had 1/4 of a cake before, and 45 minutes later, been thinking 'yeah, it's not working. Well, dad said it WAS a weak batch, plus it's quite old, plus I didn’t give them a chance to properly defrost... maybe it's just that. Oh well, another time.' 20 minutes later I've been giggling uncontrollably. Sometimes pot 'doesn't work' on people. That's cool, just try it again another time. Or if you have it, try more... BUT ONLY AFTER 1.15 hours! Otherwise it might all just happen at once, and you'll end up like my friend Bossy, who told me my hashcakes sucked... and then spent the night glued to the driveway, chucking his guts up. O how we laughed.

Wanna do harder stuff? Try some bulbs: you know the little gas canisters you can get from cake shops, that you put in a metal whipping cream thing to make your own whipped cream? Well, they’re pretty cheap and if you suck the pipe of the metal appliance and release the gas, not only does it have a curiously lovely taste remnant of whipped cream, but you get this lovely, very druggy high for just a minute or so. After about three minutes it’s like it never happened, too. Which is nice, because there’s nothing worse than not liking the start of your trip and realising you still have several hours of it to ride out.

Bulbs are the closest thing I’ve found that replicates that feeling you get from hard drugs. It’s like listening to the NIN song ‘Beside You in Time’, you know the ‘whop whop whop whop’ bit at the end? That’s what a bulb is like. They’re lovely. But don’t do them more than once a year or so, because they’re not great for you.

Ready for class As? ABIDE:

- only in IC
- try and get it from a reputable source, or dealer you know. This is hard, but if you have references, it's better. There are sites out there, like pill rater, that may or may not help.
- Tell people it's your first time! I was with Dice the first time I tried speed, and although I didn't wanna look like a dweeb, I had to tell him. He was lovely about it. (I was just scared I might spin out, have an allergic reaction, or get 'rusty pipes': a blood nose when snorting. And safety first, kids, even if you are scared of looking uncool. All Dice said was ‘I wish you’d told me before! I would have let you have my bit, too!’ what a sweetie).

That reminds me: only do drugs with ‘cool' people. By that, I mean people who don't pressure you. People who DO take no for an answer. People who don't bang on about it. If someone's passing around a joint, and another person says no, the correct etiquette is to just move on. There are thousands of excellent reasons not to have a drag: driving. On anti depressants. Don't like it. Workplace drug tests. etc, etc. People have to respect this.

There’ll always be an opportunity to do drugs. Do it in a safe, sane environment and have a nice trip.

Desci is Messy

2009-12-14T08:25:00.001+11:00

Have you ever woken up with the worst cold and hangover of all time, of all time, AT THE SAME TIME? Saturday after my party, I genuinely pleaded with Boyfriend to smother me. This is why I’ve never drank while I’ve had a cold.

Then I had to spend the rest of the day trawling through research for an overdue article. Oy.

On the Tuesday after my birthday, post Guttermouth, I wrote on the FB:
Desci was examining her many moshpit bruises and thought she saw a particularly lurid one on her boob. Turns out, it was the faded texta signature of the guitarist. 28's gonna be a classy year.

The morning after my party, Boyfriend told me that I had a personal first: hurling in a taxi. Why? Why, 28 year-old-Desci?

Music

2009-12-09T08:23:00.000+11:00

At my old editing job, we listened to the radio. It was an open plan office of around 18 workers, and people complained that it was too quiet sometimes.

We listened to Triple J, because with no ads and its diverse sensibility it was the fairest choice. Though I hated it for the most part, and they’d play the same bad songs every day. But! It was better than Nova, which the radio sometimes found itself on, because they’d play the same even shitter songs every hour.

I never listen to music when I work at home. Never, ever, ever. My thesis was listening to Get This, then silence all day (while I sat on TSSH… sorry, I mean, wrote my thesis) then podcasts at night (the voices calmed a Stressy Desci as I tried to sleep).

On this Art Retreat, the strains of Boyfriend’s music tinkerings can be faintly heard, along with birds and misc. nature. I’ve found myself listening to three excellent background music choices:
Pavement: Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain (the 2-disc set)
Metallic Falcons: Desert Doughnuts
Animal Collective (all)

All are lovely to either really LISTEN to, or to have on in the background as pleasant noise.

Guttermouth was OVAH

2009-12-08T10:38:00.002+11:00

Incongruity: going to a punk concert and screaming 'WEEEEERK, TRANNIE!' at the singer.

At 28, I've finally discovered black lipstick. It's cunty fierce, not babybat. More about that later.

Guttermouth!

Things What I Liked:
- They played ALL the songs I loved back in the day: Lucky the Donkey, Just a Fuck, Lipstick, She's Goth the Look, Skaters, Asshole, Bruce Lee Vs the Kiss Army.
- They put on a good show. Much talking, but in a funny way, not in a Blink 182, 'Just get ON with it!' way.
- Not a huge crowd, so I had a perfect view the whole time.
- Mark calling me a 'Psuedo Goth... but you're doing it pretty well'. Bitch.
- They don't have setlists (!) but when I told him it was my birthday, I scored a guitar pick from the bass player. The guitarist signed my boob. They all signed a tee shirt for me.
- I was pushed up to the front of the mosh pit. Good, but I have so many bruises and aches on my upper body now. Ow. OWWW. Which brings me to:

Things What I Not Liked:
- When they got a gorgeous little old school punk boy onstage and read him. They did the same with a cute goth girl (another goth at a punk concert! Turns out, she just moved here from Tassie. But I was thrilled to not be the only one without the 'jeans and tee' combo.
- Between songs, the guy next to me told Mark it was my birthday. 'Then I dedicate this next song... to ME! Because nobody cares it's your birthday!' Bitch x 2.

