An Ohmigod Moment

Maybe I was overtired, or hormonal, or just feeling sooky, but when I saw this picture, I cried.

Then I thanked God for my own charmed life.

I Wanna Have Your Babies - Pick Up Lines that Shock and Amuse #1

There is context to this story. While I could broaden that to exploring notions of the place of the individual in society, and throw in a quick examination of the human condition, I'll get my hand off it, and bring you up to speed v. quickly.

I work as an artist's model. That is, ppl pay me to take off my clothes and stand/sit/lounge around in poses that are about as natural and 'still life' as a birthday party of toddlers on the red cordial. Notice my rictus of pain? Not for my own amusement. I do this in front of groups, for private sittings, and 21st birthdays. Just kidding! I get almost no private sitting work.

Anyway, I occasionally get work at the Uni. This has its advantages - a fairly hefty hourly whack - but unfortunately, it means I must deal with students. Now, students are awesome, God love 'em - I am one, I wish to remain one as long as possible, I believe they should be fed/protected from hunters/nurtured by the State - but Christ in the marketplace they can shit me sideways.

The course I worked for was made up of technical drawing and Architecture students. F*ck me. You show me a group of ppl less interested in drawing the human form - and with a pencil! Not a computer program! What Luddites these artists are! Have they not been made aware of the technological advances, etc etc - and I'll show you a mostly dead pot plant. They do not care. They are in it for the requisite credits so they can continue on to design such monstrosities as this - yes yes, they put the pipes on the OUTSIDE! Truly it is a breakthru of design, etc etc, blow me - rather than as an expression of a deep passion for documenting the human body as an artistic endeavor. If they had any of that, they'd be at a real art school. But I digress.

While they might have hated the drawing, it appears that some of the fellas at least enjoyed the looking. Let's face it - it's a situation where she whips her tits out, and they're required to look closely. What's not to love?

Funnily enough, I still pretend to maintain some level of professional detachment, and ask others to do the same. However, I can understand that there may be some mixed signals - I stand around in my nude for three hours, looking bored and not allowed to talk (apparently, recognising me as a human is superfluous to the artistic pursuit), sleep or even breathe deeply, and expect no one to comment on the nudiness itself. Perfectly reasonable mistake.

On this cherished occasion, I was finishing my shift when a young gentleman strode over to me, and announced in tones rich with piss and vinegar, 'I like what I've seen so far! Can I buy you a drink?'

Like all good clangers, it was dropped in a moment of inadvertent silence, creating a deep unnatural silence (There is a difference in the types of silence - if you don't believe me, loudly announce you're wearing your partner's underwear and they 'make my down-theres TINGLE!' next time you're in a conference, and make your own judgments). We'd arrived at the extremely-quiet-and-still-ohmigod-impending-doom-rides-amongst-us place.

But really, the best clangers are the ones that fight back - it was probably for the best that it was so quiet, for it allowed me to sing out, in a proud and happy voice, 'F*ck you, I'd rather have the cash.'

A case of the exotic dancer offended when a punter asks for a more intimate, 'full body' dance? Or an actual crossing of professional boundaries?

Discuss.

Me Talk Pretty One Day*

God, there are some truly WONDERFUL one liners, pithy statements and just genius adjectival descriptions out there. You stumble across them on other blogs, wandering down the street, flicking thru the paper, generally interacting with a widely accepted reality. Why they strike you is a mystery - all you know is: they appeal to the ear, trip off the tongue and generally infuse you with an allover sense of wellbeing. So, presented here in one tidy list form, my favourite insults, descriptions and lines I wish were my own.

1) Leering fucktard

2) Age, size and (lack of) motor skills shouldn't be barriers to style, comfort and a good night's sleep

3) Cockspank

4) Inappropriate massage

5) Knobjockey

6) Lay down and open wide, fella - your whoring days are here

7) A bigger wanker than Corey Delaney

I'll continue to add to this list as I feel it to be necessary. That is all.



* A nod to David Sedaris - he comes up with the genius, I merely steal and degrade it.

Blast From The Past - Serendipity

Via the Web Archive, all the way from LiveHouse (knobjockies), the best of the rest. w00t.

My gosh, has it really been so long since I last updated? My poor fans (yes, fuck you, I have fans - one day, I plan to induct them into my political party, the Monster Raving Looney Platform, and bring down the Government (the real question at this point would be: after 10 years of Howard, would (could?) a party known as the Monster Raving Looney Platform really be any worse? Hmmm... (Any predictions on the future of the MRLP should be sent to me on the back of a 10*4 card; best answer wins a small duck). Memo to self - form the MRLP, so my plans of national domination may be realised)... I was going to write "must be missing me", but honestly, after that sentence (a much nicer term than 'shit explosion across the page', if anyone's still listening, then have a gold star on me. Anyone actually following this entry gets... something really good. Much better than a pissweak gold star, anyway).

Of course, after that, I can't actually remember where this post was going, so please, talk amongst yourselves (hmmm, that's optimistic, isn't it? Th idea that more than one person is reading this? I'm just a glass half full kinda gal... No, I lie - I'm more a the glass is smashed on the floor, drink straight from the bottle person. But once again, I digress. (I am also MISTRESS! of the understatement)).

Of course, SERENDIPITY. I've had the laptop on which I'm typing this scintillating composition for over 2 years. (No, that's not the story, even if it is amazing that I have yet to break it beyond repair). Idly, I was playing with it last week when I pressed this little button thing-y that I have never pressed before - it has a little symbol that looks somewhat like an atomic explosion, and I confess I wanted to see if it was as exciting as it pretended to be.

YES, YES, OH GOD YES!

