Thursday, November 29, 2007


these are my recommendations of where to eat and what to eat when in Sydneys Bondi Beach.


Aqua Bar - The TUNA SALAD! - (the folks at aquar bar dont care how much you change the menu to suit yourself) so go a BRAT whilst mending a hang-over!coffee is really good here too! they bottle there dressing cause its an amazing 'secret' dressing so you can buy it here and use it when your bored at home making some food. dip your chips in it. pour it allover a lettuce leaf, whatever! When I was living in NY one of the things i missed most about home was the TUNA SALAD AT AQUABAR

Shop 1, 266 Campbell Pde North Bondi NSW 2026Phone (02) 9130 6070 (also its right accross from the beach - so its really pretty) oo and the buttermilk pancakes are amazing

North Bondi Italian - the crab pasta - yup - amazing for a sunday night dinner or afternoon with friends. the wine list there is HOT too (well so it looks, i dont drink) ummmm, also make sure you go to the bathroom there- they have chalk boards in the loo and provide chalk so you can write things on the wall such as : "this date sucks, someone save me i'm on the table to the left of the bar in a white suit jacket, fuck me im fierce"

120 Ramsgate AvNorth Bondi 2026 NSW Phone: (02) 9300 4400 (also on the water)

Pompeis Gelateria and Pizzeria - the pizza is good, but i'd go there for ice-cream anyday! the coconut , ferrero, is amazing. As far as gelato goes - rasberry, and mango rock! Also ask for extra choclate sticks in your serving, and take a kilo of it home with you!

126-130 Roscoe St, Bondi Beach - (02) 9365 1233

Mojos Bar and Tapas Grill - hit it with like a huge group of friends, sit outside, order heaps of food, watch the sun set, be happy.

32 Campbell Pd NSW Phone (02) 9130 1322

Le-Paris-Go - an incredibly sceney place, which usually stops me from going there. BUT, the chicken cesear salad is FUKING great. Its massive and it is fun to chill out there and people watch.


Hurricanes Grill- the best steak, burger, chickensalad whatever meat place in Bondi! Sometimes kinda hard to get a table, but worth it. Everyone looks like pigs in there, guys get bibbed out when eating ribs and they all look like big babies. I like just a good steak fillet with pepper sauce, chips and a giant glass of coke. Then Go next door for ice-cream and coffee!

130 Roscoe Street Bondi Beach NSW Phone (02) 9130 7101

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

G-D Bless America and cupcakes and classic DISNEY

Ok, an amazing last two days
1. I am officialy an American resident fucking crazy huh? I am only 20, and I am officialy an Australian citizen and an american this a new life long adventure? sweet! Which basically means, I can live in NY,LA,SANFRAN,SYDNEY,MELBOURNE and even HAWAII for the rest of my life, provided I stay on the straight and narrow....I can be a two country slut- as in i can play off Australia to America.....and be like 'fuck you australia, im going to america'...and vice versa. I can even consider importing an australian flushing toilet to america and an american flushing toilet to australia (yup our toilets flush differently), and thats really confuse me! So im heading to LA in feb just to check into the country and then im going home for 4months to finish off my degree and then ill be back in LA around may/june. IN TIME FOR SUMMER! infact with my dual residency I can bascially skip winter...hence I can the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind...I LOVE THIS SHIT!

2. I went to Lesley Arfin's reading last night of 'DEAR DIARY,' I was kinda nervous to meet her but I really wanted to. My mum (yesterday) found this amazing poems she had written when she was 20, (my age) and they literally made me cry. It was so weird that she happened to give me them the same to I was going to see Lesley that i was like 'i HAVE to take this poems and show her them.' Anyway, these poems were written in 1967 on a typewriter on frail paper. AMAZING! im gonna post them at a later stage. it was amazing to see my mum was an intense junior like I am now, shes deffinately mellowed out of the years, but she still is kinda crazy, and I love her. ummmm, so....I met Lesley and she fucking rocked....she was soooo sweet and it made my day. her blog is and I recommend just checking it when you have a chance. I felt like this little kid, at story time when she started reading, i sat with my legs crossed (most comfortable position ever) on the floor and with my eyes and mouth wide open! heeheh I wanna be 5 being told stories again, bring the classic story-telling back I say, but please no dream-time stories, they bore me to shit! So, I found these photos from and they are of me at the reading. I look like I am about to shit myself in one of them! heheh, im just being honest, it aint pretty! hehehe the cobra snake is mark the cobra snake, and he was there last night too, he made me really happy cause he knows Lesley and when I showed him my mums poems beforehand he was like 'you have to show her dont be embarassed' and so i did, so a photo of him is going up to with lesley, also cause we've met like once but hes always smiling, and thats so good to see from someone you hardly know! Lesley and Mark are both americans, and so it was an american day! yay!