Such a good night. Such a messy, fun night. I love getting older. But fuck growing up.

Off to work now. Have the shakes. Oy.

Happy Birthday to ME.

2009-12-07T13:18:00.002+11:00

Activities for this year's Festival of Desci*

- Where the Wild Things Are. Could not be more Dave Eggars if he played all the parts, had a picture-in-picture commentary and sat beside you as you watched, poking you in the rib. Still, I liked it. It was… impossible, really. I think I have to see it again. I’d love to know your thoughts?

- Dinner at Oriental Tea House and Sakura Kaiten Sushi (BEST SUSHI TRAIN EVER). Yum Cha lunch @ Plume with the parents.

- Guttermouth in concert, a water bottle filled with Vanilla Absolut.

- Buying 40 more songs on Singstar.

- Finishing School for dancing, and drinks at my place for the talking. (My birthday parties tend to have a talking section, and a dancing section).

- A tiny white Eee PC Boyfriend gave me! It weighs one kilo. I love.

- Brining in baked goods to my colleagues, because most of them are amazing.

- More decadent and retarded shit as it happens.

*I've been doing the festival for many, many years now. Enough so that family and friends now acknowledge it, and welcome it. Here's the yearly ever changing/day-of-week-dependant festival schedule:

Day 1: December 5
The Day of Decadence. Also my Name Day (it's a wog thing).

Day 2: December 6
The Day of Gratitude. I do nice shit for the people I enjoy.

Day 3: December 7
The Day of the Birth.

Day 4: December 8
The Day of Recovery.

Day 5: December 9
The Day of Reflection.

Trannies and Taxi Drivers: It’s All True!

2009-12-04T08:21:00.001+11:00

Recently, I attended a Halloween party as a drag queen (pictures of eye makeup are on their way).

I went all out: bright red wig, 18 layers of makeup, huge platform shoes, 15 pairs of socks stuffed down my top.

Boyfriend was still jetlagged so he didn’t come (this being four days since we’d returned from America). He took some photos of me, and as the taxi pulled up he put me in it, kissed me goodbye and returned inside to bed.

Now, while taking the photos I’d had four shots of Jager. So I wasn’t even tipsy yet, just, you know, festive. And excited about seeing my friends and giving them the presents I’d bought. The taxi driver and I were talking, and the talk moved on to marriage, and how excited he was on his wedding night, etc. It was all very innocent for a while, and then he started making me a little uncomfortable.

‘I bet you’re a bad girl’ he said. ‘No, I’m a good girl’. ‘Yeah, a good girl who has sex every night, hahaha’. This was not the kid of talk I wanted to have with a taxi driver.

So I told him I was a dude.

‘Actually, I wasn’t even BORN a girl’ I said. Ha-HA! This’ll scare him off!

Erikatoure Aviance, from Gay Pimpin’ with Jonny McGovern, has often alluded to the fact that she never has to ‘pay’ for a cab. It’s a running joke in some circles that NYC taxi drivers are tranny chasers. The twin pillars of glamour and sluttiness appeal to them, especially at 4am.

And apparently, it’s not just the NYC contingent.

He wanted to know everything about it. Luckily I know quite a few trans people, either FTM or MTF, so I could bullshit pretty well. I told him that I was a late developer, and I’d started taking the ‘mones when I was 17 (with parental consent) so I still had small hands, no, I didn’t want the operation because you lose sensitivity, etc, etc.

He was intrigued, and kept asking when the party would be over. I kept telling him I didn’t know, that with this crowd it was usually around 3, but I was tired, so it could even be 11 or 12.

‘Because I live in Preston, too. I can give you a lift home’ he told me. I was non-committal, cagey. He gave me his number and told me to call him when I was done.

Needless to say, I didn’t take him up on the offer.

So at this point, I should tell you: I wasn’t giving you pretty, real-girl tranny. I wasn’t giving ‘there’s something about Miriam’. I was giving you Pricilla, I was giving you clown-fucker, dark purple lipliner well outside my already full lips, painted in with glossy red, cheecks striped with dark pink, glittery rouge, tits as weapons messiness.

But what can I say; apparently that shit is like catnip to taxi drivers. I walked in to the party with one hell of a story.

More Ranting About the Guest List

2009-12-03T08:30:00.001+11:00

The tasteful wedding I want can’t fit 60 family members on each side. My parents have offered to pay for the family (since they know that’s the only bargaining chip they have for inviting them) but Boyfriend’s parents justifiably can’t offer the same. His family’s the same size as mine, roughly. So here are our options:

1. We invite the 60 family members on each side.
Pros: Mum and dad are happy. Cons: We can’t have it at my dream location, and we’d have to shell out for Boyfriend’s family.

2. We invite my 60 family, and only selected members of Boyfriend’s family.
Pros: Mum and dad get the guest list they want. Cons: Imbalance is weird and makes Boyfriend look like an orphan.

3. We only invite immediate family.
Pros: Unambiguous guest list. Cons: excludes people like my Aunty, who’s like a second mother to me, and Boyfriend’s cousin and wife, who are like a brother and a sister-in-law to him.

4. We have our own fucking guest list with family we want.
Pros: We’re happy. Cons: Mum and dad don’t get the wedding they want. I feel guilty.