Now, usually when I press random button thing-ys, it inevitably ends up in the Bad Place. I've shorted other people's homes by simply flicking a light switch (hmmm, lucky old them!). So approximately 2.793 seconds after I'd given the button a poke, I felt like a neon sign exploded across my mind. GOOD WORK DICKHEAD, it merrily flashed in technicolour, YOU'VE JUST WIPED YOUR HARD DRIVE. Now, typically, this story would end at that point. But last week, it was not to be! I've obviously appeased the Parking Gods enough for them to put a word in for me with the deities that deal in the 'It's your own stupid fault, idiot' department. For it turns out, I HAVE WIRELESS. Now, I'm not sure on the principles of Wireless Internet Access (Christ, I'm surprised that I can dress myself in the mornings), but it means that if you go places that allow this kind of jiggery-pokery, you can get online without, and this may surprise you, using wires, or hooking to up modems, or all that other computer geek stuff.

This is possibly the coolest thing ever.

First published 26 September, 2006

Conversations You Had To Be There For - Gordon Ramsay

My parents have pay tv. This, and the fact that they conceived, carried and cared for me till I foolishly buggered off, makes me extraordinarily grateful that I have such winners in my life.

Further, it makes me easy to find should I be home again in NSW, and has become a staple of the Christmas visit - Mel will be found couchsurfing with the Foxtel remote in hand at any given time. Feel free to offer her wine/vienna peanuts/bacon sammiches.

It's the packaging of pay tv that makes it so alluring - it's merely the same old crap (and really, some of it is - Body Building Pensioners, anyone?), but on all the time. I defy ANYONE not to be able to find some offering of awfulness that they nonetheless feel compelled to view. Truly, these are strong powers - try using them for good.

Yet back to the story which struck me as paralyzingly funny, and will probably only evoke a mild titter. Plebs.

Mel (watching Gordon Ramsay eff and blind his way thru something... Wiggling her toes in delight at the sheer decadence of the experience)

Mum: Gosh, that Gordon fellow's very... rugged looking, isn't he?

Mel: Mum, he looks like his face caught on fire and was put out with a shovel. V. sorry to be harsh, but hey, he's worth millions of squids, and could buy and sell me before morning tea time, so I'm sure he'll work past it.

Mum: Really? I mean, he doesn't look like a burns victim...

(astonished paused before Sis and I collapse laughing, rolling off our respective couches)

Mel (wheezing with laughter): I said he looked like his face had caught on fire and been put out with a shovel. If I was wanting to describe him as a burns victim, I would've said, Christ, he looks like a burns victim.

Mum: Oh, right, I see your point.

Maybe it was the humidity, or the fact that, at 2pm in the afternoon, I was still wearing my pyjamas, maybe it was even the wine, but trust me - we thought we were hiLARious.

Gordon Ramsay - rugged looking, or something more?

NB. Absolutely no offence meant to Gordon Ramsay - I admire his business acumen and culinary skills immensely, and hope to one day excel in a similar manner... P.S. If you need a data entry clerk/switch bitch, Gordon, I'm your girl!

Say Something Controversial

Yes, well, don't mind if I do.

Let me begin by saying, I drive a car. It's not very big, but it's quite speedy, and a lovely green colour, and I love it. However, for some strange reason, it attracts wonky cyclists (this is where the controversial part comes in, okay?).

I'm prepared to accept that 10% of (lunatic) cyclists give the rest of this breed a bad name. I'll even go as far as to accept that yes, the government really needs to get serious about creating, upgrading and maintaining viable cycle paths in order for the whole experience of getting to work to become one of happiness and little fluffy bunnies, rather than bowel-destroying fear, but in the meantime... Jesus Christ.

This vitriol was inspired by my experience last week when, in reversing my car into a parking spot, I found my vehicle, and a rather deranged looking cyclist, attempting to break Newton's Third Law of Matter by occupying the same physical space AT THE SAME TIME.

Of course, what with me being a nasty, yukky car owner, and a woman to boot!, it was all my fault. Though it makes me cringe, let me quote BigBrother '08 - I DON'T THINK SO!

There is really not much I could say for myself. I had legitimately found a parking spot - not always easy where cheap uni students, avoiding pay parking, congregate - and was putting myself into it. Apparently, it is my fault that a cyclist, noticing my car going in a backwards direction, decided to ride BEHIND me, and cut across my boot. So of course I deserved the name-calling, the fist shaking and the threats made on my unborn children. I'm a bad driver - imagine, reversing into a parking spot, and expecting others to NOT BE STUPID ENOUGH TO STAND BEHIND YOU. Duh. It all seems so simple now.

So I apologise wholeheartedly to the poor cyclist I nearly ran over, and I say only this: I drive a tonne of metal, and you have a pisky-lookin' bike. Do it again, sunshine, and you shall be squished beyond recognition. I am big, you are small, and I will ALWAYS win that particular contest.

In the meantime, enjoy a world with lower carbon emissions.


NB. Let the flames begin - I bought marshmallows

Back From Beyond*

As some of you may remember, I used to do this on a third-rate site at an undisclosed location in the ether. As you may also remember, I stopped.

But, and here's the good part: I'm starting again! This thought brings me great joy, as I once again have a soapbox from which to spout ill-thought and possibly offensive ideas to anyone who happens to be nearby... Or, y'know, caring...

So, bring a picnic blanket, marshmallows and comfy shoes - let's see if this one self-combusts too, eh?


NB. I just realised that my disinclination to use the term 'blog' may leave some ppl in doubt as to what is was I was doing somewhere else, which I am now doing here. I leave it to your own imagination to fill in the blanks...


* And a hearty 'Fuck you!' to the good folks over at livehouse.com.au . Knobjockies.