This is the crap my pants shot!

3. I started watching Bridgest to Terabithia at like 2am, and I got into a conversation with a friend about how much better classic disney is...i'm sorry but the LION KING pulled my heart-strings!

Tuesday, November 27, 2007


My psychologist suggested that I get creative again since I've stopped acting for a fewmonths now.. and so here I am beginning to write a story. I have no idea where to begin but all writers usually turn around at the end of their greatest book and exclaim something pompous, as if they are Rodin’s thinker in all his masculine glory. They usually say something along the lines of, “oh well I let my fingers type for me and next thing I know, the book was done, it was ultimately an unconscious investigation that I had no control over.” So, being someone who is greatly inspired and influenced by people everyday, I guess the natural step would be to do just that....write a list of inspirations so here it is:
I think it would be courteous at the very least to whomever is reading this to have some knowledge about me, and my personal bias before they go any further into my self-indulged attempt at writing.
First and foremost I would like to acknowledge Woody Allen. I was recently on a date, not a date-date but a coffee-date where my companion for the night asked me the following, “Who would your ultimate guy can pick anyone....I have a crush on a Victoria’s s Secret model...I would cheat on my future wife with her...c’mon don’t be embarrassed...just tell honest.” Thing is, I am trained in improvisation, so I have no hesitation in blurting out whatever is on my mind, like a turrets victim without a tick. So I blurted it. “Woody Allen.” He laughed, I scored brownie points on the date, but the thing was I was being honest. I figure if Woody is happily married to his former adopted daughter, the gap between himself and I as far as age, wrinkles and experience goes shouldn’t be a worry. Besides that, I am Woody’s height, and it takes a short person to know that good things come in small packages. The character I most relate to of all time, would have to be Annie Hall, her impeccable and influential style, her waifish yet boisterous good looks, her witty personality..she is far as I am concerned Woody and I would be set. Some sort of proleptic irony (I’m very wise), gives me the sense that we would also cause each-other even a greater degree of neurotic agoraphobia that we both already have, which would ultimately lead to our imminent demise as the perfect couple. So, instead of pursuing my love for Woody, I’d rather be sitting on this date, letting the guy I’m theoretically meant to be cozing up to, know, that my ultimate man is four decades older than him, generally ugly, and considered nuts. In other words, he was in with a big chance.
The second major influence on my life would have to be Brad Pitt. No, no, actually I’m lying he isn’t but wouldn’t of his name been a little better to drop on the date, instead of Woody Allen. Besides that, Fight Club is an excellent film, so check that out if you have a chance.
It is really awful to admit, but as I said I have a background in improvisation and the next inspiration that comes to mind is Melrose Place, the T.V. show, written by Darren Star, who later went on to make the infamous Sex and The City, I love MR BIG! Which I refuse to admit inspired me at all, purely on the grounds that I am choosing to be different. The show was set on Melrose Ave, Los Angeles, and I still would like to live there someday, but these days it would be because there are plenty of good vintage shops there, such as ‘Decades,’ (i could buy vintage Hermes there and pretend I was better than other people) how pathetic would that be. Melrose Place and its long run on the TV is purely indicative of a very beautiful, care-free, easy, thoughtless time in my life. I got to watch the drama every Tuesday at 9:30 pm (way past my bed-time) on channel ten without actually having to live any of these issues. I was about ten at the time, so it is understandable that the sheer thrill of watching adults with the maturity of someone my age, but the responsibility of an adult was something that was really exciting. Perhaps, Darren Star really had the ten year old market in mind when he wrote the show. Anyway, my mother and I used to sit up every Tuesday drinking cups of tea engrossed in the phenomena that was Melrose Place. I remember when a certain character named Kimberly (Marcia Cross, who is now on Desperate Housewives) raised from being buried alive and came back with a vengeance, it caused many a sleepless night for me and perhaps now can be the reason I still suffer from anxiety. I think watching Melrose Place was the first time I found myself turned-on by a sex scene, perhaps now that is the reason I have bedroom troubles, but more of that later. All in all Melrose Place was very inspiring to me as a child, perhaps it was a little damaging, who knows.
What inspires me is not necessarily human, because as some philosopher’s argue: we are not human, so i figure it’d be nice to talk about a city as inspiration. London. The tube in London is amazing, there is nothing like the sheer engineering genius that is the London underground. In around July 2006 (last year), I went with my beloved best guy-friend Jarrod, to Europe. We went to London, Marbella and Paris oh and then we shopped till we dropped in Hong Kong. But mostly, we went to London. My heart now belongs to London. London is an absolute inspiration to me, I’m being deadly serious. I went to a psychic a few years back, she told me that I should write and that my ex boyfriends was an ass (no surprises there), and in London I found myself writing, on the train....who would of guessed? I’ve lost everything I wrote; mostly it was about all the freaks and geeks that surrounded me, purely judgmental crap, nevertheless I realised I could write in ye’ol London town. Coming from where I come from, having a car, it seemed oddly thrilling to hop on a train and be wherever in about forty minutes, in retrospect its totally no that thrilling and I would choose my car over the train any day, but at the time I thought it was mighty cool. I soon went to paris and met this cute guy, after spending some time with him, I realised he could not kiss for shit. Rule 1- learn to kiss properly or its over before it began. I felt rude saying he couldn’t kiss (hello Vampire!) so I told him I was a lesbian. Thing is, part of me thought I may have been, you know when you believe your own lies. Anyway I’m straight, but what else was a girl to do. Ironically, my travel companion Jarrod came out of the closet that trip.
I have to meet Jay Leno before I die. His chin is the single most phenomenal work of Gods creation that I have ever laid eyes on. I would like a sit down lunch with him, we could talk politics, and he could humour me. However, to be honest to myself all I really want to do is hold his chin, grab it like a paddle-pop stick or a dick and just then say ‘it was nice to meet you.’ That would be ultimate; Jay Leno’s chin inspires me, every time I turn on the TV.
Kandinsky, Monet, My Nana, Oma, Popa, Papa...they all inspire me too as does Cate Blanchett, but I feel like I could keep writing about who inspired me forever, an ode to anything and everyone that has made me smile, laugh or cry at some point in my 20 years of life and that all would be just too boring. So, my inspiration list will stop now. Over. No more inspirations to mention...