But who says they were going to get a wedding for me in the first place? It was never guaranteed. I could have died at 15: no wedding. I could be gay. I could be a spinster for the rest of my life; I could find someone who never wanted to get married. I hardly think dad would be inviting all his uncles if I were marring a girl. But since I’m not having kids there’s this guilt that I’m constantly denying them these traditional family milestones.

We don’t even really want our extended families there. His are bogans, my mum’s side are bogans and my dad’s are just traditional Greek Macedonians. So we’ll have his family sneaking in bourbon, my mum’s side ducking out to get stoned, and the old Massos turning their nose up and every. Single. Thing. Because it’s not Greek Orthodox, it’s not held in a gaudy reception place and it’s not six hours of Greek circle dancing.

It’s not that we dislike our extended families, it’s just both of us have never been close to them. And while we wish them no harm we’re quite ambivalent towards them.

I stopped going to family things when I was about 16, because it had been ten years of awkward embarrassment. Mum’s side: My brother would hang out with my male cousin, the older cousins would be getting drunk and stoned, and I’d be left drifting towards my mum and the adults, who wanted to have adult conversations. The same thing would happen at my dad’s side parties: Brother would duck out with another male cousin, there was no one else close to my age. I remember a new years’ eve party when I was around 14 or 15 when I just ended up going to nap in the guest room. It was around 10.45 and there was nothing else to do.

I’ve started going back to family things, and taking Boyfriend with me. I enjoy seeing my cousins, and it’s ok fun, but I’ll always be the black sheep.

Dad kindly told me that there was room in the budget for 20 friends. After the obligatory work invites (five or so people, with partners) that leaves 10 people. ‘Don’t tell your father, but I already have the money for 20 more, so it’s 40 all up’ mum said. So 40 people, 20 with partners, to cover my time at three unis, three jobs and all the other random places where I’ve met close friends.

Dad doesn’t understand why I’d want more than 10 friends there. ‘Family’s family.’ He says. And yes, he’s right. But you know what? Even if friends Z and X and I drift apart in five years time, they are still important to me now. It’s ephemeral, but Z has always supported me when I’ve organised events and she and Y were on the door every night of a three-run show, and twice and the six-run event before that. But in five years time, my family still won’t know what I do for work, and what I do on the side for fun. They won’t care about me and I won’t care about them.

The real kicker? Mum and dad had the Big Fat Greek Wedding. My grandmother planned it all and mum absolutely hated the day. There were scores of people she didn’t know. In all the photos she has a half smile, half scowl. And this is what they want for me. Meanwhile, Boyfriend’s parents have told him whatever we want is fine.

So I’m having a sit down with mum and dad soon, to explain my position and tell them that even if it means funding the whole hot mess ourselves, we are having the fucking wedding we fucking want.

Wedding: Guest List

2009-12-02T09:23:00.000+11:00

‘Your father and I have cut the guest list down. We’ve been brutal, and it’s family only. We haven’t even got any of our friends-‘

‘But mum, I know your friends at least-’

Dad does that staccato ‘naap, naap’ rebuttal sound he does, which is often accompanied by a finger wave as sassy as any black lady. ‘Nah. Nah. I’d rather have family.’

‘Ok, so you’ve cut it down…’

Mum: ‘Yes. Now, we’ve only invited absolute musts. I haven’t even invited Uncle X…’

‘After me being so adamant about not wanting him there, and you fighting for it? That’s nice. I’m glad you listened when I told you he is literally the worst person I’ve ever met that he’s never done a kind thing for me and he spent my formative years teasing and tormenting me to impress my male cousins. Nice…’

‘And I’m not inviting Cousin Y…’

‘Well, he’s in jail, so, um, ok…’

‘And we’re down to 59. Here’s the list’

‘Fift- ok, sure, let me see… Um, who’s this?’

‘That’s Papoo’s brother.’

‘But I don’t even know him’

‘You do know him!’

‘Ok, I’m sure he’s been at extended family gatherings, but I don’t know his face…’

Dad: ‘I HAVE TO INVITE HIM. He’s my dad’s brother!’

‘Which makes him my dad’s dad’s brother, and someone Boyfriend has never met…’

‘He’s very, very sick, so he’ll die soon, anyway.’

‘And if he doesn’t? I’ll have some old guy wheezing in the corner, hooked up to oxygen. Lovely. Hang on, who are these people?’

‘We have to invite them. They’re [dad’s dad’s other brother’s son and his wife]’.

‘I have never met them before. No way’.

Dad: ‘Nah. Nah. We have to stop now, because I feel myself blowing up’.

That was the second conversation about the guest list. The problem with my dad is that four decades of pot has rotted away his ability to have an adult discussion, so he’s either a pussycat or completely psycho and about to have a heart attack.

To be continued tomorrow.

Conversations About Movies

2009-12-01T08:28:00.000+11:00

Boyfriend: So, you're seeing the sequal to Twilight with X, Y and Z tonight?
Me: Yes, yes I am. Sure you don't wanna come?
Boyfriend: Nah. So, I wonder what Twilight will get up to in this one.
Me: You know his name's not Twilight.
Boyfriend: Maybe Twilight will make Bella a Vampire.
Me: No, in the book he - honey, you know his name isn't Twilight.
Boyfriend: Maybe Twilight and his friend, New Moon, will go on an adventure.
Me: Sigh.
Boyfriend: Is New Moon a Vampire too?
Me: Fuck off.
Boyfriend: Do New Moon and Twilight like each other?

Yes, I know it's terrible. I never got into Harry Potter, but Twilight is just so fucking dirty. Seriously, it's a series about a pale, brunette weirdy (you know how I love me them) being all creepy and obsessive and touching some girl's face. If you were ever an unhunged 14 year old girl you'll love it. It's Cheezels: no nutritional value, and makes you kind of sick, but SO delicious and SO hard to stop at one.

