Sunday, October 16, 2011

3 Weird Things That Happened on an Un-Weird Friday Night*

1. I met my favourite writer/ girl crush / all round hero Marieke Hardy. I died a thousand deaths as I spotted her at the Oh Mercy gig, being all effortlessly hip and cool in the corner. After lots of squeals, Tiff held my hand like a nervous toddler and I walked up and had my shameless fan girl moment. And I'm glad I did because I'd regret it for the rest of my life. THANK GOD I had Tiff, she was the ultimate wing women and steered the whole conversation. I could barely string a sentence together and kept thinking, 'say something hilarious.' But nothing very awesome came out of my mouth. Bless Marieke's vintage socks, she spoke to us for a good 15 minutes and I'm even more in love after meeting her IRL. It was like having an out of body experience, oh yeah just chatting to THE Marieke Hardy. No biggy. BUT IT WAS A MASSIVE BIGGY. IT WAS THE BIGGEST FUCKING BIGGY OF MAH LIFE!

2. A lovely fellow on the d-floor decided he would be all chivalrous and charming and make it his business to blatantly grope my bosom without any forewarning or permission. Shocked, appalled and down right furious I groped him right back. I even twisted his nipple #romanceissonotdead! He must have gotten his sexual harassment moves confused with his flirting ones. 

3. Another gentleman, in the same rapey cesspool, sported a very interesting accessory - his family jewels blatantly poking through his fly, just chilling, for all to see. He was bumpin' and grindin' against unsuspecting girls who didn't realise they were getting junk-bombed. I'm pretty sure he was buddies with Mr Molester, so when he came up to bump and grind our circle I did what any respectable lady would do - I karate kicked him in the nuts. 

* I know this is horrific grammar, but please let me get away with it just this once? Otherwise the angle of this blog has no leg to stand on.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Moola et Moi

There’ll be a day when I have my shit together. I’ll have a tiny apartment with a coffee table. And beautiful hard-back coffee table books. And maybe a coffee machine to boot. I’ll have bills to pay and a weekly budget to stick by. I could go all out and have a pretty spreadsheet with a cute colour scheme called 'Bella's Budget. Do this OR DIE!' THERE MAY EVEN BE PIE CHARTS AND GRAPHS! Fuck I love Excel!* I'll turn down nights out because I've just paid my rent and be all, 'I'd really love to but I just paid my rent. Yeah, whoo for real estate, etc'. Gosh, even typing that makes me feel 10% more grown up.

But until that day comes, I’m content most of my hard earned dosh is spent on 3am Happy Meals, cabs and cocktails. So what, my transaction records may look like this -

But we have the rest of our adult lives to worry about monies, mortgages and collecting colour swatches for the living room (QUICK! Someone get me the spew bucket). I say live in the sassy moment bebes, because when you're a little old lady / man you won't be remembering how much skrilla you had in your savings account at age 23. You'll be remembering all the ridiculous, outrageous, fabulous things you did with your squadron of superb chums. Oh and that delicious Happy Meal and oreo McFlurry you had in the Cross after you lost your handbag but did a little jig and managed to get it for free. Whatevs, today I'm poor but happy. Really'appy.

* Not really, not one iota.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Please Don't...

  • Please don't put an X at the end of your emails when we've never met IRL. 
  • Please don't say 'we have to do lunch' when we both know it will never happen. 
  • Please don't think this means something. Let's both be honest, this is a pash and dash. Nothing more, nothing less. 
  • Please don't be the creator of your own fan page. People will laugh at you. A lot.
  • Please don't assume something has been stolen the second you can't find it. Why would anyone want to pilfer your pickle sandwich anyway? Oh look at that! It's hiding behind the milk, silly you chucking a tantrum.
  • Please don't tell me the extended, thirty minute version of how you first met your boyfriend in da club and then proceed to show me photos on your iPhone of him sleeping, eating and other mundane activities. Unless you want to look at my stamp collection? Because that's just as interesting. 
  • Please don't be a know it all. It makes people want to stab you in the eye a little.
  • Please don't make small talk about the weather. I'd prefer to catch this lift in silence.
  • Please don't put vile pictures on your wall of a girl's back-dimples and write 'cumtrays'. People like you warrant the need for a 'sexist pig' button on Facebook.
  • Please don't whinge about your sub-par tofu salad and be all 'this tastes like anus.' Well no shit, it's tofu. All I have to say is - MEANWHILE, IN AFRICA. Also, maybe you should just order a proper lunch with like, some real food in it.
  • Please don't over share in your status updates. I'd rather not know about your sore, leaky nipples. 
  • Please don't look my outfit up and down. Yeah, I'm wearing a tutu. What of it mate? 
  • Please don't wolf whistle at women walking down the street. The last time I checked, no one has ever picked up from this vulgar technique. WARNING: if you ever toot me I will stop, stare you in the eye, pick my nose while pulling the ugliest face I can conjure up. It will freak the shit out of you and you'll wish you could delete my hideous face from your mind but the image of that freaky girl will forever singe your brain and give you nightmares.
  • Please don't violently make out with me then say, 'I think I might be gay'. 
  • Please don't check me in. Anywhere. Not even if we're on a double date with Ryan Gosling and James Franco at the local Italian pizza parlour.

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