Friday, November 23, 2007

Memories are made of these

Last night I was sitting at home at around 2am, fretting about choices i've made in life. Some guys would call this moment 'pmt'. Things is, thats clearly not what was going on. I am just still trying to work stuff out. You know, we all make shitty choices sometimes. Like when I was writing in the 'feel the burn -its ok post'. (see a few posts back)
Last night I was in one of these hurtful shitty moments questioning what the fuck was going on with my head and why I had put myself in a position that would inevitably hurt me. Anyway, instead of wallowing in my own self indulgent depression I decided to call my friend michelle and ask her what was up.

I ended up driving to see michelle, smoking copious amounts of cigarettes and talking for ages. Michelle passed out (she was a drunk little skunk) and I found myself talking to her boyfriend Moffat about life, choices and fast times at ridgemont high. All in all it turned out to be a really good night. I woke up this morning and called up michelle and ended up meeting the same crew of Michelle, Moffat and there lovely friend jack aka the Weimaraner (a silvery-grey breed of dog developed originally in early 19th century for hunting). Personally, I dont think jack could hunt for shit, but he is kinda silvery, i guess. Anyway, had lunch with said crew, went back to jacks and watched 'the history of violence.' I then went to my friend Tali's new boys house for some amazing home cooked dinner of curry and rice. Anyway, I kinda felt like the 3rd wheel there so I bailed after dinner and met up with the same crew outside a pub and walked back to jacks. On our way home, some members of the now larger crew went into the bottle shop and I stood there on Oxford St, thinking 'fuck im lucky.' 