I have all the books, but have only read the first two thus far. Also, I have the first movie on Blu-Ray. What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.

They're ridiculous. Awful. FUCK how I adore them.

The Wedding

2009-11-30T13:20:00.000+11:00

There will be no throwing of the bouquet.
There will be no white meringue dress.
There will be no hen’s night.
There will be a buck’s night – held jointly a year after we’re married.
There will be no Chicken Dance, Nutbush or Celine Dion.
There will be no hysterical phonecalls to Sydney to secure the perfect Jimmy Choo white satin heels.
There will be elements of tradition, but only the ones we like.
There will be no Bridezilla. People who plan weddings have never planned events a fraction as big and multi-faceted as I have, and don’t have my mad organising skillz. Seriously, it’s a bit of work, but just do it systematically!

It’s hard in a way, because the easiest thing in the world is a boring, cookie-cutter wedding. Ok, which white dress? Which bonbonniere? Which grooms’ suit? You’re choosing your options from a finite set. Whereas with us we’re literally starting from scratch. We’re working out what we want not based on a given set of parameters; rather, we’re working out from the start how we want to spend this occasion.

I’ve never been normal, not once in my whole life. So why wouldn’t my wedding reflect that? Tell it to my dad, who I’m certain just thinks now I’m engaged a switch will flick on and I’ll have a big white dress, and Boyfriend will have a dove grey suit with one of those big wide pale pink ties. Desci in a traditional dress would be Desci in costume, and the inauthenticity would stink out the place.

There are about four pre-made wedding posts ready to go, and then I don’t anticipate much discussion about it for a while. It’s not until June 2011, and we already have a venue, so the only preparation for the next six-nine months is getting healthy and gazing at offbeatbride.com.

Art Retreat!

2009-11-25T13:38:00.001+11:00

I’m currently writing this on a Saturday. Boyfriend and I are in Mallacoota, the easternmost part of Victoria. We got here after a seven/eight hour car trip, and it is fucking beautiful. The place is amazing, there’s a big, airy house for Boyfriend to make music and watch blu-rays, and a little bungalow for me to write, read and JO. (Note for next time: two vibrators is enough. Three pornographic comics isn’t).

Anyway, my little bungalow is perfect. Clean, mudbrick and gorgeous. Bathroom and kitchenette. I love it.

And my god, have I been churning it out. In one of her long, impassioned blogs, Amanda Palmer said that art comes out of boredom, and kids today don’t have time to get bored. She couldn’t be more right. I knew I was addicted to the internet, but I don’t think I realised how much it sucked up my time until now. That which nourishes me, detroys me. I have written an astounding amount. I’m vomiting words. And they’re all the starts, middles or ends of something good.

Boyfriend asked me to write him some lyrics overnight (he’s been having trouble with the words, the music is his thing) I came back fifteen minutes later with three verse-chorus-verse-bridge songs.

Anyway, this is one of the best things we’ve ever done.

Saturday is Blog Day. So I’ve gone through all the half-finished posts I just CBF completing, ideas I’ve scribbled down, and I’ve fucking DONE them, finally.

Tour Whore

2009-11-24T08:23:00.001+11:00

* I’m excited about the Pavement concert, though I haven’t found anyone to go with. Just like the old days.

* I am ABSOLUTELY EFFING WEEING MYSELF about Animal Collective in December! At my old job a friend and I would gush about ‘how WONDEFUL they’d be, why can you even IMAGINE?!’

* Guttermouth are plying on my birthday. Fuck. King. Rock. That is going to be one messy night. Must ask for the next day off, and soon.

* Editors are coming. It’s a gamble, Boyfriend and I love some of their songs, don’t know many. Plus, it’s at the Worst Venue in Melbourne, aka The Palace, St Kilda.

* Didn’t Amanda Palmer say she’d be back in December??

* I’m still reeling from Liza Minelli. God she was great.

* Unrelated, but Daniel Kitson’s coming again in January. That man, my god, that man.

* Also, David Sedaris! He was lovely last time. Can’t wait.

Mixed Tapes

2009-11-23T15:19:00.000+11:00

Gay lovers, I’m so proud of myself. I’ve created the definitive – DEFINITIVE – mix tape.

It’s a four-volume set:
Songs for Dancers: 95 Songs
Songs for Fighters: 50 Songs
Songs for Lovers: 90 Songs
NINformation (The two best NIN songs from every one of their CDs, plus all of ‘Still’.): 32 Songs

Note how every song ever can be divined into the first three categories.

It came about because I wanted to give some music to a voracious boy at work, and a girl who’s quite young, from the country and hasn’t been exposed to much musical diversity. And these albums have everything. They even have one or two of my friend’s bands on them, not that I’d tell the recipients that (so uncool. ‘Oh, look! And I KNOW this guy. To TALK to’).

If you’d like a copy, let me know. All I ask is that if you like a band on the set, do a nice thing and buy their CD. Support those who give you so much happiness, garn.

San Fransisco

2009-11-15T11:59:00.015+11:00

This will be a lazy, lightning recap.

View from the first hotel room

Out the front of... the car rental place. (!)

The houses were like fairy princess castles. In a way, I suppose many of them were.

California would be my dad's heaven.

Kissing deer! On the way to Skywalker.

"Delish!"

The Hungry I Club. We spent money here.

Steamers. Wow.... yum.

At the Stinking Rose. The food was great, the cocktail tasted like medicine poison.

The chicken came with 40 garlic cloves. Yummm.

We had free wine, cheese and beer every night in the lounge of our hotel. Classy.

SF trams are RAMSHACKLE.

VHS Videos for sale.

I became OBSESSED with Kid Robot after I went to their store.

Chinatown looked like actual China.

Golden Gate bakery. Best egg custard tarts evah.

This shop was everything and nothing.

SO hot.

Our flight was delayed and overbooked. NINE HOURS from NY to SF. And we were both sitting in the middle seat, middle row, several rows down from each other. GAAAH!

We stayed at the Hotel Kabuki on the first night (pretty) and the Hotel Nikko for the rest of the time (very very fancy).

We walked around the city most days. We went to Nick's Crispy Tacos for dinner, which is EXACTLY like an American Bimbo's, except tacos not pizza. But yum.

Boyfriend scored us entrance into Skywalker Ranch, the facility where the special effects and post porduction for... pretty much every movie are done.

Situated about 30 minutes from the city, it's like Hurstbridge. A beautiful place though, with a library like the one out of Indiana Jones, sprawling grounds, and Lake Ewok. But we're not allowed to post photos.

After Skywalker we went to Sausalito, a seaside town that reminded me of Apollo Bay.

The best meal we had in America was at the Slanted Door. Though we also had a garlic-filled meal at the Stinking Rose which was also pretty good (too much garlic is never enough, but even we were thinking it was excessive. And we cook a meal for two with five cloves!)

I was looking for Cherry comics everywhere, since I have a few issues I need to complete my collection I established nearly a decade ago. Because I'm charming and had an accent, I managed to get a wholesale order for a Cherry I didn't have and some other porny comic delights, from the warehouse itself. Cheap goodness.

After dinner one night, Boyfriend and I went to a strip club. More about that in another post: the comparison warrants it.

On the last day we went to Haight Ashbury, where all the hipsters hang out. We also went to Walgreens and bought up some American snacks to take home.

I know I'm just rushing shit, but seriously, this was the most perfect, amazing holiday. I fucking love America and can't wait to go back.

We were bumped up to business class on this flight home.

Mum and Dad were jumping out of their skins about the engagement, to the point of mum hassling me about booking a venue when I called her from Sydney airport after our SF flight. This is days after we told them the date is in June, 2011.

We came home, and they'd decorated the house with balloons and streamers. Aww.

I 8 NY, Part Three (and last one)

2009-11-15T10:59:00.005+11:00

Dude there's a GIANT FUCKING SNAKE BEHIND YOU.

I didn't have time for the Met and the Gugenheim. Next time. But MOMA KICKED MY ARSE.

Love.

Now, our PERFECT DAY (tm).

Boyfriend and I went to the diner. He had his usual smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. Smoked salmon tastes like the worst kind of vagina, so I had Oatmeal.

Oatmeal is weird. It's not hardy and rough like porridge. It's smooth and bland and... just not as trustworthy as porridge.

We went to Boyfriend's church (the Mac store), then to FAO Schwartz again to get his muppet likeness. We went to central park for an hour while we were waiting for it to get made. Squirrels, real ducks (with green heads) and crazy poets abounded.

We went to a comic book shop, where Boyfriend got a non-embargoed copy of Transformers 2 on Blu-ray. I looked for Cherry comics, they didn't have any.

We also bought my brother a pair of $2000 binoculars he wanted (!) which he gleefully gave us the money for, since they're about $600 cheaper in the US.

After dropping off the muppet and expensive binculars back to the hotel, we had lunch at Katz's deli. Boyfriend's paper beer cup was the length of his arm. The pastrami was amazing. Knishes are knot tasty. Yuck.

Everyone had told us to do the 'Top of the Rock' observation deck in the day time, and the Empire State at night. So we went to 30 Rock.

Amazing views.

I showed Boyfriend the NBC store, and we stumbled on a Hallmark shop with all manner of awesome halloween things.

USA: So many ghost and spider things!

After a quick look at the Nintendo store, we grabbed a taxi for our reservation at Balthazar.

My Aunty told us this is her favourite restaurant in the world. And yes, it was pretty fancy. Though we didn't see any celebs like she said - actually, in America we saw NO ONE. Oh, we saw Estee Lauder and Elizabeth Hurley doing some breast cancer promo thing at Bloomingdale's, but besides that, nothing. And that doesn't really count. Also, Elizabeth Hurley looked like a skinny raisin, surprising considering how gorgeous she looks on TV.

Anyway. Balthazar. Cocktails were good. We had the seafood platter, which was lovely. Except we discovered that we hate raw clams. Like, gag hate. I hated them so much I had to try one more just to make sure they were as bad as I originally thought. Picture an obese old Greek man with Alopecia. He's worked at the friers all day. He has a skin tag on his perenuim, and it has just been removed, chilled, and served to you in brine.

That's clams.

Anyway. They bought our duck pie to the table. It was hot, we were working through the platter so we didn't try it for awhile. Ten minutes later they took it away, replacing it with another one. The manager told us the other one was slightly more burnt than they like to serve it. It looked pretty good to us. But we tried the new one and it was so. Very. Good. I love duck, but only ridiculously expensive fancy duck: mid-range duck is often too fatty.

The desserts, both of which I forget, were just as delish as the rest of the meal. Look, I'm not a food blogger, I'm sorry. Go to Claire if you want NY and SF food recommendations, her travel wraps from the middle of this year were fantastic.

Anyway, after a fancygood meal, we took a taxi to the Empire State Building. It was getting on, around 9 or 10 I think. So there were no queues.