I think im really lucky, because for the first time in my life I cant honestly say, yeah shit does happen but im okay. I trust myself. I get really paranoid thoughts sometimes in which i think 'shit this is all a dream' but I really do beleive its just a dream and isnt happening. Apparantly, this means im scared of reality or of something that goes on. I get panick attacks when this happens and basically feel 'out of control' (i can write about panick attacks at a later time, now is not that time) So, im standing on oxford st and I start to feel slightly surreal, and then I think to myself no, theres nothing surreal about this. The people i'm around right now really do just rock. These new friends of mine are kinda real, as in they genuinely get along with eachother, think about things that do matter, such as nintendo, music, skateboards, paying the rent, ice-cream, sex and vegemite sandwiches. For example to my right, right now I can hear someone say 'I dropped the half pipe and nailed myself and eventually I made it and was happy.' I like this talk, this banter because it 'just is', its in the moment , it lacks pretense, im not listening to people bitch, or judge im listening to happy thoughts that come from the moment. 

If you haven't worked it out right now Im sitting at Jacks house again and the crew has extended to 12 people. Rahr, (thats his name) is to my left and he said to me 'hey I heard you started a blog.' Though it was a simple thing to say, I loved that he said it. People have complained to me since I started this blog a whole week or so ago, ive alrady been asked why the fuck im writing and what im planning on doing with this. But to have someone just genuinely ask and be interested was amazing to me, because someone seemed to care, even if it was only a little bit, it doesnt matter, its the thoughts that count.

So im sitting right here, right now and kinda just wanna put out there its the thought that counts. And my thoughts right now are just kinda to thank everyone here right now, for letting me be me, because after all the bullshit I put myself through sometimes in the end I am ok and I am fucking lucky. In this room of 12 people, nobody is bothering me as I write this infront of them, knowone is saying 'do you think your cool writing right now' (which is sometimes what im used to hearing.) All i feel is respect for who I am and acceptance for who I am.
So the title of this blog is 'memories are made of these.' yes, im cheesy, but fukit!
till next time

Thursday, November 22, 2007


Lover, the fahsion label is hosting a special night next tuesday in Sydney-land. I copied this from there webstie because I think it will be great, so I thought I'd share it. Sharing is caring. Sharing is caring.

"Our first guest is the famed 28 year old NYC author Lesley Arfin, whose first book "Dear Diary" is a unique and voyeuristic journey through adolescence. Comprised of real diary entries from the ages of 12 - 25, Arfin reflects upon and updates situations that occured with often hilarious and sometimes heartbreaking results. This book is Lesleys story, true, but it is also every girl's story.
Ms Arfin will perform readings from her favourite "Dear Diary" entries, followed by a Q&A and book signing. For more details check out the "Lover Loves..." section on the main menu page.
7pm - 8.30pm. Performance begins at 7.30pm"

the brands website is and there clothes are like the "virgin suicides' if they didnt commit suicide, and grew a little, but not too much.

10 hours too many

Written by Will Hawthorn, who may or may not start contributing on this page, its all dependent on if he can be bothered enough and if he wants to. Door is deffinately open for him though!



Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Feel the burn, its ok.

Something that has been on mind recently is the idea of 'being hurt.' Now being hurt can be about a number of really different things.

Being hurt can be about a x-game tumble incident in which some rampant fool in all black decides it would be genuis to attempt to skate the ramp of something on a sharp-angle with no experience, no money to buy like knee-pads or helmut but apparantly enough money to buy a video-camera, and enough prepration getting stoned asking there friends to come along with said video-camera , egg them on and shoot it, (hell everybody wants to be famous!?!).

Being hurt can happen when some other rampant fool (or perhaps the same one)decides it'd be genius to see who can out-drink another fool in a drinking contest. Next thing you know, the paramedics have been called in, because fool 1 or fool 2 forget they recently had throat surgery (being too drunk they forgot naturally) and ripped some internal fucking stictch by spewing too hard from too much alcahol. Either way both fools will wake up hurt, because 1. theyll have a headache. 2.there stomach had been pumped the night before and 3.there respective girlfriends have just dumped them cause there other friend had a video camera of them playing with some random in an allyway and decided it'd be intelligent to post it on youtube. (hell i mean everybody wants to be famous)

Being hurt can result in both physical, emotional and mental injury. It can happen with drugs, accidents, falling over and losing the love.