We went to the top and had a look around.

Boyfriend was cuddling my back as we looked out at this view. 'I have a question to ask you' he said. 'Yeah, what's up babe?' I asked.

'Will you marry me?'

Thinking this was an ill-considered spur-of-the-moment thing, I asked, 'Is this the view talking?' He told me that he'd asked my parents 'permission' a few months ago, and had been waiting for this very moment.

'Yeah... of course, yes!' I said. We looked at the view some more, cuddling and being all ghey. We walked back down, Boyfriend got a slice of pizza and we caught a taxi back to the motel.

In the morning, we went to San Fransisco.

I 8 NY, Part Two

2009-11-15T09:30:00.019+11:00

I forgot to say, when I was at LAX, I went to Maccas. They had the breakfast menu, and I got a hash brown and a bacon and egg 'biscuit'. It was just like a scone with maccas bacon, egg and cheese on it. And sweet fuck, it was amazing. Surprisingly so. Then I had an ice chai so sweet I had to throw it out after a few sips.

Sign from bus trip

I went to Inglot, since a) the stuff was cheaper there and b), the Times Square Inglot is less of a hassle to get to than the Chadstone one. No, really.

Anyway, I spent a few hours there, picking out two new palettes and two wax liners. It's ridiculous, they only have one Inglot in the whole of America.

For those who forget, Inglot is the only eyeshadow I wear (well, sometimes Lime Crime, but they're loose powders so require more time). Inglot are the best quality, best priced, and you get to choose the colours you want. Everything about them is amazing and you're an idiot if you bother with any other pressed powder shadow.

Inside Inglot, my church. Note: add for terrorism-proofing. Like we have for bushfires

Next door to Inglot was a whole store devoted to M&Ms. Like, three stories. Every single thing you can imagine, from beach towels to clothes to chairs to... fuck it. Think of a physical item. Any non-sex toy physical item. They had that, emblazoned with the M&M characters. It was huge and baffling.

Red Lobster: Nothing says delicious like a light-up fiberglass crustacean.

More Times Square

Macy's was... just like Myer, really. Nothing amazing. Though I had to buy mum all this perfume and Clinique had a free gift so I got a few of them, too. It was all so cheap. And I bought some black above-ankle sport socks, which is impossible here. So, yay. But Macy's = boring.

Babeland, however! I went to their How to Choose a Vibrator workshop. It was pretty cool. I got a Hitatchi for mum (she asked for it pre-trip. But then wrecked it straight away even though I told her to wait for us to get her a transformer).

For me, I got a blue and black deerskin flogger, some massage candles, and a mini hitatchi. I would've loved to get more, but by then it was our second last day in NY and I'd spent a LOT of cash.

Babeland was great. The closest thing we have is DVice, but even that's not a patch on it. Wish we had them here!

The store opened at 12, and I didn't know how many people would be attending the vibe workshop, or how long it would take to get there. So I was pretty early. The taxi driver said there's good shopping on the crossroad, so I had a walk. Now, imagine the leather jacket and the luggage stalls at Preston market. now imagine a shopping strip of them, with dodgy black shopkeeper guys hanging out out the front. Also, the street was empty but for them. It was pretty rapey. But I walked the length of it and back, all was fine. I also found a little material store and bought some good stuff.

Another day, I went to the Seinfeld Diner and had a piece of cherry pie.

Regrettably, the only time I went to Brooklyn was on the bus trip. (Remembering how short our time in NY was).

From left: Shoelaces you never tie, Kariza Dresses, Birthmark. All unfortunately closed, the mystery of WTF they are remains.

They do a proper China town in the USA.

Karma Sutra library?

Dramatic wedding shot overlooking Brooklyn bridge: Noice.

Massive corporation

Chinatown FD

(Away We) Go Postal

After the Brooklyn tour, I went to Junior's in Times Square. The tour guide told us they had the best cheesecake in NY. Being that it's one of my favourite bad foods ever, I headed over.

I ordered a pastami with cheese on rye, and, since it didn't come with anything, a side of onion rings. I got THIS:

Left: the pastrami I took out. Right: original state of sandwich

I felt like this:

I took out about 3/4 of the meat. It was a good sandwich.

The onion rings came, deep fried behemoths, not the small crumbed things I was picturing. There was a middleaged couple on the table next to me, I asked if they'd like any, since there was way too much food for me. They thanked me, but were having trouble finishing their own huge meals.

The man went to the bathroom, and the lady asked me, in a southern accent, 'Are you from France?' Now, at this point I'd said quite a few things, vis: 'Would you like some of these onion rings? There's far too many for me' and, 'no worries; they're here if you'd like some!'

I told her no, I wasn't, and she said, 'it's just that you have such lovleh jewellruh' I was wearing a necklace with a plastic spiderweb and spider. Baffling.

Anyway, we briefly chatted about the hotels we were staying at, and she handed me a little book. 'You can look at that later' she said. I had a peek inside and the first page said, 'what does CHRISTIANITY MEAN TO YOU?' My natural instinct is to refuse anything religious people give me, so I handed it back and told her I was a quaker. Pro tip: this ALWAYS shuts them up.

Now I'm spewing I didn't keep it. An authentic piece of American Christian Propaganda! Damn.

Anyway, the cheesecake:

Yeah, it was fucking amazing.

We stayed at the Standard. It's a hipper-than-thou place in the Meatpacking district. The staff were all dressed in these cunty black pants and fierce as fuck gray shirts with epaulets and skinny black ties.