So one of my friends were talking to me today about being scared of getting hurt. Said friend was scared of letting themselves fall in love, because it may lead to being hurt. And this got me wondering, we can anticipate pain, we can prepare for it, we can avoid it, we can run from it, we can pretend we dont notice it, but in the end getting hurt is like the spider thats somehow crawled into our car and we dont know what the fuck to do about it.
I went for an amazing brazilan wax one-day, i drove there and got green lights all the way, thought to myself 'what a lucky day'. I found an amazing park right out the front, the sun was shining and so was I. I walked in and my beautician was running on time. Everything was perfect. I left my appointment, and the fear of the brazilian wax had proved just a fear, it hurt a bit, but not really anything like i'd revved myself up to anticipate. I got into my car I turned the ignition on started driving, looked into my front mirror and there it was 'spiderman', no shit the spider was so big it was like a midget man. I began to sweat, I began to panick, I locked the doors (why?), I turned the air-con up and I started driving. I shook the whole way home, I nearly drove into a bottle-shop, the man that worked there laughed at me and told me he couldn't help, I got jammed behind traffic, all the while keeping the eyes on midget-spider-man. I sped home, got the FUCK outta the car. I locked the door, ran into my house and started shreaking like id just witnessed a murder. I started crying, by this stage I was sweating so hard (did i mention I never sweat, even when i train) and I couldnt breathe, all because of a fucking midget spider man. I did not get into my car for 5 days. Now I did get into it eventually, I was scared, I mean man I had that shit fumigated. Since then, I always look for spiders when I get into my car, but generally im fear free. Im a changed woman. And the question remains- what was I so afriad of? I'm not usually afriad of spiders, did I think it was going to hurt me? and if it did hurt me, would it really be that bad? hehe probablly!
My point is this- being an idiot like the skater and the drunk idiot from the beginning of this story may lead to being a little hurt. But I really dont think theres anypoint in going through life being scared of experiencing some pain. Life hurts sometimes, but it really is ok. I think with the right attitude we can learn from anything, mistakes, experiences. hehe I once read a quote that said 'experience is the name that we give to our mistakes.' This might be true, but I dont think anyone can go through life without having a few mistakes. Nobodies perfect, and I sure as hell would never give my mistakes back - they make me who I am. I really beleived a few years back, that I would never love anyone the way I loved one of my x's. I convinced myself I would never care about anyone again, because caring would only lead to getting hurt (in a romantic sense).I also would not anyone love me because I was scared of being hurt, and in retrospect I probablly on hurt myself, and pissed a hanful of people off. But you know what? Im so over that crap. Fuckit, if you fear getting hurt you go through life never really knowing that much about anything real to the heart. I will hurt again, i'm sure of that, and i'm not afraid of it. Humans are made with the ability to hurt, because its natural. It makes me sad that people are so afriad of feeling hurt, that they conciously try and stop themselves from feeling. It's even sadder when sub-conciously people stop themselves from really feeling, really knowing who they are and getting under the skin.

It might hurt me a bit if I try something and it doesnt work, but what hurts me far more is not trying it. Imagine if you never knew what love was, because you were adamant of not getting hurt again, "i dont wanna go through that again." I say go through it again, i garuntee it will hurt a little less, and you will learn more about yourself and your strength than you ever knew. Humans have indcredibly strength, and we are survivors, so yeah, feel the burn its ok. If it burns, it burns, but a burn does go away, it fades, and then it doesnt hurt anymore.

As for the brazilian wax, they dont even hurt me anymore, its kinda like a relaxing adrenaline shot!
p.s. - the pic is NOT me getting waxed - as if!

Sunday, November 18, 2007


I just thought seeing as I am free as a butterfly flying in rainforest with no predators and no limits that I'd start counting down to this!

33 days poeople, and if you don't have a ticket hooked-up for yourself somehow- hehehe shit thats actually funny, laziness does not pay! Obviously, being on the southern hemmisphere we get everything late, but yes this will be worth it. SHIT IM GETTING LAMER AS THE DAYS GO BY!
EMILIE- your better than chocolate
COTTIE- you talk a lot, but i do kinda fancy you

Saturday, November 17, 2007

looking closer

Ummmm, I've been writting for ages. I've always written as a form of self-expression, whether im writting a poem, lyrics, or a song on the piano. It's always been a struggle for me to contain and 'hold' my emotions without haywire in the process, and writting has been an amazing vent for me.
I was talking to my friend Anina today over lunch on Crown St about this and she suggested it would be brave to maybe go through what i've written and post some of these things. I'm not sure how far and how deep I will be able to get through doing this but I figured I might post the intro to my diary up here for starters. After that who knows? It is quite cathartic and self-obsessed really, but i'll just see how that goes.
The following was all written when i was 17. and had fallen for a boy named Sam (names have been changed). We were with eachother soon after (take that in any context you might), and I just thought he was IT. heehhe...I did. He had such power of me. I had just finished school and been to Thailand for a month and was feeling 'freedom' and he just epitomised every aspect of that.

At 17.
It begins. When I breathe I feel tight and constrained , I don’t know if I am sick or its purely a lifestyle thing. The mind it is so fragile in all its imperfections, you’ve read all this shit before and somehow I want to make it different, somehow so everyone who reads this bwill learn something new and gather a sense of hope, but screw it . This is truth whatever that may be, very ironic term. See, what I write, what I perceive as something and when you start to imagine it as ‘truth’ you are making it fake because everything can only really be true to the teller of the tale. My house is largish, it red and green and when I was little we had a white picket-fence around it. When I think of being younger and seeing that white picket-fence I get upset and tears emerge from cadences below the exterior. I haven’t had a bad life at all, that’s what makes this make perfect sense, you don’t have to have been through the text-book listings to define what makes something wrong in your life, I have always had the feeling that wrong is merely intrinsic.
You wake up, everything in theory should be this grand photograph of what defines okay but you cant help that it’s not. I think its bullshit that people are selfish I think that they are just not happy.
My story is going to be based upon the way I perceive things. Things that I feel have the right to very much make me feel less comfortable in a sober state than others. Situations, places and the way things happen in a uncontrollable chaos. The privileged youth are not priveledged, they are fucked.

Entry #1
The lungs don’t feel much better and I don’t feel that much better but at the same time I was honest and I am confused. What is with people being fucked? To be a teenager or labeled as one makes you feel all sorts of things, you want to be accepted and there is this whole rule book of what mere acceptance is accountable for but everyone has to tread that line of acceptance and teen-angst to truly find themselves and test the parameters of selfworth. Who am I? I am meek and strong. I am given everything and feel nothing at the same time. Money is bullshit. Happiness is what we are all on this search for and that is my opinion bottom line. People are given cars and they are happy they can be ‘something.’ Drive around in your fucking old-school mobile and feel dthe wind sweep your hair as you light up another jay watch the world go by. You pathetic person, you are so good for me why cant you see. Drive your v-w, pouting your pretty pretty lips as that boy submissively stares at you in a way that only ‘we’ understand.

I feel things and I cant express myself. I’ve met you twice in my life and yet I feel that you and only you for now can understand me and that makes you horrible for not wanting me. You have done absoulutely nothing wrong and yet you stand there in as much as perfection can be and make me feel as much as perfection can feel and I feel lost and horrible and everything and nothing all at once.


Watching the day go by and rolling on to neverland,
What will be will be rolling on to neverland
Wanting and needing on that path to neverland
You stare at me and I’m in neverland

That grin in your eyes and that inconsiderate laughter
Finding your soul is not my place to venture.
That want we all have and that frown in the mirror
Finding your sould it seems is not my place to venture.

What comes of these percepived mistakes.
What memory makes is cherished
I ,…am neverland in your arms am neverland in your eyes
You neverland a disguise
Wake me up from this
Wake me up from this

the problem with the 'washed out poet' look.

This has been on my mind for some time. It's something I've brought up with a few people, discussed and have finally decided to write about. It's something that is very dear to my heart, and something that must be addressed before it goes any further. I speak on behalf of my lovely female friends and some male friends when I say arty looking boys no longer appeal to me.