It was so trendy it didn't have a sign:

Or shower curtains/walls:

(they called this a 'peek-a-boo shower', and there was a note in the room cautioning people against leaving the blinds open, because NYC can see you).

The amazing view:

The AMAZING minibar:

Detail of the scrolling art they have in the lifts. It was this huge plasma screen, flush with the wall, that scrolled down to reveal all these amazing scenes from movies. It scrolled up when going up, down wen travelling down.

The diner we ate breakfast in most days, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Very tasty food be here:

I 8 NY, Part One

2009-11-10T22:14:00.012+11:00

OK. so the Americas!

All pics are SFW. Yes, it's a boring travel post, mainly for posterity.

Every day was perfect. Though we ate like pigs and now need to do a mega-detox.

I arrived in New York at around 7pm. My first impressions were of friendly taxi drivers who knew their shit, getting carded (I forgot the legal age was the ridiculous 21) and very uneven footpaths. They're all old, some roads are cobblestones, and it's a miracle I only fell over once, in what happened to be the quietest street in NY. Yes.

We went to a few adult stores, in the hopes of finding a kit I heard about, to make a mold of Boyfriend's man junks and then a silicone dildo out of it. I don't know, I thought it would be nice.

Bizarrely, every place we went to was sold out of them. A few had chocolate versions, which, ew.

We ate out three meals a day, and didn't have a bad experience. Though we went to John's, which is apparently some of the best pizza in New York. I think I prefer the thin, minimalist pizza of America to ours. So good.

Anyway. The Pizza at John's was fantastic, and the service was good, but the signs kept it cunty:

None that... or any of those!

Also, there are 'frozen yogurt' places everywhere. But it's more just soft serve than anything. You get to put all sorts of junk on it and then they charge you for weight. Stoner's. Dream.

I went on those Grayline double decker bus tours. And they were actually... really fantastic. The majority of guides were pleasantly eccentric, they were all super knowledgeable. Highly, highly recommended.

Man embarrassed by trumpet

I went on the Downtown tour and the Brooklyn Tour. The Uptown one (which included Central Park and Harlem) I liked so much I went twice, once with Boyfriend.

Two guys hassling people to buy their CD

FAO Schwartz was amazing. It's this big toyshop, not as big as Toys R Us, but more interesting. No electronic games, every stuffed animal you could think of, and the big piano from that Tom Hanks movie, and later The Simpsons.

We had a play on the big piano, and I got a muppet version of myself. No really, you can get a real muppet, and choose what eyes, nose, hair, etc to get. It's called a What Not.

Boyfriend liked it so much we went back the next day and got him a Boyfriend What Not. They had to go in our hand luggage.

When two people are carrying around muppet likenesses of each other, people feel the need to comment. Especially in a big queue at the airport.

Lunchboxes at FAO Schwartz

Boyfriend worked every day but for the last one. So my time was spent walking, exploring, shopping and going to diners/restaurants.

Annoyingly, I slept in much of the time, and got ready to go out reealllly slowwwly (I blame the delightful Regis. No really, dude is FUNNY!) so I wouldn't leave the hotel until 12-12.30. Galling.

We did get to spend the evenings together. We assumed that in NY or SF we'd take some time to go drinking and dancing. This didn't happen. We were always so exhausted by the day, that afterwards we'd have our dinner we'd maybe do a walk around then go back to the hotel.

After my flight, I got a taxi to the hotel. Boyfriend was waiting for me at the tables outside, and had been waiting for about an hour and a half. I showered, put on makeup and we headed out. We had some drinks with his boss, then the two of us went to Times Square.

There were people trying to get you to sign up for a season ticket to some stand up comedy gigs. We begged off. Some of them were persistent in that kind of charming, kind of annoying way. 'We're about to head back to the hotel,' we'd say. They'd tell us the ticket was good for a month. 'But what if we get raped and killed tonight?' I said. To their credit, most of them didn't skip a beat when they replied, 'Then you wouldn't need the $20 anymore!'

The spruikers were all cheerful and friendly in that 'sales' way. 'Wanna see some live stand up?' etc. Except for one champ. This big, black guy. 'COM-edy TICKets', he yelled, pissed off and over this whole fucking job. 'GIT you COMedy TICKets'.

Another day, I was walking along, and a stripper was giving out fliers outside a club. She was dressed in that Halloween-slutty way. I walked past and she stepped back, looking past me - used to women walking past, used to them not wanting what she's selling. She was out there to give straight dudes fliers. I made eye contact and said, in the most lascivious way I could (which is pretty lascivious, since I'm creepy) 'Hey, how you going?' Puzzled, she smiled and said hi back, but slowly, and I could see the cogs working 'what? should I give her a flier? Is she just being friendly? No-I've seen that look before. But in guys. Wait, what's hap-?' I walked on, smiling at myself for being retarded. About ten metres away I passed two black chicks. As we crossed paths, one said to the other, all annoyed, 'What's SHE been doin' to make herself so happy, all smilin'?'

NY felt safe. There were so many people around, and so few druggies.

The one day Boyfriend and I spent together was perfect. More about that soon.

BJ

2009-11-10T22:07:00.002+11:00

This post is about my parents’ gorgeous pet Rottweiler, BJ.

On 28 December 1998 a Rottweiler was born. He was the size of a fist when we picked him out. He was the only one exploring, the rest were sleeping or huddled together.

We took him home in early 99. He was the size of a large subway sandwich. I was starting year 12 and he was my mother’s guard dog for her jewellery shop. The shop closed in 2005, she spent a year at home (with a big black dog and a low-scale depression) and then got a job in another store, five days a week from 11 to 5. It was the first time she and BJ didn’t spend all day, every day together.