When I was younger I would go to school in Bondi Beach and run to the coffee shop at lunch to gawp at the baristar (not barister) making my latte. I would look at his afro, his body slowly moving to the obscure beats of some up and coming band that he had carefully selected, I would look at his ripped t-shirt that looked like he had gone to many a poetry slam to create such rips, he was tall, he would hold is cigarette like it was pen and move it around while he was talking. ...and I would melt.

It's sad to say but this baristar (5 years on) is still working the same 9-5, but instead of an afro he now has an half-shaven side-hawk, his cigarettes have become organic, his coffee is organic, his shirt now says 'dare' on it, and quit frankly I know he is still doing a line of coke at every opportunity he has to scam it off some girl who has too much money and thinks he is 'different', and his jeans are cheap Monday ..(you know cause tsubi would be less contrived...not!!) He now listens to electro and jilts a little, oh yes and apparently hes eye sight got bad, because hes wearing spectacles and drops them down when he starts speaking to someone, with an intense gaze as if to say 'I'm smart'....probably because he cant see out of them clearly...

oh he doesn't make me melt anymore.

this is the washed out poet look and I'm sure you can see a washed out poet near you. there taste changes over time, from Nike to Fred perry to patent leather spectators. there clothes might change, but really everything stays the drive, no ambition, but to keep up with the Jones and be cooler than everyone else. the washed out poet look ranges from acting like depression is cool, to doing heaps of coke just because its fun, to wearing the same clothes for three days in a row (sometimes up to ten days) just because, wearing something for too long is cool, not bothering is cool.

the washed out poet can also be disguised as an actor, musician, dj, baristar, or they may work at tsubi, general pants, or your local pub. ( the ones in retail tend to be a tad cleaner)

i recently dated a guy. he can only be described as a washed out poet. oh, the exterior was pretty, the aloof tilt of the head, the perfect plaid shirt tucked into some vintage levis, the intelligent left wing promoter. but when it came down to it all i could think was 'i bet youve got crabs.' and this is the issue I want to alert every unsuspecting girl, guy, transgender and non specific gendered person to.

Washed out poets look hot, they have 5 key issues they will always bring up (just so you can identify them easier)

1. not caring

2. not judging

3. saying they don't have a drug habit

4. obscure musicians, obscure artists, obscure theatre, obscure actors, obscure skateboards, obscure poets...fuck it anything obscure----its a niche

5. political left wing opinions

they also usually come with 5 stinky roommates, in a 'student house' there bed sheets have remnants of 'something' on them ( a huge telltale sign), they also usually like to smoke, rack or chop in there beds, and talk about some 'deep shit' just to get into your pants...remember washed out poets pretend to be smart

the problem is they should really come with a disclaimer that says ' i may have crabs, I'm not sure, but i sleep around a lot, and i dint shower, i wear the same clothes everyday, I'm too cool to seek medical advice, i will never offer to wear a condom, yes, in fact i probably have crabs'

Now, as I said i was dating this guy, but when it came to getting intimate with him, I HONESTLY believed G-D would punish me and give me crabs for liking such a fool. Luckily I didn't want to fuck with G-D so I got the fuck outta there..i am kinda funny, so I called him one night and asked him 'do you have an std?' he said 'no.' but the next day of course he called me to ask if we had spoken the night before, of course the washed out poet is always too drunk to remember.

I will never know if he DID or DID NOT have crabs, but too all my friends out there, don't take chances, strike against the pretenseful fools that are 'washed out poets' urge them to shower a little more and maybe the world will be a better place.

(all events were changed so nobody knows who this is actually about, dont even bother guessing)

Friday, November 9, 2007

I just want to dance....TOMORROW- but this is todays story!

I've just spent the last two-three hours glued to my computer downloading and spending too much money on itunes...but being the morally righteous little lady I am, I couldn't justify stealing music. I mean would you still a buskers guitar? I think not! Would you steal a dollar off Kanye West? I think Not! Bitch, that guy will bring you down..... Anyway, music music music everywhere...but nothing to get excited about tonight awwwwwwww, I have way too much work to do, and can't stop sleeping.

I drove to meet some friends for an early nachos tonight at deans. , and on my way I heard a song by MIKA being played on the radio. It really pissed me off, the first time I heard this song I died and floated off to orchestral heaven. Well, the song has been ruined! It was called 'Happy Endings,' and it was amazing , like my boots in the photo below.

But now, (the song has been renamed to 'shit happens thus allowing for any happy ending that may have been to be utterly ruined and shat on') has this synthesized excuse for a percussion section in it, and its become a void of its original musical orgasmicness. So that's the big boo-hoo of my day. Anyway, at deans I went across to my work and said hi to my manager who has just returned from the international football league (not sure of the actual competition) anyway, he represented Lebanon in it and scored a couple of goals for his country which is really cool, he now has soar feet so he's wearing really ugly slippers around! I also pulled money out tonight and discovered that I have more money than I originally thought I had, after I went shopping last week. P.S. I don't care how superficial it sounds, if you are in a mental rut, buying clothes DOES make you feel better. Yes, its only temporary, but its better than drugs and lasts longer = no comedown! The other thing I do to feel better is to eat steak...I don't eat meat at home, because I don't trust my own cooking and it ewws me to look at raw meat being cooked, but steak at a good restaurant (not at sizzler, or in a cheap pub) is priceless. My steak cost me about $80 last week, on a chick-date with my friend Tali, but it was so worth it....and she was really good company, cause she ate duck. We also shared oysters and that was nice. Oysters are my favourite food, and I don't often order them, except when I'm with Tali cause she chows them down like the world is ending and I do too.

Here is a little photo of tali, with steph and jenna.

Anyway, back to music and the one song that is really get me amped at the moment is Ice Cream by Muscles. Something about talking about ice-cream in lyrics is just a really sexy thing, I find lyrics about ice-cream a really big turn on. Is that weird?

I mean there's

'I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.' (that's about an orgasm clearly)

Then there's the New Young Pony Club who says

'I can give you what you want. I can make your heart beats short. I can make you ice cream, we could be a sweet team meltin in your vice dreams, sport' (That's just hot)

and now there's Muscles with his

'ice cream is gonna save the day, ice cream is gonna save the day again, ice cream is gonna save the day again, i don't need a number, I just wanna dance with my shirt off, and I don't want no other, I just wanna dance.' (YESSSSSSSS)

I think the best trick to get out of a rut is to dance, shake it all off, if only for a moment, and just let your body go go go. hehe .Tomorrow I want to dance and eat ice-cream!

Sunday, November 4, 2007


This painting says so much. Kandinsky is one of the most inspiring artists. He saw colour when he heard music, and he heard music when he saw colour. There is so much I want to say about this artist, but I can't even think of the words to write. I just think his work says a lot about the human condition, about frustration, expression, vibrancy and LIVING. I saw his work for the first time at an exhibit at the Tate Modern.

This is the Tate Modern. If I could get married, anywhere in the world. This is the place, other than The little chapel in las vegas (replete with Elvis impersonator). If I could runaway anywhere, and feel real, fantastical, magical, and anything else one sees with rose-coloured glasses on this is where I'd run. I'd stand infront of Monet's work (which is on display there) or I would light a cigarette on the grand balcony with the view of St Pauls and the River Thames and I would just sit there for hours, rain,hail or shine.

Thats all.

If I could drive for hours, along some sort of coastal line I would listen to the King. He is unbeleivably cool, he is ridiculous. He is the soundtrack that fits in with my family and my childhood. Driving to the Blue Mountains, Borwal. Umm...I cant be bothered to write anymore. Enough said I guess.


I found this website tonight - its its part founded by Miranda July. Who is really talented. The site is a collaboration...a board in which she suggests quirky things to do...which ultimately can bring you closer to yourself, someone else or just to make you smile. Random people send in their ideas on certain subjects and the results are really touching.
Miranda recently released this book of short stories about random people on there quests to maybe be a little less lonely. I've always loved to read,watch,listen to stories about people who are 'outsiders,' people who 'defy norms,' just by being who they are. In a recent article I read somewhere, the interviewer asked Miranda about the title of this book. She said that if she could say one thing to unify all the characters she had written about she'd tell them that 'No one belongs here more than you.' I think that line, the choice for the title is completely beautiful.
Last bit of Miranda July- she wrote, starred and directed her debut feature film which won a whole stack of awards at Sundance (and I'm sure at other festivals world wide). This film sticks with her clear insight into loneliness, love, individualism and quirky humour. YAY.