The first time he went to the vet was when he was 2 months old, after eating a bee. His lip went all puffy and he did it another two times after that. We assume they tasted like honey.

He almost died in a car accident we had in my first year of uni. He didn’t. His hair went all dull from the morphine.

Because he was big (60-70 kilos over his life, I think he peaked at 72) and black, he hated the heat. We used to have to water him, like a little cactus.

Boyfriend and I look after him every public holiday, and some other times, whenever mum and dad go away. My brother doesn’t ever put his hand up (he wants to go away too) so we get stuck with him because we can never afford a long weekend trip. Secretly we don’t mind, though, because my parents’ house is clean and doesn’t have my grandmother in it, and we love spending time with him. We joke that we have a holiday house in Bundoora.

The Thursday before Cup Day, BJ stopped eating. By Saturday evening he still wasn’t eating, so mum (who was up at Apollo Bay) suggested we take him to the vet.

He stayed there until Monday night. The vet was explaining what it might be, but there were two pugs (in for heat exhaustion) snuffling and oinking in such a constant, comical way that it distracted us, the wrongness of the otherwise fairly devastating situation.

By Thursday morning he’d turned into an ‘old dog’. He’d been going grey in the muzzle over the last few years, and was stiff if he didn’t have his arthritis medication, but he was still spritely when he saw us. But now, he hobbled and was in noticeable pain.

The vet said the symptoms were consistent with stomach cancer. They could operate but the average living time post-op was around three months, since it was an aggressive type of cancer.

Mum and dad were with him on Thursday night when they euthanised him. He went peacefully, mum and dad patting him as he drifted off to sleep. I wish I’d been there, but we were on our way to Mallacoota (a trip we’d booked and paid for in May), still hoping the ultrasound would show some small, curable thing. But at least he was with two of the five people he cared about. He was aloof and snobby to the point of total rudeness with everyone except me, Boyfriend, mum, dad and my brother. With the five of us, he’d always make sure he was in the middle, constantly near whoever of us was home.

There are pet people, and non-pet people. Some people might have a cat or a dog, and be sad when they die, but for others, the pet is a member of the family. We used to roll our eyes when we heard that some people would spend $1200 on an operation for their pet. Now, we’d think nothing of it, if it improved the quality of BJ’s life. He was family and it’s so, so weird not to have him around. Non-pet people won’t understand, that’s fine. And we did have him for 11 years, which is huge for a Rottweiler (most accounts we’ve heard, they’ve lived until 6 or 7).

I hope next time I see a big dog I don’t get teary, but fear I might. At least he lived a long, charmed life, he was loved and he went peacefully after not too much pain. But it still hurts not to have him there, and when discussing plans for Christmas and public holidays beyond I keep having to stop myself from saying, ‘well, we’ll be coming from Bundoora, so…’

Shut Up Woman, Get on My Horse.

2009-10-27T08:25:00.001+11:00

Have you all heard this rare Depeche Mode B-side yet? I cannae get enough.

More holiday posts to come, I have to sort the photos first. BUT, did anyone see Our Heavenly Mother Angel, Liza Minelli, on Sunday? Dear god, she was amazing.

I thought it might be like when I saw Rodriguez, you know, great but a little heartbreaking to see this frail old guy shuffle around the stage a little lost after every song. But no! The energy! The banter! I could have sat watching her for 7 years.

The one thing that surprised me was the weighting of the demographics. I thought it would be mostly theatre queens, then oldies, then me. But the oldies outnumbered the theatre queens by about 20-1, at least.

Anyway. I will try and organise the photos soon; I have stuff on every night this week but truly there is so much to tell you.

I’m Back!

2009-10-22T16:45:00.002+11:00

That was the perfect fucking holiday. Seriously, every day was fucking magical.

Packing the night before (while watching Hey Hey, and being baffled by it all) and a last-minute change in flights meant I was running on three hours' sleep as I took a taxi to the airport, but I did get an upgrade to premium economy for my troubles, so that was nice.

Premium Economy was for Sydney to LA. Verdict: exactly the same as regular economy, but the seats are much roomier and the TV screens better. Would totally shell out for it on an 8hr-plus flight if the prices weren’t too different. Had a Stilnox and managed to get 6 or so hours’ sleep.

Stopped off in LA, and after filling out three different visa waiver forms (I kept fucking up. I was tired and excitable) I had about 40 minutes to kill before check in to New York. Having not eaten the last two meals on the plane, my first meal was a iced chai from an airport cafe (so sugary and with such a tiny straw I had to throw most of it out) a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit and a hash brown from the breakfast menu at the airport Maccas. And it was fucking amazing. Biscuits are pretty much scones. It was unexpectedly delicious.

Oh! Flight was uneventful, but for burning myself on a super-cold Splice icy pole. Seriously. It stuck to the inside of my upper and lower lip, I panicked and had nothing to pry it off but ice I hastily melted in my hand. I gradually got it off, but it ripped up my lips and they took a few days to heal. When it first came of, sobless tears just fucking flew down my face, such was the pain. The clownshow took about 5 minutes all up, and it was all done with my face to the window, my back to the fellow passenger beside me, lest someone else know I’m a big pair of fucking clown’s shoes. God it was painful. Who the fuck hurts themselves on a fucking iced snack?

I should mention, I totally gutsed myself when I was in America, and am going on a massive detox now.

More, so much more, to come. The short of it is that I'm so happy, but I wish I was still there.